■Do , . -■' 
 
 UNI'lHD STATES OF AMERICA. 
 

 
NUG^, 
 
 BY NUGATOR; 
 
 pieces in prose an^ tUrsc. 
 
 / 
 
 BY ST. LEGER Lr CARTER. 
 
 BALTIMORE: 
 
 PRINTF.n BY WOODS AND CRANE. 
 
 1844. 
 

 Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1S44, by 
 Edward St. O. Carter, in the Clerk's office of the Eastern 
 District of Virginia. 
 
 ■^^ 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 TAGE . 
 
 March Court, 5 
 
 The Wagoner, U 
 
 The Sleet, 11 
 
 Tlie Sale, ' . . . 13 
 
 The Mockingbird, 19 
 
 Interesting Ruins on the Rappahannock, ... 20 
 
 The Great Western, 25 
 
 The Mechanician and Uncle Simon, .... 27 
 
 The Heart, 36 
 
 Parody on Bryant's Autumn, 38 
 
 Sally Singleton, 40 
 
 Washington and Napoleon, the Contrast, ... 42 
 
 The Dyspeptic Man, 43 
 
 Picture of Old Virginia, 47 
 
 Extract from a Poem, entitled Old Virginia Georgics, . . 51 
 
 Pinkney's Eloquence, 56 
 
 Etymology, 61 
 
 The Girl of Harper's Ferry, 63 
 
 Modern Travelling, 65 
 
 Debate on the Crow Bill, 72 
 
 The Petition of the Crows, 76 
 
 The Capitol, 80 
 
 Poets and Poetry, 89 
 
 John Adams' Son, My Jo, Jo'ui, 95 
 
 The Vicar of Bray, 97 
 
 To Tobacco, 100 
 
 Meeting of the Ladies at the Capitol, 103 
 
 A Receipt for making a Long Speech upon any given subject, 106 
 
 To Dyspepsia, Ill 
 
 The Delegate's Soliloquy, 112 
 
 The Man in the Moon, 113 
 
 Military Glory, 115 
 
 Pictures by the Sun, 116 
 
 A Mental Retrospection, 119 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Battle of New Orleans, 121 
 
 The New Hail Columbia, for the Eighth of January, . . 123 
 
 Great Rascally Dinner, 125 
 
 The Coffin, 128 
 
 The Old Church, 129 
 
 I went to Gather Flowers, 131 
 
 The Tolling Bell, 132 
 
 To the Senate, on tsiking leave in February, 1829, . . 133 
 A Song for the Members of the Assembly, . . . 134 
 
 The Adams Convention, 134 
 
 The Meeting of Congress, ...... 136 
 
 Canzonet to Johnny, .138 
 
 The Presentation, 139 
 
 Lines written in a Young Lady's Album. . . • • 141 
 
 To Poetry, 142 
 
 The Lowlands and the Mountains, 144 
 
 The First Time— the Last Time, 146 
 
 To my Wife, • ... 147 
 
 ToaBeechTree, 148 
 
 The Oldfield School, 150 
 
 To my Mother on my Birth-Day, 164 
 
 My Last Candle, a Parody on Campbell's Last Man, . . 165 
 
 The Springs, . 167 
 
 Election Dav, a Parody on the Sleet, 173 
 
 The Discarded, Imitation of Byron's Ode to Napoleon, • 176 
 
 Darkness, • 180 
 
 Annette De L'Arbre, 182 
 
 Dan Lonesome — unfinished, 186 
 
 Castellanus, or the Castle-Builder turned Farmer, • . 197 
 
 To Niagara, 202 
 
 Lines Written at the Grave of Miss A. F- B. . . . 204 
 
 Castles in the Air, 206 
 
 To Miss W , 207 
 
 The Death of the River, . • 208 
 
 ToMassaBoz, 210 
 
 My Humble Lot, 211 
 
 Written on the Ballot Box of the Senate, . . . 214 
 Life, 214 
 
NUGtE. 
 MARCH CODRT. 
 
 Court day! what an important day ia Virginia- 
 what a day of bustle and business ! what a requisition 
 is made upon every mode of conveyance to the Httle 
 metropolis of the County ! How many debts are then 
 to be paid! — how many to be put off! Alas! how 
 preponderate the latter! ' If a man says, "I will pay 
 you at Court," I give up the debt as hopeless, without 
 the intervention of the la. But if Court day be thus 
 important, how much more so is March Court ! That 
 is the day when our candidates are expected home from 
 Richmond, to give an account of their stewardship; at 
 least it used to be so, before the number of our legisla- 
 tors was lessened, with a view of facilitating the trans- 
 action of business, and with a promiseof shortening the 
 sessions. But, somehow or other, the public chest has 
 such a multitude of charms, it seems now to be more 
 impossible than ever to get away from it. 
 
 *' Tis that capitol rising in errandeur on high, 
 Where bank notes, by thousands, bewitchingly lie," 
 
 as the song says, which makes our sessions "of so long 
 a life ;" and there is no practicable mode of preventing 
 the evisceration of the aforesaid chest, but deferring the 
 meeting of the Assembly to the month of February, and 
 thereby compelling the performance of the common- 
 wealth's business within the two months which would 
 intervene 'till the planting of corn. However, this is 
 foreign to my present purpose, which is to describe a 
 scene at which I have often gazed with infinite amuse- 
 ment. Would I had the power of Hogarth, that I might 
 perpetuate the actings and doings of a March Court ; 
 but having no turn that way, 1 must barely attempt to 
 group the materials, and leave the painting to some 
 regular artist to perfect. 
 2 
 
Picture to yourself, my gentle reader, our little town 
 of Dumplingsburg, consisting of a store, a tavern, and 
 a blacksmith shop, the common constituents of a county 
 town, with a court house and a jail in the foreground, 
 as denoting the superior respect to which they are enti- 
 tled. Imagine a number of roads diverging from the 
 town, like the radii of a circle, and upon these roads 
 horsemen andfootmenofevery imaginable kind, moving, 
 helter skelter, to a single point of attraction. Justices 
 and jurymen — counsellors and clients — planters and 
 pettifoggers — constables and cake- women — farmers and 
 felons — horse-drovers and horse-jockies, all rushing 
 onward like the logs and rubbish upon the current 
 of some mighty river, swollen by rains, hurrying 
 pell mell to the vast ocean which is to swallow them 
 all up — a simile not altogether unapt, when we consider 
 that the greater part of these people have law business, 
 and the law is universally allowed to be a vortex worse 
 than the Maelstrom. Direct the "fringed curtains of 
 thine eyes" a little further to the main street — a street 
 well entitled to the epithet main, in all its significa- 
 tions, being, in truth, the principal and only street, and 
 being, moreover, the political arena or cockpit, in which 
 are settled, pugilistically, all the tough and knotty points 
 Avhich cannot be adjusted by argument. See, on either 
 side, rows of nags of all sorts and sizes, from the skele- 
 ton just unhitched from the plough, to the saucy, fat, 
 impudent pony, with roached mane and bobtail, and 
 the sleek and long-tailed pampered horse, whose coat 
 proclaims his breeding, all tied to the staggering fence 
 which constitutes the boundary of the street. Behold 
 the motley assemblage within these limits, hurrying to 
 and fro with rapid strides, as if life were at stake. Who 
 is he who slips about among the "greasy rogues," with 
 outstretched palm, arid shaking as many hands as the 
 Marquis Lafayette ? It is the candidate for election, 
 and he distributes with liberal hand that barren chroni- 
 cle of legislative deeds, demominaled the list of laws, 
 upon which are fed a people starving for information. 
 This is a mere register of the titles of acts passed at the 
 last session, but it is caught at with avidity by the sove- 
 
reigns, who arc highly offended if they do not come in 
 lor a share of the delegate's bounty. The purchase 
 and distribution of these papers is a sort of carmen ne- 
 ccssariwii, or indispensable lesson, and it frequently 
 happens that a member of the Assembly who has been 
 absent from his post the whole winter, except upon the 
 yeas and nays, acquires credit for his industry and at- 
 tention to business, in proportion to the magnitude of 
 the bundle he distributes of this uninstructive record. 
 
 See, now he mounts some elevated stand, and 
 harangues the gaping crowd, while a jackass, led by his 
 groom, is braying at the top of his lungs just behind him. 
 The jack takes in his breath, like Fay's snorer, "with the 
 tone of an octave flute, and lets it out with the profound 
 depth of a trombone." Wherever a candidate is seen, 
 there is sure to be a jackass ; surely his long-eared 
 companion does not mean to satirize the candidate ! 
 However that may be, you perceive the orator is obliged 
 to desist, overwhelmed, perhaps, by this thundering 
 applause. Now the crowd opens to the right and left, 
 to make way for some superb animal at full trot, some 
 Highflyer or Daredevil, who is thus exhibited ad cap- 
 tandum vidgiis, which seems the common purpose of 
 the candidate, the jack, and his more noble competitor. 
 But look, here approaches an object more terrible than 
 all, if we may judge from the dispersion of the crowd, 
 who ensconce themselves behind every convenient 
 corner, and peep from their lurking holes, while the 
 object of their dread moves onward, with saddle-bags 
 on arm, a pen behind his ear, and an inkhorn at his 
 button-hole. Lest some of my readers should be igno- 
 rant of this august personage, I must do as they do in 
 England, where they take a shaggy dog, and dipping 
 him in red paint, they dash him against the sign board, 
 and write underneath, this is the Red Lion. This is the 
 sheriff, and he is summoning his jury. "Mr. Buckskin, 
 you, sir, dodging behind the blacksmith's shop, I sum- 
 mon you on the jury ;" ah, luckless wight! he is caught 
 and obliged to succumb. In vain he begs to be let off, 
 "you must apply to the magistrates," is the surly reply. 
 And if, reader, you could listen to what passes after- 
 
•8 
 
 wards in the court house, you might hear something 
 like the following colloquy : 
 
 Judge. "What is your excuse, sir?" 
 
 Juror. "I am a lawyer, sir." 
 
 Judge. **Do you follow the law now, sir?" 
 
 Juror. "No, sir, the law follows me." 
 
 Judge. "Swear him, Mr. Clerk." 
 
 Ah, there is a battle ! ! ! see how the crowd rushes to 
 the spot,— "who fights?"— "part 'em"— "stand off"— 
 "fair play" — "let no man touch" — "hurrah, Dick" — 
 "at him, Tom." An Englishman, thinking himself in 
 England, bawls out, "Sheriff! read the riot act!" A 
 justice comes up and commands the peace ; inter arma 
 silent leges; he is unceremoniously knocked down, and 
 justice is Wind, as ought to be the case. Two of the 
 rioters attempt to ride in at the tavern door, and for a 
 while all Pandemonium seems broke loose. 
 
 To complete this picture, I must, like Asmodeus, 
 unroof the court house, and show you a trial which I 
 had the good fortune to witness : It was during the 
 last war, when the vessels of Admiral Gordon were 
 making their way up the Potomac to Alexandria, that 
 a negro woman was arraigned for killing one of her 
 own sex and color. She had been committed for mur- 
 der, but the evidence went clearly to establish the deed 
 to be manslaughter, inasmuch as it was done in sudden 
 heat, and without malice aforethought. The attorney 
 for the commonwealth waived the prosecution for mur- 
 der, but quoted British authorities to show that she 
 might be convicted of manslaughter, though committed 
 for murder. The counsel for the accused arose, and in 
 the most solemn manner, asked the court if it was a 
 thing ever heard of, that an individual accused of one 
 crime, and acquitted, should be arraigned immediately 
 for another, under the same prosecution ? At intervals, 
 boom — boom — boom, went the British cannon. "British 
 authorities!" exclaimed the counsel, "British authori- 
 ties, gentlemen ! ! Is there any one upon the bench so 
 dead to the feelings of patriotism, as at such a moment 
 to listen to British authorities, when the British cannon 
 is shaking the very walls of your court house to their 
 
9 
 
 foundation ?'' This appeal was too cogent to be re- 
 sisted. Up jumped one of the justices, and protested 
 that it was not to be borne ; let tlie prisoner go ; away 
 with your British authorities! Tlie counsel for the 
 accused rubbed his hands, and winked at the attorney ; 
 the attorney stood aghast; his astonishment was too 
 great for utterance, and the negro was half way home 
 before he recovered from his amazement. 
 
 THE WAGONER. 
 
 I've often thought if 1 were asked 
 
 Whose lot I envied most — 
 What one I thought most lightly tasked. 
 
 Of man's unnumber'd host — 
 I'd say, I'd be a mountain boy. 
 And drive a noble team, wo, hoy ! 
 Wo, hoy! I'd cry. 
 And lightly fly. 
 
 Into my saddle seat; 
 My rein I'd slack — 
 My whip I'd crack — 
 What music is so sweet ? 
 
 Six blacks I'd drive, of ample chest. 
 
 All carrying high the head. 
 All harness'd tight, and gayly drest 
 
 In winkers tipp'd with red — 
 Oh yes, I'd be a mountain boy. 
 And such a team I'd drive, wo, hoy ! 
 Wo, hoy ! I'd cry. 
 The lint should fly — 
 
 Wo, hoy! you'Dobbin ! Ball ! 
 Their feet should ring. 
 And I would sing, 
 I'd sing my fol de rol. 
 
 My bells would tinkle, tinkle ling, 
 Beneath each bear-skin cap ; 
 
 And as I saw them swing and swing, 
 I'd be the merriest chap — 
 
 2* 
 
10 
 
 Yes, then I'J be a mountain boy. 
 And drive a jingling team, wo, hoy! 
 Wo, hoy ! I'd cry — 
 My words should fly. 
 
 Each horse would prick his ear ; 
 With tighten'd chain, 
 My lumbering wain 
 
 Would move in its career. 
 
 The golden sparks, you'd see them spring 
 
 Beneath my horses' tread ; 
 Each tail, I'd braid it up with string 
 
 Of blue, or flaunting red ; 
 So does, you know, the mountain boy, 
 Who drives a dashing team, wo, hoy ! 
 Wo, hoy ! I'd cry. 
 Each horse's eye 
 
 With fire would seem to burn. 
 With lifted head. 
 And nostrils spread. 
 
 They'd seem the earth to spurn. 
 
 They'd champ the bit, and fling the foam. 
 
 As on they dragged my load ; 
 And I would think of distant home. 
 
 And whistle upon the road — 
 Oh ! would I were a mountain boy — 
 I'd drive a six-horse team, wo, hoy ! 
 Wo, hoy! I'd cry — 
 Now by yon sky, 
 
 I'd sooner drive those steeds 
 Than win renown. 
 Or wear a crown 
 
 Won by victorious deeds ! 
 
 For crowns oft press the languid head. 
 And health the wearer shuns ; 
 
 And vict'ry, trampling on the dead. 
 May do for Goths and Huns — 
 
 Seek them who will, they have no joys 
 
 F(Jr mountain lads, and wagon- boys. 
 
11 
 
 THE SLEET. 
 
 Awake, awake, the sun is up, awake and sally forth, 
 We've had a rain of jewelry from out the frozen north ; 
 The earth is rohed in dazzling white, each tree is hung 
 
 with gems. 
 And diamonds, in ten thousand shapes, are hanging 
 
 from their stems. 
 
 Each bush, and ev'ry humble shrub, with precious 
 
 stones is strung. 
 And all the purest, brightest things, by handfuls round 
 
 are flung ; 
 The emerald ! and the amethyst ! the topazes behold ! 
 And here and there a ruby red is sparkling in the cold. 
 
 The chrysolite and jasper see, and that bright sardine 
 
 stone 
 The holy Patmos prophet saw upon the heav'nly 
 
 throne ; 
 Here all the gold of Ophir shines, with all Golconda^s 
 
 store, 
 And who could ever number up the countless myriads 
 
 more? 
 
 The Holly, in its darkest green, with crimson fruit, 
 
 looks gay. 
 Enchased in solid silver too, how rich is its display ! 
 In green and gold the shaggy Pine seems almost in a 
 
 blaze, 
 With all the sun's reflected light, yet softened to the gaze. 
 
 The Cedar, ah thou favor'd tree, in Scripture it is told 
 They laid thee in the house of God, and covered thee 
 
 with gold ; 
 But great as was kihg Solomon, he nor the house he 
 
 made 
 Was dress'd in such magnificence as thou hast here 
 
 display 'd. 
 
 The Beech tree stands in rich array of long and shining 
 threads. 
 
 Its brittle boughs all bending low to earth their droop- 
 ing hea '' 
 
12 
 
 And now and ihrn some broken limb comes crashing 
 
 from on high. 
 And show'ring down a world of gems that sparkle as 
 
 they fly. 
 
 The lofty Oak ! the hundred limb'd ! Briareus of the 
 
 Trees ! 
 Spreads out his pond'rous, icy arms, loud crackling in 
 
 the breeze ; 
 And as the roused up lion "shakes the dew drops from 
 
 his mane," 
 So doth the woodland monarch shake his crystals o'er 
 
 the plain. 
 
 But time would fail to tell of all that bright and starry 
 
 host 
 The north wind brings ''to witch the world" from out 
 
 the realms of frost; 
 The meanest thing — the most deformed — the dry and 
 
 sapless bough. 
 The bramble rude — the rugged thorn, are pure and 
 
 spotless now. 
 
 "Ye councillors of earth!" come forth, "ye princes 
 
 who have gold," 
 Your diadems, ye kings ! bring here, the jewel'd crowns 
 
 ye hold ; 
 Come, Woman, in thine ornaments, in all their costly 
 
 sheen, 
 And let them be the loveUest ones that ever graced a 
 
 queen. 
 
 This grass that's trodden under foot, this weed with 
 
 branching arms. 
 Thus ghttering in the morning sun, hath fifty-fold their 
 
 charms ; 
 Then cast your baubles vile away, and bend in solemn 
 
 thought 
 To Him who hath this gorgeous scene from storm and 
 
 tempest wrought. 
 
 Yet this fair pageant soon must fade before the breath 
 
 of noon. 
 And by the fiat from on high your wealth shall fade as 
 
 soon ; 
 
13 
 
 Oh ! lay not worthless riches up, which ''moth and rust" 
 
 assail, 
 But those which at the judgment day through Christ 
 
 will then avail. 
 
 What though the sun so soon must melt this frost-work 
 
 and its forms. 
 He speaks them into life again, who rides amid the 
 
 storms 5 
 So, "in the twinkling of an eye," at His last trumpet 
 
 dread, 
 Our bodies, fashion'd gloriously, shall rise up from the 
 
 dead. 
 
 The sun goes up his destined way — how few do heed 
 
 my calls! 
 In tears the vision melts away, "the baseless fabric" 
 
 falls; 
 I too could shed some tears, alas! that this sweet scene 
 
 is past. 
 For scenes as sweet it brings to mind, which fled away 
 
 as fast. 
 
 THE SALE. 
 
 "It is the law throua^hout the Old Dominion, 
 Wlien some poor devil dies in peace or battle, 
 
 Th' executor must be of the opinion 
 
 His goods are perishino;, and sell each chattel ; 
 
 Whatever treads on hoof "or flies on pinion — 
 Hogs, horses, cows, and even- sort of cattle — 
 
 Cups," saucers, swingle-trees and looking glasses — 
 
 Ploughs, pots and pans, tea-kettles and jackasses." 
 
 A man who never quotes, it has been said, will in 
 return never be quoted. By way, therefore, of quotmg, 
 and at the same time of being quoted, I have quoted a 
 poem of my own, Avhich "will never be published," 
 written in attempted imitation of Beppo, and describing 
 a salp in Virginia. Who has not seen something like 
 the following staring him in the face, on the side of a 
 store or tavern, or upon the post of a sign-board where 
 several roads meet? "I shel purceed to sell to the 
 
14 
 
 highest bidder, on SaterJay the 3J olJanewary next, 
 at Blank, all the housol and kitchen feruiter of the late 
 David Double, Esq. together with all the horses, niuels, 
 sheep and hoges. Cash on all sums of five dollars and 
 under, and a credit of twelve mont, on the ballance. 
 Bond with aproved sekurity will be required," &,c. 
 Such a notification as the above, which is copied ver- 
 batim et spellatim, operates like an electric shock on a 
 whole neighborhood in that portion of the country in 
 which I reside, especially upon that part of the popu- 
 lation which can least afford to buy bargains. The 
 temptation of long credit is too great to be resisted, 
 although no calculations of the ultimate ability to pay 
 are ever made. The grand desideratum is to obtain 
 the necessary security, and to purchase to a greater 
 amount than five dollars. I am myself infected by this 
 prevailing malady, and frequently buy what is of no 
 manner of use to me, simply because no cash is re- 
 quired, and bonds are hard to collect, and suits may be 
 put off by continuances ; and matters of this sort, after 
 all, may be settled by executors and administrators. 
 Among the rest, therefore, on the day appointed by the 
 aforesaid notification, I mounted my horse, and sallied 
 out upon the road leading to Blank, and fell in with a 
 large party going to the sale, principally managers, as 
 they call themselves now-a-days, on the neighboring 
 estates. Formerly they were yclept overseers, but the 
 term is falling into disuse, as conveying the idea of 
 something derogatory. They were mounted in every 
 variety of style ^ there were long tails, and bob tails, 
 and nicked tails ; and I saw at least one sheep skin 
 saddle and grapevine bridle. 
 
 By-the-by, talking of grapevines, what a country 
 ours is for this mvaluable article. Here is no need of 
 hemp manufactories. Nature, in her exuberant good- 
 ness, has supplied an abundance of primitive rope, 
 which is just as convenient and efficacious as the best 
 cordage, whether a man wants to hang himself or a 
 dog — whether he wants a cap for his fence, a back- 
 band for his plough-horse, a pair of leading lines, or a 
 girth for his saddle. Why should we be the advocates 
 
15 
 
 of a tariff, when nature supplies us in peace or war 
 with this and many other articles of the first necessity, 
 among which I once heard a Chotanker enumerate 
 mint. *'Why," said he, ''should we fear a dissolution 
 of the union, a separation of the north from the south, 
 when there is not a sprig of mint in all New England?" 
 When this was said, peradventure it might be true ; 
 but, to my certam knowledge, at this day the word 
 julap is well understood much farther north than Ma- 
 son's and Dixon's line. Pardon me, reader, this digres- 
 sion — for I am mounted to-day on a rough-going, head- 
 strong animal, that will have his own way, and wants 
 to turn aside into every by-path which he sees, and is 
 as "wiUyard a powny^^ as that ridden by Dumbiedikes, 
 when he followed Jeanie Deans to lend her the purse 
 of gold. 
 
 But to return. — I cannot let this opportunity slip of 
 singling out one of this group of horsemen for descrip- 
 tion, that you may have a graphic sketch of the sort of 
 folks and horses that live hereabouts. Wert thou ever 
 upon Hoecake Ridge? and hast thou ever met in win- 
 ter a thorough-bred native of that region, mounted upon 
 his little shaggy pony, "skelping on through dub and 
 mire," like Tarn O'Shanter ? Here he was to-day, in 
 his element, dressed in nankin pantaloons and a thin 
 cotton jacket, and riding in the teeth of a strong north- 
 wester, singing "Life let us cherish." His saddle had 
 no skirts, having been robbed of those useless appen- 
 dages by some rogue who wanted a pair of brogues ; 
 his bridle had as many knots as the sea serpent. But 
 my business is not so much with him as with his pony, 
 whose head and neck may be aptly represented by a 
 maul and its handle. His tail is six inches long, and 
 standing at an angle of forty-five degrees with his back ; 
 his hair is long and shaggy ; he is cat-hammed, and 
 his chest so narrow that his forelegs almost touch one 
 another; his eyes snap fire when you plague him. 
 You may talk of improving the breed of horses. Tell 
 me not of your Eclipses, your Henrys — of Arabians or 
 Turks. They may be all very well in their places, 
 but this pony is the animal for ray country. He can 
 
16 
 
 bite the grass which is absolutely invisible to human 
 eyes, and subsist upon it. If you would give him six 
 ears of corn twice a-day, he would be almost too fat to 
 travel. He never stumbles. Give him the rein, and 
 he will pick his path as carefully as a lady. His 
 powers of endurance exceed the camel's. His master 
 is a sot, and his horse will stand all night at a tippling 
 shop, gnawing a fence rail ; he almost prefers it to a 
 corn-stalk which has been lying out all winter, his 
 common food. When his master comes forth and 
 mounts, he studies attitudes. If the rider reel to the 
 right, the pony leans to the starboard side; if to the 
 left, he tacks to suit him. If the master fall, he falls 
 clear, having no girth to his saddle, and the pony does 
 not waste time in useless meditation upon accidents that 
 will happen to the best of us, but moves homeward 
 with accelerated velocity, leaping every obstacle in his 
 way to his brush stable. 
 
 It was my good fortune to drop in alongside of the 
 man who was mounted upon this incomparable animal, 
 and complimentmg him upon his philosophy in the 
 selection of his song, and on the dexterity of his horse, 
 I soon found he was a great politician, and we chatted 
 most agreeably until our arrival at the place of sale. 
 He was a violent , but not a word of politics ; lite- 
 rature and politics are different matters altogether. 
 You may be a great politician, you know, without a 
 particle of literature. Politicians are the last people in 
 the world to bear a joke ; and if I were even to glance 
 at the discourse of my neighbors, there are many who 
 would not submit to this interference with their exclu- 
 sive business; they would see in it "more devils than 
 vast hell can hold." The world must therefore be 
 content to lose the humor of my singular acquaintance, 
 as I cannot possibly do justice to his conceptions 
 without the mention of names. I shall die, though, 
 unless I find some occasion of disclosing them, for old 
 Hardcastle's man Diggory was never more diverted at 
 his story of the grouse in the gun-room, t^an I was at 
 the political conceits of my Hoecake-ridger. 
 
 Having arrived at Blank, we hung our horses, as 
 
17 
 
 Virginians always do after riding them, and entered 
 the grounds before a venerable looking building which 
 had been completely emboweiled, and its contents were 
 piled in promiscuous heaps in various parts of the yard. 
 Within the great house, as it is usually styled, was 
 already assembled, around a blazing fire, a crowd of 
 exceedingly noisy i'olks, all talking at once, and nobody 
 apparently listening. The names of our leading men 
 sounded on every side, and the Tower of Babel never 
 witnessed a greater confusion of tongues. For my own 
 part, it always makes me melancholy to contemplate 
 this inroad of Goths and Vandals upon apartments 
 which were once perhaps so sacred, and kept in order 
 with such sedulous attention. It seems a profanation — 
 a want of respect for the recently dead, and a cruel 
 outrage upon the feelings of the surviving family. No- 
 thing escapes the prying eye of curiosity — the rude 
 footstep invades the very penetralia. The household 
 gods, the dii penates, are all upturned ; and mirth and 
 jesting reign amidst the precincts of woe. I felt like a 
 jackall tearing open the grave for my prey. The crier, 
 the high priest of these infernal orgies, now came for- 
 ward with his badge of office, the jug of whiskey, and 
 announced that the sale would commence as soon as 
 he could wet his whistle, which he proceeded to do, 
 and then began to ply his customers. It is Avonderful 
 to think how much ingenuity has been displayed in 
 finding out metaphors to describe the detestable act of 
 tippling. The renowned biographer of Washington 
 and Marion has embodied a number of these in one of 
 his minor performances ; but several which I heard 
 to-day were new to me, and escaped his researches ; 
 thus i heard one upbraid another for being too fond of 
 "tossing his head back," while a third invited his com- 
 panion to '-'rattle the stopper," — and upon my taking a 
 very moderate drink, and so weak that a temperance 
 man would scarcely have frowned upon me, I was 
 clapped on the shoulder, and jeered for my fondness 
 for the creature, since I was willing to swallow an 
 ocean of water to get at a drop. In a very short time 
 
18 
 
 ihe liquid fire of the Greeks ran through the veins of the 
 crowd, and they were quickly ripe for bidding. 
 
 ^'Inspiring bold John Barleycorn, 
 
 What dangers thou canst make us scorn ; 
 
 Wi' tippenny we fear no evil — 
 
 Wi' usquebaugh we'll face the devil." 
 
 The "swats sae reamed'' in their noddles, that every 
 thing sold at a price far beyond its value, and our crier 
 became so exceedingly facetious, and cracked so many 
 excellent ironical jokes, that it is a pity they should be 
 lost. Being unskilled, however, in stenography, I 
 could not take down his words, and only remember 
 that every untrimmed old field colt was a regular de- 
 scendant of Eclipse ; the long nosed hogs were unques- 
 tionably Parkinson; the sheep Merinocs ; the cattle, 
 which were notoriously all horn, were short horns, 
 &c. &c. They seemed to me to be a scurvy set of 
 animals ; but those who saw them through a glass 
 darkly, seemed to entertain a very different opinion. 
 The "mirth and fun grew fast and furious," "till first a 
 caper sin anither" "they lost their reasons a' tliegither," 
 and the sale closed in one wild, uproarious scuffle for 
 every thing at any price whatever. 
 
 It now became necessary to return home, an impor- 
 tant consideration which had been wholly overlooked; 
 and the difficulty of mounting our horses having been 
 overcome after many trials, we began to "witch the 
 world with feats of noble horsemanship." Such "racing 
 and chasing" had not been seen since the days of Canno- 
 bie lea, and quizzing became the order of the evening. 
 Perceiving the mettlesome nature of my steed, my 
 friend, the politician and philosopher, seemed resolved 
 upon unhorsing me, notwithstanding my entrealies 
 that he would forbear, and by dint of riding violently 
 up to me, and sliouting out at the top of his voice, he 
 so alarmed my nag, that he seized the bit between his 
 teeth, and away I flew, John Ciilpin like, to the infinite 
 amusement of my persecutor, until I was safely de- 
 posited in a mud hold, near my own gate, from Avhence 
 I had to finish my journey on foot, and appear before 
 my helpmate in a condition that reflected greatly upon 
 
19 
 
 my character. As a finale to this mortifying business, 
 my purchases were brought home the next day, and 
 were most unceremoniously thrown out of doors by my 
 wife, as utterly useless, being literally sans eyes, sans 
 teeth, sans every thing; cracked pitchers, broken pots, 
 spiders without legs, jugs without handles, et id genus 
 omnc. 
 
 THE MOCKINGBIRD. 
 
 Come, listen ! oh list! to that soft dying strain 
 
 Of my Mockingbird, up on the house-top again ; 
 
 He comes every night to these old ruined walls. 
 
 Where soft as the moonlight his melody falls. 
 
 Oh ! what can the bulbub or nightingale chant. 
 
 In the climes which they love, and the groves which 
 
 they haunt. 
 More thrilling and wild than the song I have heard. 
 In the stillness of night, from my sweet Mockingbird ! 
 
 I saw him to-day, on his favorite tree. 
 
 Where he constantly comes in his glory and glee, 
 
 Perch'd high on a limb, which was standing out far 
 
 Above all the rest, like a tall taper spar : 
 
 The wind, it was wafting that limb to and fro. 
 
 And he rode up and down, like a skiff in a blow. 
 
 When it sinks with the billow, and mounts with its 
 
 swell ; 
 He knew I was watching — he knew it full well. 
 
 He folded his pinions and swelled out his throat. 
 And mimick'd each bird in its own native note, — 
 The Thrush and the Robin, the Redbird and all — 
 And the Partridge would whistle and answer his call ; 
 Then stopping his carol, he seemed to prepare. 
 By the flirt of his wings, for a flight in the air. 
 When rising sheer upward, he wheeled down again. 
 And took up his song where he left off the strain. 
 
 Would you cage such a creature, and draggle his plumes? 
 Condemn him to prison, the worst of all dooms ? 
 
20 
 
 Take from iiini the pleasure of flying so free ? 
 And deny him his ride on the wind wafted-tree ? 
 Would you force him to droop within merciless bars. 
 When earth is all sunshine, or heaven all stars ? 
 Forbid it, oh mercy ! and grant him the boon 
 Of a sail in the sun and a song to the moon. 
 
 What a gift he possesses of throat and of lungs ! 
 The gift apostolic — the gift of all tongues ! 
 Ah ! could he but utter the lessons of love. 
 To wean us from earth and to waft us above. 
 What siren could tempt us to wander again? 
 We'd seek but the siren outpouring that strain — 
 Would listen to nought but his soft dying fall. 
 As he sat all alone on some old ruined wall. 
 
 [For the Southern Literary Messenger. 1 
 
 INTERESTING RUINS ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK. 
 
 Mr. Editor. — As I find you are about to establish 
 a sort of Literary Emporium, to which every man, no 
 matter how trifling his capital of ideas, may send his 
 productions, I have resolved to transmit to you, my 
 small wares and merchandize. The relation I shall 
 bear to your other correspondents, will be that which 
 the vender of trifles in a town bears to the wealthy 
 merchant ; and, therefore, I shall assume an appropri- 
 ate title, and under this humble signature, shall con- 
 sider myself at liberty to off'er you any thing I may 
 have, without order or method, and just as I can lay 
 my hands upon it. My head is somewhat like Domi- 
 nie Sampson's, which, as well as I remember, re- 
 sembled a pawnbroker's shop, where a goodly store of 
 things were piled together, but in such confusion, he 
 could never find what he wanted. When I get hold of 
 any thing, however, I will send it to you, and if it be 
 worth nothing, why, just "martyr it by a pipe." 
 
 "Here lived, so might it seem to fancy's eye, 
 
 The lordly Barons of our feudal day ; 
 On every side, lo ! grandeur's relics lie 
 
 Scattered in ruin o'er their coffin'd clay. — 
 
21 
 
 How vain for man, short sighted man, to say 
 
 What course the tide of human things shall take ! 
 
 How little dreamed the Founder, that decay, 
 So soon his splendid edifice should shake. 
 And of its high pretence, a cruel mock'ry make." 
 
 There cannot be a more striking exemplification of 
 the powerful influence of laws upon the state of 
 society, than is exhibited on the banks of the rivers in 
 the lower part of Virginia. How many spacious 
 structures are seen there, hastening to decay, which 
 were once the seats of grandeur and a magnificent 
 hospitality! The barons of old were scarcely more 
 despotic over their immediate demesnes, than were the 
 proprietors of these noble mansions, with their long 
 train of servants and dependents; their dicta were 
 almost paramount to law, throughout their extensive 
 and princely possessions. But since the introduction 
 of republican institutions, and the alteration in the laws 
 respecting the descent of property, and more especially 
 since the "docking of entails," a total change has been 
 effected. Our castles are crumbling on every side — 
 estates are subdivided into minuter portions, instead of 
 being transmitted to the eldest son ; and so complete is 
 the revolution in sentiment, that he would be deemed 
 a savage, who would now leave the greater part of his 
 family destitute, for the sake of aggrandizing an indi- 
 vidual. It is not unusual to find a son in possession of 
 the once splendid establishment of his fathers, with 
 scarcely paternal acres enough to afford him suste- 
 nance, and hardly wood enough to warm a single 
 chamber of all his long suite of apartments. The old 
 family coach, with his mother and sisters, lumbers 
 along after a pair of superannuated skeletons, and some 
 faithful domestic, like Caleb Balderstone, is put to the 
 most desperate shifts to support the phantom of former 
 grandeur. Debts are fast swallowing up the miserable 
 remnant of what was once a principality, while some 
 wealthy democrat of the neighborhood, who has ac- 
 cumulated large sums by despising an empty show, 
 *^'is ready to foreclose his mortgage, and send the 
 wretched heir of Ravcnswood to mingle with the 
 3* 
 
22 
 
 Bucklaws and Craigengelts of the west. Many a 
 story of deep interest might be written upon the old 
 state of things in Virginia, if we possessed some inde- 
 fatigable Jedediah Cleishbotham, to collect the tradi- 
 tions of our ancestors. 
 
 Those who took part in our revolutionary struggle, 
 were too much enlightened not to foresee these conse- 
 quences, and therefore deserve immortal credit for their 
 disinterested opposition to Great Britain. Had they 
 been aristocrats instead of the purest republicans, they 
 would surely have thrown their weight into the oppo- 
 site scale. We do not estimate enough the merit of 
 the rich men of that day. The danger is now past — 
 the mighty guerdon won — the storm is gone over, and 
 the sun beams brightly : but though bright our day, it 
 was then a dark unknown — dark as the hidden path 
 beyond the grave — and it was nobly dared to risk their 
 all in defence of liberty. They knew that freedom 
 spurned a vain parade, and would not bow in homage 
 to high-born wealth; yet their splendid possessions 
 were staked upon the desperate throw, and the glorious 
 prize was won. Such were not the anticipations of the 
 founders of these establishments ; but such was surely 
 the merit of their sons ; and it is painful to think how 
 few, of all who engaged in that noble struggle, have 
 been handed down to fame. Many a one, whose name 
 has been loudly sounded through the earth, would 
 have shrunk from such a sacrifice, and clung to his 
 paternal hearth ; and yet these modern Curtii, who re- 
 nounced the advantages of birth, and leaped into the 
 gulf for their country's sake, have not won a single 
 garland for their Roman worth. 
 
 There is a scene in the county of Lancaster, where 
 these reflections pressed themselves very forcibly upon 
 my mind. Imagine an ample estate on the margin of 
 the Rappahannock, with its dilapidated mansion house, 
 the ruins of an extensive wall, made to arrest the in- 
 roads of the waves, as if the proprietor felt himself a 
 Canute, and able to stay the progress of the sea — a 
 church of the olden times, beautiful in structure, and 
 built of brick brought from England, then the home of 
 
23 
 
 our people. Like Old Mortality, I Jove to chisel out 
 the moss covered letters of a to:nbstone ; and below I 
 send you the result of my labors, with a request that 
 some of your correspondents will take the trouble to 
 give you a faithful translation of the Latin inscription. 
 The only difficulty consists in the want of knowledge 
 of the names of the officers under the colonial govern- 
 ment. The epitaph will show by whom the church 
 was built, and the motive for its erection. In the yard 
 are three tombstones, conspicuous above all the rest, 
 beneath which repose the bones of the once lordly pro- 
 prietor of the soil, and his two wives. How vain are 
 human efforts, to perpetuate by monuments, the memo- 
 ry of the great ! The sepulchre of Osymandus is said 
 by Diodorus, to have been a mile and a quarter in cir- 
 cumference. It had this inscription : "I am Osyman- 
 dus, king of kings. If any one is desirous to know 
 how great I am and where I lie, let him surpass any of 
 my works." With more propriety might he have said, 
 let him search out my works; for we are left to conjec- 
 ture the very site of his tomb. It would be easy to 
 extend this narrative, but perhaps what struck me as 
 interesting would be unworthy a place in your Literary 
 Messenger. 
 
 TT g £ HERE LIES 
 
 VirhonorabilisRobertus , Robert Carter, esq., an 
 
 Carter, A rmiger, qui genus honomble man, who exalt- 
 
 honestum dotibus exWiis, ed his high birth by noble 
 
 moribus antiquis illustra- ^"dowments and pure mo- 
 
 vit. Collegium Gulielmi ^als He sustamed the 
 
 etMari^ temporibus diffi College of William and 
 
 cilimis propugnavit. Mary m the most trying 
 
 ^ ^ * times. 
 
 GUBERNATOR. HE WAS GOVERNOR, 
 
 Senatus Rogator et Q,uffis- Speaker of the House, and 
 ler, sub serenissimis Prin- Treasurer, under the most 
 cipibus Gulielmo, Anna, serene Princess William, 
 Georgio 1 mo et 2 do. Anne, George the 1st and 
 
 I 2d. 
 
24 
 
 A publicis consiliis con- ; 
 silii per sexennium praeses, 
 plus annum Coloniae Prse- 
 fectus cum regiam dignita- 
 tem tam publicum liberta- 
 tem aequali jure asseruit. 
 Opibus amphissimis bene 
 partis instructus, aedem 
 banc sacram In Deum 
 pietatis grande monumen- 
 tum, propriis sumplibus 
 extruxit. 
 
 LOCUPLETAVIT. 
 
 In omnes quos humiter- 
 incepit, nee parens bospes. 
 Liberalilatem insignem tes- 
 tantur debita munifice re- 
 missa. 
 
 Primo Juditham, Johan- 
 nis Armistead Armigeri 
 filiam, deinde Betty, gene- 
 rosa Landonorum stirpe 
 oriundam sibi connubio 
 junctas habuit. E quibus 
 prolem numerosam sus- 
 cepit. 
 
 In qua erudienda pecu- 
 niae vim maximam insump- 
 sit. 
 
 Tandem honorum et di- 
 erum satur cum omnia 
 vitae munera egregiae prae- 
 stitisset obiit Pri. Non . Aug. 
 An. Dom. 1732, ^t. 69. 
 
 Miseri solamen, viduae 
 praesidium, orbi palrem, a- 
 demptum lugent. 
 
 Elected Speaker by the 
 Public Assembly, for six 
 years, and Governor for 
 more than ayear, he equally 
 upheld the regal dignity and 
 public freedom. 
 Possessed of ample wealth, 
 honourably acquired, he 
 built and endowed, at his 
 own expense, this sacred 
 edifice, a lasting monument 
 of his piety to God. 
 
 Entertaining his friends 
 with kindness, he was nei- 
 ther a prodigal nor a thrifty 
 host. 
 
 His first wife was Judith, 
 daughter of John Armi- 
 stead, esq.; his second, 
 Betty, a descendant of the 
 noble familyof the Landons, 
 by whom he had many chil- 
 dren, on whose education 
 he expended a considerable 
 portion of his property. 
 
 At length, full of honors 
 and years, having discharg- 
 ed all the duties of an ex- 
 emplary life, he departed 
 from this world on the 4th 
 day of August, 1732, in the 
 69th year of his age. 
 
 The wretched, the wi- 
 dowed and the orphans, 
 bereaved of their comfort, 
 protector and father, alike 
 lament his loss. 
 
25 
 
 THE GREAT WESTERN. 
 
 She comes, she comes, the ship. 
 
 The lion flag flies o'er. 
 Fresh from her ocean trip. 
 
 Roar for her, cannon — roar! 
 A vast and moving mass of black. 
 
 The mighty Western ! hail! 
 She's ploughing up her foaming track 
 
 As ploughs the sea the whale. 
 
 In harbor now she rides. 
 
 The earth and ocean ring. 
 Ten thousands throng her sides 
 
 Welcoming — welcoming — 
 Triumphal entry into Rome, 
 
 The triumph Rome decreed 
 To grace her victor's coming home. 
 
 This triumph shall exceed. 
 
 Rome's was but empty show 
 
 Of kings as captives led. 
 Wealth rifled from her foe 
 
 Whose blood too oft was shed ; 
 No triumph this for conquest, yes, 
 
 A conquest great, 'tis mind's, 
 'Tis human skill we throng to bless 
 
 For vict'ry o'er the winds. 
 
 It was not on white wings. 
 
 That through the seas she drave 
 This palace fit for kings. 
 
 This world upon the wave; 
 A giant vast she holds in chains 
 
 Down in her donjon keep. 
 To break his fetters there he strains. 
 
 And drives her o'er the deep. 
 
 A Cyclop at his forge. 
 
 He shakes her thick ribb'd frame. 
 E'en hell could not disgorge 
 
 More dark and lurid flame ; 
 
26 
 
 He leaps and pitches with a groan. 
 His breath's a cloud of smoke. 
 
 But all in vain, that hollow moan 
 Hath o'er Atlantic broke. 
 
 Oh God ! and what is man ? 
 
 What bounds his daring soul? 
 His all of life a span — 
 
 Would he thy seas control ? 
 His ships by mighty winds careen'd. 
 
 Their timbers all uptorn. 
 He conjures up this fearful fiend. 
 
 And laughs the winds to scorn. 
 
 And was it not full bold 
 
 To dare the raging sea ? 
 But he must cage and hold 
 
 This monster, which, if free. 
 Would in a moment bathe in gore 
 
 Each man who treads that deck. 
 And drown the tempest with his roar. 
 
 And make that ship a wreck. 
 
 A health to Bristol's sons ! 
 
 Whose ship hath won the goal. 
 Her ship of thousand tons. 
 
 And mine of hidden coal ; 
 *'Her march is on the mountain wave. 
 
 Her home is on the deep," 
 A shout for her gigantic slave 
 
 Down in her donjon keep. 
 
 A wreath for Fulton ! Watt ! ! 
 
 One for the glorious dead. 
 Oh ! be it not forgot 
 
 A wreath for genius fled; 
 One blended wreath for those great minds 
 
 Who bodied forth that ship. 
 Careering thus mid waves and winds 
 
 Upon the pathless deep. 
 
 God speed thee, Kraken ship ! 
 
 Back to old England's shores, 
 And many a golden trip 
 
 Across the main be yours 3 
 
27 
 
 The Lion and the Eagle shall 
 Have done with senseless wraths 
 
 And each shall move majestical 
 Upon his chosen path. 
 
 THE MECHANICIAN AND UNCLE SIMON. 
 
 About the period of what "/ aw gaun to tell,^^ the 
 ancient aristocracy of Virginia had passed through its 
 death struggle ; the times when the rich were every- 
 thing, and the poor nothing, had passed away ; and the 
 high pretensions of the sons of the Cavaliers had yield- 
 ed to the more levelling opinions of the Roundheads. 
 The badges of distinction, such as coats of arms and 
 liveries, had become too odious to be generally kept up; 
 occasionally the latter were seen, but so rarely that 
 they looked like the spectres of departed greatness, and 
 excited a feeling of contempt or pity for the weakness 
 of the master, rather than respect for his wealth and 
 rank. There was once a class of people, nevertheless, 
 who retained all their attachment to these distinctive 
 marks ; and indeed they do so to this day : I mean the 
 class of servants who belonged to the old families. 
 They were the veriest aristocrats upon earth, and hated 
 with the most unrelenting hatred, all the ignoble blood 
 of the land, and deeply deplored the transition of pro- 
 perty from the nobles to the serfs. Though their own 
 '■'ancient hut ignoble blood^' had literally almost "crept 
 through scoundrels ever since the Jlood,^^ they detested 
 the poor and adored the rich. 
 
 I shall never forget the fall of the year . I had 
 
 just graduated at one of our northern colleges, and re- 
 ceived my two diplomas, with their red ribbons and 
 seals attached. They were deposited by my good 
 friend, Andrew McMackin, the most expert diploma 
 rigger in all the village, in a plain cylindrical paste- 
 board, for safe keeping, and would have remained there 
 probably to this day, unmolested, had not the rats made 
 an inroad upon them, and in a single night demolished 
 sigillum and signature — all that it had cost me years of 
 
28 
 
 hard labor to obtain— aye, and twenty dollars to boot. 
 Not satisfied, I suppose, with the attestation of the 
 president and venerable board of trustees, they were 
 desirous of adding their own ratification to my preten- 
 sions to science. Be that as it may, full of delightful 
 anticipation at the prospect of returning to my native 
 state, after an absence of four years, I took my seat in 
 the mail stage, and travelled three hundred miles with- 
 out going to bed. .Such a journey at this day of steam- 
 boat and railroad car, would be nothing, but at that time 
 it was a great undertaking, and attended with much fa- 
 tigue. The vehicles were crazy, and often broke 
 down, and the passengers had the pleasure of paying 
 dearly for the privilege of walking many a mile through 
 the mud. 
 
 At length I arrived at the little town of F , the 
 
 end of my journey on the great mail route, where I ex- 
 pected to meet with some kind of conveyance to take me 
 into the country to my uncle's. As I leaped from the 
 carriage to the pavement, where many loiterers were 
 gathered to witness the arrival of the stage, I found 
 myself suddenly locked in the arras of some one who 
 exclaimed, "There he is, the very moral of his grand- 
 papa! God bless your honor, how do ye do? I'm so 
 glad to see you." Extricating myself with some de- 
 gree of embarrassment, because of the crowd around 
 me, I perceived that the salutation proceeded from one 
 of our old servants, who stood gazing upon me with 
 the most benevolent smile. His appearance was quite 
 outre to one who had lived so long at the north. His 
 old and faded livery was blue, turned up with yellow; 
 he held in his hand a horseman's cap, without the 
 bear-skin; his boots had once been white-topped, but 
 could no longer claim that distinctive epithet; like 
 Sir Hudibras, he wore but one spur, though probably 
 for a dilferent reason ; his high forehead glistened in 
 the sun, and his slightly grey hair was combed neatly 
 back, and queued behind with an eelskin so tight that 
 he could hardly wink his eyes, exhibiting a face re- 
 markably intelligent and strongly marked, with a nose 
 uncommonly high and hawkbilled for a negro. Per- 
 
29 
 
 ceiving my embarrassment, he drew back with a very 
 courtly bow, declaring he was so glad to see me, he 
 had forgotten himself and made too free. I made haste 
 to assure him that he had not — gave him a hearty shake 
 by the hand — called him Uncle Simon, a name he had 
 always been accustomed to from me, and drawing him 
 aside, overwhelmed him with questions about every 
 body and every thing at home. "Tell me," said I, 
 "how is my uncle?" "I thank you, sir, quite hearty, 
 and much after the old sort — full of his projjecks, heh! 
 heh ! perpechil motion, and what not." "What," said 
 I, "is he at that still?" "Oh yes — oh yes — and car- 
 ridges to go without horses; God love you. Mass Ned, 
 I don't think they can go without animel nater." "And 
 how does my aunt like all this?" "Ah!" said he, 
 putting up his hands with an air of disgust, "she can't 
 abide it — things go on badly. You 'member my four 
 greys? so beautiful! — my four in hand! — all gone, all 
 sold. Why, sir, I could whistle them hawses to the 
 charrut jest as easy as snap my finger. Our fine Lon- 
 don charrut, too! that's gone, and my poor Missis, 
 your aunt, has nothin to ride in but a nasty pitiful park 
 phffiton." "I am sorry to hear it, Simon." "VVhy, 
 Mass Ned, what mek you all let dem Demmy Cats 
 sarve you so? What you call 'em? Publicans? yes, 
 I'd cane 'em as old master used to do." "But Simon, 
 how is Cousin Mary ?" "Miss Mary? oh. Miss Mary 
 is a beauty ; gay as a young filly, and she walks upon 
 her pasterns." 
 
 "Well, well," said I, interrupting him, "Simon let 
 us be off; what have you brought for me to ride ?" 
 "Old Regius, sir, your old favorite." Having taken 
 some refreshment, and transferred my clothes to the 
 portmanteau, I mounted Regulus, who still showed his 
 keeping. He was a bright bay, and his hair was as 
 glossy as silk, under Simon's management; his eye 
 still glanced its fire, and his wide nostrils gave token of 
 his wind. He knew me, I shall ever believe it, for 
 my voice made him prick his ears, as if listening to the 
 music of former days. It seemed to inspire him with 
 new life; he flew like an arrow, and Simon found it 
 4 
 
30 
 
 impossible to keep up with me, mounted as he was on 
 a high trotting, raw boned devil, that made the old man 
 bound like a trap ball, whenever he missed his up-and- 
 down-postilion movement. His figure, thus bobbing 
 in front of a monstrous portmanteau and bearskin, was 
 so ludicrous I could not forbear laughing; and reining 
 up my steed, I told him I would ride slower, for the 
 sake of conversation with him. *'Do, my good sir," 
 cried he, "for this vile garran will knock the breath out 
 of my body. If I had but my old hawse. Grey Dick, 
 alive agin — that hawse. Mass Ned, was the greatest 
 hawse upon the face of the yearth; I rod him ninety 
 miles the hottest day that ever came from heaven ; 
 when I got through our outer gate, he seized the bit 
 between his teeth, and run away with me, and never 
 stopped till he got clean into the stable. Whenever I 
 fed him, I was 'bliged to shet the stable door and go 
 away, for if he heard me move, or a stirrup jingle, he 
 wouldn't eat another mouthful, but stood with his 
 head up, and his eyes flying about, impatient for me to 
 mount." 
 
 I knew this was a moment to put in a leading ques- 
 tion to bring out a story I had heard a thousand times. 
 "That was not the horse that ran away with you when 
 a boy V "No — no — that was Whalebone ; your grand- 
 papa used always to go to court in his coach and six ; 
 I can see him now, in his great big wig, hanging down 
 upon his shoulders, and powdered as white as a sheet. 
 I was then a little shaver, and always went behind the 
 carriage to open the gates. Waitinman George rod 
 the old gentleman's ridin hawse Bearskin, and led 
 Mass Bobby's hawse Whalebone ; Mass Bobby rod in 
 the carriage with old master. Well, one day, what 
 should George do but put me up upon Whalebone, as 
 big a devil as ever was ; soonever I got upon him, off 
 he went by the coach as hard as he could stave ; old 
 master hallooed and bawled — he'll kill him — he'll kill 
 him — George, how dare you put Simon upon Whale- 
 bone 1 Pshey ! the more he hallooed the more Whale- 
 bone run. I pulled and pulled until I got out of sight, 
 and turned down the quarter stretch, and then / did 
 
31 
 
 s;ive him the limber — Flying Childers was nothing to 
 him. When old master got home, there I was, with 
 Whalebone as cool as a curcumher. I made sure I 
 should get a caning, but all he said was 'D — n the 
 fellow ! I blievo he could ride old Whalebone's tail 
 off' — heh ! heh ! heh !" I am sorry I cannot do more 
 justice to the eloquence of Simon, who excelled in all 
 the arts of oratory. His eyes spoke as much as his 
 tongue ; his gestures were vehement, but quite appro- 
 priate ; he uttered some words in as startling a voice 
 as Henry Clay, and his forefinger did as much execu- 
 tion as John Randolph's. As to his political opinions, 
 he was the most confirmed aristocrat, and thought it the 
 birthright of his master's family to ride over the poor, 
 booted and spurred. It was his delight to tell of his 
 meeting one day, as he swept along the road with his 
 smoking four in hand, a poor man on horseback, whom 
 he contemptuously styled a Johnny. He ordered the 
 man to give the road ; but as he did not obey him as 
 readily as he desired, he resolved to punish him. By a 
 dexterous wheel of his leaders, he brought the chariot 
 wheel in contact with the fellow's knee, and shaved 
 every button off as nicely as he could have shaved his 
 beard with a razor. 
 
 But enough of Simon. I beguiled the way by draw- 
 ing him out upon his favorite topics, until we got within 
 sight of my uncle's house, a fine old mansion, with an 
 avenue of cedars a mile in length. They had been 
 kept for several generations neatly trimmed, and he 
 who had dared to mar their beauty with an axe, would 
 have been considered a felon, and met his fate without 
 benefit of clergy. I have lived to see them all cut down 
 by the ruthless hand of an overseer, who sees no beauty 
 in any thing but a cornstalk. However, this is wan- 
 dering from my present theme. Then they were in all 
 their evergreen loveliness, and I hailed them as my 
 ancient friends, as I galloped by them, with a joyous 
 feeling at approaching the scene of my childhood . The 
 folding doors soon flew wide open, and the whole 
 family rushed out to meet me, with true-hearted, old 
 fashioned Virginia promptitude. I must not attempt 
 
32 
 
 to describe a meeting which is always better imagined 
 than described. Let it suffice, that alter the most affec- 
 tionate greeting, which extended to every servant about 
 the premises, 1 was ushered to my bed room at a late 
 hour, with as much of state as could be mustered about 
 the now decaying establishment, and soon sunk into a 
 profound slumber, well earned by the toils and fatigues 
 of my journey. Early the next morning, before 1 left 
 my room, my excellent and revered uncle paid me a 
 visit, and ordered in the never failing julap, — such a one 
 as would have done honor to Chotank. At the same 
 time he suggested to me that he would greatly prefer 
 my taking a mixture of his own, which he extolled as 
 much as Don Q.uixote did his balsam to Sancho, or 
 Dr. Sangrado his warm water to Gil Bias. It was a 
 pleasant beverage, he said, compounded of an acid and 
 an alkali. He had discovered, by close observation, 
 that all diseases had their origin in acid, and that alkali 
 of course was the grand panacea ; even poisons were 
 acids, and he had no doubt that he should be able to 
 form a concrete mass, by means of beef gall and alkali, 
 -which would resemble and equal in virtue the mad stone. 
 If I felt the slightest acidity of stomach, I would find 
 myself relieved by one of his powders. He had written 
 to Dr. Rush on the subject, and he showed me a letter 
 from that gentleman, at which he laughed heartily, and 
 in which the doctor protested he might as well attempt 
 to batter the rock of Gibraltar with mustard seed shot, 
 as to attack the yellow fever with alkali. I could not 
 help smiling at the earnestness of my dear uncle, and 
 assured him that I had no doubt of the virtues of his 
 medicine, but as I was quite well, I would rather try 
 the anti-fogmatic ; and if I should feel indisposed I 
 would resort to his panacea; although I secretly re- 
 solved to have as little to do with it as Gil Bias had with 
 water. 
 
 Having dressed myself, and descended to the break- 
 fast room, I there met my aunt and cousin, who soon 
 made me acquainted with the present condition of the 
 family. Every thing was fast declining, in consequence 
 of the total absorption of the mind of my uncle in his 
 
33 
 
 visionary schemes; and I saw abundant evidence of 
 the wreck of his fortune, in the absence of a thousand 
 comforts and elegancies which I had been accustomed 
 to behold. He soon joined us, and such was his excel- 
 lence of character, that we carefully avoided casting 
 the smallest damp upon his ardor. Indeed, he was a 
 man of great natural talent, and much acquired infor- 
 mation, and was far above the ridicule which was 
 sometimes played ofi' upon him by his more ignorant 
 neighbors. I almost begin to think that we were the 
 mistaken ones, when I look around and see the perfec- 
 tion of many of his schemes, which 1 then thought 
 wholly impracticable. When old Simon thought that 
 a carriage could never go without animel nater he cer- 
 tainly never dreamed of a rail road car, nor of the steam 
 carriages of England ; and when my uncle gravely 
 told me that he should fill up his ice house, and manu- 
 facture ice as he wanted it in summer, by letting out 
 air highly condensed in a tight copper vessel upon 
 water, I did not dream of the execution of the plan by 
 some French projector. I must not be thus diffuse, or 
 I shall weary the patience of my reader. 
 
 A ride was proposed after breakfast, and my uncle 
 immediately invited me to try his newly invented vehi- 
 cle, which could not be overset. "I have constructed," 
 said he, *'a carriage with a moveable perch, by means of 
 which the body swings out horizontally, whenever the 
 wheels on one sidepassover any high obstacle or ground 
 more elevated than the other wheels rest upon ; and I 
 shall be glad to exhibit it to a young man who is fresh 
 from college, and must be acquainted with the princi- 
 ples of mechanics. I readily accepted his proposal, 
 although I trembled for my neck, but declared I had no 
 mechanical turn whatever, and could not construct a 
 wheelbarrow. He was sorry to hear this, as he was 
 in hopes I would be the depository of all his schemes, 
 and bring them to perfection, in case of his death, for 
 the benefit of his family. We soon set off on our ride, 
 and Simon was the driver. As I anticipated, in descend- 
 ing a hill where the ground presented great inequality, 
 the whole party were capsized, and nothing- saved our 
 4* 
 
34 
 
 bones but the iowness of our vehicle. Never shall I 
 forget the chagrin of my uncle, nor the impatient con- 
 temptuous look of Simon^ as he righted the carriage; 
 he did not dare to expostulate with his master^ but 
 could not forbear saying that he had never met with 
 such an accident when he drove his four greys. "Ah, 
 there is the cause," said my uncle, much gratified at 
 having an excuse for his failure, "Simon is evidently 
 intoxicated ; old man, never presume to drive me again 
 when you are not perfectly sober; you will ruin the 
 most incomparable contrivance upon earth.'' Simon 
 contented himself with a sly wink at me, and we made 
 the best of our way home ; my uncle promising me 
 another trial in a short time, and I determining to avoid 
 it, if human ingenuity could contrive the means. 
 
 The next day, as I was amusing myself with a book, 
 my uncle came in from his work-shop, with a face 
 beaming with pleasure ; and entering the room, pro- 
 ceeded in the most careful manner to close all the 
 doors ; and producing a small crooked stick, said to me 
 with a mysterious air, "My boy, this stick, as small 
 and inconsiderable as it seems to be, has made your 
 fortune. It is worth a million of dollars, for it has sug- 
 gested to me an improvement in ray machine for pro- 
 ducing perpetual motion, which puts the thing beyond 
 all doubt." "Is it possible," cried I, "that so small a 
 stick can be worth so much ?" "Yes, depend upon 
 it — and I carefully closed the doors, because I would 
 not be overheard for the world. Some fellow might 
 slip before me to the patent office, and rob me of my 
 treasure." I observed that nobody was there who could 
 possibly do so. "Yes, somebody might be casually 
 passing, and I cannot be too vigilant. I take it for 
 granted," he resumed, "that you are apprised of the 
 grand desideratum in this business. You do not 
 imagine, with the ignorant, that I expect to make mat- 
 ter last longer than God intended ; the object is to get a 
 machine to keep time so accurately, that it may be used 
 at sea, to ascertain the longitude with precision. Do 
 you know that a gentleman has already constructed a 
 time piece, for which the Board of Longitude paid him 
 
35 
 
 fifty thousand pounds ; but owing to the metalhc ex- 
 pansion it would not be entirely accurate." I answered 
 that I had not so much as heard of the Board of Longi- 
 tude — and he proceeded to explain his improvement, of 
 which I did not comprehend a syllable. AH that I felt 
 sure of, although I did not tell him so, was that he 
 would not succeed in realizing the million of dollars; 
 and accordingly, when admitted, as a great favor into 
 his sanctum sanctorum, the work-shop, to witness his 
 machine put in motion, it stood most perversely still 
 after one revolution, and ''some slight alteration,^' re- 
 mained to be made to tlie end of the chapter, — until 
 hope became extinct in every breast, save that of the 
 projector. 
 
 I could fill a volume with anecdotes of this sort, but 
 I will add only one, as descriptive of the very great 
 height to which visionary notions may be carried. My 
 uncle was a federalist, and of course hated Buonaparte 
 from the bottom of his soul. He told me, as a profound 
 secret, that he had discovered the means of making an 
 old man young again, by removing from him the at- 
 mospheric pressure, and that nothing deterred him 
 from making the discovery, but the fear that Buona- 
 parte would attach his machinery to a body of soldiers, 
 and fly across the British Channel, and thus light down 
 in the midst of England, and make an easy conquest 
 of the only barrier left upon earth to secure the liberties 
 of mankind. Eheu! jam satis! thought I. 
 
 In this way did my poor uncle spend his time, to the 
 utter ruin of a fine estate, which was surrendered to 
 the management of that most pestilent of the human 
 race, an overseer, — who would not at last be at the 
 trouble of furnishing the old gentleman with wood 
 enough to keep him warm in his spacious edifice. The 
 means he resorted to, to reprove the overseer, were not 
 less characteristic and laughable than many of his sin- 
 gular notions. One very cold day he sent for him ; the 
 man attended, and was ushered with much solemnity 
 into an apartment where a single chump was burning 
 feebly in the chimney place, and a table was standing 
 in the centre of the room, covered with papers, pen and 
 
36 
 
 ink. My UQcle received him with unusual courtesy, 
 and ordered the servant to set a chair lor Mr. Corncob 
 by the^re, with a peculiar emphasis on the word. "I 
 have sent for yon, Mr. Corncob," said he, "to get you 
 to witness my will.- You see, sir," pointing at the 
 same time to the fire, '*you see, sir, how small a pro- 
 bability there is that I shall survive the present winter. 
 I am anxious to settle my affairs previous to my being 
 attacked by the pleurisy, and have therefore sent for 
 you to aid me in doing so." This was a severe reproof, 
 and the man having done as he was bid, retired with 
 an air the most sheepish imaginable. 
 
 I fill up the picture, by stating that I married my 
 cousin, and inherited tlie estate in due course of time ; 
 but a mortgage swallowed it up as effectually as an 
 earthquake — and poor old Simon died of a broken heart, 
 when Regulus was knocked off at the sale of his mas- 
 ter's property, at twenty dollars, to the man whom he 
 hated of all others, Christopher Corncob, Esquire. 
 
 THE HEART. 
 
 Man's heart ! what melancholy things 
 
 Are garnered up in thee ! — 
 What solace unto life it brings 
 
 That none the heart can see — 
 'Tis shut from every human eye. 
 
 Close curtain'd from the view ; 
 The scene alike of grief and joy — 
 
 Man's hell and heaven too. 
 
 Should all mankind combine to tear 
 
 The curtain, thrown around. 
 Their labor would be spent in air — 
 
 It is his hallowed ground : 
 Within thy magic circle. Heart ! 
 
 So potent is his spell. 
 No human hand hath strength to part 
 
 Or turn aside the veil. 
 
37 
 
 In sadness there's a pleasure soft, 
 
 "Which mourners only know;" 
 My heart affords this treasure oft. 
 
 And there I love to go ; 
 It is the chosen spot where I 
 
 Can live my life anew — 
 My Home! — my Castle! — my Serai! 
 
 Which none must dare break through. 
 
 In thee, my Heart ! I am alone 
 
 Q,uite unrestrain'd and free, 
 Thou'rt hung with pictures all my own. 
 
 And drawn for none but me ; 
 All that in secret passes there. 
 
 Forever I can hide ; 
 Ambition — love — or dark despair — 
 
 My jealousy — or pride. 
 
 Yes, when ambitious — ardent — young — 
 
 I thought the world my own. 
 My glowing portraits there were hung ; 
 
 How have their colors flown ! — 
 Some are by time defaced so far 
 
 I look on them with pain ; 
 But time nor nothing else can mar 
 
 The portrait of my Jane. 
 
 I placed her there who won my soul ; 
 
 No creature saw the maid ; 
 I gazed in bliss, without control. 
 
 On every charm displayed : 
 It was a sweet impassioned hour, 
 
 W^hen not an eye was near. 
 To steal into my lonely bower. 
 
 And kiss her image there. 
 
 Earth held not on its globe the man 
 
 W^ho breathed that holy air; 
 No mortal eye but mine did scan 
 
 My folly with my fair ; 
 Sole monarch of that silent spot. 
 
 All things gave place to me ; 
 I did but wish — no matter what — 
 
 Each obstacle would flee. 
 
38 
 
 And did she love ? — she loved me not. 
 
 But gave her hand away ; 
 I hied me to my lonely spot — 
 
 In anguish, passed the day j 
 And such a desolation wide 
 
 Spread o'er that holy place. 
 The stream of life itself seemed dried. 
 
 Or ebbing out apace. 
 
 But what I did — what madly said — 
 
 I cannot tell to any — 
 Her portrait in its place hath staid. 
 
 Though years have flown so many j 
 Nor can each lovely lineament 
 
 So deep impressed, depart. 
 Till Nature shall herself be spent. 
 
 And thou shalt break, my Heart. 
 
 [For the Southern Literary Messenger.] 
 
 Mr. Editor, — I send you a Parody upon Bryant's Autumn, 
 apparently written by some disconsolate citizen of Richmond, 
 after the adjournment of the Legislature in time past. If the pic- 
 ture be faithfully drawn, it may perhaps amuse the members of 
 the Assembly who are now in your city. 
 
 PARODY ON BfflNT'S AUTUMN. 
 
 The very dullest days are come, the dullest of the year. 
 When all our great Assembly-men are gone away from 
 
 here; 
 Heaped up in yonder capitol, how many bills lie dead. 
 They just allowed to live awhile, to knock them on the 
 
 head ; 
 Tom, Dick and Harry all have gone and left the silent 
 
 hall. 
 And on the now deserted square we meet no one at all — 
 Where are the fellows? the fine young fellows that 
 
 were so lately here. 
 And vexed the drowsy year of night with frolic and good 
 
 cheer. 
 
39 
 
 Alas ! they all are at their homes — the glorious race of 
 
 fellows. 
 And some perhaps are gone to forge, and some are at 
 
 the bellows. 
 Old Time is passing where they are, but time will pass 
 
 in vain ; 
 All never can, though some may be, transported here 
 
 again. 
 Old "what d'ye call him," he's been off a week or may 
 
 be more, 
 And took a little negro up behind and one before. 
 But What's his name and you know who, they lingered 
 
 to the last. 
 And neither had a dollar left and seemed to be down- 
 cast; 
 Bad luck had fallen on them as falls the plague on men. 
 And their phizzies were as blank as if they'd never 
 
 smile agam ; 
 And then when comes December next, as surely it will 
 
 come. 
 To call the future delegate from out his distant home. 
 When the sound of cracking nuts is heard in lobby and 
 
 in hall. 
 And ijlimmer in the smoky light old ShockhoeHill and 
 
 all. 
 An old friend searches for the fellows he knew the year 
 
 before. 
 And sighs to find them on the Hill Capitoline, no 
 
 more; 
 But then he thinks of one who her promise had belied. 
 The beautiful Virginia, who had fallen in her pride. 
 In that great house 'twas said she fell, where stands her 
 
 gallant chief, 
 Who well might weep in marble, that her race had 
 
 been so brief. 
 Yet not unmeet it was, he thought— oh no, ye heavenly 
 
 powers! 
 Since she trusted those good fellows, who kept such 
 
 shocking hours. 
 
40 
 
 [For the Southern Literary Messenger.] 
 
 Mr. Editor. — The following sketch was given me by one of 
 those mail stacre story-tellers, who abound on our roads, and en- 
 liven the drowsy passengers by their narratives. It is founded 
 on fact, and may not be unacceptable to such of your readers as 
 are fond ot delineation of human character in all its variety of 
 phases. 
 
 SAILI SINGLETON. 
 
 Who thundering comes on blackest steed, 
 With slacken'd'bit and hoof of speed ?~Byron. 
 
 A horseman passed us at full speed, whose wild and 
 haggard look arrested the attention of my friend. In 
 the name of all that is singular, said he, who can that 
 be, and whither is he posting with such rapidity ? His 
 garb seems of the last century, and his grizzled locks 
 stream on the wind like those of some ancient bard. 
 
 That man, replied I, is a lover, and is hurrying away 
 to pay his devoirs to his mistress, who married another, 
 and has been dead for many years. 
 
 ''Indeed, you surprise me," he rejoined. "He has, 
 it is true, the 'lean look' of Shakespeare's lover; the 
 'blue eye and sunken ;' the 'unquestionable spirit,' and 
 'every thing about him demonstrates a careless desola- 
 tion' — yet I should have imagined, that the snows of 
 so many winters had extinguished all the fires of that 
 frosty Caucasus : but tell me who he is and what is his 
 story." 
 
 "His name is Wilson ; and that of the lady whom he 
 loved was Sally Singleton. I would that I had the 
 graphic power of Scott to sketch a tale of so much 
 interest. If Sir Walter has immortalized an old man, 
 mounted on his white pony, and going in quest of the 
 tombstones, how much is it to be regretted that the 
 same master hand cannot be employed to perpetuate 
 the memory of yonder eccentric being, whose love 
 lives, on after the lapse of twenty years, in spite of the 
 marriage and death of his mistress — in spite of the evi- 
 dence of his own senses, and, notwithstanding every 
 human effort to dispel his delusion. Regularly every 
 
41 
 
 morning, for the last twenty years, no matter what the 
 state of the weather, (alike to him the hail, the rain, 
 and the sunshine,) has he mounted his horse, and 
 travelled a distance of ten miles, to see his beloved 
 Sally Singleton. His custom is, to ride directly up to 
 the window of her former apartment, and in a courteous 
 manner to bow to his mistress, in token of his continued 
 attachment. Having performed this act of gallantry, 
 he waves with his hand a fond adieu, and immediately 
 gallops back with a triumphant air, as if perfectly satis- 
 fied with having set his enemies at defiance. "The 
 course of true love never did run smooth," and in this 
 case, whether ''misgrafted in respect of years," or "dif- 
 ferent in blood," or "standing on the choice of friends," is 
 not exactly known ; but the lady was wedded to another, 
 and died soon after. Her lover would never believe m 
 her marriage or her death. His mind, unhinged by the 
 severity of his disappointment, seems to have retained 
 nothing but the single image of her he loved, shut up 
 in that apartment; and he resolved to brave every diffi- 
 culty, to testify his unchanging devotion. Obstacles 
 were purposely built across his path — the bridges were 
 broken down — the idle boys would gather around him, 
 and assail him in their cruel folly — guns, even, were 
 fired at him, — all in vain! The elements could not 
 quench the fervor of his love — obstacles were over- 
 leaped — he swam the rivers — the boys were disregard- 
 ed — balls could not harm him. He held a charmed 
 life ; hke young Lochinvar, 
 
 "He staid not for brake, 
 And he stopp'd not for stone;" 
 
 hut dashed onward to his beloved window, and then, 
 contented with this public attestation of his unalterable 
 love, returned with a look of triumphant satisfaction to 
 his joyless home. As a last eifort to remove the veil 
 from his eyes, a suit was instituted, in which he was 
 made a party, and proof of the lady's marriage and 
 death was purposely introduced to undeceive him. He 
 listened with cold incredulity to the witnesses; smiled 
 derisively at that part of their testimony which regarded 
 5 
 
42 
 
 her marriage and death ; and the next morning was 
 seen mounted as usual, and bowing beneath the window 
 of his adored Sally Singleton. 
 
 • WASHINGTON AND NAPOLEON. 
 
 THE CONTRAST. 
 
 "Urged by a curiosity common to all strangers, Captain Locker- 
 by visited the tomb of Bonaparte. The spot where the tomb 
 stands is only accessible by ticket. It was railed round with 
 green paling, and a sentinel walked round it night and day, to 
 prevent approach within the railing." 
 
 Behold what a contrast is here ! 
 Two heroes gone down to decay — 
 
 The grave of the one, how deserted and drear! 
 While the other is decked in its marble array. 
 And a sentinel guards it by night and by day. 
 
 Oh what was the life of the first. 
 That in death they have left him thus lone 1 — 
 
 Was the crown of the Tyrant his thirst ? 
 And mounting in blood on the steps of a throne — ■ 
 Had he murdered his thousands to aggrandize one? 
 
 Of grandeur of soul was there none 
 In that bosom transform^ to the clod j 
 
 The end of its government done. 
 
 To abandon the lictor, the axe and the rod, 
 When it look'd on its nothingness — thought of its 
 God? 
 
 But see what a far different scene ! 
 The tomb of the valiant and wise ! 
 
 Encompass'd secure by its paling of green, 
 And gleaming in white, as those tropical skies 
 Beam down on the waste where St. Helena lies. 
 
 Lq ! numbers resort to that spot. 
 And beauty bows too at the shrine — 
 
 Oh virtue ! how envied thy lot ! 
 The grave cannot darken thy splendor divine, 
 Nor sully thy brightness, but adds to its shine. 
 
 
43 
 
 Yet Christian ! — come nearer and read. 
 For conjecture hath led us astray — 
 
 Hast thou heard of one false to his creed ? 
 Of a blood-loving tyrant — ferocious — whose sway 
 Was supported by rapine, while earth was his prey ? 
 
 'Tis to him that these honors are paid. 
 
 And his dust must be guarded — from whom ? 
 
 Are the terrified nations afraid 
 Lest he yet should arise from the curse of his doom, 
 And bursting its cerements, escape from the tomb ? 
 
 Ah no ! he lies powerless now ! 
 But thousands would bear him afar : 
 
 To this Juggernaut long did they bow. 
 
 And were abjectly crush'd by the wheels of his car. 
 As triumphant he rode through the red fields of war. 
 
 Is virtue then nought but a name ? 
 Let us turn to the spot we have passed — 
 
 If guilt can exult in its shame. 
 The good in his grave may be silently cast — 
 Abandoned — unnoticed — the scene but a waste ! 
 
 Yes, yes, thou art dumb with amaze — 
 'Tis Washington slumbers below — 
 
 Was language too weak for His praise ? — 
 Was the grief so profound that it baffled all show. 
 Or the feeling too deep for the utt'rance of woe ? 
 
 Let us hope that it was — let us trust 
 That we honor the Friend of Mankind — 
 
 That the Corsican despot in dtlst 
 
 His merited meed of abhorrence shall find 
 
 In the progress of truth and the march of the mind. 
 
 THE DYSPEPTIC MAN. 
 
 Ma. Editor, — I am so unfortunate as to be the wife 
 of a dyspeptic man, and shall find some relief if you 
 will permit me to spread my complaints upon the 
 pages of your Messenger. Men are "April when they 
 woo, December when thev wed," as I have found to 
 
44 
 
 my cost. My liusband was once as lender and affec- 
 tionate as I could wish, but, poor man, he is now 
 totally changed ; I suppose it is owing to his having 
 the dyspepsia. He is so peevish and fretful, I hardly 
 dare speak to him ; 
 
 *'He's always complecnin frae mornin to e'eninj" 
 
 and it is impossible to keep pace with the endless va- 
 riety of his ailments. If I happen to make a mistake, 
 and inquire after the v/rong pain, he flies into a violent 
 passion, and reproaches me for a want of sympathy in 
 his sufferings. It was but yesterday I happened to 
 say, "my dear, how is the pain in your back ?" (I had 
 forgotten it was his side.) This was enough; he 
 cursed matrimony, and swore it was the vilest of all 
 institutions; that a wife was nothing more than a le- 
 galized tormentor; that if he were single, he would not 
 marry any woman under the sun — no, not if she had a 
 bulse of diamonds torn from a Begum's ear, and much 
 more in the same strain ; and at last cooling down, he 
 asked me if I did not remember that his last pain was 
 a pain in the side ; and then entered into such a history 
 of his malady, that I sorely regretted I had opened my 
 lips upon the subject. What right have we to worry 
 other people thus with our maladies ? I never tell mine 
 to any but the doctor, because I know that nobody else 
 listens, and I doubt very much whether he does half 
 his time. If any one gives my husband the common 
 salutation of, how d'ye do ? oh dear, he begins at the 
 beginning of his disease, [like an old gentleman of my 
 acquaintance, who always begins at the Revolution/} 
 and traces it down through all its variations for the 
 last five years — tells all the remedies he has used, and 
 their effects, until you may see a half suppressed smile 
 lurking about the lips of the interrogator, which in- 
 creases at length to so broad a grin, that I am in agony 
 for the consequences. He has tried in turn every re- 
 medy of every quack upon earth, and has gone so far 
 as to punch himself almost to death with his own fists, 
 by the advice of one Halstead. At first he is always 
 pleased with the medicine, but at tiie end of two or 
 
45 
 
 ihree days he protests that he is worse, much worse, 
 and vents his spleen upon the physic, the inventor, and 
 upon me for permitting him to use such vile trash. 
 Sometimes he com.es to me, and tells me exultingly 
 that he has at last found out the panacea — the grand ca- 
 
 tholicon for all his sufferings. "My dear B ," he 
 
 will say, "let me explain to you the philosophy of this 
 matter. When food is taken into the human stomach,* 
 if it cannot undergo a proper digestion, it goes through 
 the putrefactive process ; just such a process as would 
 take place in animal or other substances, if exposed 
 to the action of heat and moisture in the open air: a 
 quantity of carbonic acid gas is disengaged, and this 
 gas filling the stomach, acts by mechanical pressure, 
 and thus produces the pain I feel. Now I have disco- 
 vered that in consequence of my habit of eating fast, 
 my food is not sufficiently triturated, and of course the 
 gastric juice [heaven help me!] cannot act upon it; 
 and I am exactly in the situation of the sheep or any 
 other ruminating animal, who swallows the herbage 
 whole, and then regurgitates, that it may undergo a 
 belter mastication. Well, what then is the remedy? 
 I will tell you ; i will make John pound my food in a 
 mortar, which will supply the necessary trituration and 
 thus I shall be a well man." He sent off immediately 
 to a druggist and purchased a nice little wedgewood 
 mortar, and there stood John, every day, behind his 
 chair, pounding his meat, bread and vegetables, into a 
 revolting mass, until my poor ears were well nigh 
 deafened with the shrill din of the pestle against the 
 sides of the mortar. Was ever woman so beset? At 
 the end of a week, finding himself no better, he threw 
 the mortar, pestle and all, at John's head, and would 
 certainly have pounded him to death, but for a fortunate 
 dodge, which permitted the mortar to come in contact 
 with my cliina press, where it made sad havoc among 
 my most valuable ware. He was very glad, he said, 
 because I had no business to let the press stand there. 
 It was on the tip of ray tongue to say, "bray a fool in a 
 mortar," Sec, but I checked the impulse, and mildly 
 .said, I was very sorry indeed^, that he could get n© rC' 
 5# 
 
46 
 
 lief. This somewiiat mollified him, and the next day 
 he came to me and apologized for what he had done, 
 and promised to repair the damage by making me a 
 handsome present ; but this calm was of short duration, 
 for he soon relapsed into gloom — and as he sat by the 
 fire, smoking his pipe, he all at once declared that it 
 must have been the cursed tobacco which had poisoned 
 his existence ; that during the combustion of the tobac- 
 co an oil was disengaged, which, mixing with the 
 saliva, was taken up by absorption into his lungs, and 
 had eaten them to a honey-comb. John was immedi- 
 ately called : '*Here,'^ said he, "John take this pipe, 
 and d'ye hear, sir, hide it — hide it where I never can 
 find it again." John accordingly took the pipe, but 
 struggled in vain to choke his laughter. Before he 
 could escape from the room, he burst out into such a 
 loud, distinct, irrepressible ha! ha! that there was no 
 mistaking the thing, and he was soundly caned for his 
 involuntary breach of decorum. About three days 
 after this, in the evening after tea, my husband's fa- 
 vorite time for smoking, I observed him very restless, 
 indeed; he rose, walked about the room, sat down, 
 whistled, hummed a tune, and rose again. At last he 
 began to rummage about the wainscot and mantle- 
 piece, and behind the book-case, and suddenly turning 
 round he called John in a softened voice ; "John, my 
 good fellow, where is my pipe ? I must have left it in 
 the study ,• do go and look for it." John hesitated and 
 grinned. "What the devil is the fellow laughing at ? 
 Begone, sir, and bring my pipe immediately." John 
 speedily vanished. Turning to me, "you see," said 
 my husband, "my unhappy condition ; my very ser- 
 vants turn me into ridicule, and you do not reprove 
 them for it." I could not reply, but felt anxious to 
 point out to him that he could never hope to be well, 
 because he would not adhere for a space of time suffi- 
 ciently long to any plan whatever. His scheme now 
 is to eat nothing but cold bread. It must be set away 
 in a pure place to ripen as he calls it. Hot bread, just 
 from the oven, he says, is giving out carbon continually, 
 and has not imbibed a sufficiency of oxygen to make it 
 
47 
 
 wholesome. Can you forbear smiling, ray friend ? Now 
 I know there is nothing of literature in all this, unless 
 the chemical disquisitions of my wretched husband 
 may be so considered ; but nevertheless I flatter myself 
 you will give me a place in your Messenger, because 
 many a victim of dyspepsia may look into this mirror, 
 and see himself. Belinda. 
 
 PICTURE OP OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 Look here upon this picture — and on this, 
 The counterfeit presentment. — Hamlet. 
 
 Virginia had been beautiful 
 
 And owned a lovely land; 
 Her sons, who were so dutiful. 
 
 Went with her heart and hand; 
 They raised her to the highest seat, 
 
 By talents and by worth. 
 And sent her name in accents sweet, 
 
 Far ringing through the earth. 
 
 But lately she had fallen off; 
 
 Her beauty was impaired ; 
 Her younger sons were heard to scoff — 
 
 They might at least have spared. 
 'Twas said that she was growing blind. 
 
 Was lazy and supine. 
 And that she weakly lagged behind 
 
 Her sisters, grown divine. 
 
 That all her days were spent, forsooth. 
 
 In one eternal chime 
 About her deeds of early youth — 
 
 "Resolves" of former;time. 
 Naught could be said and nothing told 
 
 But she more devils spied ; 
 *'More devils than vastjiell could lioW^ — 
 
 Or all the world beside. 
 
48 
 
 And strangers* did her land deride — 
 
 With wagging tongue, reviled ; 
 Wild beast, they said, had multiplied 
 
 In that most barren wild ; 
 Her houses were untenanted — 
 
 The foxf had manned her walls ; 
 And "rank grass^' waved around his head. 
 
 As in old Ossian's halls. 
 
 Her moral strength and physical,! 
 
 Aye, both of them, were gone, 
 And every man seem'd phthisical. 
 
 Or like to tumble down ; 
 Her talents all were buried deep. 
 
 Or in some napkin hid. 
 Or with the mighty dead, did sleep 
 
 Beneath the coffin lid. 
 
 But far ! oh far beyond all these, 
 
 She had displeased her God ; 
 Inter dolosos cineres. 
 
 She on volcano trod ; 
 She could not get of nights her rest ; 
 
 At midnight bell for fire. 
 She hugged her infants to her breast, 
 
 Prepared for funeral pyre. 
 
 Virginia roused herself one day. 
 
 And took her picture down ; 
 And as she gazed, was heard to say — 
 
 Am I thus hideous grown ? 
 
 *See Col. Benton's description of Virginia, done into verse, 
 beginning thus : 
 
 "As Benton jogei'd along the road, 
 
 'Twas in the Old Dominion, 
 His thouglits were bcnt-on finding food 
 For preconceived opinion," Stc. 
 t"The fox peeped out of the window, and the rank grass 
 waved around Ixis head. Desolate is the dwelling of JVIoina — 
 Silence is in the house of her fathers." — Ossian. 
 
 \ Man's strength is gone, his courage — zooks ! 
 And liberty's fine motions, Sec. — Benton. 
 
49 
 
 And am I stupid — lazy — blind — 
 
 A monomaniac too ! 
 Relaxed in body and in mind ? 
 
 Oh no ! it is not true. 
 
 There lies outstretched my glorious land. 
 
 With her capacious bay; 
 My rivers rush on every hand,"^ 
 
 With sail and pennon gay ; 
 My mountains, like a girdle blue. 
 
 Adorn her lovely waist, 
 *'^^nd lend enchantment to the view,'* 
 
 As in "the distance^' traced. 
 
 I'll hie me straight to Richmond town. 
 
 And call my liege men there ; 
 And they shall write these libels down. 
 
 Or fill me with despair. 
 I have a friend, who'll make some stir. 
 
 And take my work in hand ; 
 I'll send him forth my ^'Messenger" — 
 
 To "spy out all the landP* 
 
 That Messenger went gaily forth 
 
 Throughout her old domain. 
 And there found many men of worth 
 
 Would snatch their pens again ; 
 And since their mother's blood was up — 
 
 To cast her odium by. 
 Would shed — of ink — their latest drop 
 
 T' inscribe her name on high. 
 
 The land which he went out to sift 
 
 JVo milk and honey floods — 
 It takes not two her grapes to lift] — 
 
 But grapes festoon her woods. 
 
 * And Moses sent tliem to spy out the land of Canaan. 
 
 t And they came unto the brook of Eshcol, and cut down from 
 thence a branch with one cluster of sfrapes, and they bare it be- 
 tween two upon a stati', ***** and they told him, and said, we 
 came unto tlie land whither thou sentest us, and surely it floweth 
 with milk and honey, and this is the fruit of it. 
 
^ 
 
 50 
 
 No ^VIlnt of fbod, for beast or man, 
 
 There met his eager gaze ; 
 Fijul better bacon ! — greens ! — who can 7 
 
 Or finer fields of maize !* 
 
 Her Tuckahoes, 'tis true, are slim. 
 
 And of a bilious hue; 
 But then he found the Anakim 
 
 Beyond the mountains blue : 
 Some men he found in safety chains — 
 
 All crossed upon the breast — 
 They seem'd indeed to have no brains : 
 
 But these all lands infest. 
 
 The women look'd so passing fair, 
 
 How shall their charms be told ? 
 By their lachimosj they were 
 
 Like brilliants set in gold. 
 Of such pure water was each maid ; 
 
 So sparkling unto view — 
 No wonder that it should be said 
 
 They never could turn Hue. 
 
 No foxes here, peep'd windows through ; 
 
 But oft at early morn 
 They're seen to brush the glittering dew. 
 
 Pursued by hounds and horn : 
 Her ^'hounds are of the Spartan breed^^ — 
 
 *'So sanded and so Jiew^d^" 
 All^deicZap'd" they, and all "crook-kneed^^ — 
 
 As Cadmus e'er halloo'd. 
 
 * In old Virginia, stint of food ^ 
 
 Diseases have engender'd — i 
 
 The mind is gone, — to want of blood 
 
 Good morals have surrendered 
 Houses are fallen — fences down — 
 
 And men are now much scarcer — 
 "Wild beasts in multitudes are known, 
 
 That every day get fiercer. 
 Flee gravel— grit — and heartless clay — 
 
 Nor corn nor oats will grow there — 
 To westward hie— away — away ! 
 
 No heartless clay you'll know there.— Benton 
 ^ The yellow laichimo.—Shakspeare. (C}Tnbeline.) 
 
 I 
 
51 
 
 In short, all zealots are run niaJ 
 
 T' abuse this pleasing sod ; 
 Where people sleep as sound, egad. 
 
 As in the land of Nod : 
 What ! colonize old coachman Dick ! 
 
 My foster brother Nat ! 
 My more than mother, when Pm sick I 
 
 ''Come, Hal, no more of that J' 
 
 EXTRACT FROM A POEM, 
 
 ENTITLED 
 
 OLD TIRGINIA GEORGICS. 
 
 *'Quid faciat laetas segetes, 
 
 * » * * 
 
 » * * * 
 
 Hinc canere incipiam." 
 
 Vir^nia husbandry and that depicted by Virgil contrasted — 
 ploughing — horses, and manner of driving — gear — mules — the 
 ox — pastures — harrows, skimmers, &c. — crab grass — shepherds — 
 sheep — rogues — runaways — wolves — hounds— milk— milk-maids— 
 fence rails — watlings— invocation — address to Arators — shallow 
 ploughing — clover — gypsum — cowtail — Sir Humphrey Davy — 
 year begins — clodhoppei-s — overseers — hiring day — bonds — distri- 
 bution of labor — grubbing — eifects of leaving stumps — old fences — 
 hogs, &.C., Sic, Sec. 
 
 I sing the tillage old Virginia knows, 
 
 Which cheats with hope the husbandman who sows ; 
 
 Not such as Maro sung in deathless strains, 
 
 To piping shepherds and Italian swains. 
 
 With "crops immense*^* no "ham here ever cracks ;^^ 
 
 The wheat comes always badly from the stacks. 
 
 The corn falls ever "most im7nemely" short 
 
 Of vague conjecture or of false report ; 
 
 No well-fed bullocks drag the glittering plough. 
 
 But half starvM horses, and the Lord knows how ! 
 
 *Immensae ruperunt horrea messes.— Firg:t^> 
 
52 
 
 Their shoulders chafed by hames of naked wood. 
 
 Till downward streams regardlessly the blood ; 
 
 Urged on incessantly by thundering whips. 
 
 Of shouting negroes, with their haws and geeps ; 
 
 No well-fed bullocks — no, but stubborn mules, 
 
 Well matched in villainy with him who rules ; 
 
 For as their sides resound, just heaven ! with sticks. 
 
 They oft let fly the most tremendous kicks : 
 
 Tho* Pompey punch them, and tho' Caesar curse. 
 
 It serves no purpose but to make them worse. 
 
 Some Frenchman* said — "would you convince a fool? 
 
 As soon go kick in stable with your mule." 
 
 Sententious wit! — how forcible! — how true! 
 
 I daub the picture which at once he drew. 
 
 No well-fed bullocks — but the bare-boned ox. 
 
 That suffering martyr to inhuman knocks ! 
 
 Condemned, tho' pining with the hollow horn, 
 
 To exist on fodder, but to eat no corn : 
 
 Repast too scanty ! — in the furrow flat 
 
 The sufferer sinks — "the creature was too fat."1[ 
 
 No smiling pastures spread inviting here. 
 
 But dry hot fields on every side appear ; 
 
 A sultry scene, a dismal waste, alas ! 
 
 Where man's great object is to kill the grass. 
 
 This, tho' attack'd with never ending blows 
 
 From harrows, skimmers, and from clattering hoes. 
 
 Will rise abhorrent on the farmer's view. 
 
 Like the fam'd monster which Alcides slew ; 
 
 Crab grass deracinate, and turn your backs. 
 
 It starts like Hydra from repeated whacks. 
 
 No shepherds tune their reeds to idle rhyme. 
 
 For none have leisure for such waste of time ; 
 
 In truth the sheep by no one here are watch'd, 
 
 Save rogues, who suffer if thoy can be catched : 
 
 Hound — wolf— or runawav he only deals 
 
 In closely dogging at their nunble heels. 
 
 Alas! poor flocks! Arcadia's pastoral ground. 
 
 Nor *'t/»t/me" nor ''cTjtisus^^ can here be found ; 
 
 * Montaigne, I believe. 
 
 fThe common excuse of the buckskin for tiic death of an ('X, 
 occasioned by starvation. 
 
53 
 
 "Distended wdders"* ne'er approach the pail. 
 
 But only udders which are sure to fail. 
 
 Cows, bagless — poor — protuberant in joints — 
 
 Yield milk in spoonfuls, or, at most, in pints. 
 
 What MelibcEus, or what Tityrus too. 
 
 Could make rich cheesef from milk of azure hue. 
 
 Drawn by Miss Blackamoor at early morn. 
 
 From things so famish' d that theifve turned to horn ? 
 
 No "sallowsj blossom on the neighboring hedge" — 
 
 We use but fence rails which are split by wedge. 
 
 Or watlings dry, unsought by "Hybla's bees," 
 
 Which can't suck honey from dead limbs of trees. 
 
 Oh Muse ! — but, pshaw! — that's stale ! — a joke — 
 
 What Muse, I prithee, should I here invoke ? 
 
 Those maids of Pindus, in this Christian land. 
 
 Should not be called on for a helping hand ; 
 
 Ah ! sooner call to aid the rustic lay. 
 
 Chiefs grown conspicuous in this farming day — 
 
 Who rule in clubs, and stately there preside. 
 
 And mount their hobbies for a tedious ride ; 
 
 Who write long essays in a style confused. 
 
 Themselves more culpable than those abused ; 
 
 Those sage Triptolemi who wield the pen. 
 
 To show our fathers were misguided men. 
 
 Far, far inferior to their wiser sons ; 
 
 Mere Goths and Vandals ! or like barb'rous Huns, 
 
 Whose sway brought ruin on the fairest plains — 
 
 These lacking mercy, and those lacking brains. 
 
 Come, then, Arators of the modern school. 
 
 And be benignant to a rhyming fool ; 
 
 Himself a farmer of that set, i'fegs. 
 
 Who rip the goose to get the golden eggs. 
 
 The stupid, blind, short-sighted band. 
 
 Who skim the surface and undo the land; 
 
 Who rear no clover on a thirsty soil. 
 
 For why ? — it grows not to reward their toil 
 
 * Bis venit ad mulctram, binos alit ubere foetus 
 t Pinguis et ingratte preineretur caseus urbi. 
 X Vicino ab limite sepes, 
 Hyblaeis apibus florem depasti salicti. 
 
 6 
 
54 
 
 Who strew no gypsum, but absurdly rail. 
 
 And swear 'tis nothing to the old cowtail. 
 
 These are their follies — these their crying sins. 
 
 Despite the pamphlet of enthusiast Binns ; 
 
 I own the charge, and cry myself, peccavi, 
 
 I read but follow not Sir Humphrey Davy. 
 
 Arise Clodhoppers ! now begins the year. 
 
 Attend the business which demands your care. 
 
 Overseers all! whom Taylor dubs the '' Priests* 
 
 Of sad destruction/^ mount your bob-tail'd beasts. 
 
 Kept always fat, when other nags are poor, 
 
 Tho' fed on nothing from the corn-house floor.j 
 
 'Tis hiring day — and to each county court. 
 
 Those who have negroes will this morn resort. 
 
 Bid, boldly bid, and stretch your eager throats, 
 
 O'erbid your rivals, and then give your notes ; 
 
 Fear not the consequence when months roll o'er. 
 
 You've pass'd your bonds — so think of them no more ; 
 
 When that is done, Virginians' debts are paid. 
 
 Till courts of justice lend their tedious aid. 
 
 High minded men disdain these petty rubs. 
 
 They leave such settlements to legal scrubs ; 
 
 Skinflints alone are ever punctual found. 
 
 And take their bonds in at the time they^re bound. 
 
 This done — return to your respective homes. 
 
 Prepare your corn-fields ere the spring time comes j 
 
 Review your several troops of sooty blacks. 
 
 Make wenches grub and fellows wield the axe j 
 
 Watch well the former, for they often leave 
 
 The stump, insidious, in the soil they cleave. 
 
 And when the plough, at some more distant day. 
 
 Incautious strikes, lo ! every thing gives way ; 
 
 Share — beam — and chains, and eke the back-bands too^ 
 
 And Sambo staggers as he utters whew ! 
 
 Wield well the axe, and fell the groaning trees. 
 
 Ope wide the corn-fields to the coohng breeze ; 
 
 Naught more contributes than the air, I ween. 
 
 To keep your cornstalks of a healthful green: 
 
 * Taylor's Arator. 
 
 t An assertion always madcj but somewhat apocryphal 
 
55 
 
 Go round your fences and adjust the rails. 
 
 Insert new pieces where the old one fails ; 
 
 Stop all the hog-holes, lest the treacherous snout 
 
 Should find these pass-ways to your corn-field out. 
 
 Too many hope by aid of yelping dogs. 
 
 To guard the corn field from "ii^emal hogs;^^ 
 
 They leave their fences in a state unsound. 
 
 Then comes the hog and gnmts them to the ground ; 
 
 They plant — rest from their labors — sleep — 
 
 These curst marauders through the hog-holes creep ; 
 
 Led on, perhaps, by some gigantic boar. 
 
 What havoc spread they while the laborers snore. 
 
 The morning breaks — what work for them that morn ! 
 
 The hogs ! — the hogs! — the hogs are in the corn ! !* 
 
 Ah ! then and there are hurrying one and all. 
 
 Like Byron's picture of the Brussels balLf 
 
 Men, dogs, and hogs, in one confused pell mell. 
 
 And many a dismal squeal, and many a deafening yellj 
 
 Some dog soon fastens on some luckless ear. 
 
 Awhile hangs growling, then lets go with fear; 
 
 Anon he seizes on his mangled prey ; 
 
 The Parthian wheels, and fights, and flies away. 
 
 Hold him ! and hold him ! makes the welkin ring. 
 
 While round his head the rocks and brickbats sing. 
 
 At length the battle ends — the routed swine 
 
 Have reached the Rubicon — the neighb'ring line — 
 
 Away they go with many a joyous snort, 
 
 The master curses, but 'tis Sambo's sport. 
 
 Oh ! dreadful scenes ! renewed perhaps next day, 
 
 '*Q,uorum pars fui," as every one may say. 
 
 »####♦ 
 
 * * * Hiatus maxime deflendus. 
 
 * The hogs are in the corn-field ! tus em boy, tus em boy, 
 The hogs are in the corn-field ! tus em boy, ho ! 
 Here we find the origin of the above popular song in Virginia, 
 t Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
 And gath'ring tears and tremblings of distress. — Byron. 
 
56 
 
 PINKNEFS ELOpENCE. 
 
 Hear you this triton of the minnows? — Coriolanus. 
 
 ''Yet Mr. Pinkney is not an eloquent man; he is 
 convincing to be sure — and that is to be eloquent in one 
 way ; but he would be more, and fails." "Nothing 
 can be further from eloquence, if by eloquence be un- 
 derstood any thing that is persuasive, beautiful, digni- 
 fied or natural, than the declamation or reasoning of 
 William Pinkney." *'His best speeches are a com- 
 pound of strength, feeble ornament, ajQTected earnestness, 
 and boisterous turbulent declamation." "But God 
 never meant him for an orator ; he has no property of 
 mind or body — no not one, calculated to give dominion 
 in eloquence." 
 
 As old Doiley says in the farce, when told that "gold 
 in the balance of philosophy was light as phlogisticated 
 air," this must be deep, for I don't understand a word 
 of it. The above are extracts from a work, in which 
 the author undertakes to deny to Mr. Pinkney, the 
 praise of eloquence. No kind of composition confounds 
 me more than criticism, and especially that sort which 
 pretends to develope the characteristics of some distin- 
 guished orator. If one 
 
 Should 
 So get the start of the majestic world 
 
 as to "bear the palm alone," we feel a very natural 
 curiosity to know what was his appearance, his man- 
 ner, and peculiar style of eloquence ; but alas ! in the 
 hands of the critic, he assumes so many shapes, that 
 the imagination is absolutely bewildered, and we turn 
 away in despair of finding out what the man was like. 
 The critic, like the newspaper, contradicts himself at 
 every step. One sentence tells us what another denies ; 
 and we rise from the perusal of his sketch jaded and 
 worn out with the variety of contrariant ideas which 
 have passed through our brains. I am no critic, and 
 heaven forbid I should ever belong to that cold hearted 
 fraternity j who more often pervert taste than improve 
 
57 
 
 it ; but I cannot forbear contesting the truth o( this 
 writer's assertions, and declaring that he seems to me 
 to be a LiUiputian about the body of a Gulliver. 
 
 It has been said of Demosthenes, "that he has been 
 deservedly styled the prince of orators. His orations 
 are strongly animated, and full of the impetuosity and 
 ardor of public spirit. His composition is not distin- 
 guished by ornament and splendor. Negligent of the 
 lesser graces, he seems to have aimed at the sublime, 
 which lies in sentiment. His action and pronunciation 
 are said to be uncommonly vehement and ardent. The 
 Archbishop of Cambray gives him the preference to 
 Cicero; against whom he makes the objection of too 
 much ornament. According, therefore to this author, 
 if William Pinkney was not an orator, it follows that 
 Demosthenes was none; because their style of eloquence 
 seems to have been alike in almost every particular, 
 except that Pinkney aimed at ornament, of which 
 Demosthenes had none and Cicero too much. If 
 speeches, characterized by stupendous strength, and 
 turbulent declamation, and convincing argument, are 
 neither ^'persuasive, nor dignified, nor natural," then 
 was not Demosthenes persuasive, nor dignified, nor 
 natural, and of course he was no orator according to 
 this definition. If ornament be a fault in Mr. Pinkney, 
 he had it in common with Cicero ; but perhaps the 
 author may say that Cicero attained what Pinkney only 
 aimed at. Hear him then again on the subject of or- 
 nament, so passionately loved by Mr. Pinkney. "Bring 
 him in contact with a truly poetical mind, and his ar- 
 gument resembles a battery of colored fire-works, giv- 
 ing out incessant brightness and reverberation." It 
 would seem then that ornament is not a common trait 
 of his eloquence, but a glitter which is effected by at- 
 trition against poetical minds. It is then that he draws 
 upon the inexhaustible stores of beauty laid up in his 
 mind, gathered from the writings of Shakspeare and 
 others, and retained by the force of a powerful memory. 
 He has no fancy of his own, but uses the fancy of 
 others. Then surely he is far superior to Demosthenes, 
 whose eloquence was thought to border on the hard 
 
58 
 
 and dry; alike impetuous, vehement, stupendous and 
 convincing with him, and superadding a relish for the 
 beauties of poetry ; not aiming at any ornament of his 
 own, but contented with what suggested itself in illus- 
 tration of his argument from the pen of others. Then 
 how is he feeble in ornament ? But again ; if there be 
 nothing of dignity or nature in Pinkney's reasoning, 
 how is it discovered that his mind is '''adamant clamped 
 with iron," (a poor conception, and suiting the ideas of 
 a blacksmith better than a belles-lettres scholar — for the 
 iron adds nothing to our thoughts of the strength of 
 adamant ;) that it is "a collossal pile of granite, over 
 which the thunders of heaven might roll," &c.. Sec. It 
 is useless to quote the rest of the unmeaning fustian of 
 the sentence. After all this avowal of stupendous 
 strength of argument, we are told in a subsequent para- 
 graph, that say what we will of Mr. Pinkney's argu- 
 ment, he the author, never saw him yet — no never, pur- 
 sue his argument steadily for ten minutes at a time. 
 Then how can it be so overwhelming and convincing ? 
 Nothing lessens so much the force of argument as a 
 perpetual aberration from the subject. Again ; "God 
 never meant him for an orator, he has no property of 
 mind or body," &,c., &c. Not to say any thing of the 
 presumption and impiety of determining for God, I 
 would ask what are the bodily properties of an orator? 
 This writer has not condescended to define them, 
 although he dwells at large upon such as he thinks cast 
 discredit upon Mr. Pinkney. It is scarcely necessary to 
 observe that Demosthenes was ungraceful in figure and 
 action; and that not only orators, but very wise and 
 learned men have been repulsive in their persons, their 
 features, and their manners also. Though Caesar and 
 Cicero were exempt from defect in this respect, as far 
 as I remember, Demosthenes stuttered — Socrates was 
 bald and flat nosed — Antony a rough soldier — Lord 
 Chatham's eloquence was forcible, but uniform and 
 ungraceful — Fox was a fop of Bond street, and wore 
 high-heeled morocco shoes. Mr. Pinkney therefore 
 may, without reproach, be a "thick, stout man, with a 
 , fat English face," and Mr. Fox will keep him in 
 
59 
 
 countenance as a fashionable man. The facetious 
 Peter Pindaf has said, that 
 
 I^ove hates your large fat lubberly fellows, 
 Panting and blowing like a blacksmith's bellows j 
 
 but I never heard that oratory did. 
 
 In the next breath we hear that "Mr. Pinkney has a 
 continual appearance of natural superciliousness and 
 affected courtesy." Continual — and yet afterwards, his 
 manner is exceedingly arrogant and unpropitiating; 
 and his deportment has been already described as 
 **brutal, arrogant, full of sound and fury, accompanied 
 by the rude and violent gestures of a vulgar-fellow." 
 One moment he is a giant, not only metaphorically, but 
 in sober truth, if we may judge from his stentorian 
 lungs, which have caused the author's whole system to 
 jar — and from those violent gesticulations, which indi- 
 cate uncommon personal strength ; the next, he turns 
 out to be only five feet ten, and a petit maitre, and 
 affectedly courtly and conciliatory ; and yet "nothing 
 could make a gentleman of him j he can neither look, 
 act, speak, sit, nor talk like one." Notwithstanding 
 all this scurrility and abuse of Mr. Pmkney's person, 
 the author is not yet exhausted, but lavishes more upon 
 his intellect. "The physical powers of Mr. Pinkney," 
 he says, "are to my notion, strictly correspondent with 
 his intellectual ones, both are solid, strong and substan- 
 tial, but without grace, dignity or loftiness." Loftiness ! 
 the same man who has such "prodigious elevation and 
 amplitude of mind," "and both have a dash of fat 
 English dandyism." I confess myself wholly at a loss 
 to comprehend what the fat dandyism of the intellectual 
 power is. A man's mind might, by a forced metaphor, 
 be said to be dandyish, perhaps ; but a/af mind is a 
 solecism in words wholly inadmissible, I think. "His 
 style of eloquence," it is added, "is a most disagreeable 
 and unnatural compound of the worst faults of the 
 worst speakers." "He is said to resemble Lord Erskine 
 as he was in the day of his power: it is a libel on Er- 
 skine, who was himself a libel on the reputation of his 
 country as a speaker." "The language of Mr. Pink- 
 
ou 
 
 tiey Joes resemble ihat of Lord Erskine ; Lis reasoning 
 is about as forcible." If tlie term style liere be the 
 manner of speaking appropriate to particular characters, 
 I have shown that the censure, is equally applicable to 
 Demosthenes, the prince of orators, who, in addition to 
 his vehemence, was so ungraceful in his motions, that 
 it was necessary for him to practice with a naked sword 
 hanging over his shoulder; and therefore to compare 
 Demosthenes to Lord Erskine is a libel on Lord Erskine, 
 himself a libel on his country, as a speaker and argalas 
 Shakspeare says, Demosthenes is inferior to English 
 orators. If, again, the word style means the manner of 
 writing with regard to language, these sentences would 
 involve a contradiction, and Mr. Pinkney is alike and 
 unlike Lord Erskine at the same time ! Yet why do I 
 talk of Demosthenes ? In the following sentences the 
 author admits that Mr. P. copied too closely after 
 Cicero and Demosthenes, "He desired to be eloquent ; 
 he thought of Demosthenes and Cicero, and his heart 
 swelled with ambition." He remembered not that he 
 was to be a lawyer, and that Demosthenes and Cicero 
 were declaimers. He who should look to move a body 
 of Americans in a court of justice by the best thunder- 
 ing of Demosthenes, would only make himself ridicu- 
 lous." Very true; and this may certainly prove that 
 Mr. Pinkney might have been a greater lawyer, by 
 bending the whole force of his mind to that one pur- 
 suit ; but it has nothing to do with the premises. The 
 ground is here changed ; this is not the point to be 
 proved — not the qvod erat dcmonslrandum. The point 
 to be proved is not the propriety of displaying eloquence 
 before a jury, but that William Pinkney was never 
 meant by God for an orator; that he has no property 
 of mind or body to make one. This is assuredly the 
 scope of the extracts. Had Mr. P. not aimed at orna- 
 ment, his ashes might have passed undisturbed by the 
 author, who allows that he was decidedly the greatest 
 lawyer in America, but is very angry that he was not 
 the greatest in the world. In spite of all this, however, 
 Pinkney "pursued his way like a conqueror, and had 
 well nigh established himself as the high priest of elo- 
 
61 
 
 quence in America." Why, what a stupid, blind, 
 misjudging race we must be, to think of choosing a man 
 for our high-priest of eloquence, whom God never 
 meant for an orator, and who had no property, not one, 
 of mind or body, for his business — and never to 
 awaken from our folly until this writer tore the urim 
 and thuramim from his breast. "The giant," he says, 
 "is gone down like a giant to the household of death," 
 and there should at least have escaped the imputation 
 of baseness which deserved shooting. How giants die, 
 I pretend not to know; but imagine such giants die 
 pretty much like other people ; and it seems to me per- 
 fectly ridiculous to talk of a man's dying like a giant. 
 At that awful hour, the littleness of the greatest genius 
 is a subject of melancholy reflection. I will only add 
 that I know nothing of this writer. If his object was 
 to guard us against the mischievous effects of a false 
 taste in eloquence, he cannot be angry with me for 
 wishing to guard against the equally bad effects of a 
 false taste in criticism. 
 
 ETTMOLOGT. 
 
 The inventor of a new word must never flatter himself that he 
 has secured the public adoption, for he must lie in the grave be- 
 tore he can enter the Dictionarj'. — D'Israeli. 
 
 Mr. Editor. — I am an odd old fellow, and fond of 
 etymology, and frequently amuse myself with tracing 
 to their roots, words in familiar use. Having been 
 confoundedly puzzled of late by the term caucus, which 
 is in every body's mouth, and not being able to satisfy 
 myself as to its origin, I have determined to have re- 
 course to you, and will be infinitely obliged to you or 
 any of your readers for a solution of the difficulty. If 
 it be true as D'Israeli says, that the inventor of a new 
 word cannot be secure of its adoption by the public, for 
 he must lie in the grave before he can enter the dic- 
 tionary — the man who made the aforesaid word must 
 be still living, though at a very advanced age. I rather 
 suppose, however, that D'Israeli is mistaken, and that 
 
62 
 
 ihe inventor has been dead a long time, and lived to see 
 the general adoption ot" his word, notwithstanding it 
 has as yet no place in any dictionary that I have seen. 
 Supposing it to be an English word, I consulted Walker, 
 and was mortified to find that he took no notice of it. 
 I then made sundry combinations of other terms, but 
 could light upon none that seemed at all plausible, ex- 
 cept the word calk us, which, united into caucus, may 
 produce a kind of onomatopoeia, descriptive of the 
 assemblage in question ; for to calk, is, according to the 
 above mentioned lexicographer, '*to stop the leak of a 
 vessel," and inasmuch as a caucus is urged by the 
 admirers of Mr. Van Buren, to be the means of stop- 
 ping all leaks in our political vessel, there seems to be 
 some show of reason in this derivation. Upon further 
 reflection, however, I concluded that the word must be 
 Greek, and having recourse to Schrevelius, found the 
 paronymous term kakos, malus. This I presently 
 rejected, though apparently descriptive of the pernicious 
 tendency of caucus, because the institutors of that pes- 
 tilent oligarchy would hardly have selected so barefaced 
 an epitheton, such a cacophony, if I may so speak. On 
 further search, upon meeting with kaukis, I was so 
 much delighted with the near resemblance of sound, as 
 to jump up and cry out "eureka;" but moderated my 
 rapture on discovering that '^'genus calceamenti," the 
 explanatory terms in Latin, could not be tortured to 
 any manner of application, unless indeed it was intended 
 to indicate that the members of a caucus would be will- 
 ing to stand in the people's shoes, upon the occasion 
 of electing a president of the United States; or unless 
 we observe further the aliter baukos, jucundus, for it 
 is literally a very pleasant and right merry way of get- 
 ting rid of the difficulty of a choice by the people. So 
 far the Greek. As to the Latin, I have consulted every 
 dictionary in my possession, from Ainsworth and 
 Young, up to old Thoma Thomasius, printed coven- 
 triai Septimo Idus, Februarii, 1630, and can find noth- 
 ing resembling our caucus, but the three-headed robber 
 cacus, who by paronomasia, might be considered as 
 the grand prototype of that modern monster, which has 
 
63 
 
 stolen, if not the cattle, at least the property of the 
 American Hercules, and will keep it unless he rise in 
 his might, and crushing the political thief resume his 
 original rights. Now, Mr. Editor, I am disposed to 
 rest here ; though not quite so well satisfied as Jonathan 
 Oldbuck was about the locality of Agricola's camp, 
 from those mysterious initials which the mischievous 
 Edie Ochiltree so wickedly interpreted to mean "Ailic 
 Davy's lang ladle," and not "Agricola dicavit libens 
 lubens," as Monkbarns would have it ; — but do observe, 
 sir, the singular coincidences between cacus and cau- 
 cus ; the one a three-headed rogue — the other a sort of 
 political Cerberus; the first slily taking away the cattle 
 of another — the second insidiously cajoling the people 
 of their rights; the former hiding them in a cave, 
 where they were discovered by their bellowing — the 
 latter betrayed by a bellowing from Maine to Georgia ; 
 and finally cacus demolished by Hercules, and caucus 
 easily demolished by the Herculean force of public 
 sentiment. 
 
 I acknowledge, however, that I am not entirely satis- 
 fied, notwithstanding this "confirmation strong," and 
 hope you will speedily relieve the perplexity of 
 
 Your most obedient servant. 
 
 P. S. A friend facetioudy suggests that caucus is 
 nothing more than a corruption, — Caucus, quasi 
 corkus; that is, shut close the doors that nobody may 
 hear us. 
 
 THE GIRL OF HARPER'S PERRY. 
 
 Ah ! tell me not of the heights sublime. 
 
 The rocks at Harper^s Ferry, 
 Of mountains rent in the lapse of time — 
 
 They're very sublime — oh very ! 
 I'm thinking more of the glowing cheek 
 
 Of a lovely girl and merry. 
 Who clirab'd with me to yon highest peak-— 
 
 The girl of Harper's Ferry. 
 
64 
 
 She sailed with me o'er the glassy wave^ 
 la yonder trim-built wherry ; 
 
 Shall I ever forget the looks she gave. 
 Or the voice which rang so merry ? 
 
 To the joy she felt, her lips gave birth- 
 Lips, red as the ripest cherry — 
 
 I saw not Heaven above, nor Earth — 
 Sweet girl of Harper's Ferry ! 
 
 We clamber'd away over crag and hill 
 
 Through places dark and dreary ; 
 We stooped to drink of the sparkling rill 
 
 And gather the blushing berry; 
 Dame INature may sunder the Earth by stofms- 
 
 And rocks upon rocks may serry. 
 But I like her more in her fragile forms, * 
 
 My girl of Harper's Ferry. 
 
 1 followed her up the '^steps of stojie" 
 
 To where the dead they bury; 
 On Jefferson's rock she stood alone. 
 
 Looking on Harper's Ferry — 
 But I, like Cymon, the gaping clown. 
 
 Stood, lost in a deep quandary. 
 Nor thought of the river, the rock, the town. 
 
 Dear girl of Harper's Ferry. 
 
 She carv'd her name on the well known rock. 
 
 The rock at Harper's Ferry ; 
 You would not have thought me a stone or stocky 
 
 Bending o'er charming Mary — 
 Insensible rock ! how hard thou wert. 
 
 Hurting her fingers fairy. 
 Deeper she writ upon my soft heart — 
 
 The girl of Harper's Ferry. 
 
 Ye who shall visit this scene again. 
 
 This rock at Harper's Ferry, 
 Come pledge me high in the brisk champai^ne. 
 
 Or a glass of the palest sherry — 
 And this is the name which ye shall quaflf. 
 
 The name of Mary Perry ! 
 She's fairer than all your loves by half — 
 
 The girl of Harper's Ferry. 
 
65 
 
 MODERN TRATELLING. 
 
 Forty years ago I was a great traveller, and was 
 pretty well acquainted with the means of transportation 
 tlien in use ; but about that time, I retired to the coun- 
 try, and settled upon a small farm, where I have, until 
 lately, pursued the even tenor of my v/ay. During the 
 last summer, some business compelled me to set out 
 for a distant point, and I left my little home with ex- 
 treme reluctance. As I was to travel in a world about 
 which I knew but little, except through the newspapers, 
 I thought it right to rig myself out in somewhat better 
 style than usual, so I put on my best bib and tucker, 
 and repaired to town and sought a barber's shop to get 
 my hair cut, and my beard shaved, humming as I went 
 along the old song, 
 
 "I called to the barber, come shave me boy, do you hear, 
 And I'll give you sixpence for to spend in ale or beerj 
 Shave me, shave me, barber come shave me, 
 Make me look neat and spruce that Molly may have me." 
 
 Sixpence quotha! it cost me four-and-sixpence, at the 
 least. When I opened the door, I was so much as- 
 tonished at the elegance of the apartment, that I drew 
 back, and would have retired, thinking I had made 
 some mistake, when two or three fellows flew out upon 
 me, and began brushing my coat with such impetuous 
 violence that T could not escape from them ; indeed it 
 was with much ado that I could prevent my ears from 
 being brushed off" by their whizzing brooms. I was as 
 restive, you may depend upon it, as my horse is under 
 a cedar broom ; twice they struck me severe blows on 
 the cheek, but always begged pardon, so I could not 
 be'ofiended; and, indeed, I had made up my mind 
 when I left home, not to betray my ignorance of pre- 
 sent customs. All this time two small shavers were 
 dusting my boots, and I protest it was with much diffi- 
 culty I could keep my legs. After considerable suffer- 
 ing on my part, and repeated declarations of my being 
 satisfied with their services, and paying each of them 
 something, (for I saw they expected it,) they desisted. 
 7 
 
66 
 
 I now expressed a wish lo be shaved and trimmed, and 
 was immediately disrobed, and ushered to a high-backed 
 chair, where my head was roughly thrown back, my 
 chin tucked, and the operation of shaving performed in 
 the "twinkling of an ejaculation.^' It did not take 
 long to cut my hair and strangle rae with cologne 
 water; but what was my surprise, when they were 
 done with me, to find the whole of my occiput as bare 
 as the palm of my hand, and nothing left upon my 
 head but a few straggling locks at the side, time having 
 already stripped naked my forehead. I was sadly 
 vexed, but what could I say ? I had voluntarily put 
 myself in their power, and was devoutly glad when I 
 got into the street, that I had escaped alive from their 
 hands. Well, I had now paid four-and-sixpence ; I 
 had lost all my hair; my face had been scratched by 
 brooms and lacerated by a razor, and I had learned in 
 exchange that barbers were different folks now-a-days 
 from what they used to be, and that men were brushed 
 down like horses — rather a bad speculation ! I had 
 not been in this world, it is true, "ever since King 
 Pepin was a little boy," but I was pretty old, and had 
 never been treated so unceremoniously in my life. I 
 had imagined when I entered the house, that I was 
 going into just such a shop as my old friend Kippin 
 used to keep, who received me with the profoundest of 
 bows, and shaved me with a solemnity of manner that 
 suited my temper exactly. No tawdry ornaments hung 
 upon the walls ; no mirrors flashed wheresoever you 
 turned ; no newspapers lay scattered around ; no He- 
 len Jewetts or other engravings caught your eye. His 
 walls were mute as "Tara's Halls" — a piece of broken 
 looking-glass stood upon the table, and an old shaving- 
 can, encrusted with the smoke of a thousand fires, sat 
 disconsolately in the chimney; but, nevertheless, these 
 modern fellows cannot shave as Kippin "us(2(i to could.'' 
 There is too much hurry in every thing now-a-days! 
 It is true shaving nmst be done by steam — the water 
 ought to be hot, but the razor travels too iiiconlmently 
 fast, and the whirlpools in my beard cannot be crossed 
 over with such despatch— but^ p:ihaw ! this is nothing 
 
67 
 
 to what I have to tell of the changes in this world. My 
 first trip was to be made in a steamboat which was to 
 start (fly perhaps would be a better word) at ten 
 o'clock at night. I had never been in one, having been 
 of the same opinion with old VVhat's-his-nanie, who 
 never could be induced to go on board, not even when 
 the boat was lying at the wharf without a particle of 
 fire — when urged to go, and told that there was no 
 earthly danger, he always shook his head doubtingly, 
 and declared "there was no knoAving what accidents 
 might happen." However, go I must ; my business re- 
 quired despatch, and there was no mode of travelling so 
 expeditious. Accordingly, I went on board, and passing 
 the fire-room, where they were ]nsi firing up, I stopped 
 with unfeigned horror, and asked myself, if indeed I 
 was prepared to die ! I almost fancied myself at the 
 entrance of the infernal regions, and the firemen, all 
 begrimed and black and covered with sweat, seemed 
 like the imps of the devil, tossing the damned spirits 
 into the flames. I shuddered and turned away, in- 
 wardly vowing if heaven would be graciously pleased 
 to spare me this time, I would never again voluntarily 
 put myself in the way of being burnt to death. I pro- 
 ceeded to the cabin, which I found, as yet, unoccupied, 
 and you may be certain if the barber's shop had sur- 
 prised me, my amazement was now complete, at find- 
 ing myself in the most splendid apartment I had ever 
 beheld. I shall not attempt any description, because I 
 have no doubt, Mr. Editor, you have seen many a one ; 
 all I shall say is, that having examined every thing 
 with as much wonder as did Polyglott when "he din- 
 ner'd wi' a lord," I laid myself down in a berth, and 
 could not satisfy myself of my personal identity, any 
 more than could he who once went to see some great 
 man, and was treated with so much distinction, that 
 when he retired to bed, he lay some time revolving all 
 that had passed, and the scene around him, and ex- 
 claimed, "can this be me." Putting his foot out of bed, 
 (he had a remarkable foot,) egad ! he cried, that is 
 certainly my f^ot. Just so, clapping my hand to the 
 back of my head, and feeling that the barber had nearly 
 
68 
 
 scalped me, I became assured that it was indeed your 
 humble servant, and was trying to compose myself, 
 when I heard a cry of '^''the stage is come," and in a 
 few moments in walked the captain and seated himself 
 at his wriling-table, and immediately afterwards forty 
 passengers, at least, rushed into the cabin, all talking 
 in the loudest key, and dressed in every variety of mode, 
 and seeming to strive with one another who should get 
 first to the captain to pay his money. What does this 
 mean? thought I; wherefore such hurry? *-'Why 
 need they be so forward with death, who calls not on 
 them?" as Falstaff says. I soon found out the cause ; 
 they were securing their berths, and as they passed 
 mine, they severally peeped into it; at length, one pry- 
 ing more earnestly than the others, exclaimed, *'halloo, 
 my hearty, you are in the wrong box ; you must come 
 out." I made no reply, and he repeated his command 
 to me to turn out — still I said nothing, and he turned 
 to the captain : "I say, captain, here's a Jackson man 
 in my berth." *'Yes," said I, feeling my dander rise, 
 as honest Jack Downing says, "and I shall assume the 
 responsibility of staying in it." Alas ! I reckoned 
 without my host, for the captain came up and desired 
 me to evacuate the premises. *'Why," said I, **^cap- 
 tain, I thought possession was eleven points of law." 
 "None of your nonsense, sir," returned he, and took 
 hold of my arm. Seeing how matters stood, I fixed 
 myself Dentatus-like, with my back to the side of the 
 boat, and seizing my hickory stick, defended myself 
 manfully, but numbers prevailed over valor, and I Avas 
 at last ignominiously dragged forth, like Smith from 
 Chickahominy Swamp, to the no small amusement of 
 the company, some of M'hom hurraed for old baldpaie. 
 Here was a pretty commencement of my journey ! In 
 the end, I was conipelled to sleep upon a table, think 
 o' that ! and imagine my horror when I found myself 
 stretched out like a corpse, with a sheet over me ! ! All 
 my previous fears of lieing scalded to death rushed 
 upon my mind, and I made sure that this was indeed 
 my winding sheet. The thumping of the boat; the 
 groans of the lever above, leaping and pitching like 
 
09 
 
 some vast giaiii struggling to be free ; the snoring and 
 snorting around me ; tlie intense heat, produced by the 
 juxta-position of so many human bodies, effectually 
 banished sleep from my eyelids ; I was "in a state of 
 dissolution and thaw," and wished myself any where 
 else, even in "the Domdaniel caves under the roots of 
 Ocean," if there were such a place, so that I could 
 escape my present thraldom. How often have I won- 
 dered, said I to myself, that people could be so fool- 
 hardy as to live at the foot of Mount iEtna or Vesuvius^ 
 where they are liable to be overwhelmed in a moment 
 by burning lava ; and here am I, lying near the crater 
 ol a volcano, without the hope of escape if there should 
 be an eruption! ! Overwhelmed by the oppressive 
 weight of my thoughts, I sunk, from absolute exhaus- 
 tion, about day-break, into a doze, from which I was 
 almost immediately aroused by a bell, which I mistook 
 for the last trump, and springing up perceived that it 
 announced our arrival at the place of destination, and 
 I was forced to huddle on my clothes as fast as possible. 
 Such a scene of confusion and hurry as now presented 
 itself, baffles my poor powers of description. Passen- 
 gers, porters, trunks, wheel-barrows, hackmen, every 
 body and every thing, in one moving mass upon the 
 wharf, so completely confounded the few brains I had, 
 that I stood like a fool, while "hack, sir ?" was bawled 
 in one ear, "hack, sir?" in another — "omnibus, sir? 
 do you go in the omnibus ?" One pulled me by the 
 right, another by the left, until my limbs were almost 
 dislocated. At last, remembering a little of my Latin, 
 I concluded it must be right to go with all, and I cried 
 out "omnibus!" "Your baggage, sir, where is it?" 
 "God only knows, my friend," said I. "Is this it, sir ?" 
 "Yes, yes." Into the omnibus they shoved me, with 
 such despatch, that had I been the "■stout gentleman^^ 
 himself, I am sure none could have seen even the "broad 
 disk of my pantaloons." It was the first time in ray life 
 that I had ever travelled in a carria^ without shutting 
 the door, except once, upon compulsion, when my 
 horses ran off with me; but if you will credit me, sir, 
 there is no door to an omnibus ; so I suppose omnibus 
 
70 
 
 means without a door, but in what language is more 
 than I pretend to know. Perhaps it may be the Ua- 
 ramna language, but none but the author of the Doctor 
 can tell that. If you should be acquainted with the 
 tongue, Mr. Editor, just drop me a hint in your next 
 number, and I shall be much obliged to you. 
 
 Well, praised be heaven, I had escaped the death of 
 a hog, and felt somewhat revived by the morning air. 
 Away we whirled with great rapidity to the rail-road 
 depot, where the cars were ready to receive us. We 
 were told that from some irregularity, I never knew 
 what, we were to be drawn for some miles by horses, 
 and I blessed my stars at the occurrence, as I had been 
 anticipating, with some dread, that wonderful velocity 
 of the engines of which I had heard and read so much ; 
 but short-lived indeed was my joy, as it began to be a 
 matter of interesting speculation whether the cars 
 meeting us, might not, peradventure, be driven by 
 steam. We had not proceeded far, before our appre- 
 hensions were realized. Just as we turned an abrupt 
 curvature in the road, there came the engine roaring 
 and snorting upon us ! ! Mr. Editor, I have been 
 pursued in my time by a mad bull ; I have been upon 
 the point of being tossed upon his horns ; I have been 
 in imminent peril of being run over by squadrons of wild 
 horses, which had taken the stampado ; I have seen 
 perils by sea and perils by land, but never had I felt 
 such alarm, such deslitutidn of all hope of escape, as 
 now. Our driver sprang from his seat, and had just 
 time to unhitch his horses, but what were we to do ? 
 One man jumped out and broke his leg, the rest of us 
 kept our seats. I could not leave mine — I was trans- 
 fixed with horror — my eyes were starting from my 
 head, and my mouth wide open. Breathless, we 
 awaited the shock, and soon it came like a thunder- 
 crash. What happened to others I cannot tell. All 1 
 remember distinctly is, that the concussion was so 
 tremendous, that it brouglit my two remaining teeth so 
 violently together, that they were both knocked out ; 
 they were the last of the Capulets, and I would not 
 hav^e taken a thousand dollars apiece for them ; it is a 
 
71 
 
 wonder I did not die of fright— my hair, if I had any, 
 must have turned gray ; but thanks to the barber, I had 
 none. I was taken up more dead than ahve, and no- 
 thing could induce me to hazard my life again. I 
 consigned to the devil, all cars, steamboats, rail roads, 
 their projectors and inventors, solemnly vowing never 
 to be in a hurry again as long as I lived, but to remem- 
 ber the old maxim, festina lente — make haste slowly. 
 My business I abandoned in despair, — bought the 
 dullest horse I could procure — sold my trunk, and got 
 a pair of saddle-bags, and resolved to jog slowly and 
 safely homeward. After a fatiguing journey, I reached 
 my own house, where nobody knew me. When I 
 told my wife who I was and what had occurred to me, 
 she said it was a judgment upon me for being such a 
 fool as to cut my hair in that fashion. She will never 
 listen to me now when I attempt to repeat the particu- 
 lars of my excursion, and that is the reason I have con- 
 cluded to trouble you with ray history. If it should 
 entertain you, and serve as a warning to my country- 
 men not to be in such a confounded hurry in doing 
 every thing, I shall be repaid for my trouble. The 
 whole world seems to me to be in a sort of neck-or- 
 nothing state ; all the sobriety, frugality and simplicity 
 of our forefathers seems to be forgotten, and the only 
 object is, to grow rich suddenly, and time and space 
 must be annihilated in the pursuit. 
 
 I am, sir, very respectfully, your most obedient, 
 humble servant, 
 
 Solomon Sobersides. 
 
72 
 
 DEBATE ON THE CROW BILL, 
 
 In the Senate of Virginia, Februai-y 9th, 182G. 
 
 
 Crows and Chou2:hs that wing the midway air, 
 Show sca.rce.—Shakspeare. (King Lear.) 
 
 Mr. McCarty. 
 
 7 
 
 By that bill, Mr. Speaker, 'tis meant to propose 
 The form of a law for the killing of crows ; 
 A county requests us — the county Fairfax, 
 To place it as one in the list of our acts — 
 Pm sure. Sir, that you and that every one knows 
 How ve^-y destructive to corn are the crows; 
 There is not perhaps any bird, Sir, that hops. 
 That pulls up as much of the cornplanter^s crops; 
 They gather by thousands and tear with their bills 
 Each plant as it peeps through the top of the hdls; 
 I see. Sir, this subject produces some mirth,- 
 But let not a crow, Sir, remain upon earth. 
 If the West is to pay for the wolf and its whelps^ 
 Why may not the east for the crow or its scalps " 
 I hope then, the senate will pass. Sir, the law. 
 We wish not in Fairfax to hear a crow — caw. 
 
 Mr. Ruffin. 
 
 Mr. Speaker, I move to amend the crow bill 
 By adding to those who have license to kill — * 
 
 Insert after Fairfax the words "Isle of Wight," 
 "Southampton and Surry," you also may write. 
 'Tis not that I have — oh no, heaven knows, 
 A thirst, Mr. Speaker, for blood of the crows. 
 Prince George and the crows are on very good terms. 
 We want them to eat up that pest, the cut worms. 
 But some of my counties complain with Fairfax 
 And is'nt it right they should come in for snacks? 
 
73 
 
 Mr. McCarty. 
 With this bill, Mr. Speaker, some wags clown below 
 Are strongly suspected of "picking a crow,^^ 
 Against that amendment, 1 therefore shall vote. 
 We might just as well catch the bill by the throat ; 
 'Twill excite such a laugh in a certain great hall. 
 They'll scout from the House the amendment and all, 
 I hope. Sir, the bill will be then let alone. 
 This amendment will cause it to die with a groan. 
 
 Mr. Page. 
 Mr. Speaker! ! ! I hope the amendment and bill 
 Will find in the Senate no jot of good will — 
 To hold out a bounty in any such case 
 Is simply rewarding the vagrant and base; 
 From labor productive, ^tis taking away. Sir; 
 Your hundreds to idle and waste all the day. Sir ; 
 Instead of promoting the true wealth of nations 
 'Tis taking men off from their suitable stations. 
 From digging — from grubbing and other hard blows. 
 To shooting their guns at a parcel of crows. 
 But, Sir, I assert it — 'tis true on my word. 
 The crow is in fact a carniverous bird ; 
 He does'nt like corn. Sir — he would'nt eat grain. 
 He'd strut by the thing in a fit of disdain ; 
 If he only could get flesh enough for his turn. 
 What you think is his passion, he'd caw at and spurn ; 
 'Tis mere "Hobson'^s choice," with him when his scorn 
 Is seen to relax, and he gobbles your corn. 
 I would ask too the member who urges this tax. 
 If it be not unwise in the county Fairfax? 
 If the end is effected, this crow bill enforces. 
 What is to become oi his mass of dead hm'sesl 
 
 Mr. Cabel. 
 It may seem, Mr, Speaker, to some of the counties 
 To be a small matter, this granting of bounties. 
 But long have I thought. Sir, 'twould be very wise 
 In planters, some plan of the kind to devise. 
 The interests of husbandry, calling now louder. 
 Must have something stronger than smell of gunpowder; 
 
74 
 
 These birds come upon us like horJes, Sir, of Huns, 
 
 And take care to keep out of range of our guns ; 
 
 Some people have tried a contrivance we know 
 
 Which all have consented to call a scare-crow ; 
 
 But Pve seen 'em light on it with great nonchalance 
 
 And hopping about as if learning to dance. 
 
 A plan I once thought of, I'll freely disclose, 
 
 'Twas to grant, Sir, a pension to each of these crows. 
 
 If I gave them as much of my corn as they'd eat 
 
 I thought that to steal it, would not be so sweet; 
 
 But aks, Mr. Speaker, they'll just as soon go 
 
 To the corn you have planted as that which you strew, 
 
 I own. Sir, a farm in the old Northern Neck, 
 
 Where crows would outnumber the grains Avhich they 
 
 peck. 
 And unless some provision is made in our laws, 
 I fear. Sir, the planter must give up his cause, 
 
 Mr. Ruffin. 
 
 Although, Mr. Speaker, I moved that three counties 
 Should also partake ot these ruinous bounties, 
 I did it alone from a sense of my duty. 
 And not that I saw in the scheme any beauty. 
 What the gentleman said who was last on the floor. 
 In the truth of my dogmas, but rivets me more ; 
 The plan of a pension we've heard him rehearse 
 Has proved like the poor laws an infinite curse. 
 His system. Sir, failing, conclusively shows 
 It swells but the number of paupers and crows ; 
 Malthus and others have proved that such laws 
 Increase but the cramming of bellies and craws, 
 I therefore shall vote. Sir, against the whole bill. 
 And I wish that the Senate would help me to kill. 
 
 Mr. Johnson, 
 
 That bill, Mr. Speaker, proposes to tax 
 All those who reside in the county Fairfax, 
 The grower of corn and he who grows none : — 
 'Tis wrong, Sir, injustice like this should be done. 
 
75 
 
 Mr. Fry. 
 A law about wolves, Mr. Speaker's been made. 
 And a tax on the county requesting it, laid. 
 The man who grows wool and the man who does not 
 Are surely involved in a similar lot. — 
 The principle here is the same. Sir, I trow. 
 If you tax for the wolf you may tax for the crow. 
 
 ..Mr. Sharp. 
 A single remark, Mr. Speaker, — the man 
 Who does'nt make corn, eats bread if he can : 
 The more that is made, the cheaper he buys. 
 Then does'nt he profit when any crow dies ? 
 
 The Speaker arose from his arm chair at last 
 And ask'd if the bill in his hand should be passed. 
 And the "ayes" seem'd to have it, he said, by the sound 
 And the foes of the crows, how they crowd on the 
 ground ! ! 
 
 February 10//i. 
 We hasten to notice an error we fell in. 
 Reporting this bill, as regards Mr. Allen. 
 That gentleman moved an amendment, to wit. 
 If laws on the subject were thought at all tit, 
 Those laws should be general, and each county court 
 In its wisdom, to scalping of crows, might resortj 
 He thought that a body so grave as the Senate 
 Should not have a thing like a crow bill within it ; 
 
 If the bill should go through with its one sided features, 
 Then year after year we should hear of these creatures j 
 'Twas best in his judgment to deal such a blow. 
 As would shut up forever the bill of the crow, 
 And this was the speech which gave Mr. Rutlin, 
 What Fairfax would call, a fit of "humgruffiu.^^ 
 "He had no objection he said to the bill — 
 As regards other counties — enact what you will j 
 But as for his county, he warmly protested 
 By bell, book, and candle, if crows were molested, 
 Tiie worms there would fearlessly not and revel. — 
 All chance of the crop would be bent to the devil.'' 
 
76 
 
 THE PETITION OF THE CROWS. 
 
 At a very numerous meeting of crows in the Northern 
 Neck, assembled not for the purpose of opposing the 
 
 election of G'^neral Andrew Jackson or John Cliiincy 
 Adams, to the presidency, but to take into consideration 
 the state of the crows, the following petition to the 
 Legislature was vociferously adopted. 
 
 CoRVus Carnivorous, in the Tree. 
 Crowover CoRNHiLL, Scvatchetary. 
 
 To the Honorable Speakers and Members of the General 
 Jlssembly of Virginia : 
 The petition of the crows of the Northern Neck, 
 humbly complaining, sheweth unto your honors that 
 your petitioners view with feelings of the deepest 
 alarm, the various enactments of the legislature against 
 them ; they could have borne, without speaking, the 
 injuries heretofore inflicted, because they were of a 
 partial nature, and did not seem to contemplate the 
 total eradication of their species, but now that they find 
 from a birdseye view of your journal, that the war to 
 be waged against them is one of entire extermination, 
 they cannot forbear to cry out and respectfully ask of 
 your honors what they have done, more than many 
 other animals, to call down a vengeance so cruel and 
 unrelenting. Not only are we exposed to death in a 
 thousand shapes from poisonous preparations and vil- 
 lainous gunpowder, but recently with a refinement of 
 malignity disgraceful to a christian people, grains of 
 corn have been strung with horse hair, and your un- 
 fortunate petitioners, while attempting to swallow these 
 affronts have been subjected to phthisical tortures of a 
 character wholly indescribable. Not satisfied with 
 punishments so entirely disproportioned to our offences, 
 your honors have sanctioned by law, that aboriginal 
 abomination o^ scalping, against which, when practised 
 on yourselves, your outcries have been loud and un- 
 ccasmg. Is it not enough that our domestic privacy is 
 
77 
 
 rudely violated, and our lovely little ones mercilessly 
 lorn from us in spite of their cawing, while we ourselves 
 are assailed on every side by the engines of death, but 
 our miserable bodies must be savagely mangled, and 
 our scalps exhibited to your magistracy contemptuously 
 strung upon strings rattling in horrible aridity ! ! To 
 say nothing of the demoralizing effects of such exhibi- 
 tions, and the impolicy of destroying so useful a race as 
 ourselves, for proof of which we beg leave to refer your 
 honors to Wilson's Ornithology ; permit us to ask why 
 are we singled out as the objects of your vengeance, 
 when nothing is said of the rat or squirrel, the first more 
 destructive than ourselves, and the last so much so as 
 to have given birth to that most sarcastic observation 
 of the Hon. John Randolph of Roanoke, viz. "that the 
 Northern Neck resembles the outside row of a corn-field, 
 where the squirrels had already commenced their nib- 
 bling;" a language so prophetical and seemingly so 
 verified by recent events, that -\ve, sagacious as we are 
 known to be, are astonished at his sagacity. On this 
 subject we content ourselves with the simple observa- 
 tion of ?;e)*£i«?i srtj9. which is better Latin, we venture 
 to say, than "ignce fatuceJ' Thanks to the fabulists, 
 who have taught us all languages, and here we cannot 
 refrain from remarking that certain orators appear to 
 have been "at a great feast of the languages," but to 
 have come away without even "the scraps." That 
 more substantial participation in "the flesh pots" may 
 be hereafter exhibited, we pretend not to know any- 
 thing about, and hasten to call your attention to other 
 matters, more relevant to our present petition. 
 
 No longer ago than at the lastsessionof your Assem- 
 bly, the hog, at the bare mention of the destructiveness 
 of which the Virginia farmer ought to tremble, was 
 treated with a courtesy which, when contrasted with 
 the cruelty evinced to us, is truly astonishing. He 
 was absolutely presented with the freedom of the town 
 of Lewisburg, not in a golden box, but upon parch- 
 ment, and permitted to rove at large, exempt from all 
 restraint, that he might be upon a footing with the 
 rest of his fellows throughout the slate. It surely can- 
 8 
 
78 
 
 not be unknown to your honors that the hog is, beyond 
 all contradiction, the most destructive to grain of all 
 animals upon earth. In a single night he will ravage 
 an entire field, and notwithstanding the authority to do 
 so, derived from your honorable body, his bloody laurels 
 often attest the sanguinary combat he has waged in 
 defence of his privileges. To statesmen so experienced 
 as yourselves, it would be presumption in us to call 
 your most serious attention to the absurdity of confer- 
 ring such honors upon an animal so voracious and so 
 regardless of the true wealth of nations. In the single 
 article of fencing, one-third of the labor annually em- 
 ployed in this state might be dispensed with if this 
 licensed freebooter, this sw^inish corsair, were subjected 
 to imprisonment. It is true we may be reproached 
 with being frequently seen perched upon his back, and 
 we sincerely wish that we could ride into power upon 
 his shoulders, as many of the race of man have done 
 upon the shoulders of their fellows ; but alas! like the 
 innocent apple upon the head of the son of Tell, the 
 deadly shaft pierces us through, while the hog moves 
 on unharmed, the pride and favorite of republicans. 
 It is far from the wish of your petitioners to say one 
 word that has relerence to political matters. It is cer- 
 tainly our interest to please both sides — we have made 
 "geoponicks" rather than politics our study, and not- 
 withstanding we possess in an eminent degree that 
 craft which is the distinguishing trait of the profound 
 politician, the necessity of procuring subsistence has 
 driven us rather to the contemplation of corn-hills than 
 codes. Nevertheless we find ourselves constrained to 
 say that we are somewhat in the predicament of Gen. 
 Jackson. His deeds have been long known, commented 
 upon, triujnphantly vindicated, and yet there are some 
 who seem to have been in a sort of political lethargy, 
 and to have suddenly awakened to a keen perception 
 of his atrocities. The flood long pent up in their bo- 
 soms hath at length found a vent, and a torrent of 
 vituperation has poured down upon his head, so 
 sweeping and so overwhelming that no place of secu- 
 
 ( 
 
79 
 
 rity can be found for the hero of New Orleans, save 
 the strong walls of your penitentiary. Now, 
 
 ''Ever since old Adam was made, 
 PuHini^ of corn has been our trade" — 
 
 and yet, with this knowledge on your part, vengeance 
 hath slept until lately ; the plea of necessity has been 
 our justification — we have acted, as Mr. Adams says, 
 under a higher sanction than human laws, and yet 
 nothing short of an ignominious end will satisfy the 
 enemies of our advancement. Nor are we at a loss to 
 find a parallel in our case to that of Mr. Adams, if that 
 eminent scholar will permit us to compare the humble 
 Mantua with lofty Rome, Like him, we fondly flat- 
 tered ourselves that our nests, carefully cemented by 
 the aid of Clay, were too securely reared toward the 
 skies to be reached by our opponents. We did not 
 dream that explorations would produce so much mis- 
 chief; we hoped that in these observatories we might 
 securely sit, and that any attempt to disturb us would 
 be "ineffably stupid,'^'' when lo ! the auri sacra fames, 
 (more Latin, an' please your worships,) the cursed love 
 of treasury pap, has suddenly overturned all our hopes 
 and left us a prey to despair. We forbear to trespass 
 longer upon your valuable time, although this subject 
 is capable of great amplification, and conclude with an 
 earnest prayer that your honors will reject, promptly 
 and with merited scorn, every bill which has for its 
 object the further wounding of your petitioners, and if 
 this humble boon be too much to grant, we implore 
 that you will in mercy allow us at least the writ of 
 habeas corpus, and ordain that our mangled crowns 
 shall be no longer, with Indian ferocity, exhibited to 
 your magistracy, an indecent spectacle and barbarian 
 trophy, but that each victim, in propria persona, shall 
 be produced, and your petitioners will ever pray, &c. &c. 
 Signed by 
 
 Many Crows. 
 
80 
 
 THE CAPITOL. 
 
 Quoth I, with a' my heart I'll do't, 
 
 I'll £jet my Sunday saik on, 
 An' meet you on the holy spot; 
 
 Faith, we'ae hae fine remarkin. 
 
 Burns^ Holy Fair. 
 
 Old Richmond bell began to groan. 
 
 The deafen 'd year a greeting : 
 And loud proclaim'd the hour o' noon. 
 
 The House's hour o' meeting — 
 The sun was bursting through the clouds 
 
 That wrap the smoky city. 
 And men were thronging forth in crowds 
 
 And all the women pretty. 
 So gay, that day. 
 
 As lonesomely I took the street. 
 
 To breathe the genial air, 
 A laughing friend I chanced to meet, 
 
 Q.uite gay and debonair — 
 He press'd my hand with friendly grip. 
 
 True index of the soul. 
 And said, come take with me a trip. 
 
 To our great Cap — i — tol. 
 For fun, this day. 
 
 I will with all my heart, quoth I, 
 
 Since there I ne'er have been. 
 But first, my friend, pray tell me why 
 
 This rushing out and in — 
 Has Richmond City seen old "Scratch?^^ 
 
 Or are Slate Rights in danger 7 
 That folks move on with such despatch. 
 
 You see I'm but a stranger 
 To things, this day. 
 
 Oh no, quoth he, a better joke 
 
 By far than that we crack. 
 They've killed a man called Roanoke, 
 
 Whose christian name was Jack; 
 
8i 
 
 A woman threw a tile of yore, 
 
 And smote some fellow's head. 
 But Jack was smit by something more, 
 A Tyler killed him dead, 
 
 Q,uite dead, one day. 
 That Tyler now is also dead. 
 
 And turned 'tis said to Clay, 
 And so we go to choose, instead. 
 Some man to bear the sway — 
 The troops of those who wish to reign. 
 
 Will fight like bold Macduff; 
 The shout will be with might and main, 
 **Lay on" and he who "cries enough" 
 
 "Be d 'd" this day. 
 
 So arm in arm, we sought the Hall, 
 Where onwards rolled the stream. 
 Through iron gate, with chain and ball. 
 
 That kept incessant scream — 
 I jogg'd my friend, and said, is not 
 This meant by wags a symbol ? 
 They've hung up here this cannon shot. 
 To shew there's room to tremble. 
 For war, this day. 
 He smiled and said, "pray, forward march, 
 
 A truce with jibes and goads — 
 See, here's a great Collossal arch" — 
 
 I ask'd if 't came from Rhodes ? 
 But when I heard it was a work. 
 
 Built up for great Fayette, 
 Egad ! said I, his foes at York 
 Must hang their heads and fret. 
 To see't this day. 
 Now on the spacious square we stood. 
 
 My soul I felt expanding. 
 My eye pursued the dazzling flood 
 
 Of James as he went winding ; 
 I saw him raging far above. 
 
 And with the rocks contending. 
 Then lower down, less furious move. 
 As if his rage was spending 
 Full fast, that day. 
 8* 
 
82 
 
 Before me stood sweet Liberty ! 
 
 All light, and chaste, and airy, 
 Thy Temple tow'ring to the sky, 
 
 Thy sate and lofty eyry ! ! 
 There — there it is, I inward thought. 
 
 We nurse the infant Eagle, 
 And when to full grown strength he^s brought ; 
 
 "Fell sivoop'^ at things illegal. 
 He'll make some day. 
 
 As right and left I turn my eye. 
 
 Far flashing light assails. 
 From splendid domes that scatter'd lie 
 
 Upon a thousand hills; 
 But dark as Erebus below. 
 
 Black wreaths of smoke arise. 
 Where commerce follows James' flow 
 
 Then pale, they fade in brighten'd skies. 
 So sweet, this day. 
 
 What interchange of hill and dale ! — 
 
 It was indeed a lovely scene. 
 Of island — bridge, and silver sail, 
 
 And scatter'd tree that waved between : 
 Nay, more— it had a touch sublime. 
 
 For as I stood to scan. 
 My thoughts went back to former time. 
 
 To thine, old Powhatan ! 
 
 So changed this day. 
 
 But time would fail to tell of him, 
 
 I'll sing no dismal ditty, 
 I'll now pursue my idle whim. 
 
 And dash my tear of pity — 
 One word, however, as we pass. 
 
 Smith, had he laid his hands on 
 Smyth, Banks & Co. would not, alas. 
 
 Have kill'd his great, great grandson 
 So dead one day. 
 
 On ev'ry side, in glittering pride, 
 
 Each lass herself was showing, 
 The bonnet wide, disdained to hide 
 
 Her cheek with beauty glowing — 
 
83 
 
 The brilliant silk — tlie dazzling shawl. 
 
 The plumes that fell so wavy 5 
 The jaunty air — the one and all 
 
 Made me to cry peccavi ! — 
 I've sinn'd this day. 
 The bucks ! — of them I took no note^, 
 
 I hardly saw the wretches — 
 I guess they wore straight jacket coats. 
 
 And petticoats for breeches — 
 They mar too much, man's form divine. 
 
 But girls ! somehow they get ye, 
 'Tis throwing pearls before the swine ; 
 
 My garters ! how it frets me. 
 To see 't some day. 
 While in my breast this envious thought 
 
 Finds place and deeply rankles. 
 Up to the steps the crowd is brought. 
 
 That place for showing ankles — 
 The heads of girls were in such whirls. 
 
 Their tongues kept such a clinking, 
 They gave their curls some graceful twirls, 
 
 But cared not, who was blinking 
 At feet, that day. 
 The lofty flight of steps o'erpast. 
 
 We gain'd at length the House, 
 With awe my mind was overcast. 
 
 It made me still as mouse — 
 My friend, to whom I held me tight. 
 
 Led through the grand Rotund, 
 And there I saw a reverend sight 
 
 That nail'd me to the ground 
 At once, that day. 
 In marble stillness ! — calm ! — sublime ! — 
 
 The Father of his country stands. 
 Serene majestic, as in time 
 
 At head of his immortal bands — 
 In freedom's vestibule, he guards 
 
 The passway to her Hall, 
 To point at once to great rewards 
 
 And traitors' hearts appal 
 
 With dread some day. 
 
84 
 
 But who are these who chatter round, 
 
 Their paltry wares here vending ? — 
 Shall they profane this sacred ground ? 
 
 To h-11 let them be wending — 
 The money changers once were driven 
 
 From God's own holy temple. 
 And here, as we have hopes o' Heaven, 
 
 Let's take the great example 
 Was set that day. 
 
 With thoughts of scorn, we hasten off. 
 
 Press through the crowded lobby. 
 Before the lads of hawk and cough 
 
 Had got upon their hobby — 
 The wish'd for land is now in view. 
 
 We push across old Jordan,* 
 He foams and swells — it will not do. 
 
 He's forced to yield, friend Gordon ; 
 He's dry this day. 
 
 A sorry sight now meets my eye, 
 
 A plainer strikes on no man's. 
 They seem but men like you or I, 
 
 I thought to see old Romans — 
 Here sit in rows a motley crew. 
 
 Within a large quadrangle. 
 On seats alternate rais'd to view. 
 
 That all who choose to wrangle 
 May do't this day. 
 
 Upon the left, midway the Hall, 
 
 You must not think I'm scoffin'. 
 There stands a sort of what d'ye call. 
 
 Just like a long black coffin — 
 'Tis rais'd somewhat above the floor, 
 
 A table has, and standish ; 
 'Twas built no doubt in days of yore, 
 
 Ecod ! It looks outlandish 
 At this late day. 
 
 * Sergeant at arms. 
 
85 
 
 They call it here the Speaker^s seat. 
 
 The Speaker he was in it — 
 And now and then, rose on his feet. 
 
 But only for a minute ; 
 The thing's miscalPd as others are. 
 
 Lucks a noii Liicendo ; 
 He doth not speak so much, I'll swear. 
 
 By half, as other men do. 
 Who rise this day. 
 
 'Twould not be right — he must look grand. 
 
 And bear himself full proudly — 
 His patience tax to understand 
 
 What they are bleth'ring loudly — 
 Poor man ! I would not have his trade. 
 
 For all its great attractions. 
 To list to each "fanfaronade^^ 
 
 Of '^nonsense and abstractions." 
 
 He has to sit and fix his eye. 
 
 And bow, as comprehending — 
 But faith, at times he looks so sly, 
 
 I think he's not attending — 
 A gape Pre seen, in vain suppressed. 
 
 Convulse his handsome features. 
 And lurking smile has then confess'd, 
 
 **Deuce take the prosing creatures. 
 PU doze some day.'' 
 
 Just at his feet, in cloth of green. 
 
 There was a table standing. 
 And several men were round it seen. 
 
 Who pen with ink were handling — 
 One rose, and with stentorian throat. 
 
 Read out some clishma-claver — 
 Two others seem'd as taking note 
 
 Of all they did palaver. 
 Or read that day. 
 
 And now and then some man came out 
 
 And strutted to the table, 
 Pm thinking what he was about. 
 
 To tell, he'd not be able — 
 
86 
 
 HeM seat himself with pompous air, 
 
 And write so many letters. 
 Thinks I, my lad, you'd best take care, 
 
 Such thiuij^s have killed your betters, 
 Before this day. 
 But what surprised me most of all. 
 
 And what I thought improper. 
 Was constant motion 'bout the Hall 
 
 And want of some mouth stopper — 
 And men whom we have proudly put 
 
 In that august Assembly, 
 So cram their g-t with plum and nut. 
 
 They must feel "woolij wamhhj ■,''^ 
 J think some day. 
 Besides — there is another thing — 
 
 When each should be attending. 
 They seem to give their fancy wing. 
 
 And glances up are sending — 
 I think their necks must get a crick. 
 
 As gall'ry-ward they're straining, 
 Such wicked thought, and boyish trick 
 
 Grave men should be disdaining. 
 On such a day. 
 But heavens ! it is a lovely sight. 
 
 My friends ! I must excuse ye. 
 Those charming tints of red and white 
 
 May well enough confuse ye — 
 How could ye turn to earth your eyes 
 
 And look on man's coarse features. 
 When stars were glittering in the skies. 
 
 And such transcendent creatures 
 Were seen that day. 
 How would it do to pass a law, 
 
 A Salic law in raillery. 
 By which t' enact that lasses braw 
 
 Should not ascend the gallery ? — 
 How many votes d'ye think 'twould get ? 
 
 Not one, I do protest — 
 But Pegasus, come, cease curvet, 
 
 I think we've done our best 
 To please this day. 
 
87 
 
 I'll only add a postscript short, 
 
 'Bout him they did elect — 
 And make a very brief report 
 
 Of those they did reject — 
 The last must here be raention'd first — 
 
 Two men of high renown ! ! 
 Their glorious deeds were all rehears'd — 
 
 Their like was never known 
 Before this day. 
 
 One, "frm as rocks,'' was orthodox. 
 
 The other W been to Spain — 
 But oh ! hard knocks of ballot box 
 
 What hero can sustain 1 
 A father's deeds ! a country's debt. 
 
 The spending all at Freedom's call! 
 A sun in glorious honor set. 
 
 Were told, but disregarded all 
 By some, that day. 
 
 I think that one had done much better. 
 
 But for his warmest friends — 
 They read a Washingtonian letter. 
 
 All letters ! seize ye fiends ! ! — 
 This letter told of hlood and ivounds. 
 
 Plots by the Federal gentry. 
 And how John Adams meant, by zounds, 
 
 To bribe the Upper Country, 
 With roads, some day. 
 
 A western man jump'd up in doubt. 
 
 And asked to hear't again. 
 He caught a glimpse of cloven foot. 
 
 And wish'd to see it plain — 
 Oh, do not take your specks, Smyth out. 
 
 But prithee take a gag — 
 The cat has clearly turn'd about. 
 
 And jump'd from out the bag, 
 Gluite plain, this day. 
 
 You've run your friend upon a ledge. 
 
 He's dead to-day as Chelsea, 
 As dead as Smith could kill with sledge. 
 
 As every one may well see; 
 
8S 
 
 "Oh that mine enemy would write 
 
 A book,^' cried Job of old — 
 Translated wrong — we should indite, 
 
 "A letter, ^^ I will hold 
 A bet, this day. 
 But here my muse her win^ ''maun coioer,^^ 
 
 Like Burns, in Tarn O'Shanter ; 
 They gave old warrior Giles the power. 
 
 And off they all did canter — 
 His "blushing honors'^ thickly borne. 
 
 No frost of age can wither ; 
 They bloom as fresh as when full blown. 
 
 And more he yet may gather, 
 I hope, some day. 
 His body's worn by ruthless time. 
 
 His head is now grown hoary. 
 But still his mind is in its prime. 
 
 His sun will set in glory — 
 He's saved of late, our good old State, 
 
 And pluck'd her honor drowning. 
 And when thus great, he yields to Fate, 
 
 May angels there be crowning 
 His head that day. 
 One word for what came after j 
 
 I vow 'twas most amusing. 
 Some dying were with laughter. 
 
 And some were heard abusing — 
 Some said it was a happy choice. 
 
 And some "the most infernal;'' 
 And some drawl'd out, in dol'rous voice, 
 
 Good-by to things internal 
 This blessed day. 
 Some got a squeeze, and some a jog. 
 
 And fain would they have curst ye. 
 And some push'd on to get their grog. 
 
 They were so dev'lish thirsty — 
 They had not ta'en a single drop 
 
 For almost half an hour. 
 Such abstinence would break them up, 
 
 'Twas far beyond their power 
 To stand't each day. 
 
' 89 
 
 The girls came tripping down the stairs^ 
 
 Midst ratthng and thumping — 
 And each play'd off her pretty airs 
 
 To set our hearts a jumping — 
 Fair Ladies all, I make my bow. 
 
 And hope from bottom of my soul, 
 Tho' distance must divide us now. 
 
 We'll find you at the Capitol, 
 Some other day. 
 
 POETS AND POETRT. 
 
 Poetry's unnatural ; no man ever talked in poetry 'cept a 
 beadle on boxin' day, or Warren's blackin', or Rowland's oil, or 
 some o' them low fellows. Never you let yourself down to talk 
 poetry, my hoy. — Welter, senior. 
 
 Mr. Editor : — Although named after the wisest 
 man that ever lived, I am afraid that you will think 
 me very foolish to be troubling you with my complaints ; 
 yet seeing that my great namesake did not always the 
 thing that was right, and moreover, that you did not 
 despise my former communication, but put it down in 
 black and white, I am tempted again to address you. 
 I have given up travelling as I told you, but somehow 
 or other, this world is so strangely constituted, that do 
 as we will, there must be something to perplex and 
 annoy us, and how to get rid of my present grievance 
 I cannot divine. It is therefore that I fly to you in my 
 distress, hoping that your superior wisdom may sug- 
 gest some way of relief. 
 
 Almost all your contributors, I observe, stick up a 
 kind of sign-board at the top of their writings, and you 
 see I have followed their example ; I think it a good 
 custom. It answers a useful purpose, because your 
 readers may be considered as a sort of travellers, who 
 like to know which way they are going. Whether 
 they be in search of business or pleasure, they can take 
 the one road or the other ; according to the sign, and 
 by these useful contrivances, they can always know 
 9 
 
90 
 
 where to stop for "cakes and beer," or more solid fare. 
 Let nobody stop with me, who cannot be satisfied with 
 the humblest cheer. 
 
 When I tell you, Mr. Editor, that I am like the man 
 who never made but one rhyme in his life, and that was 
 "Thumpin and Dumpling," missing it then too, you 
 may well wonder that poetry should be my theme j 
 but I have been so much vexed and worried by poets, 
 that I am almost as mad as Hogarth's "enraged musi- 
 cian;" and, if I may judge from the manner in which 
 they have beset you, I have no doubt, if you could come 
 out openly, you would wish the v/hole fraternity at the 
 bottom of the sea ; and I have a shreAvd notion that you 
 think with my Lord Byron, that if they have drunk of 
 the true Castalian, ''it has a villainous twangP 
 
 I have somewhere read of an old gentleman, who- 
 estimated his books according to their ponderousness. 
 The folios were the best because they gave him the 
 soundest naps; and, for my part, I never read poetry 
 but for the purpose of going to sleep ; for positively, I 
 can hardly understand half of it. The Avords are so 
 transposed for the sake of the rhyme, and the thoughts 
 are so far-fetched, that it fatigues me to death to find 
 out what the writer means. Blank verse especially, is 
 to me, more incomprehensible than the demonstration 
 we used to call at school — Hot Hell — and shall I confess 
 it ? Yes, and a thousand others would do the same, if 
 they were as candid as lam. I never could get through 
 the divine Milton in my life. As old Tom Mann 
 Randolph once said, of his opponent in debate, "I can- 
 not follow the gentleman ; he is too erratic — he shakes 
 hands with the comets." I never attempt to read 
 Paradise Lost, without being convinced of my fallen 
 stale, when I awake, and find myself on the floor. Is 
 there any conceivable subject, much less the devil and 
 his imps, upon which human attention can be kept 
 awake through twelve tedious books? If I could read 
 by steam, I should feel as if I were dragging along 
 twelve burthen cars. I have selected Milton to illus- 
 trate my feelings, because he is of unquestioned emi- 
 nence ; and if it be thus with mo at the fountain head. 
 
91 
 
 what must I endure upon llie tempest-tost ocean of 
 modern poetry? By-the-by, blank verse! What is 
 the meaning of the word blank ? Like the fellow who 
 had been writing prose all his life, without knowing it, 
 here have I been reading blank verse all my life, with- 
 out once inquiring into its meaning. I suppose I was 
 satisfied from not comprehending it, that it was all a 
 blank; but let us see what the dictionary says, for peo- 
 ple now-a-days, I believe, are fed upon the dictionary. 
 Blank — white, unwritten, confused, without rhyme; 
 truly, an excellent definition ! It is confused indeed, 
 and Milton's verse is, to use his own words, "confusion 
 worse confounded." Can any sober man hke you or I, 
 Mr. Editor, read his account of Hell and the Devil, 
 Sin and Death, Old Night and Chaos, without feeling 
 his head a perfect chaos? What monstrous concep- 
 tions! What inconceivable descriptions! What un- 
 utterable horrors ! Was the man mad 1 No wonder 
 he was blind ; for the bare imagination of such sights 
 as he describes was enough to make any body blind. 
 Indeed, it seems to me to be absolutely necessary to be 
 blind, or at least to shut one's eyes, to imagine such a 
 multitude of devils — more I dare swear than "vast hell 
 can hold," Just shut your eyes for a moment, and 
 observe the variety of objects you will see of all shapes 
 and sizes. It must have been in this way that his 
 imagination "bodied forth the forms of things unknown J' 
 Some of his descriptions are really so ludicrous that one 
 cannot forbear laughing outright; I am sure I cannot. 
 For instance. Sin, in giving an account of her birth, 
 says, that all at once Satan had the head-ache, and his 
 head threw forth flames thick and fast, till the left side 
 of it opened, and out she jumped — a goddess armed; 
 what followed then, is too horrible for decent people to 
 talk about. Again, when Moloch proposes to attack 
 the Almighty with "infernal thunder, and for lightning 
 to shoot hlack fire and horror," among the angels, Avho 
 can refrain from smilmg at this new kind of ammuni- 
 tion. I should think black fire must be the least de- 
 structive sort. I know that I hate to see my fire look 
 black of a cold day, and as for horror, where it was to 
 
92 
 
 be got and how used, I leave for devils to explain ; but 
 enough of this nonsense. I did not set down to criticise 
 Milton. — Heaven help me ! No, I am too conscious of 
 the longo intervallo between him and a thumping and 
 dumplin sort of fellow hke myself; but I must take 
 leave to say, that not one in a thousand of common 
 folks, mind I say of common folks, who affect to be 
 mightily pleased with Paradise Lost, can expound the 
 following quotation : 
 
 **They pass the planets seven, and pass the fix'd 
 And that Crystalline sphere, whose balance weighs, 
 The trepidation talk'd, and that first moved." 
 
 Can there be any pleasure in reading what requires 
 so much labour to understand ? No, sir, it was not to 
 criticise, but to beseech you to urge people, who can- 
 not write poetry, to let it alone, and do as I did. I 
 once took it into my head, that I could draw, and was 
 always making the most uncouth things in the world, 
 but still could not be convinced of my incapacity that 
 way, until one day as I was sketching a head of the 
 Marquis La Fayette, a friend peeped over my shoulder 
 and asked me, if that was a water jug I was drawing. 
 A water jug! ! The head of La Fayette mistaken for 
 a water jug! ! ! Mortified to death, I threw down my 
 pencil, and secretly vowed that I was done with that 
 business forever. Just so entreat those who never dip- 
 ped their ''jugs into the real Hippocrene," to break them 
 at once, and pursue some more profitable calling. I 
 know well that Dean Swift, or somebody, has said, 
 that every one must have a poetical purging at some 
 period of life ; but he never intended that any one 
 should bring on a diarrhoea of poetry. I have, sir, in 
 my neighborhood, a run mad poet; and I ask you to 
 recommend what can be done to restore the man to his 
 senses. If Chalmers can cure a man of drunkenness, 
 surely you might compound a dose which would cure 
 my neighbor of his propensity to rhyme. I was in 
 hopes that some of your versifiers had given him a dose 
 that he never could get over, but he is at it again — and 
 
93 
 
 worse than ever. Ought he not to be sent to the lunatic 
 hospital I For you know that a poet has himself said, 
 
 "The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
 Are of imagination all compact," 
 
 What am I doing? Plague on the fellow, he has ab- 
 solutely infected me with his propensities — but let me 
 describe him. He goes about with a sesquipedalian 
 volume of poems, six inches thick, in a large side 
 pocket ; and there is no subject which can be introduced 
 into conversation, that he is not immediately ready to 
 draw out his heavy artillery and fire away upon you. 
 He has made an acrostic upon every man, woman, and 
 child in the county ; and Pll tell you how he does it j 
 he says it is the simplest thing in the world. He 
 writes down the initials and then without any manner 
 of reference to the particular individual to be described, 
 he writes whatever enters his head, and is as well satis- 
 fied with his productions, as if they were the finest por- 
 traits. I could cut out as good verse with a broad-axe. 
 He is besides, a perfect poetical Jackdaw, and is so 
 tricked out in other people's feathers, that you dare not 
 open your mouth, but he is ready for you with quota- 
 tions innumerable. He beats Dr. Pangloss hollow. 
 This is sufficiently annoying, but nothing to the inflic- 
 tions of his own rhymes. Not a cat nor a dog can die, 
 but he writes an epitaph. Marriage with us is abso- 
 lutely discouraged — because the young people are afraid 
 of an epithalamium. It is dangerous to admit him into 
 your house, for he goes away and describes every 
 mother's son of you. He has caused some of my most 
 valuable acquaintances to emigrate to the western 
 country. In short he keeps a Poetical Bank and dis- 
 counts paper. Our whole community is flooded with his 
 notes. There is no danger of his stopping. I wish 
 there was. He is truly a dreadful animal, and ought 
 to be treated, as the ancients did their mischievous 
 bulls. He should have hay upon his head ; — Fcenum 
 habet cornu, ought to be graven on his forehead. His 
 effrontery is the most unblushing. He reads his own 
 
 9* 
 
94 
 
 productions without shame, and looks around with an 
 air of triumph for approbation. He declares he was 
 born a poet, and cannot help writing if he would ; that 
 he has the divine afflatus, and must pour out his abun- 
 dant thoughts. He takes snuff to excess, and says he 
 has a most hexcellentfoice. Now, sir, can you imagine 
 a greater bore ? Even sleep, my favorite resort, is de- 
 nied me ; for he will not suffer me to sleep, but like a 
 fly, is perpetually tickling my nose with ''how do you 
 like that?" "mark this," and "observe that." I groan 
 in spirit, but the fellow has no bowels of compassion. 
 Sometimes in a frenzy I jump up and rush out, but he 
 follows me, and continues reading long after I get out 
 of the reach of his foice. With all this, he has not the 
 most distant idea of his own absurdity. Once I slept 
 in the same room with him ; I say slept, because by 
 great good luck his poetical blunderbuss had been left 
 down stairs. In the middle of the night, I felt some 
 one shaking me ; and opening my eyes, there he stood 
 over me, in his shirt-t — 1, with a candle in one hand, 
 and a written paper in the other, to read to me some 
 beautiful thoughts which he had been embodying. He 
 has written a sort of mock heroicomical poem, which 
 it was my purpose to send you with my annotations 
 and reflections. It is called the Diviad, and is founded 
 upon a story which was current some years ago, of one 
 of our Pres ts, who was remarkably fond of swim- 
 ming, and who, upon one occasion, went out with his 
 son to the Potomac, and in the course of their aquatic 
 pranks overturned their boat, and lost all their clothes. 
 After various attempts to recover them by diving, they 
 succeeded in obtaining a portion of the habiliments of 
 the father and son, but not enough to rig out the former 
 for a becoming entrance into Washington. By sending 
 off the son, a cabinet council was called, consisting of 
 
 B , S , C , and R , who respectively 
 
 gave their opinions to his majesty mounted upon his 
 throne (viz. the bottom of the boat,) as to the most 
 advisable mode of getting back to Washington without 
 an exhibition of his nudity j but I must stop, or I shall 
 tire you as much as he has tired me. I know that this 
 
95 
 
 is "raythcr a mddcn pull iip,^' as Mr. Weller says ; but 
 the art of writing, according to Sam, is to make the 
 reader vish there vos more. 
 
 Very respectfully. 
 
 Your most obd't, humble servant^ 
 Solomon Sobersides. 
 
 JOHN ADAMS' SON. MY JO. JOHN. 
 
 John Adams' Son, my Jo, John, when we were first 
 
 acquent, 
 I did na dream your aim was, to be the President ; 
 Ye've got unto the tap, John, but have an eye below, 
 Ye're ganging down as fast as up, John Adams' Son, 
 
 my Jo. 
 
 John Adams' Son, my Jo, John, when Party here began 
 To raise her horrid head, John, ye were a Fed'ralman, 
 And ye, amang us a', John, did hate the Demoes so. 
 We thought ye then a trusty frien', John Adams' Son, 
 my Jo. 
 
 John Adams' Son, my Jo, John, what pleasure did it gie 
 
 In Alien and Sedition days to see ye gang wi' me? 
 
 Ah ! ''palsied'^ be the Press, John, it teased your Fa- 
 ther so ; 
 
 We did our best to stap its breath, John Adams' Son, 
 my Jo. 
 
 John Adams' Son, my Jo, John, it blew' us all ^'sky 
 
 /tig/i," 
 And may be brought "a drap,^^ Sir, a drap intil your 
 
 "eye," 
 But soon there came a time, John, the lucky Em — 
 
 bar — go. 
 And then ye took a tack about, John Adams' Son, my Jo. 
 
 John Adams' Son, my Jo, John, we wanted then nae 
 
 "light,'' 
 ''Great Jefferson had said ye must," and surely he was 
 
 right. 
 So on ye drave the scheme, John, it was a maister blow. 
 And sent ye to St. Petersburg, John Adams' Son, my Jo. 
 
96 
 
 John Adams' Son, my Jo, Juhn, we thought ye turned 
 
 aside. 
 And did na see what was the trick, "the ass in lion^s 
 
 hide,'' 
 But late ye've bray'd so loud, John, we ken ye now, 
 
 oh ho ! 
 How '*stupi(P^ we ! — "ineffably /" — John Adams' Son, 
 
 my Jo. 
 
 John Adams' Son, my Jo, John, ye must be deep at play. 
 Or must have got the help, mon, of Maister Speaker 
 
 Clay ; 
 Buthowcameye to bray, John, so soon, I want to know, 
 Ye'll sure be beat by Jacky's Son, John Adams' Son, 
 
 my Jo. 
 
 John Adams' Son, my Jo, John, ye've brought about 
 
 your fa' 
 By saying ye wad send men to Isthmus Pan — a — ma ; 
 And then to cap the climax, John, John Sergeant he 
 
 must go — 
 That chiel who wants the Blackies free, John Adams' 
 
 Son, my Jo. 
 
 John Adams' Son, my Jo, John, what said old Wash- 
 ing — ton ? 
 "Trade, trade wi' evh-y nation — get tangledup wi^ none.^^ 
 Tak' back the silly pledge, the pledge of Jim Monroe, 
 Or say it was "a pledge to self," John Adams' Son, 
 my Jp. 
 
 John Adams' Son, my Jo, John, why go to Pan-a-ma? 
 What profit under heaven, can we be getting there ? 
 How can ye think to change, John, the laws o' na- 
 tions so. 
 Or Catholics to Protestants, John Adams' Son, my Jo. 
 
 John Adams' Son, my Jo, John, let Hay ti, mon, alone. 
 Things hae been fixed wi' her sure, this mony a year 
 
 agone ; 
 We want no consuls black, John, to rouse domestic foe, 
 Guid folks enou' at work for that, John Adams' Son, 
 
 my Jo. 
 
97 
 
 John Adams' Son, my Jo, John, 'twould be a maister 
 
 stroke. 
 Gin ye could put to death soon, that fellow Roanoke ; 
 Ye' ve tried to prove him mad , John, but oh, it will na do. 
 He isnamad nor Taz well fou, John Adams' Son, my Jo. 
 
 John Adams' Son, ray Jo, John, ye've climb'd the 
 
 highest steeple. 
 But dinna tak it in your head to scorn the Sov'reign 
 
 People ] 
 Ye're getting Ultra Fed', John, and lift too high your 
 
 pow. 
 Draw in that cloven foot, ye de'il, John Adams' Son, 
 
 my Jo. 
 
 John Adams' Son, my Jo, John, turn down to earth 
 
 your eyes. 
 And dinna talk o' building "Light Houses o' the <Sfeies;" 
 Q,uit "Exploration''^ schemes, John, and ilka thing 
 
 forego. 
 They ca' unconstitutional y John Adams' Son, my Jo. 
 
 THE VICAR OF BRAY. 
 
 In my good Father's royal days. 
 The reign nick-nam'd of terror ; 
 
 A zealous Monarchist I was. 
 And never own'd my error — 
 
 All Democrats were Jacobines, 
 Agog for Revolution ; 
 
 And "Rights of Man" were but the means 
 To kick up some confusion. 
 
 And this is true I will maintain. 
 And so will Hen y CI y, sir. 
 
 That ev'ry man who wants to reign. 
 Must be a Vicar of Bray, sir. 
 
 When Jefferson obtained the throne, 
 I felt a deep conviction : 
 
 In Congress Hall I made it known. 
 And voted for Restriction — 
 
98 
 
 The Terrapin was then the thing, 
 Most worthy imitation. 
 
 And not such geese as Pickering; 
 So down with Exportation : 
 
 And this is true I will maintain. 
 And so will Hen y CI y, sir ; 
 
 That ev'ry man who wants to reign, 
 Must be a Vicar of Bray, sir. 
 
 When Madison eclips'd Monroe, 
 I did my service tender. 
 
 And soon was sent a Plenipo, 
 To Russian Alexander — 
 
 The loaves and fishes thus I got. 
 And guU'd th' Administration, 
 Nor did I care a single groat. 
 For former friend's damnation : 
 
 And this is true I will maintain. 
 And so will Hen y CI y, sir ; 
 
 That ev'ry man who wants to reign. 
 Must be a Vicar of Bray, sir. 
 
 When James the Second proved to be, 
 "The star of the ascendant," 
 
 I plotted my catastrophe. 
 As I was still dependent — 
 
 And so you see it came to pass 
 In Fortune's wild vagary, 
 
 " fVrite poor Dogberry down an ass," 
 But write me Secretary : 
 
 And this is true I will maintain. 
 And so will Hen y CI y, sir ; 
 
 That ev'ry man who wants to reign, 
 Must be a Vicar of Bray, sir. 
 
 Great Britain once I did adore. 
 But now I took my cue, sir; 
 
 Her greatness, pshaw ! twas all a bore. 
 And I began t' abuse her — 
 
 I kept a sharp lookout ahead. 
 Ran down the English nation. 
 
 As all who wish may fully read 
 In my July oration : 
 
99 
 
 And this is true I will maintain. 
 And so will Hen y CI y, sir ; 
 
 That ev'ry man who wants to reign. 
 Must be a Vicar of Bray, sir. 
 
 When Jemmy's eight long years were gone, 
 I'm free to be confessor, 
 
 I fix'd my eye upon the throne. 
 For who could tell successor? 
 
 But when I heard the People roar. 
 And saw their clear intent, sir, 
 
 I play'd old Talleyrand once more 
 And wooed the man of Ghent, sir : 
 
 And this is true I will maintain. 
 And so will Hen y CI y, sir ; 
 
 That ev'ry man who wants to reign. 
 Must be a Vicar of Bray, sir. 
 
 So Hal and I were cup and can. 
 He Congress-men could twist, sir. 
 
 And triumph'd o'er the great Hang-man, 
 T' Arbuthnot and Ambrister ! 
 We boldly argued him unfit. 
 To fill such lofty stations. 
 
 Who I myself before had writ 
 Was right by laws o' nations : 
 
 And this is true I will maintain. 
 And so will Hen y CI y, sir ; 
 
 That ev'ry man who wants to reign 
 Must be a Vicar of Bray, sir. 
 
 Th' illustrious Coalition, and 
 "Safe precedent succession," 
 
 For these I'll join both heart and hand, 
 "While I can keep possession ;" 
 
 And by my plighted faith, dear Clay, 
 With you I will not palter. 
 
 And you shall have my place one day, 
 "Unless my mind should alter :^' 
 
 And this is true I will maintain. 
 And so will Hen y CI y, sir ; 
 
 That ev'ry man who wants to reign 
 Must be a Vicar of Bray, sir. 
 
100 
 
 And now I'm firmly seated high, 
 I may have some opinion, 
 
 I need no longer now deny 
 I hate the Old Dominion — 
 
 Her stubborn pride must now succumb. 
 Her strength be lost by fractures. 
 
 We've got her down beneath our thumb. 
 By dint of manufactures : 
 
 And this is true I will maintain 
 And so will Hen y CI y, sir ; 
 
 That ev'ry man who wants to reign 
 Must be a Vicar of Bray, sir. 
 
 No longer palsied will we sit. 
 But with one mighty movement. 
 
 We'll ruin our Constituents yet. 
 By means of their improvement — 
 
 We'll make a splendid kingdom rise 
 Like European nations. 
 
 And from Light Houses of the Skies, 
 We'll send them Corruscations : 
 
 And this is true I will maintain 
 And so will Hen y CI y, sir; 
 
 That ev'ry man who wants to reign 
 Must be a vicar of Bray, sir. 
 
 TO TOBACCO. 
 
 Food fills the wame an' keeps us livin' 
 Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin,' 
 When heavy draerg'd wi' pine an' grievin' 
 But oil'd by thee, 
 The wheels o' life gae downhill, screivin ; 
 Wi' rattlin glee. — Burns. 
 
 Some talk of black eyed girls and blue. 
 And some of cheeks of rosy hue. 
 Of wit and wine and friendship true; 
 
 They're well enough — 
 Tobacco ! ! give me thee to chew 
 
 To smoke, or snulf. 
 
101 
 
 Oh ! fragaant plant where'er you are, 
 In box or pouch, or sweet segar, 
 Havanna ! Brown's ! or Maccabau ! 
 
 Thou best of weeds ! 
 Crown him the first of Bards, by far. 
 
 Who sings thy deeds. 
 
 I love to sit and see thee curl'd 
 
 In circling smoke, and upward whirPd, 
 
 A pinch of snuff for all the world ! 
 
 At such a time — 
 Unto the winds my cares be hurl'd : 
 
 I feel sublime. 
 
 When thou dost titilate my nose. 
 It seems to dissipate my woes, 
 I feel a thrill down to my toes 
 
 Gluite 'cap a pee,' 
 Ah ! wretched he who never knows 
 
 Thy joys. Rappee ! 
 
 When cold compelleth us to wheeze 
 Who would exchange one glorious sneeze 
 For all the charms of all the shes 
 
 For wealth or wine ? 
 And what so soon can raise a breeze 
 
 As JVumher JVine ? 
 
 He who'd of ev'ry ill be rid. 
 Has but to take a monstrous quid 
 Into the mouth, let it be slid 
 
 And draw the breath — 
 Then, like the reckless Richard Fid, 
 
 Who cares for death ? — 
 
 There's scarce a man in all this nation. 
 
 Of high or lowly occupation. 
 
 No matter what may be his station 
 
 On life's long docket 
 But keeps you in some sort of fashion 
 
 Snug in his pocket. 
 
 Your Tradesman with his hardy fist. 
 In ecstasy will grasp his twist 
 
 10 
 
102 
 
 Within his cheek, thick as his wrist. 
 
 He stows a whopper, 
 Just as the Miller chucks his grist 
 
 Into his hopper. 
 Your Ploughman takes a thundering chaw. 
 And tucks it in distended jaw. 
 Then roars he out his gee and haw. 
 
 So charm'd with you. 
 His very cattle seem to draw 
 
 As if they knew. 
 The Tars who o'er the ocean sail. 
 Whose hearts in danger never quail. 
 What nerves them so to breast the gale 
 
 And kiss the moon ! 
 'Tis juice of thee, adored Pigtail ! 
 
 Thou greatest boon I 
 The Doctor warns us 'gainst a quid 
 If from diseases we'd be freed — 
 Then gravely opes his box's lid. 
 
 And takes a chew. 
 The patient does as Doctor did, 
 
 Though death ensue. 
 The Merchant takes much wiser views. 
 And ponders deeper o'er the news. 
 The "cud offancy^^ sweeter chews 
 
 While mumbling thee. 
 And better takes his mental cruise 
 
 O'er tumbling sea. 
 The Lawyer turning o'er thy leaf 
 Can better comprehend his brief. 
 His cause set forth in bold relief 
 
 With stronger power ; 
 His fancy loves, 'tis my belief 
 
 Thy golden shower. 
 I'll risk a bet e'en Johnny Q, — 
 Has got a "bargain^' oft in you ; 
 And Clay, who knows a thing or two 
 
 Is ''lip to snuff,'^ 
 And he who all the British slew 
 
 Enjoys a puff. 
 
 I 
 
103 
 
 Oh Burns! thou eulogist of whiskey 
 Which often made thee much too brisk, eh! 
 In drinking it, how greatly risk we ; 
 
 It plays the deuce. 
 Not so, let's say it, Unusquisque 
 
 With this sweet juice. 
 
 Tobacco brings no man to ruin. 
 For very little serves for chewing. 
 And then he knows what he is doing. 
 
 But as for whiskey 
 Some mischief 'tis forever brewing 
 
 We feel so frisky. 
 
 Tobacco never plays us pranks 
 
 Nor throws poor bodies off their shanks. 
 
 Just reeling round as they were hanks 
 
 In swift rotations. 
 While whiskey will upset all ranks. 
 
 Through deep potations. 
 
 Then let Tobacco's fame be sung. 
 Oh may it roll o'er many a tongue 
 With it let every nose be wrung. 
 
 Save women's noses ; 
 For should they use it — old or young 
 
 Love straightway dozes. 
 
 (For the Richmond Whig.) 
 
 MEETING OF THE LADIES AT THE CAPITOL. 
 
 ** Aristocracy alone could ever have imagined it (community) 
 to mean a privileged class, and sophistry only would pretend to 
 include in it the women." 
 Were I a Man 
 
 I would remove these tedious stumbling blocks, 
 And smooth my way upon their headless necks, 
 And being a woman, I will not be slack 
 To play my part in fortune's pageant. — Hen . FT. 
 
 Most lovely, accomplish'd, and ill treated Ladies! 
 Best part of creation I — attend to what said is— 
 Four Spinsters have met and determined together. 
 To call on the women, that is, if the weather 
 
104 
 
 Be not loo inclement to meet in the houses. 
 Where lately our Fathers, and Brothers, and Spouses 
 Have dared to proclaim to a thunder-struck nation. 
 That Ladies Juivc nothing' to do in creation. 
 'Tis known to mankind how we hate all contention. 
 But garters ! and stars ! we must go to Convention : 
 We call on the married — maids — widows and all. 
 From the Miss in her teens to the Miss with her doll. 
 To come in a body, and dress'd in their finest. 
 And try in their beauty, who'll look the divinest; 
 You may be assured that a thousand beholders 
 Will be there, of the men, both the non and freeholders 
 To gaze on the charms which may thus be collected, 
 To ask at their hands, that our rights be protected. 
 Girls ! put on your bonnets, the biggest you wear. 
 Oh lud ! we shall cover the Capitol Square ; 
 There'll hardly be room for such monstrous umbrellas. 
 But gracious! these bonnets so please the young fellows; 
 The matrons can wrap themselves up in pelisses. 
 The blood must be warm'd as it gradually freezes. 
 Let every dear tabby, inclining to pur. 
 Put on her angolas and muffle in fur ; 
 But we that are young must be splendid and flashing ; 
 'Our shawls must be worn in a manner quite dashing. 
 Half off the shoulder and carelessly winding. 
 As if they were trifles not worth our minding ; 
 Ev'ry curl must be held in complete requisition. 
 Our object you see is to improve our condition ; 
 Ev'ry lip that is red — ev'ry cheek that is rosy — 
 From the brightest of eyes to the eye that is dozy. 
 Must be sure to be ready to work on the souls 
 Who wish to exclude our sex from their polls; 
 Bring together in short ev'ry species of beauty, 
 ^'Virginia expects you will All do your duty.'* 
 
 We call on you. Daughters of old mother Eve ! 
 To rise in your charms, and your rights to retrieve — 
 Nature never on earth, could have made such a blunder 
 As this, that the women be always kept under ; 
 When ev'ry thing else in the world that is light 
 Gets up to the top, will you tell us 'tis right 
 
105 
 
 That we tamely submit, in despite of her rules, 
 To be number'd with idiots, and class'd with the fools? — 
 Shall you who have dandled the brats on your knees. 
 And in Primers have taught ^em their A B and C's ; 
 Who, Philosophers hold, have an infinite weight 
 In moulding their minds, be excluded from State? 
 Forbid it kind heaven ! — these impudent frights 
 Have diddled themselves, by their own Bill of Rights. 
 "By nature all men are born equally free," 
 But men are not women ! — oh fiddle de dee !— 
 We say, and we deem it a great condescension. 
 We say, we will certainly go to Convention j 
 We'll send ninety-six of our prettiest girls. 
 And put all your noddles at once into whirls; 
 Your grave looking bodies — your Patricepaters 
 With ogles and sighs we could make 'em all traitors ; 
 We wonder what monster would dare be so rude. 
 Such a bevy of beauty, from it to exclude? 
 We fear not the issue, we'll enter, and vote. 
 The Government change — Hurra! Petticoat! 
 Yes, that be the name ! and in future all Writs 
 Shall run "Iti the name of the Petticoat,^' chits ! 
 We'll punish you well for your want of respect. 
 How funny you'll look when your heads are all peck'd I 
 Why should not the women be suffered to vote ? 
 Is there any good reason, we beg you to show't — 
 Do you urge they are volatile, fickle, and frisky ? 
 Not half so much so as the swillers of whiskey ; 
 Are they ruled by their Fathers and Husbands with 
 
 switches ? 
 Nine-tenths we can tell you have put on the breeches ; 
 Don't many pay taxes, and some of them fight? 
 A'nt you willing to do all that men do, Miss Wright? 
 They have governed as well as the men have, we guess. 
 What Monarch was wiser than English dueen Bess ? 
 Go read of their chivalrous actions, and mark 
 What Hero did better than Joan of Arc ? 
 Look at Cath'rine the great, and forbear, sirs, to scoff — 
 Poh! hush about Orloff— Potemkin — Zuboff— 
 We all have our follies, and none had 'em more 
 Than Henry the Fourth, whom you almost adore, 
 10* 
 
106 
 
 Cleopatra — Zenobia — Semiramis Great ! 
 E'en Pericles' mistress once governed the State : — 
 Examine, we pray, the Republic of letters. 
 And say if you can that the men are our betters; 
 What think you, ye poor and contemptible ninnies. 
 Of charming epistles like Madame Sevigne? 
 Of Genlis — of Dacier — of Madame de Slael ? 
 They rush on the mind just as fast as the hail ; 
 What think you of Hamilton, Edgeworth, and Moore, 
 Of Opie and Hemans? — Pd count up a score — 
 Is it ht ? — is it right that such exquisite tongues 
 Should be mute, while your boobies are sphtting their 
 lungs. 
 
 We've thrown out a few of these hasty remarks. 
 Just to call your attention to some of our sparks — 
 Should they obstinate prove, should they turn us ail out. 
 We are likely to have a most thundering rout ; 
 We don't care a pin — we are used to a squeeze. 
 Let's have an Assembly and issue decrees ; 
 Let us only be firm, and we venture our lives 
 They'll soon come among us to look for some wives ; 
 Yes — now is our time — we may do what we please. 
 We'll soon have the rebels all down on their knees. 
 And then ! — oh the thought is too vast for the brains — 
 We'll make on the Treas'ry such terrible drains — 
 We'll sparkle in jewels — we'll have such a ball! ! — 
 And — what shall we have ? — come, come to the Hall. 
 
 Four Spinsters. 
 
 [For the Richmond Whig.] 
 
 A RECEIPT 
 
 FOR MAKING A LONG SPEECH UPON ANY GIVEN SUBJECT. 
 
 Promising is the very air o' the time: it opens the eyes of ex- 
 pectation: Performance is ever the duller for his act; and but in 
 the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite 
 out of use. — Timon of Athens, >B.ct V. 
 
 You must gracefully rise, with a bow, from your chair. 
 And begin-— Mister Speaker!— with dignified air. 
 
107 
 
 You had not intended to utter one word, 
 
 Where too much already, perhaps, has been heard ; 
 
 But yet, notwithstanding, you find that you miist, 
 
 Or you would not discharge, as you should do, your 
 
 trust ; 
 You have not a hope you can shed a new ray 
 Where suns have been shining so brightly all day ; 
 You will not attempt it — you are not so silly. 
 As soon "gild the g-o/rf," and as well "paint the lily;'' 
 But you must be indulged, lor a very short while. 
 Though your language be homely, and homely your 
 
 style ; 
 It is far from your purpose to make a long speech. 
 You must scrape on your fiddle, although it should 
 
 screech. 
 Yes, promise the House, you will be very brief. 
 Just tell 'em so, man, — it will be a relief — 
 Protest that in all which you now mean to say. 
 You mean to be govern'd by strict cour — te — sy j 
 No member must think it — oh never — no, no, 
 That you mean to be cruel, and tread on his toe ; 
 'Tis not your intention to break through the rules. 
 Nor hint that all men but yourself are turn'd fools; 
 Each man has a right to maintain his opinion. 
 Long as Freedom shall reign in this Ancient Dominion ; 
 You mean not to breathe a suspicion — 'od's life ! ! 
 No doubt they are chaste as was Ceesar* — his wife. 
 Having taken this dazzling and beautiful flight. 
 Your exordium is free, sir, from ev'ry thing trite. 
 
 Go on now, with all that you do not intend. 
 
 And this is a subject almost without end. 
 
 Be sure, notwithstanding, in doing the same, 
 
 That you say ev'ry thing you pretend to disclaim ; 
 
 Then mention the field which you mean to explore, 
 
 Though you never should think of your promises more. 
 
 Go back to the days of old Adam and Eve, 
 
 With the world in a sling, you may laugh in your sleeve ; 
 
 * The nature of this compliment seems somewhat equivocal, Cae- 
 sar himself being the greatest gallant in all Rome. — J^'ide Plu- 
 tarch in vit. Cxs. 
 
108 
 
 Fight over the *'dueV^ of Cain and of Abel,* 
 
 Produce the confusion of Tower of Babel; 
 
 Let nothing deter you — but at 'em again, — 
 
 Some brass you may borrow from one Tubal-cain ;t 
 
 Throw in, by the way of a passing remark. 
 
 The form and dimensions of old Noah's Ark; 
 
 Surveying the Flood, you may then talk of Moses ; 
 
 All this, you observe, your research, man, exposes ; 
 
 Go down. Sir, to Egypt — set th' Israelites free. 
 
 And smother King Pharaoh and all in the sea ; 
 
 Cephrssnes and Cheops! — tell all that they did. 
 
 And settle the doubt of the great Py — ra — mid. 
 
 Pshaw! pay no attention to nodcUns; and winks. 
 
 But mention the sands which half buried the Sphinx; 
 
 Be sure you remember the siege of old Troy, 
 
 Not many have heard of that business, my boy ; 
 
 Pd give a tenth part of an ephah — an omer,l 
 
 To see their eyes shut like the eyes of poor Homer; 
 
 The great Trojan horse will be excellent now. 
 
 With "« wreath of abstractions^' encircling "his brow ;" 
 
 *' Virginia must ride him'' — some I'ellows rakehelly 
 
 ^' Must jump with stilettoes § all sharp from his belly ;'^ 
 
 Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes 
 
 Will come in so pat — the quotation quite spent is; 
 
 But do not omit it on any account, sir — 
 
 Let Pegasus blow now — and then Pll remount, sir. 
 
 So, Pegasus — now for a different gait. 
 You've jolted me on at a terrible rate — 
 Sir! — glance at the tale of the Golden Fleece, 
 And give 'em the whole of Gillies' his Greece. 
 
 * In the debate on the duelling; question, a distinijuished orator 
 contended that the first duel upon record was that between Cain 
 and Abel. 
 
 t And Zillah, she also bare Tubal-cain, an instructor of every 
 artificer in brass — Genesis. 
 
 I Now an Omer is the tenth part of an Ephah.— 10 chap. 
 Exodus, V. 36. 
 
 § Accordi)io; to the best commentators upon the Iliad, stilettoes 
 were hardly in use at the sieg;e of Troy, but the word must stand 
 — it is so in the roll — See Debate on Convention. 
 
109 
 
 The customs of Sparta, proceed to discuss. 
 
 And make 'em a drink of the ''JVigrnmjus;^^* 
 
 Ask if among them the bravest man 
 
 Would'nt glory to think of the "epitan."t 
 
 Lycurgus of course bring in — because 
 
 Few ever heard of Lycurgus his laws ; 
 
 Athens in order you'll add to these 
 
 And all the heroes that end in "es." 
 
 Bring in the man with the oyster shell, 
 
 Who hated, but why — he could not tell; 
 
 Tell 'era old Socrates' head was bald, 
 
 Xantippe, his wife, a horrible scold ; 
 
 That his nose was flat, and the poor old cock 
 
 Made away with himself with accurs'd hemlock 3 
 
 What a pity he could'nt have worn a wig,f 
 
 Before he was driven to this last swig — 
 
 That the laws of Draco were written in blood. 
 
 But Solon's laws were uncommonly good ; 
 
 That Plato's republic was theoretic. 
 
 And Aristotle a peripatetic ; 
 
 That Diogenes lived in a sort of a tub. 
 
 And gave somebody a cynical rub. 
 
 Having gone thus far, you may throw in happily, 
 
 A sketch of the battle of old Thermopylae ; 
 
 Then after a dash of war and slaughter. 
 
 You'll ask for a tumbler glass of water — 
 
 Having scoured up Greece, go over to Rome, 
 
 And there you will find nobody at home. 
 
 Remus and Romulus suck'd a she wolf. 
 
 And Curtius, the blockhead, jump'd into a gulf ; 
 
 * JVignim jus, I address myself to the unlearned , was neither 
 more nor less than Black Broths a Spartan drink wliich the 
 loudest advocate for reform would scarcely be prevailed upon to 
 substitute for brandy, although we are now in a state of nature as 
 they contend, and are referred to Sparta as the model of our new 
 constitution. 
 
 fHe tan epi tan. The glorious declaration of the Spartan la- 
 dies, which I will leave the beaux to translate to ours. 
 
 \ This exclamation seems quite natural when we behold the 
 many transformations from age tc> youth by this most ingenious 
 contrivance — qui capit ille facit, not the wig. 
 
no 
 
 A King cut a grindstone in two with a razor, 
 Cheer'd on by an Augur, who stood by a gazer ; 
 Porsenna came there, with a murderous band. 
 And a fool, they call'd Scccvola, burnt off his hand. 
 The kingdom — repubhc — agrarian laws. 
 Press all of them mto your glorious cause ; 
 Sip more of the water — not porter — oh Tims, 
 And tell 'em the tale of the belly and limbs ; 
 Show 'em the Capitol, rescued by geese, 
 And ask if the like will e'er happen in this; 
 The Tarpeian rock, and the overturn 'd Gauls, 
 Compare them to Shockoe — and warn 'em of squalls 
 But time, sir, would fail me to go over grounds. 
 Where Pompey and Caesar and other blood-hounds 
 Gave lessons to millions, who after should live. 
 That power's a thing 'tis imprudent to give ; 
 So in short, that they lose not a word of it all. 
 Just read 'em Ned Gibbon's Declension and Fall. 
 By this they're impatient to moisten their throats. 
 And now is your time to unkennel your notes; 
 Exhibit your papers — unfold your foolscap, 
 In place of their dinner, they'll all take a nap. 
 Now fancy yourself in a cyphering School,* 
 That nincompoop Cocker to you is a fool ; 
 Come show 'em as plain as that men are alive. 
 That "[five is a honilre," and "hondre is five ;"t 
 Demonstrate by pounds, by shillings and pence, 
 'Tis nonsense to listen to old common sense ; 
 And tell 'em — yes, tell 'em — amaze the beholder. 
 The man who pays taxes, is not the Freeholder ! ! ! ! 
 
 Oh rattle away and ^'bother their gigs,^^ 
 No matter how much they may sigh for their swigs ; 
 Then take in extenso, the statutes at large, 
 A volley of laws at the numskulls discharge. 
 And if they don't lustily halloo ''enough,^' 
 "Lay on" 'em, I beg you, *'lay on" em, 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 *See debate on Convention, passim. 
 
 t This line is founded on fact— a Frenchman, many years ago, 
 offered to prove it by Algebra. 
 
HI 
 
 fO DUPEPSU, 
 
 Dyspepsia ! horrid fiend, away ! 
 
 Nor dog my steps from day to day : 
 Where'er I go — wherever fly, 
 I meet that dim and sunken eye. 
 
 That paUid and cadav'rous hue, 
 
 Those bloodless lips, so coldly blue. 
 Thy tott'ring gait, and faltering breath 
 Proclaim thee, messenger of death. 
 
 Behold thy work — my languid frame 
 Its vigor wasted, blood grown tame. 
 
 Afraid of what, it cannot tell. 
 
 Is held in thy demoniac spell ; 
 Dark shadows round, thou seem'st to fling ; 
 *'My ears with hollow murmurs ring;" 
 
 My head grows giddy — eyesight dim. 
 
 My senses seem to reel and swim. 
 
 At night I start from hideous dream ; 
 
 My pillow fly, with stifled scream ; 
 I dare not sleep — at early morn 
 I hear the huntsman's echoing horn ; 
 
 My burthened heart one instant bounds 
 
 To spring to horse, and cheer the hounds- 
 Alas ! no more for me the chase ! 
 Myself pursued, I fly thy face. 
 
 I cannot breathe the balmy air — 
 It cheers me not for thou art there ; 
 1 am not gladden'd by the sun — 
 His course is glorious, mine is run. 
 For me the flowers all vainly bloom. 
 They seem but things which strew the tomb 
 All things that others seek, I shun — 
 The earth a blank — the world undone. 
 
 Is there no power, this brow to cool. 
 
 And wash me in Siloam's pool ? 
 Bethesda's waters ! where are they 1 
 The friendly hand to guide the way 1 
 
112 
 
 Remorseless fiend ! relax thy hold ; 
 The demons were cast out of old. 
 
 And I will cling to Jesus' knee ; 
 
 Oh ! let him speak, and thou must flee. 
 
 THE DELEGATE'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 T' adjourn or not adjourn, that is the question: 
 
 Whether 'tis belter lor one here to suffer 
 
 The toils and labors of amassing money. 
 
 Or to stand firm against a sea of motions. 
 
 And by opposing, end them ? — T' adjourn, — go home — 
 
 No more ; and by adjournment, say we end 
 
 The heartache and the thousand natural shocks 
 
 That flesh is heir to. — 'Tis a consummation 
 
 Devoutly to be wishM. T' adjourn ; go home ; — 
 
 Go home ! perchance turnhl out ! aye, there's the rub ; 
 
 For in that phrase, go home, what things are couch'd. 
 
 When we have shuffled off" this legal coil. 
 
 Must give us pause : There's the respect 
 
 That makes our sessions of so long a life ; 
 
 For who could bear these *'fly-slow" hours of time j 
 
 Th' Alligator's* wrongs — the rich man's contumely. 
 
 The pangs of parted love — the laws delayed, 
 
 The log-rolling for office — and the scoffs 
 
 That want of merit on a speaker brings. 
 
 When we ourselves might our quietus make 
 
 By a bare voting ? — who would dullness bear 
 
 To chase and groan under a weary life. 
 
 But that the dread of something at one's home j 
 
 The ever wav'ring country, from whose bourne. 
 
 Few delegates return — puzzles the will 
 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have 
 
 Than fly to greater, that we know well of — 
 
 Thus interest doth make cowards of us all. 
 
 And thus the native hue of good intention 
 
 * Assemblyman so called. 
 
113 
 
 U sicklied o'er with the pale cast oi' fear 
 And enterprizes o[ no pith or niomerit 
 With this regard, attentive ear receive 
 And get the name of action. 
 
 THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 Yon lonely man, I've heard them say, 
 Who looks from out the moon. 
 
 Broke, when on earth, the Sabbath day , 
 And work'd — a worthless loon! — 
 
 When I first heard he was a man. 
 
 It used to be my whim. 
 On lonely nights, his form to scan. 
 
 Until my eyes grew dim. 
 
 Methought I saw, quite plain enough. 
 
 His body, legs, and axe — 
 But then his head seem'd always off. 
 
 Which made me doubt the facts. 
 
 A beacon in the sky, he stands. 
 
 To warn poor sinful man 
 To rest that day, as God commands. 
 
 And then to work again. 
 
 How cold he looks within the Moon ! 
 
 His shoulder'd axe he shows 
 And woodman like, with clouted shoon. 
 
 He seems to wade through snows. 
 
 In winter, when the Moon doth swim 
 
 Adown the clear cold sky. 
 And not a soul is out but him. 
 
 There is he, still on high ! 
 
 When storms deform her silv'ry face. 
 
 Which now and then she shrouds, 
 There is he, ever in his place, 
 
 Careering 'mid the clouds ! 
 
 11 
 
114 
 
 What art tliou doing, lonely thing ! 
 
 With axe in that cold clime? 
 No wood thou'st e'er been seen to bring, 
 
 In all recorded time. 
 
 There art thou left, a monument 
 
 Of what on earth befel. 
 Still bent upon your vain intent. 
 
 Like Sysiphus in hell. 
 
 So here on earth, fixed on a rock 
 
 Out in the distant sea, 
 A scoffer* too was made a mock. 
 
 As scoffers ought to be. 
 
 Your fate and his seem parallel. 
 
 At least in some degree; 
 Your bosoms both became the hell. 
 
 From which you could not flee. 
 
 But yet his fate was worse than yours. 
 
 He only saw the sea 
 That wash'd far off the happy shores 
 
 Where fondly he would be. 
 
 A wat'ry waste his prospect lone. 
 Instead of glittering arms. 
 
 Which won for him a glorious throne- 
 Naught else for him had charms. 
 
 Whilst thou, in thy resplendent car. 
 
 Hast seen in its careers 
 All heaven, earth, and sea, and air. 
 
 For many thousand years. 
 
 Let not thy wretched bosom pine, 
 
 For such a world as this, 
 Methinks a punishment like thine 
 
 Must have some smack of bliss. 
 
 But no — a sombre shade it flings. 
 To feel guilt's constant goad. 
 
 And sea, earth, air, and heav'nly things, 
 But aggravfite the load. 
 
 * Napoleon. 
 
115 
 
 Farewell to thee, old Anchorite — 
 
 And do not yet despair — 
 We'll come to you some lovely night 
 
 By sailing through the air. 
 
 Since you have left the earth for moonj 
 
 Man every thing can do. 
 And he, perchance, in silk balloon. 
 
 May come and chat with you. 
 
 MILITARY GLOM. 
 
 The bones of the soldiers who fell at Waterloo, have been dug 
 up and transported to HuU in England, to be ground into manure 
 and sold to the farmers. — English Paper. 
 
 Alas! what a picture is here. 
 And what shadows we vainly pursue ! 
 
 Ye lovers of Glory ! come near — 
 Lo, the field where in triumph the British flag flew ! 
 The great Aceldama ! the far-fam'd Waterloo ! 
 
 Behold what of Glory survives ! — 
 Here are wretches, exhuming the bones 
 
 Of heroes, who peril'd their lives. 
 And who fell amidst carnage, commingling their groans. 
 That the scourgers of earth might be seated on thrones. 
 
 To England they bear them to grind 
 Unto powder to fertilize land — 
 
 To her who hath borne them, cousign'd ; 
 And the dust of the son who died wielding his brand. 
 To be scatter'd on earth by a parent's own hand ! ! 
 
 Ambition! sit then on this plain. 
 Like the prophet Ezekiel of yore, 
 
 "Dry hones'^ are here "shaking^^ again — 
 '* Will the flesh and the sinews come on them once more ?" 
 '' Or the breath come again, when they hear the winds 
 roarV^* 
 
 * Ezekiel, chap, xsxvii. 
 
IIG 
 
 Ah, yes, when the trumpet shall sound. 
 At whose summons the boldest heart faints! 
 
 But will they with laurels be crown'd ? 
 No— the glory no tarnish from earth ever taints 
 Shall be theirs — " The great army of martyrs and saints.'^ 
 
 The soldiers of Christ shall be crown'd. 
 When the trumpet shall rouse them from sleep ; 
 
 Where then will earth's heroes be found ? — 
 O'er this field and the fallen what heart but must weep ? 
 For "-who soweth the wind, he the whirlwind must reap.^^* 
 
 FiCTOEES Blf THE SUN. 
 
 I've studied thee, bright Sun, in many a lecture, 
 And at thy power have been filled with wonder ; 
 
 But never dreamt that thou could'st make a picture. 
 Without the least defect, or smallest blunder; 
 
 Oh for a sight of those soft pictured pages 
 
 Thou hast "Daguen-eotyped'' for countless ages ! 
 
 Of these, thou must have doubtless many legions. 
 As well of this world as of those far hence ; 
 
 "Of Planets, Suns, and Adamantine regions. 
 
 Wheeling, unshaken, through the void immense;"! 
 
 Where hang those pictures? — in what mighty Louvre? 
 
 And which, I pray thee, was thy great chef d^ceuvre ? 
 
 When first thou look'dst upon the world then void — 
 When all was dark, and things about were bandied — 
 
 In taking sketches, wert thou then employ 'd. 
 As ev'ry object into form expanded ? 
 
 If so, and we could make thee. Sun, obey us. 
 
 We'd have that scene august, of J^ncient Chaos. 
 
 We'd like to see our great first parent, Adam, 
 As when he strolled about his charming garden ; 
 
 And as he gazed upon the first fair madam. 
 Who came to soften, but alas ! did harden. 
 
 *Hosea, chap. viii. 
 t Planets, Suns, and Adamantine spheres 
 Wheeling, unshaken, through the void immense. — *^kenside 
 
117 
 
 Give us old Noah and his sons and daughters. 
 Just as they sailed upon the world of waters. 
 
 We fain would see too, if we now were able. 
 The plain of Shinar,whence " men's sons" were driven 
 
 From that vast structure called the Tower of Babel, 
 Whose top should reach unto the height of heaven ; 
 
 We cannot for our lives and souls conjecture 
 
 How people raised such piles of architecture. 
 
 Show us that picture — 'twould be worth the showing — 
 When miracles were wrought to save mankind j 
 
 When all dry-shod, the Israelites were going 
 Across the Red Sea, wall'd up by the wind ; 
 
 And Pharaoh's iron chariots, and armed host. 
 
 Were madly rushing in to be o'erwhelm'd and lost. 
 
 Display that scene, when for the son of Nun 
 Thou stoodest still on Gibeon, and the Moon, 
 
 At God's command, stopped over Ajalon ; — 
 For one whole day refused ye to go dov/n. 
 
 While to Bethoron sped the flying Amorite, 
 
 And heaven's hailstones crush'd him in his headlong 
 flight. 
 
 How many famous scenes from ancient story. 
 Of Athens, Rome, and Egypt rise before me ! 
 
 What monuments of art ! what deeds of glory ! 
 
 "Give back the lost" — restore ye them ! restore ye ! 
 
 Thy pass, Thermopylge ! and, Marathon, thy fight! 
 
 Oh Sun ! bring such as these, with Salamis, to sight. 
 
 But if, bright orb! the past be now denied us. 
 The present time at least is in our power. 
 
 Since with thy secret. Genius hath supplied us ; 
 Ye pupils of Daguerre ! improve the hour — 
 
 Make haste to paint the fragments which are left us. 
 
 Of what stern Time and Vandals have bereft us. 
 
 Bring us the city of great Alexander, 
 
 Which once was so magnificent and vast j 
 
 Amid her ruins we would like to wander. 
 And muse upon the glories of the past : 
 11* 
 
118 
 
 Kour thousand baths and palaces did fill h*^r, 
 All crumbled into dust ^round Pompey's Pillar, 
 
 From Cairo's walls go bring that scene sublime, 
 (And with our latest breath we'll bless the giver,) 
 
 Of Pyramids still battling with old Time — 
 The land of Goshen and th' Eternal River ! 
 
 And tomb and monument, and obelisk that stands 
 
 In solitary grandeur, 'mid the desert's sands. 
 
 Be quick, and let our eager eyes devour 
 Old Hecatompylos, though not as when 
 
 Through every gate, she could at once outpour 
 Two hundred chariuts and ten thousand men ; 
 
 But of her mighty self, the granite skeleton. 
 
 Whose giant bones for miles lie whitening* in the sun. 
 
 Imagination flags and falters on the rack — 
 
 Description 's beggar'd, and in vain would rise 
 
 Up to thy vastness, Luxor! and Carnac! 
 Naught but the eye that scene can realize — 
 
 Give us the temples! columns! gateway! propyluu! 
 
 None but thy master-hand can do it, glorious Sun ! 
 
 Bring Edom's long lost Petra — she who made 
 Her dwellings in the "rocky clefts" — all brought 
 
 To desolation, or in fragments laid, 
 
 A thousand years unheard of and forgot! — 
 
 High as the eagle's nest her palaces she built. 
 
 But God did smite her for her haughtiness and guiif. 
 
 Bring us each Grecian and each Roman wreck — 
 
 Th' Acropolis and Coliseum bring ; 
 And Tadmor or Palmyra, and Balbec — 
 
 The costly cities reared by Israel's king :t 
 Collectthe whole— all left by Turk, Goth, Vandal, Hun, 
 In one vast gallery of pictures by the Sun. 
 
 * They are neither gray nor blacliened . They have no liohen 
 nor moss, but like the bones of man, they seem to whiten under 
 the sun of the desert. — Stephens. 
 
 i The unr\'crsal tradition of the country, according to Wood, is, 
 that Balbec, as well as Palmyra, was built by Solomon. 
 
119 
 
 A MENTAL RETROSPECTION 
 
 I once could see, but now am blind — 
 
 The world is dark to me ; 
 But, oh, 'lis fresh within my mind, 
 
 As once it used to be. 
 I can recall the break of day — 
 
 The first faint streak of light — 
 The mists which rose and swept away. 
 
 Along the mountain height. 
 The last dim stars which 'gan to fade 
 
 Before the approaching sun — 
 The flood of light his advent made — 
 
 His glory going down. 
 I knew not which did please me best,— 
 
 That flood of morning light. 
 Or that refulgent plunge to rest. 
 
 Within the arms of night. 
 
 I recollect the opening Spring, 
 
 The Violet's early bloom ; 
 The Iris I was first to bring 
 
 To my dear mother's room ; 
 The Hyacinth soon followed these, 
 
 With white or purple bells ; 
 And shrubs among yet leafless trees 
 
 Peep'd out from sunny dells. 
 The Red Bud stood, with blushes deep. 
 
 Beside the Dogwood pale ; 
 And made my heart exulting leap. 
 
 Returning warmth to hail, 
 Methinks I now can see the wheat. 
 
 Spread like a carpet green. 
 With peach and cherry blossoms sweet, 
 
 Embroid'ring all the scene. 
 
 That wheat, in Summer, changed in hue- 
 
 Wav'd like a sea of gold — 
 And as the soft winds o'er it flew, 
 
 'Twas beauteous to behold : 
 
120 
 
 Those blossoms had been early shed — 
 The type of man's own doom ; 
 
 For thus as soon our early dead 
 Oft sink into the tomb. 
 
 But, oh ! their place was quick supplied 
 By many a verdant leaf; 
 
 And for the loss of those who died. 
 There was no heart for grief. 
 
 For there was fruit, and there were leaves- 
 Fast flutt'ring ev'ry one — 
 
 The shady veils which Mercy waves 
 To curtain out the sun. 
 
 Autumnal days ! ah, they Avere soft — 
 
 Sometimes with smoky light ; 
 And those were sad ; but then they oft 
 
 Foreran the clear and bright. 
 And then the wood — the waving wood — 
 
 Looked rich beyond belief; 
 With some trees dyed as red as blood. 
 
 And some with golden leaf; 
 Deep orange tints, and purple too. 
 
 Were mix'd with evergreen. 
 And ev'ry shade and ev'ry hue 
 
 Within the rainbow seen ; 
 In color'd map, these trees were group'd 
 
 All over hill and dale — 
 And such the groves, where fairies troop'd. 
 
 In some Arabian tale. 
 
 But Winter came to blast that scene. 
 
 And lay it bleak and bare ; 
 And nothing save the evergreen. 
 
 Was left of all so fair. 
 How was it, glorious evergreen ! 
 
 That thou wert smiling on. 
 When other trees around, were seen 
 
 So sad and woe- begone? 
 Yet, still there was in winter's face 
 
 A charm unto my eye ; 
 A might — a majesty and grace, 
 
 To lift the soul on high : 
 
121 
 
 The storm and tempest sweeping past. 
 
 The torrents too of rain, 
 The flaky snows descending fast. 
 
 And burying all the plain. 
 
 And there were moonbeams cold and bright, 
 
 Out on the waste which froze ; 
 What lovelier thing than starry night. 
 
 Upon the sparkling snows ? 
 "The floor of heaven was thick inlaid 
 
 With patines of bright gold j"* . 
 A firmament beneath was made — 
 
 A mimic heaven unroll'd. 
 Yes, Winter, lock'd in "thick-ribb'd ice," 
 
 Thou too had charms for me : 
 Those skies were worth a countless price. 
 
 And I could welcome thee. 
 Life's winter on me dreary lies. 
 
 And dark my path on earth. 
 But I may see those starry skies. 
 
 Through my Redeemer's worth. 
 
 Battle of New Orleans. 
 
 Of Jackson and the brave. 
 
 The day to mem'ry bring. 
 When to battle o'er the wave. 
 
 Came the host of England's king ; 
 And their ships poured them out along the strand. 
 
 Our hearts of sterling gold. 
 
 Saw their phalanxes unfold. 
 
 And Packenham the bold 
 Led the band. 
 
 * Sit Jessica: look how the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patinesf of bright gold. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 t Patines were small flat dishes used in the administration of the 
 Eucharist. 
 
122 
 
 In column close ihey form. 
 
 As the signal rocket flew, 
 And on our lines to storm. 
 
 In the deepest silence drew : 
 It was a winter morn, as they tell. 
 
 When threat'ning came the crowd. 
 
 Like a red Sirocco cloud. 
 
 Which would wrap us in its shroud. 
 As it fell. 
 
 The blood within us rushed 
 
 To meet at once the foe. 
 But the throbbing- heart was hushed, 
 
 To strike a deadlier blow; 
 Fire ! at length, our captains cried, when huzza. 
 
 Broke out upon their sight, 
 
 A sheet of voUied light. 
 
 As volcano was it bright. 
 On the air. 
 
 Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! 
 
 Destruction raged around. 
 And our thunderbolts of war 
 
 Scatter'd havoc o'er the ground. 
 And the pride of British hearts 'gan to quail ; 
 
 In anguish now they wheel. 
 
 And in path of blood they reel. 
 
 Yet those are hearts of steel. 
 Though they fail. 
 
 The carnage it is done, 
 
 Their thousands strew the plain. 
 What courage could they won. 
 
 They "quit themselves like men,'' 
 And the laurel of the brave never dies; 
 
 But let Old England hear us. 
 
 If again she comes so near us, 
 
 'Twere better far to fear us. 
 Than despise. 
 
 But ere the song be ended. 
 
 The tribute let us pay. 
 To him whose skill defended 
 
 Our commonwealth that day ; 
 
123 
 
 A vvaichword be his name to the free. 
 
 No dangers shall appal. 
 
 Let us gather at the call. 
 
 To conquer or to fall. 
 As would he. 
 
 Then loud the song be sounded. 
 
 The storm be ever blest. 
 Which Britain's force confounded. 
 
 The storm from out the West, 
 And Jackson be the theme of ev'ry tongue- 
 
 Our sons shall read the story 
 
 Of battle-field so gory. 
 
 High in the niche of glory 
 'Twill be hung. 
 
 And when summoned to his rest. 
 
 To his place in yonder skies. 
 Then strike the manly breast. 
 
 Be the tear in woman's eyes ; 
 If home to her bosom yet be dear. 
 
 Let her sit in sadness pale. 
 
 And her sigh be on the gale. 
 
 As in anguish she shall wail. 
 By his bier. 
 
 THE NEW HAIL COLUMBIA. 
 
 FOR THE EIGHTH OP JANUARY. 
 
 Hail Columbia ! mourning land ! 
 
 Hail ye brave Jacksonian band 
 
 Who fought and bled at New Orleans, 
 
 And now the storm of war is gone. 
 
 Meet not the meed your valor won. 
 
 hei pure elections be our pride, 
 
 Let the People's will decide. 
 
 Ever mindful of that prize. 
 
 On the glorious Eighth, arise. 
 Firm, united let us be. 
 Rallying round Old Hickory ; 
 As a band of brothers join'd. 
 Clay and Adams foes shall find. 
 
124 
 
 Once more ye Patriots ! rise once more 
 Assert the rights we lost before ; 
 
 Let no vile arts, or base intrigue, 
 Defeat your will — your high intent 
 To make our Jackson, President ; 
 He's virtuous, wise, and firm, and just — 
 In heaven we place a steady trust. 
 That truth and justice will prevail. 
 And Coalition projects fail. 
 Firm, united let us be. 
 Rallying round Old Hickory ; 
 As a band of brothers join M, 
 Clay and Adams foes shall find. 
 
 Sound, sound the trump of fame, 
 And let Tennessee's lov'd name 
 Ring thro' the world with loud applause — 
 In Glonfs niche it shall be set. 
 By Washington and La Fayette. 
 With all their skill and all their power, 
 He govern'd in the martial hour ; ' 
 When smiling Peace check'd War's fell rage 
 He sought the tranquil Hermitage. 
 Firm, united let us be. 
 Rallying round Old Hickory ; 
 As a band of brothers join'd. 
 Clay and Adams foes shall find. 
 
 Behold our chief, like him of Rome, 
 
 Bid him like Cincinnatus come. 
 To save Columbia once again — 
 
 He's strong in virtue, firm and wise. 
 
 Each shaft at him quite harmless flies. 
 
 When hope was sinking in dismay. 
 
 And clouds obscured a former day. 
 
 Thy steady soul. Old Hickory, 
 
 Resolved on death or liberty. 
 Firm, united let us be. 
 Rallying round Old Hickory ; 
 As a band of brothers join'd. 
 Clay and Adams foes shall find 
 
125 
 
 Mr. Editor— We have so many great men no\v-a-days, and 
 Dinners have become so frequent, that I should hardly think of 
 coramunicatine; the following; account of one, were it not of a 
 character somewhat novel, and out of the common track. What 
 a blessed country we have, when no description of greatness can 
 pass unrewarded, and even those who have been remarkable for 
 their dexterity in api)ropriating- to themselves the property of 
 others, can assemble and do honor to their chiefs. 
 
 GREAT RASCALLI DINNER. 
 
 It having been ascertained by the inmates of the State 
 Prison or Penitentiary, that Mr. Leonidas Lightfinger, 
 the celebrated Bank Robber, had just been committed 
 for the crime of embezzling ^40,000^ the property of 
 the Bank, a message was sent to the keeper by a com- 
 mittee of the most hardened villains within the walls, 
 requesting his permission to meet their honored com- 
 peer at a Dinner, proposed to be given him in the pub- 
 lic yard, at the expense of the prisoners generally. 
 They offered to submit in the most quiet manner to any 
 arrangement the keeper might make, by guards or 
 otherwise, to prevent the possibility of any tumult or 
 attempt at escape. At first the keeper was a good deal 
 at a loss what answer to return, but reflecting that he 
 was responsible only for the safe-keeping of the scoun- 
 drels, and being somewhat curious to witness so singu- 
 lar a spectacle, he determined to give his consent, and 
 having taken the precaution to double his guards, the 
 parti-colored company assembled precisely at 2 o'clock, 
 and sat down to a Scanty Dinner, provided for the oc- 
 casion. Mr, Peter Picklock, in his woollen cap, was 
 unanimously called upon to preside, and was supported 
 by Messrs. Burglary and Arson, as Vice-presidents. 
 The utmost hilarity and good fellowship prevailed ; the 
 afternoon passed off in the most delightful jollification, 
 and at the usual lock-up hour the whole party were 
 severally conducted to their respective dungeons or 
 cells, without the occurrence of a single circumstance 
 to interrupt the general satisfaction. The following 
 Toasts were drank with roaring applause, even greater, 
 12 
 
126 
 
 if possible, lli.in tlinl at ihe Barton dinner in Ohio, or 
 at the Feast ot'NulHfication in Charleston. 
 
 1st. Our dislinomishcd guest, Leonidm Li(j;hlfinger — 
 We sympathize in his misfortunes, but glory in the 
 brilliancy of his achievements; his is no ordinary grasp, 
 he makes a sweep of forty. 
 
 A bumper. — Music, Rogue^s March. 
 
 After the noise had subsided, Mr. Lightfinger arose, 
 and thus addressed the company : 
 
 Fellow Prisoners — With feelings of unusual emo- 
 tion, I rise to return my sincere thanks to this assem- 
 bly, which has not its parallel in the world, for the 
 unmerited compliment contained in your toast, and for 
 the very high honor you have this day conferred upon 
 me. It shall remain deeply laid up in my bosom, and 
 urge me to new exertions in our glorious cause, when 
 the tedious forms of an unjust incarceration, against 
 which I enter my solemn protest, are gone through, and 
 I shall again be ushered forth to the world, improved 
 and strengthened by the force of your example. Hunted 
 from society by the despicable limbs of the law, for no 
 greater crime than the venial attempt to distribute more 
 equally the blessings of the earth, improperly accumu- 
 lated in the hands of a few avaricious monopolists — I 
 find myself unexpectedly thrown into the arms of my 
 friends and fellow laborers in the great work of equali- 
 zation. Since the courtesy of our keeper permits, ought 
 we not to inquire for a moment, by what authority it 
 is, that we are thus debarred the enjoyment of glorious 
 liberty, the common inheritance of man ? Why it is 
 that they have thus shut upon us 'Hhe windows of the 
 sky,''^ and "robh'd us of sweet nature's grace?'' Shall 
 I be told that those arbitrary enactments, called laws, 
 forbid the noble ends we aim at ? Who, let me ask, 
 made those laws ? — an aristocratical and tyrannical ma- 
 jority. Have we, the minority, ever assented to these 
 gross usurpations of our rights? No — never, and may 
 *'mu right hand forget its cunning," if I ever do assent 
 to them. Has it not been recently demonstrated with a 
 power and eloquence never before equalled, that majori- 
 ties may oppress ? Read the debates, if you can procure 
 
127 
 
 them, of the late Convention in Virginia, and the 
 speeches delivered at the great State Rights celebration 
 in Charleston, and say if a doubt can rest upon the 
 subject? No, fellow prisoners, a power greater than 
 man's has given us the right to roam at large through 
 this vast universe, reaping where we may, and untram- 
 melled by the odious restrictions cunningly devised by 
 the grasping and rapacious ; and since it is our unfor- 
 tunate lot to live in an age, as yet unenlightened, and 
 shackled by the chains which have been artfully forged 
 by priests and tyrants, let us go on nobly in our de- 
 sign of revolutionizing the opinions of the world , and 
 never rest until we introduce that primitive and happy 
 state of things which existed antecedent to all law — 
 when our first parents were left free to wander forth, 
 with the inestimable privilege — 
 
 "Where to choose their place of rest, 
 And Providence their guide." 
 
 I thank you, fellow prisoners, for the patience with 
 which you have listened to me, and since propriety 
 forbids me to trespass further upon your time, I will 
 conclude with a Toast, in which I am sure of your 
 hearty concurrence : 
 
 Miss Fanny Wright — May the dissemination of her 
 doctrines speedily uproot the foundations of society. 
 Drank with three times three. Music, Black Joke. 
 
 3d. The Art of Stealing — A Spartan virtue — what 
 Lycurgus ordained, and Shakspeare practised, who can 
 
 censure 
 
 4th. The progi'ess of uncivil Liberty — as exempli- 
 fied in the daily dexterity of our light-fingered gentry. 
 
 5th. The Tari^— That greatest of pick-pockets. 
 
 6th. The Press — We mean crowded theatres and 
 plenty of pocket-books. 
 
 7th. The renowned Barrington — The first in — the 
 pockets of his countrymen. 
 
 8th. The memory of Richard Tiirpin — 
 He took from the rich to give to the poor. 
 Oh rare Turpinaro, oh rare Dick Turpin, oh ! 
 
 9th. Jonathan Wild— The ornament of yon— rope. 
 
128 
 
 10th. The knife which grins at the leather strap of a 
 pair of saddle-bags. Immense applause. 
 
 1 llh. Jacob Hays — The devil incarnate — too cunning 
 (or rogues, he must himself be the chief among them — 
 a speedy ride for him upon the "'ess that's foaled of a 
 hacorn," 
 
 12th. Petit Larceny — The early promise of future 
 exaltation. 
 
 13th. Mail Bags ripped open, and contents scattered. 
 Music, ''Loose to the ivinds.^' 
 
 14th. The Pocket, the whole Pocket, and every thing 
 in the Pocket. Music, "Lucy LockeVs lost her pocket. ^^ 
 
 15th. The Destruction of the Bastile — praised but not 
 imitated. 
 
 IGth. Prostration to the limits of every prison in the 
 universe, and a general Jail Delivery by the horns of 
 some Political Joshua. 
 
 17th. The women in the Penitentiary — *'The world 
 was sad." Music, "T/ie Campbells are coming. ^^ 
 
 The whole party being half shaved, and the keeper 
 not liking the last toast, nodded to his sentinels like 
 imperial Jove, 
 
 When in an instant all was still, 
 And scarcel}' were his forces rallied, 
 When out the liellish legion sallied. 
 
 Tam O'Shanter. 
 
 THE COFFIN. 
 
 The Coffin is come ! 'tis a dreadful sound ! 
 
 And tears are gushing anew. 
 For the lamily, wrapp'd in grief profound, 
 
 Have caught that sound as it Hew ; 
 It sendeth a shock to each aching heart, 
 
 Suspending with awe the breath; 
 It says that the living and dead must part. 
 
 And seems like a second death. 
 
129 
 
 Now heavy and slow is the bearers' tread. 
 
 Ascending the winding stair, 
 And the steps which are echoing over head 
 
 Awaken a deep despair ; 
 They know by the tread of those trampling feet 
 
 They're lifting the silent dead. 
 And laying him low in his winding sheet. 
 
 In his dark and narrow bed. 
 
 Come, follow the corpse to the yawning grave — 
 
 The train is advancing slow ; 
 See children and friends, and the faithful slave 
 
 In a long and solemn show — 
 Hark ! hark ! to that deep and lumbering sound 
 
 As they lower the coffin down, 
 'Tis the voice of earth — of the groaning ground 
 
 Thus welcoming back her own. 
 
 Now — ashes to ashes ! and dust to dust ! 
 
 How hollow the coffin rings ! 
 And hands are uplifted to God, the Just, 
 
 The merciful King of kings — 
 *^Farewell forever ! Forever farewell !" 
 
 Is heard as the crowds depart. 
 And the piteous accents, they seem to swell 
 
 From a torn and broken heart. 
 
 m OLD CHURCH. 
 
 There it stands, the old Church, on the common, alone. 
 
 With the moss and the lichen grown gray ; 
 Its roof is all sunken, and its doors are broke down. 
 And in "window'd raggedness" dark seems its frown 
 On each mortal, who chanceth this way. 
 
 Like a skeleton bare, in the moon's silver ray. 
 
 That old building stands out 'mongst the dead ; 
 And the trav'Uer in passing, stops short on his way. 
 Gazing up at that picture of ghastly decay — 
 Whence every thing living hath fled. 
 12* 
 
130 
 
 There was joy in heaven, and rc^joicmg on earlii, 
 
 When the stone of that corner was laid j 
 For "the wilderness bloom'd like the rose at its birth," 
 And it brought the "glad tidings oi peace" to eacli 
 hearth — 
 As it gatherM the flock which had stray M. 
 
 Come enter that Ruin and stroll down its aisle, 
 
 Let us muse on its glory o'erthrown — 
 See, the walls are dislain'd by the scrawls of the vile. 
 And hands sacrilegious have plunder'd the pile — 
 
 And its paveirtent with grass is o'ergrown. 
 
 Yet once, it was glorious, and its aspect was grand — 
 
 And as smooth as the velvet, its green. 
 Which was trod by the great and the gay of this land. 
 Whose gravestones in ruins around it now stand. 
 Like their spectres, still haunting the scene. 
 
 It was here that in grandeur and wealth they once roll'd j 
 
 And that Beauty enchanted the eye. 
 When bedeck'd with her jewels and glitt'ring with gold , 
 She stepp'd from her chariot, all bright to behold. 
 
 And her bosom with pride, beating high. 
 
 What a change since that time ! — how their riches have 
 flown; 
 
 Scarce a name on their tombs can be found ; 
 For old Time hath unchiselPd the letters of stone. 
 And the slabs are all green with the moss overgrown. 
 
 And half buried they lie in the ground. 
 
 Thou art ruin'd, old Fane ! yes, the arrow hath sped. 
 
 And the iron hath enterM indeed ; 
 Yet thousands, yea, thousands have risen in thy stead. 
 Thy glory is vanish'd, but thy spirit not fled. 
 
 For '^the blood of the martyrs is seed."* 
 
 * The blood of the martyrs, is said to be the seed of the Church. 
 
131 
 
 "I Went lo Gather Flowers/' 
 
 Suggested by an engraving with the above motto, 
 representing a temare who had been gathering flowers, 
 as coming unexpectedly upon old tombstones in a wood. 
 
 "I went to gather flowers," 
 
 So spake a lovely maid — 
 But why, amid those bowers. 
 
 Hangs down her drooping head? 
 
 Swift flew the laughing hours. 
 As tripp'd that gladsome maid ; 
 
 Why hath she dropped her flowers ? 
 Why covers she her head ? 
 
 I mark what 'tis that causes 
 
 Her heart that sudden thrill ; 
 I see why 'tis she pauses — 
 
 What thoughts her bosom fill : 
 
 Old graves are yawning on her. 
 
 Beneath the flow'ry sward ; 
 Green tombstones stare upon her 
 
 From out an old churchyard. 
 
 A tale of dread they've told her. 
 
 Of beauty and its charms ; 
 They've whisper'd Death would hold her 
 
 Within his mould'ring arms ; 
 
 That after some bright hours — 
 
 And fast bright hours fly — 
 Some one might gather flowers 
 
 Where she in dust might lie. 
 
 Oh, how her teeth did chatter. 
 Oh how her frame was shook ; 
 
 The tott'ring stones nod at her ; 
 Look, gentle maidens, look ! 
 
 Go — gather not all flowers. 
 
 Though they should gaily bloom ; ' 
 
 The sweetest breathe in bowers. 
 Too near, loo near the tomb. 
 
13^ 
 
 THE TOLLING BELL. 
 
 Hark ! the tolling bell ! — what a fearful knell ! 
 
 How shudders the soul with dread ! 
 'Tis the voice of death, — with his warning breath. 
 
 He tells of the recent dead. 
 
 And where has Death been ?— in the midst of kin ? 
 
 To sever the fondest ties ? 
 Where all was so fair, has he flung despair? 
 
 What victim in dust now lies ? 
 
 Perhaps he has torn, from a heart careworn. 
 
 Some child who had linger'd long ; 
 And a love so pure, it shall clasp no more. 
 
 The babe it had hush'd with song. 
 
 Perhaps he has ta'en, what had yet no stain — 
 
 Some maid to her early tomb ; 
 Oh ! out upon Death, that his hateful breath 
 
 Should wither her youthful bloom. 
 
 Perchance 'tis some youth, whose honor and truth 
 
 Were plighted to her who hears ; 
 He's shrouded to-day, and she kneels to pray. 
 
 While bitterly fall her tears. 
 
 I know not in sooth, be it age or youth, 
 
 'Tis an awful sound to hear. 
 For it makes one shrink, on the frightful brink 
 
 To which we are all so near. 
 
 Then toll away. Bell ! thine's a powerful spell 
 
 To wake in the soul remorse j 
 The murderer's wrath, it may stop in its path. 
 
 The dagger's descending Ibrce. 
 
 Aye, toll away. Bell ! what better can tell 
 
 How fleeting is all and vain. 
 How Death in the dark, is choosing his mark 
 
 To add to his heaps of slain. 
 
 Toll! toll away. Death ! fast fleeting's thy breath. 
 
 Toll while thou mayest that Bell ; 
 But strike thy last chime ! — thou endest with time — 
 
 God's trumpet shall ring thy knell. 
 
133 
 
 To the Senate, on taking leave in February, 1829. 
 
 Farewell Senate Chamber, green tables and chairs. 
 
 Farewell to the scene of my fun ; 
 Farewell my dear friends, I pronounce it with tears, 
 
 My public career it is run. 
 
 No more shall I listen to speeches, sublime. 
 
 About ev'ry thing under the sun ; 
 No more shall I sketch the discussion in rhyme. 
 
 My public career it is run. 
 
 No more shall I grasp the warm hand of a friend. 
 
 As here I have oftentimes done ; 
 Like Othello's, my business is now at an end. 
 
 My public career it is run. 
 
 No more shall I ponder, o'er book and o'er bill ; 
 
 Of bills I shall soon handle none ; 
 Like Gray, you will "miss me some morn on the hill,^'* 
 
 My public career it is run. 
 
 I must hop over clods, with an ignoble name. 
 
 Bid adieu to the jest and the pun ; 
 My Pegasus put to the plough, what a shame ! 
 
 My public career it is run. 
 
 No more shall I rummage old Commonwealth's chest. 
 
 Or knock at her door as a dun ; 
 My constituents have laid my pretensions at rest, 
 
 My public career it is run. 
 
 In my place I am told they intend to put in 
 
 A better and worthier one ; 
 In the room of my hody, you'll soon have a Chin, 
 
 My public career it is run. 
 
 You have the last shot in the locker, dear friends ! 
 
 The last of a son of a gun — 
 My ship, d'ye see, is upon her beam ends. 
 
 My public career it is run. 
 
134 
 
 A Song for the Members of the Assembly. 
 
 Tune.— "Meeting of the Waters." 
 
 There is not in the wide world, a city so sweet. 
 As the city of Richmond, where lawmalvers meet : 
 Oh the last rays of feeling, and life must depart. 
 Ere the days I have spent here, shall fade from my 
 heart. 
 
 Yet it is not that Cooksey, serves finest of snacks. 
 Good ven'son, fresh oysters, and fat canvass-backs ; 
 It is not the sweet nectar, he gives us to swill -, 
 Oh no, it is something more exquisite still. 
 
 'Tis that Capitol rising in grandeur on high. 
 Where bank notes by thousands bewitchingly lie. 
 Gives a charm to the scene where we figure away. 
 To the sweetest of tunes, sirs — four dollars a day ! 
 
 Oh this spot was so sacred, our fathers loved it. 
 And they ivrit down enactments 'gainst serving a writ. 
 So that sheriffs and other base limbs of the law. 
 Must not tap here our shoulders, nor give us their jaw. 
 
 Sweet city of Richmond, how calm could I rest. 
 
 In the midst of thy mists, near the great public chest. 
 
 Where the cares which we feel in this hard world are 
 
 lost. 
 While we drink and carouse, sirs, at other men's cost. 
 
 Then push round the bottle, ye lovers of fun. 
 Never heed here that spectre of ill, called a dun ; 
 Should he ask his "^small balance" we'll bid him to 
 
 wait 
 Till we've got all the balance of funds from the state. 
 
 THE ADAMS CONVENTION. 
 
 Jackson folks ! Jackson folks ! all who are orthodox 
 Have you heard of the great Adams meeting? — 
 
 There's a terrific squall blown in the hall. 
 And you'll get a most terrible beating. 
 
135 
 
 Parson Ker! parson Ker! yes he was in there — 
 The State's getting fond of the Church j 
 
 This meek politician put up a petition 
 That Jackson be left in the lurch. 
 
 Richmond town, Richmond town were there to look 
 down 
 
 On the things that were speaking and writing. 
 And some in the lobby, got up on their hobby. 
 
 That is they went fairly to fighting. 
 
 Little Frank ! little Frank ! they gave the first rank. 
 
 And the chair of the speaker he took 5 
 But 'tis said, entre nous, he once hated John Q, — , 
 
 Think of that ! think of that master Brooke ! 
 
 Bob Taylor ! Bob Taylor ! that eloquent railer. 
 
 Cut a splash in this Adams divan ; 
 But if proverbs be true, no harm it will do — 
 
 Nine tciilors it takes to a man. 
 
 Ned Colston ! Ned Colston ! whose nick-name is roll- 
 stone. 
 
 Like Sysiphus labor'd amain ; 
 With a very good will, he'd been working up hill. 
 
 And was ready to do so again. 
 
 Sam Blackburn ! Sam Blackburn said no man should 
 backturn ; 
 
 Who once had put hand to the plough ; 
 And his terrible eyes, he threw up to the skies. 
 
 And shook like a lion his pow. 
 
 Chap Johnson ! Chap Johnson ! why he's Monsieur 
 Tonson, 
 
 Oh yes he's their Magnus Apollo ! 
 From a whisper so small, none heard it at all. 
 
 He gave them a Stentor-like halloo. 
 
 Now between you and I, there were many small Fry, 
 Whose names 'twould be needless to mention ; 
 
 What Johnson would halloo, they seem'd all to swallow. 
 They came with no other intention. 
 
136 
 
 What a dust! what a dust! this asseiuhly august! 
 
 Will raise in this ancient Dominion ; 
 They have in their crowns, more wisdom, by zounds ! 
 
 Than is in thy pandects, Justinian ! 
 
 Jackson's gone, Jackson's gone, to all be it known — 
 Let me cry like ^neas — infandum ! — 
 
 They made out a ticket, and up they will stick it. 
 And throw out a tub, ad captandum. 
 
 By some hocus pocus, I hope 'tis to joke us. 
 
 Their list makes a wonderful show — 
 Yes, gentlemen, damn me ! they've taken our Jamie, 
 
 And followed him up with Monroe. 
 
 Rhyming lad, rhyming lad, you'll make people mad. 
 
 You'd better be reading your Bible ; 
 Oh no you've forgot, 'tis adjudged, is it not. 
 
 That truth is by no means a libel. 
 
 The Me eting of Congress. 
 
 Sound the trumpet! — beat the drum ! — 
 To Congress come, to congress come ; 
 All is bustle and busy hum. 
 And pens are nibbing on ev'ry thumb — 
 
 Come to the Congress, come. 
 
 All who rise to the top like scum — 
 All who intend to speak us dumb — 
 And all who mean to sit quite mum. 
 From ev'ry quarter, come, oh come — 
 
 Come to the Congress, come. 
 
 Chief of the Nullifiers! Hayne! 
 SoWd with dust of the southern plain. 
 Come once more, with your might and main. 
 Grapple the giant again — again — 
 
 Come to the Congress, come, 
 
 Triton amongsl the minnows small ! 
 Spottting away upon subjects all; 
 
13T 
 
 Oh Daniel come to the judgment hall, 
 AuJ Ibr and against the Tariff, bawl — 
 
 Come to the Congress, come. 
 
 Star of the South ! McDuffie ! come. 
 Shed us some light on the "Puzzling sum,^^ 
 Tell not in Gath, that it struck thee dumb. 
 But cudjel thy brains and thy noddle strum — 
 
 Come to the Congress, come. 
 
 Men of Georgia! ho all ye 
 Who sigh for the land of the Cherokee, 
 Wirt threatens you, sirs, with a writ, we see. 
 But Gilmer dares him to "Snick and Smcc'' 
 
 Come to the Congress, come. 
 
 Come old Tristram Shandy, come. 
 Hotter than hot New England rum ; 
 Burgess thou art, and a burgess grum. 
 Lather away as you have done, some — 
 
 Come to the Congress, come. 
 
 Hero of East Room memory ! haste 
 By bloodhound Barton no longer chased. 
 Come with your bills of the Western Waste, 
 There, your affections seem wholly placed — 
 
 Come to the Congress, com 
 
 Sons of the old Dominion ! run. 
 The Rights of the States are all undone. 
 Fire your brutum fulmen gun, 
 'Twill make of us a figure of fun — 
 
 Come to the Congress, come . 
 
 Tariff and A nti- tariff too! 
 Ye who the living Morgan slew ; 
 Anti-masons and Workies! you 
 With every color and every hue — 
 
 Come to the Congress, come. 
 
 Time would fail to summon you all 
 From Passamaquoddy to Anthony's fall. 
 From Mexico's bay to the grand canal— 
 Sed genus omne ! the great and the small — 
 
 come. 
 
 IS 
 
138 
 
 Bring with you, gentlemen, endless plans 
 To get our money and get our lands ; 
 The giants must lend you a hundred of hands 
 And Pactolus roll for you gold on the sands — 
 
 Come to the Congress, come. 
 
 To meet them. Old Hickory ! stand to your arms 
 Rock of our strength ! the thought of you charms — 
 A Veto on all which would bring on us harms ! ! 
 And a National heart which with love of thee warms ! ! 
 Look to the Congress, look. 
 
 CANZONET TO JOHNNY. 
 
 Imitation of Canzonet to Sally. — By J. Q. Adams. 
 
 You, John, who have been President, 
 
 Of these, our states united. 
 Should, with that glory, be content. 
 
 Nor let your fame be blighted. 
 By showing still your "frosty pow," 
 
 Which wants a place serener^ 
 In Congress Hall, where many a row 
 
 Disgraces that arena. 
 
 What, though you fling your firebrand. 
 
 By solar light or candle. 
 And grasp petitions in your hand. 
 
 And many hatfuls handle. 
 You can but gain the poor renown, 
 
 If you should out-debate us; 
 Of burning Dian's temple down. 
 
 Like felon Erostratus. 
 
 In Abolition's fearful path. 
 
 You're treading on gunpowder. 
 
 And rousing up a storm, whose wrath. 
 Than thunder, will be louder — 
 
 A man, more wild, was never seen 
 Upon the banks of Niger, 
 
 Nor cub, more savage, bred, I ween, 
 Of fierce Hyrcanian tiger. 
 
139 
 
 Else wherefore was it, as they tell 
 
 Of late, in Boston city. 
 That like hyena, or as fell. 
 
 You had no tear of pity. 
 For Chinese folks in ing and ong. 
 
 Eschewing opium — chewing. 
 But vow'd they did old England wrong 
 
 By custom of Koutouing ? 
 
 Old Massachusetts never bred 
 
 An animal more rabid. 
 Nor one more crack'd about the head. 
 
 Nor doing things more crabbed — 
 No man can tell for what you pant. 
 
 Amid your noise and racket, — 
 I giiess there's one thing yet you "want,^^ 
 
 Tight-lacing in straight jacket. 
 
 Oh, place me in great Washington, 
 
 That town, denied to houses,* 
 Where many a mighty Congress-mon 
 
 Gets drunk, when he carouses. 
 Still shall my Muse, an humble Miss, 
 
 Of John be edways chanting. 
 And still the madman, Johnny, hiss. 
 
 While raving and Avhile ranting. 
 
 Mr. Editor. — I have felt so forcibly the moral sublimity of the 
 scene of the Presentation of the Sword of Washington, and the 
 Cane of Franklin, that I have made an attempt to exhibit that 
 scene in verse. I submit it to your judgment. 
 
 THE PRESENTATION. 
 
 Say, why, in lengthen'd line. 
 
 Hath rushM this thronging crowd, 
 
 Up to our Hill Capitoline, 
 
 Where flags are waving proud ? 
 
 * Pone sub curru niniium propinqui, 
 
 Solis in terra, *'domlbus iiegaia. ''^—UoR. 
 
140 
 
 Is it in this high hall 
 
 Some pageant to survey ? 
 Or is some glorious festival, 
 
 Of Freedom held to-day ? 
 
 Lo ! every seat is filFd — 
 
 Doorway and stairs are block 'd. 
 And, now, that sea of heads is still'd, 
 
 Which late with motion rock'd. 
 Why gather thus the free. 
 
 With one consentient will ? 
 In breathless awe, they seem to be, 
 
 Hush'd as in death, and still. 
 
 I see an old man rise. 
 
 And with a sword in hand. 
 And, glancing are a thousand eyes. 
 
 Upon that gleaming brand. 
 "This is the sword" he cries, 
 
 "Which made our people free ; 
 No spot, nor stain, upon it lies, — 
 
 'Twas yielded but to ye. 
 
 "This sword, historians tell. 
 
 One hundred years ago. 
 Saved Braddock's army, when he fell. 
 
 Before a savage foe. 
 This is the sword, whose shine. 
 
 Our Fathers led, like star ; 
 It is the sword of Brandywine, 
 
 Of frozen Delaware. 
 
 "In Monmouth's sultry air. 
 
 It did its gallant work. 
 And saw, amidst the cannon's glare, 
 
 Old England yield at York. 
 'Twas thine, great Washington ! 
 
 And in thy valiant hand. 
 Like swm-d of God and Gideon, 
 
 Swept Midianfrom mir landV 
 
 A shout bursts from the throng, 
 
 Which shakes this white-capp'd hill- 
 But hush! — we hear again that tongue- 
 Be still! — warm hearts ! be still ! 
 
141 
 
 '*This staff to you I bring. 
 The staff of that lov'd sage. 
 
 Who snatch'd the sceptre from a king^ 
 And calmM the lightning's rage. 
 
 "On it our Franklin lean'd. 
 
 Whom countless thousands bless — 
 The great Philosopher — the Friend 
 
 Of Ploughshare and of Press. 
 Franklin and Washington ! ! ! 
 
 What mighty names are here ! 
 Will ye accept?" — 'tis done, 'tis done. 
 
 With one tremendous cheer. 
 
 Where should we place this sword ? 
 
 This staff of one so wisel 
 A flaming sword, by God's high word. 
 
 Was placed in Paradise — 
 It flamed there, night and day. 
 
 To guard, of life the Tree, 
 So, let these Relics guard alway. 
 
 Our Tree of LiberUj. 
 
 Lines Written in a Young Lady's Alhin. 
 
 The Prastors of Rome were accustom'd to write. 
 
 Their edicts of old on a table of white ; 
 They called it in Latin, an album, dear miss. 
 
 And my Anna shall issue her edicts in this — 
 I grant her the power of life and of death, 
 
 I promise to serve her as long as Pve breath ; 
 The oath of allegiance, I take as her slave. 
 
 And vow Pll be hers till I sink in the grave — 
 What will she decree ? let it merciful be 
 
 The prize to be won, lovely Anna, be thee ! 
 Go then, she replies — write a line in my book. 
 
 On which I may venture with patience to look 
 Ah me! what a task for a taste so refined ! 
 
 Where shall I the steps of true Poetry find ? 
 13* 
 
142 
 
 Her home is in England — in Italy — Greece, — 
 Why will she not visit a country like this ? 
 
 A thought it has struck me — perhaps 'tis a dream — 
 The ocean is narrowed we know to a stream,* 
 I'll write her a letter, and ask her to come. 
 
 And we'll give her the freedom of this Western Rome. 
 
 Oh Poetry ! thou nymph divine ! 
 
 Invok'd so oft in vain ! 
 How ardently I've wished you mine — 
 I've wrote you many a foolish line. 
 But still thou let'st me inly pine. 
 
 And die at thy disdain. 
 
 I've woo'd you in sequester'd vale. 
 
 On side of sunny hill; 
 I've sought you in the moonlight pale. 
 When summer's sweets perfum'd the gale — 
 The soft pursuit did not avail. 
 
 For thou wert cruel still. 
 
 I've sighed for you at midnight dark, 
 
 In silence_deep — profound, 
 I've thought I heard you coming — hark ! 
 I said, her form I dimly mark. 
 She now will bring Promethean spark — 
 
 'Twas but a cheating sound. 
 
 I've stroll'd along the sounding shore. 
 
 Thou lov'st the path sublime ; 
 I've climb'd the cliffs where eagles soar. 
 And lieard the torrents deaf 'ning roar. 
 But found thee not, nor would, I'm sure. 
 
 Until the end of time. 
 
 In flow'ry paths, I've look'd for you. 
 
 The beautiful, I've said 
 Your fancy pleased and off I flew. 
 Where roses round their fragrance threw. 
 Where earth was bright and skies were blue. 
 
 But where wert thou, sweet maid ? 
 
 •By Steam, 
 
143 
 
 Why art thou cold ? thou hast been kind 
 
 To men of other climes — 
 The favor'd few, your haunts could find. 
 
 You loved great Homer — Milton blind- 
 To Shakspeare gave the boundless mind. 
 
 In old and bygone times. 
 
 I've often wondered how you could. 
 Have such a taste, my belle ! 
 
 Pope, like interrogation, stood. 
 
 And Byron, winning all he wooed. 
 
 Would o'er his club-foot darkly brood. 
 And yet you lov'd them well. 
 
 Is't country then ? — this western wild. 
 Dear nymph ! that thou dost shun ? 
 
 I thought thou lov'dst bold scen'ry child ! 
 The mountains upon mountains pil'd ! 
 
 Primeval forests undefiled ! 
 Untrod since time begun. 
 
 In Avon didst thou take delight? 
 
 Or in the "wand'ring Po V — 
 What strains should then awake at sight. 
 
 Of rivers vast, that in their flight 
 A thousand shores, with waters bright. 
 
 Have wash'd 7 — oh ! maiden show. 
 
 Yes, yes thou wilt — ^but not for me, 
 Shalt thou awake the strain — 
 
 But here are our distinguished three. 
 Our Bryant !— Willis !— Sigourney !— 
 
 Thy spirit stirs them. Poetry ! — 
 Go bid them sing again. 
 
 Oh to my country. Nymph ! then come — 
 
 Come Poetry ! divine : 
 Here Liberty will let thee roam 
 
 O'er all beneath her heavenly dome. 
 Thou could 'st not find a lovelier home. 
 
 Oh come and make it thine. 
 
144 
 
 The Lowlands and the Mountains. 
 
 I stood by CalwelPs fountainj 
 
 A pilgrim at thiy shrine 
 Hygeia ! where the mountain. 
 
 Throws round a charm divine; 
 And as I sadly ponder'd. 
 
 My thoughts ran thus in rhyme. 
 To Home, from whence I've wander'd. 
 
 My far off sunny clime. 
 
 The lowlands or the mountains. 
 
 Oh! which should I love best? 
 Broad rivers or the fountains. 
 
 And blue hills of the West? 
 Those vast and giant ranges. 
 
 With vallies dark and deep. 
 Where Time hath wrought no changes. 
 
 Or plains of boundless sweep? 
 
 The lofty hills are charming. 
 
 And strike th' enraptur'd eye. 
 And He the heart is warming. 
 
 Who flung them on the sky; 
 What shadows dark go drifting. 
 
 Along the mountain side. 
 And as the clouds are shifting. 
 
 How swiftly on they glide. 
 
 Those crowning trees ! how sapless ! 
 
 Like skeletons they look, 
 So hoary and so hapless ! 
 
 So drear and thunder shook ! 
 Like sentinels they're standing 
 
 To guard some "battled tower," 
 Some castle wall commanding. 
 
 For many a weary hour. 
 
 How beautiful the white clouds, 
 
 Upon those tops of blue ! 
 At sunset ere the night shrouds. 
 
 The gorgeous scene from view. 
 
145 
 
 All glorious are the gildings 
 
 Where seeming snows have roll'd. 
 There Fancy rears her buildings. 
 
 Of bright and burnish'd gold. 
 
 And oh the lovely flowers. 
 
 That deck the mountain side, 
 How sweet in Sylvan bowers 
 
 They bloom in lonely pride ! 
 The brightest there are blushing 
 
 'Mid those of virgin snow. 
 And hark ! how streams are rushing 
 
 Into the vales below ! 
 
 Yet more, yet more, this fountain. 
 
 This life-inspiring spring, 
 Lapp'd by the blue- robed mountain, 
 
 A holier charm doth bring — 
 For, here are pilgrims wending. 
 
 Borne down by sorrow's load. 
 And silent prayers ascending 
 
 Like frankincense to God. 
 
 But what are all, old Manor ! 
 
 Compared to thee, my Home ! 
 The silver sail and banner. 
 
 The billows lash'd to foam! 
 White beach and winding river ! 
 
 The Bay ! the boundless Sea ! — 
 Ah ! yes, the great Lawgiver, 
 
 Hath bound my soul to ye. 
 
 To ye, whom mem'ry mingleth. 
 
 With boyhood's joyous plays. 
 Oh ! how my blood it tingleth. 
 
 To dream of those young days ! 
 When o'er your fields 1 wander'd, 
 
 Or watch'd that banner wave. 
 Or on that while beach ponder'd, 
 
 Or did those billows brave. 
 
146 
 
 The First Time— The Lasl Time 
 
 The first time ! ah what memories. 
 
 Are mingled with that time ! 
 What scenes — old scenes before me rise. 
 
 To prompt the mournful rhyme. 
 
 The first time, when a careless boy, 
 
 I sail'd my soaring kite, 
 How boundless was my childish joy. 
 
 To see its cloudward flight ! 
 
 The first time that 1 sallied forth. 
 To hunt with shoulder'd gun, 
 
 What Conqu'ror issuing from the north. 
 Felt prouder ? Goth or Hun?— 
 
 The first time that my hand shed blood. 
 
 As my dead bird I scann'd, 
 Transfix'd with horror, how I stood. 
 
 With blood upon my hand ! 
 
 Good God! if thus in boyhood. 
 
 The blood with horror ran. 
 How must it curdle, when the blood 
 
 We shed, belongs to man 7 
 
 The first time that I loved! — her look, 
 
 The hght of that dark eye. 
 The madd'ning draughts of love I took 
 
 Will be witii me for aye. 
 
 And then the last time ! oh the last! 
 
 What bitter words are those ! 
 They conjure up the distant past. 
 
 And wake up buried woes. 
 
 The last time that I saw her — death 
 
 Had closed that lustrous eye ; 
 My lips had kissed her latest breath — 
 
 I frantic, turned to fly. 
 
 Oh! while I touch these tender chords. 
 What heart remains unwrung ? 
 
 The first time and the last are words. 
 On many a human tongue. 
 
147 
 
 We love to muse upon them, though 
 They speak of things, now lost ; 
 
 The first time seems the sun's bright glow. 
 The last, the killing frost. 
 
 TO MY WIPE. 
 
 You chide me oft, in softest strain. 
 I've heard thee often, love ! complain. 
 
 No verse I write for thee — 
 Come, list the reason then — 'tis plain, 
 'Twere idle all — superfluous — vain ! — 
 
 Since man and wife are we. 
 
 Oh when we write — 'tis but to tell 
 Some secret thoughts that inly dwell. 
 
 And we, you know, have none. 
 Hath gladness made my bosom swell ? 
 Or sorrow flung its with'ring spell? 
 
 You've felt them in your own. 
 
 If beauty has been oft my theme. 
 And rapt me in extatic dream. 
 
 Whose beauty was it? — own — 
 And whose the eye that shot the gleam ?— 
 The hazle eye — the dazzling beam ? 
 
 Love ! — let the truth be known. 
 
 Or if at vice, I've spurn'd, the while 
 And pointed to its path of guile — 
 
 What taught me vice to fly? 
 What thence could all my thoughts beguile ? 
 What but my Betsy's sunny smile ? 
 
 Thro' tears within her eye. 
 
 If virtue now has charms for me. 
 And all my guilty ways I flee. 
 
 Who bade me seek my God ? — 
 You know, my love ! 'twas only thee, 
 His instrument thou wert for me, 
 
 But not a chast'ning rod. 
 
If I have bung icliyion's powfi, 
 lis triumph in desponding hour, 
 
 The portrait was Iroiu life — 
 Tliough young, thy sky doth some lanes lower 
 Death will the friends of all devour — 
 
 Thou wast resign'd, my wife ! 
 
 Now cast a look at every thing, 
 I may have sung or yet can sing ; 
 
 Your heart must throb as mine — 
 I know I shall not strike a siring, 
 That will not there responsive ring. 
 
 And wake a note of thine. 
 
 What need, my love, then write for you ? 
 When heart to heart doth beat so true ? 
 
 You knew what I have written — 
 What here to others might be new. 
 Hath often met thy mental view. 
 
 With joy, your soul hath smitten. 
 
 Then chide me not my angel wife. 
 Complain no more, my all in life. 
 
 That lines, I write thee none — 
 Confess I've prov'd by reasons — rife, 
 I know thou art not fond of strife, 
 
 Tho' two we are but one. 
 
 TO A BEECH TREE. 
 
 I stand beneath thee, hoary beech ! 
 
 Within this silent wood. 
 Where human accents seldom reach 
 
 But where long since, I stood 
 And carv'd that name, Eliza Lee. 
 
 Upon thy yielding bark — 
 The letters now 1 dimly sec. 
 
 So time-worn i^ each mark. 
 
149 
 
 Where are the feelings of that day ? 
 
 Oh where my promised joy! 
 When passion held its madd'ning sway 
 
 O'er me, an ardent boy ? 
 That name to me was like sun-light. 
 
 As soft through clouds it broke ; 
 The last I rnurmur'd forth at night. 
 
 The first when I awoke. 
 
 With other eyes, I look on things. 
 
 Look on this fleeting world ; 
 My happiness hath taken wings, 
 
 iVly hopes to earth are hurl'd — 
 My heart is not what it hath been. 
 
 So chang'd it is by years 
 Of sorrow, sickness, death and sin. 
 
 And unavailing tears. 
 
 But yet that name is in my heart — 
 
 Unalter'd there it stays — 
 Nor can it ever thence depart, 
 
 Like this on which I gaze — 
 This name, casts a damp on me, 
 
 To see it pass away — 
 But why should it remain, when she 
 
 Hath been of death the prey ? 
 
 The lost, the lov'd, the beautiful. 
 
 The spotless and the pure — 
 The gentle, kind and dutiful. 
 
 Can gladden me no more ; 
 But in that path, the heav'nly path, 
 
 Trod by herself in life, 
 1 may escape, my God, thy wrath, 
 
 1 may rejoin my wife. 
 
 14 
 
150 
 
 THE OLDFIELD SCHOOL. 
 
 Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 
 
 With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, 
 
 There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule. 
 
 The village master taught liis little school. — Goldsmith. 
 
 When the storm of human life has passed, and the 
 tumultuous passions have subsided into a calm, it is 
 pleasant to look back upon the dangers we have en- 
 countered, and the narrow escapes we have had from 
 impending destruction. Riding at anchor in the quiet 
 haven of old age, memory loves to wander back over 
 the past, and to contemplate the successive events by 
 which we have been brought to our present condition. 
 How mysteriously connected seem occurrences the most 
 distant from one another, forming links in that long 
 chain to which our lives may be compared! Thus 
 seated at ease, in my old arm-chair, my snug harbor, 
 and having recourse to that peaceful enjoyment of age, 
 the pipe, which helps one to think, it is my purpose to 
 recur to some incidents of my life, which illustrate the 
 mysterious connection alluded to, and show how cir- 
 cumstances, the most trivial in their nature, and appa- 
 rently requiring no circumspection on our parts, often 
 give a color to our fates. With the mind's eye, I can 
 now see the cloud, no bigger than a man's hand, which 
 arose to spread over and darken my heavens. 
 
 Reader, I do not like my exordium; it is a style 
 altogether unnatural to me, and savors too strongly of 
 the circumlocutory vice of the day, to be agreeable. I 
 shall never tell my story, if I go on in that fashion — so 
 I pray you let me fall into my natural gait. 
 
 Well, to begin at the beginning — My parents were 
 
 poor, *'but not so d d pour, neither,'" as an old fellow 
 
 once said to his lawyer, interrupting him in the midst 
 of his speech, in wliich he was pathetically depicting 
 the abject poverty of his client. Every thing depended 
 upon the establishment of his poverty, but pride took 
 alarm at the degrading picture, and the old man rose 
 indignantly, and hitching up his breeches with a pecu- 
 liar jerk, cxclaimedj as 1 have &aid, ^'not so d^—d pom 
 
151 
 
 neither,^^ thereby completely overthrowing the attoruiiey 
 whose risible muscles could no more be controlled than 
 could those of the whole court. My parents were poor, 
 but still they were able to educate me, as most parents 
 then did, by sending me to an oldfield school, where 
 the three R's, as I have somewhere read, (Reading, 
 Riting, and 'Rithmetic,) were taught in perfection, and 
 some Latin besides. Here I spent the morning of my 
 existence, and while "winters of memory" are rolling 
 over me, I look back to this school as the fountain 
 of all the misfortunes of my life. While others recur 
 to their school-boy days as the bright spot — the Oasis 
 in the desert of their lives, — I see in mine nothing but 
 the Upas tree, which bhghted every thing around it. I 
 can recall in perfect freshness the picture of our school- 
 house and the surrounding scenery. In the centre of a 
 large field of broom-straw, skirted on every side but one 
 by pines, stood the house, a plain building of sawed 
 logs, crammed, as we say in Virginia, with mud j on 
 the side excepted, there was a fine grove of oaks, 
 through which passed the public road; a common 
 worm fence enclosed the yard, which was entered by a 
 stile of rude blocks. My feelings of awe on first cross- 
 ing that stile can never be forgotten. I had never seen 
 a school-master, but had formed a dreadful idea of one, 
 having heard so much of the instructive jerk of his arm. 
 A buzzing sound proceeded from the house, which I 
 could not understand. I approached and knocked, and 
 as soon as the door was opened, such a scene met my 
 eyes, and such a Babel of noise assailed my ears, that 
 I stood for some time rooted to the spot. The master, 
 a rough looking Irishman, dreadfully marked with the 
 small-pox, was scuffling with an overgrown boy, who 
 used in his defence, with no little dexterity, a rule, 
 from one end of which hung a string and lead pencil. 
 After a smart rap over the knuckles of the pedagogue, 
 I heard the boy exclaim, "Pit be bound you'll never 
 write Avoirdupois Weight* again." On two sides 
 
 * A famous copy at school, which, with "Evil communication 
 corrupts good maimers," will doubtless be remembered by many of 
 my contemporaries. 
 
152 
 
 of the room were ranged desks and benches, covered 
 with large splotches of ink, and whittled almost to 
 pieces, and around sat about twenty boys of all sizes. 
 One little chubby-faced fellow, whose feet could not 
 reach the floor, was crying out, at the very top of his 
 voice, b-l-a, bla, and all the rest were spelling or read- 
 ing in the most abominably loud and dissonant tones, 
 and with that peculiar whine which a child at first con- 
 siders as the distinctive characteristic of reading as op- 
 posed to talking. Some were at great A, little a,r-o-n ; 
 some at a-bom-i-na-hle, and some at con-cat-e-na-tion — 
 and such a concatenation of abominable sounds I cer- 
 tainly had never heard in my life before. The instant 
 they saw me, all save the combatants, were as still as 
 Tarn O'Shanter's witches, when he cried out "weel 
 done, Cutty Sark." Before I had power to move from 
 the station I occupied, the scuffle between the boy and 
 the school-master terminated in favor of the latter, who 
 proved game, while the former showed the dunghill, 
 and attempted a retreat through the door. As he ap- 
 proached, I started on one side to give him a free pas- 
 sage, but unfortunately he was not aware of my move- 
 ment, and we came in contact, by which means the 
 whole parly, school-master and all, tumbled heels over 
 head into the yard. The rebellious boy by this means 
 was caught, and received in my presence such a lash- 
 ing, as proved our teacher to be fully as expert as "the 
 most expert Jlogger in all OviedoP 
 
 Such was my initiation into the mysteries of an old- 
 field school ; and the reader will see at once, that I 
 cannot be held responsible for the defects of my educa- 
 tion. What could I learn in this Babel but the confu- 
 sion of tongues ? There reigned here a constant struggle 
 between democracy and despotism; and notwithstand- 
 ing the strong arm of authority was against us, the 
 physical force was on our side — and so various were 
 our means of annoying our tyrant, that he was ulti- 
 mately obliged to succumb, and wink at our enormities. 
 When I first entered this school^ I was as innocent as 
 original sin would permit me to be: I was a good boy, 
 and said my prayers regularly, night and morning, but 
 
153 
 
 was soon laughed out of this ; for the doctrines of infi- 
 delity had penetrated, at that time, ahiiost every hovel 
 in the land, and even school-boys might be heard pro- 
 mulgating the sentiments of the deists. I soon followed 
 the example of those around me, and found, with Mr. 
 Feathernest, that '*« good conscience was too expensive a 
 luxury for me to indulge in.'' I could not keep pace 
 with my schoolmates if I remained too conscientious, 
 and especially with Benson, the overgrown boy, who 
 had given me my first lesson in rebelhon. He was the 
 incarnation of every thing vile, and never forgave me 
 that unlucky tumble which I so innocently gave him on 
 the threshhold of our school. He conceived the most 
 inveterate antipathy to me, and left no stone unturned 
 to thwart and vex me in every thing. So relentless' 
 were his persecutions, that my chief study became re- 
 venge ; and although obliged at first to submit to many 
 a severe drubbing from his superior strength, I found 
 frequent opportunities of retort, which did not leave 
 him altogether victorious. It is not my inteniioa to 
 describe the multiplied incidents of such a life, wiiich 
 are familiar to every Virginian at least. Let it suffice, 
 that having triumphed over our tyrant, we declared 
 war against one another, as is often the case with more 
 important communities, and we became divided into 
 Bensonites and Buckskins. This feud became the all- 
 absorbing matter of the school, and ramified itself into 
 all our sports and occupations. Books were secondary 
 considerations. The substitutes, positive, were boxing, 
 jumping, leaping and bandy ; the comparative, were 
 cock-fighting and fives ; the superlative, a scrub race. 
 In all these various accomplishments I made a rapid 
 progress — and in gaffing a cock, t became supreme. I 
 shall not stop to enumerate my successive triumphs 
 over Benson. I foiled him at length in every thing. 
 Our last desperate struggle for the mastery was in a 
 pitched battle between his game- cock, the Emperor of 
 Germany, and my King of Prussia. The whole neigh- 
 borhood assembled to witness the fight, and many were 
 the bets upon the respective combatants. Those who 
 have never partaken of the sport can hardly form an idea 
 14* 
 
154 
 
 of the thrilling interest excited. In the first encounter 
 of our royal personages, the Emperor struck the King a 
 blow, which to all appearances seemed fatal. It was a 
 brain stroke, and for a while my old warrior seemed 
 paralysed : Benson was in ecstacies. Confident of the 
 valor of his majesty, and conjecturing his situation, I 
 sprang forward and with all the seeming odds against 
 me, I offered to treble the bet upon the King. It was 
 immediately taken up ; and scarcely was it done, when 
 my veteran combatant, rousing from his temporary 
 stupor, flew at the Emperor, and literally cut him to 
 mince-meat. I shall take leave of my school with the 
 acknowledgment that I issued from thence as finished 
 a devil in most things, as Pandemonium could have 
 tamed loose; and with such exquisite accomplishments 
 as those of cock-fighter, horse-racer and five-player, it 
 is not wonderful that I speedily ran through the little 
 property my well-meaning and industrious parents had 
 made a shift to leave me. I thank God, they were 
 spared the exhibition of my folly, by being removed 
 from this world just as my propensities were blossom- 
 ing. My reader, if I ever have one, must not, however, 
 suppose from what I have said of my vices, that I was 
 altogether corrupt. "JYone are all evil.^' I had not 
 forgotten all the lessons of virtue I had received from 
 my parents, and especially those which were occasion- 
 ally instilled into me by a being whom I must ever 
 revere and hold in grateful recollection : I mean the 
 wife of my school-master, who was so meek and gentle, 
 so kind and affectionate, such a pattern of genuine 
 benevolence and goodness, that I loved her like a 
 mother, and in despite of my wildness, would hearken 
 sometimes to her counsels. She cast the bread upon 
 the waters, and it was found afterwards in the circum- 
 stance, that although I plunged into every species of 
 dissipation, 1 never lost that sense of honor, which 
 kept my hands from picking and stealing, and my 
 tongue from evil speaking, lying and slandering. I 
 injured myself more than any one else, and I do not 
 believe that anything could have tempted me to hurt a 
 hair of any creature's head, Benson's excepted. Fate 
 
155 
 
 seemed determined to protract our warfare to the scenes 
 of after life. We both fell in love with the same girl, 
 and a duel would have been the consequence, had my 
 antagonist possessed half the courage of his Emperor 
 of Germany; but cowardice is always the associate of 
 cold-blooded villainy. I know not whether his craven 
 spirit decided our love affair in my favor, but this I 
 know, that the immortal author of the Cockiad has 
 said, with great truth, that "* 
 
 Hens, like women, though the deed be cruel, 
 Won't have a cock that will not fight a duel. 
 
 Having sunk, at last, the whole of my little patrimo- 
 ny, and finding myself sinking fast in the estimation of 
 those who flee with '^'the lees of the wine cask," I 
 resolved on removing to a distant county, and turning 
 over a new leaf. Sated with pleasure, as it is foolishly 
 called, and pressed by necessity, I determined to try 
 that sort of life which had been so often recommended 
 by my excellent friend, and by dint of industry and 
 economy was doing well, when, as Providence ordered^ 
 my evil genius, Benson strayed to the neighborhood, 
 and settled himself as a carpenter in our little county 
 town. I know not whether there be any thing in the 
 feeling which we call presentiment, but I remember a 
 sort of sinking at my heart when this man first crossed 
 my path. He accosted me in terms of an old acquaint- 
 ance, and I did not repel his civilities; but I secretly 
 resolved to have as little to do with him as possble, be- 
 cause I was fully aware of the profligacy of his nature, 
 and I was not so secure in my own resolutions of 
 amendment as not to fear contamination from his com- 
 pany. He seemed determined to force himself upon 
 me, and notwithstanding all my efforts to shun him, I 
 could not avoid altogether the discredit of his friendship. 
 This was particularly disagreeable to me, because I 
 had formed many valuable acquaintances, and depended 
 wholly upon their good opinion for success in my busi- 
 ness. It was not long before the peace of our village 
 was disturbed by this serpent having made his way 
 into our paradise. He corrupted our youths, and Intro- 
 
150 
 
 tluced the scenes of riot and debauchery, where all 
 before was good order and quiet. Gambling, racing 
 and cock-fighting were the elements which seemed 
 necessary to his existence; and how he contrived to 
 support the extravagance of his expenditure upon his 
 slender means as a workman, was more than any one 
 could tell. 1 never joined in any of his excesses, but, 
 as I said before, I could not avoid the discredit of his 
 acquaintance, and came in for my share of the odium 
 which insensibly attaches itself to those who have been 
 familiar with the worthless ; and at the same time I 
 incurred the vindictive hatred of Benson, who had 
 never forgotten the ancient enmity of our school-boy 
 days ; and the time was rapidly approaching when he 
 had an opportunity of glutting his mahce to the fullest 
 extent. 
 
 One morning, about day-break, in the month of Feb- 
 ruary, 17 — , I was crossing the country to my daily 
 employment, in order to gain a public road, which led 
 to the place of my occupation, when just as I struck 
 the highway, my ear caught the rapidly retreating 
 sounds of a horse's feet, and looking to my right I saw 
 the figure of a horseman, just disappearing at an angle 
 of the road. I thought the figure resembled Benson's, 
 but the view was so transient that I might be mistaken, 
 and I deemed this the more probable because I supposed 
 him at that time to be in another part of the country. 
 I proceeded down the road in an opposite direction, and 
 had not gone more than a half mile, when I discovered 
 near a small thicket on the side of the road, the dead 
 body of a man, covered with blood. His hat was 
 placed near him, with some papers and his watch in it, 
 and a pistol was slightly grasped in his right hand. At 
 a small distance was a horse saddled and bridled, and 
 tied to a tree. It was impossible that the horseman 
 should have passed without seeing these objects, and I 
 therefore supposed that he might have entered the pub- 
 lic road at a cross one, whicli I had passed before ar- 
 riving at the spot. I immediately recognized the body 
 to be that of an elderly gentleman of the neighborhood, 
 who was somewhat singular in his manners, but he. 
 
157 
 
 was rich and not known to be unhappy, or under any 
 possible inducement to commit so desperate a deed as 
 self-murder. Upon further examination, I picked up the 
 half burnt wadding of the pistol, and unfolding it per- 
 ceived it was a piece of calico, the figure of which was 
 easily discernible ; the propriety of its preservation, 
 however, never occurred to me. I continued to hold it 
 in my hand as I proceeded in my inquiries, and with- 
 out thinking of it, or intending to do so, I put it in my 
 pocket, and never thought of it again until some time 
 after. I examined the ground, which was very hard 
 frozen, but could perceive no other tracks than those of 
 the horse which had belonged to the dead, and even 
 those were scarcely to be seen. What should I do ? 
 was now the question. I concluded it would be best 
 to mount the horse ; and ride off as speedily as possible 
 to the mansion of the old gentleman, and give the 
 alarm to his son who resided with him ; I did so, and 
 returned with him immediately to the scene. We 
 made no other discovery which could lead to a develop- 
 ment of the mystery ; we went to the cross-road spoken 
 of, and saw the faint traces of a horse upon it, as I had 
 conjectured. The young man informed me that his 
 father had determined the previous week upon a jour- 
 ney to the town of , and probably had a considera- 
 ble sum of money about him, but we could find none. 
 His watch was a very valuable one, and would doubt- 
 less have been taken had he been murdered. The 
 placing of his papers and his watch in his hat, looked 
 like a deliberate design, which could scarcely be im- 
 puted to an assassin, whose hurry upon a public road 
 would have been too great for such deliberation. The 
 pistol, however, he had never seen before. His father 
 had frequently manifested some slight oddity of manner, 
 but the son had never dreamed of such a termination 
 of his existence. Upon the whole, the matter seemed 
 to baffle conjecture, and so it appeared on the coroner's 
 inquest. A verdict of death by some unknown means 
 was the result, although public opinion seemed to lean 
 to the idea of suicide. The son, however, came to a 
 different conclusion, but still suspicion fell upon no 
 particular person. 
 
168 
 
 Three or four months had passed away, and the 
 whole affair seemed buried in oblivion, when one day, 
 in the presence of Benson only, I intimated my inten- 
 tion of setting out tlie following morning for the town 
 
 of , and he carelessly asked me if I would do him 
 
 the favor to sell for him a tobacco note, which he had 
 received in payment for some work. As I could see 
 no sort of objection to so friendly an act, I readily as- 
 sented ; my reader must be informed that tobacco was 
 at that time a sort of currency, and familiarly used in 
 all transactions like money. I went to town, transacted 
 my own business, sold the tobacco, and returned home 
 and paid the proceeds to Benson. I thought no more 
 of the matter until a few weeks after, when, to my utter 
 astonishment, I was arrested upon the charge of having 
 murdered the old gentleman abovementioned. My 
 amazement was considered well feigned by his son, 
 who assured me that the evidence against me was irre- 
 sistible, and sneeringly asked me how I became pos- 
 sessed of his father's tobacco? The truth flashed 
 instantly upon me, that I had been made the dupe of a 
 designing villain, and at once I saw the peril of my 
 situation. I replied that I had received the tobacco 
 from Benson, and desired to be confronted with him, 
 that I might see whether he would deny the truth of 
 my assertion ; the officer who arrested me consented, 
 as Benson lived in the village where the jail was, and 
 accordingly I stood before him, searching every linea- 
 ment of his dark countenance with an eye of fire. Did 
 you not give me a tobacco note to sell for you several 
 weeks ago ? No, was his sullen reply. Villain, I ex- 
 claimed, do you dare to deny it? and I sprang upon 
 him with all the violence of a man who saw the despe- 
 ration of his situation, unless he could obtain a confes- 
 sion. I should certainly have strangled the scoundrel 
 with my grasp, had I not been overpowered by num- 
 bers, and dragged away to prison. My violence served 
 but to confirm the suspicions of my persecutors, who 
 saw in the workings of my countenance nothing but 
 the evidence of vehement passions, capable of any 
 atrocity. Left alone in my solitary prison, it may be 
 
159 
 
 well imagined how horrible was the train of my 
 thoughts. 1 felt like some malefactor whose prison 
 was on tire, and who saw no chance of escape from 
 the irons which held him chained to the wall. What 
 could I do ? 1 had certainly sold the tobacco, and was 
 known by the purchaser, and could be identified ; no 
 one had seen me receive the tobacco from Benson ; no 
 body had seen me pay him the money on my return. 
 That tobacco, it appeared, was part of a parcel of notes 
 which were known to be in the possession of the old 
 gentleman murdered, and found to be missing when 
 his papers were examined by his son, who was his 
 executor and heir, and who resolved to watch in silence 
 their sale, as the clue to the assassin of his father. He 
 had taken his measures wisely, and upon going to 
 town some weeks after my visit to the same, he dis- 
 covered that the note had been sold to a merchant, 
 who, upon application, described the individual from 
 whom he had bought it, and disclosed his name. Here 
 was a chain of evidence absolutely conclusive, even if 
 I had not been the person who discovered the body 
 and gave the alarm. What would it avail to say that 
 I had no such pistol as the one found near the body ? 
 It is always easy to procure materials which might 
 lead inquiry astray. What object could I have in offi- 
 ciously disclosing the murder, and endeavoring to trace 
 the murderer, as I had done, in company with the son? 
 The answer was easy ; the more effectually to mislead 
 the judgment. How corroborative of my guilt was the 
 circumstance that no trace of another horse was visible 
 on the spot. It would be vain to urge that the author 
 of the deed might have designedly passed on the other 
 road, and have crossed to the thicket on foot, and hav- 
 ing committed the crime, might have returned to his 
 horse on that road. Conjectures of this sort might have 
 availed, had there been any corroborative circumstances 
 to do away wiili the damning fact of my having pos- 
 session of the nolo ; but there were none. No one had 
 seen the horseman that morning but myself; Benson 
 was supposed to he at a distance ; no body else was 
 suspected. Could I refer to my character to screen 
 
160 
 
 niyseli'. It is true it had been good since my residence 
 in the county ; but from whence did I come, and what 
 was my standing in the place of my nativity? I could 
 not hope for aid in that quarter. No, the death of a 
 felon was inevitable ! 
 
 Such were the thoughts which occupied my mind 
 during the first night of my confinement! in the 
 morning came my wife and child to see me. It is im- 
 possible to convey any idea of the deep sense of degra- 
 dation I felt, notwithstanding my innocence at the re- 
 ception of my family in a jail. My angel wife saw my 
 pain and endeavored to soothe me by every means in 
 her power; she assured me that she doubted not my 
 innocence for a moment, and that she trusted in God 
 for my deliverance. My child climbed my knee and 
 asked me why I did not come home and what I staid 
 there for, and repeated a thousand endearing little cir- 
 cumstances connected with home, which wrung my 
 heart, and produced a feeling of bitterness which I had 
 never known before. I caressed him fondly and pro- 
 mised to come back, and beseeched my wife to take 
 him away, as I could not bear the agonizing emotions 
 he awakened. I preferred being alone, as I felt even 
 her company a restraint to me, while my mind was 
 occupied so intensely with the contemplation of my 
 situation. She wisely withdrew, but did not fail to 
 return each day, to offer me all the consolation in her 
 power, and to provide for my accommodation, of which 
 she saw me entirely regardless. I will not dwell upon 
 what may be readily imagined. Day after day passed 
 without the smallest ray of hope of escape from my 
 perilous condition. I employed counsel, but had no- 
 thing to say to him but the repetition of my innocence, 
 nor could he conscientiously offer me any prospect of 
 acquittal. The examining court was held, and the re- 
 sult was what might have been expected. I was 
 remanded to jail for further trial at the superior court, 
 and spent two dreadful months of tedious restraint, 
 though each day found me more composed and more 
 prepared to breast the shock of condemnation. I have 
 ever found this the case with me, that 1 have been 
 
 I 
 
161 
 
 impatient under the trials of life, as long as there was 
 a chance of avoiding them. Small matters always 
 harassed me more than great ones^ and now that I had 
 viewed my condition in all its possible aspects^ and had 
 become satisfied that there was no escape from my 
 toils, I fortified my mind and resolved to bear my lot 
 with a firmness which should at least exempt me from 
 contempt. I was sitting with my wife on the evening 
 preceding my trial, and was once more detailing to her 
 the circumstances attending my accidental discovery of 
 the body of the old gentleman murdered. I was at her 
 request, more minute than usual, as her mind was 
 anxiously bent upon finding some clue to lead us from 
 our labyrinth oi difficulties. The circumstance of the 
 half-burnt wadding of the pistol had until now passed 
 entirely out of my mind, but the instant I mentioned it, 
 she started up and exclaimed, what became of it 7 I 
 told her it remained unnoticed in my pocket for a long 
 time, but that at length I drew it forth accidentally one 
 day and had thrown it into a drawer at home, which I 
 described, not with any view of preservation, but simply 
 to be rid of it. She clasped her hand and devoutly 
 thanked God that there was yet a hope, and then 
 solemnly addressed me thus : "My dear husband, I 
 would not for worlds, awaken a hope in your bosom 
 which may be disappointed. I perceive the enviable 
 state of calmness to which you have been brought by 
 the goodness of God, but, nevertheless, a sudden thought 
 has occurred to me which 1 will not reveal to you, lest 
 it should excite in your breast the same intensity of 
 feeling which pervades mine at this moment. I must 
 begone ; farewell until to-morrow ; I cannot return 
 sooner." So saying, she hastened away, and I sought 
 that repose which is so difficult in situations like mine. 
 I did sleep, however, and strange to say, my dreams 
 that night were all of a character the most pleasing, 
 and my slumbers were more refreshing than those I 
 had for some time experienced. But, oh ! what were 
 the thoughts which rushed upon my mind, when I 
 awoke and returned to a conj.ciousneu.:. of what was to 
 take place that day ? Those thoughtL^, tushing like, a 
 15 
 
162 
 
 whirlwind upon me, have left an impression wliich can 
 never be effaced while memory lasts. It is true, 1 
 hastened to get the mastery of my mind again, and 
 trampled down those thoughts for the day. 1 bore me 
 up heroically ; I attended the summons to court with 
 alacrity ; I walked through the gaping crowd with a 
 firm step and manly look, and repeated the "not guilty,''^ 
 with a clear and determined voice. All the horrible 
 pageantry of a trial had passed; the jury were empan- 
 nelled ; the witnesses were sworn, and among them 
 that son of Belial, Benson. The attorney for the com- 
 monwealth had recapitulated all the disgusting circum- 
 stances of the murder, and showed their necessary and 
 unquestionable connexion with me ; my counsel had 
 arisen to speak, when a slight movement among the 
 crowd behind me caused me to turn my head, and I 
 beheld my wife making her way to the bar. She 
 touched the elbow of my lawyer and whispered in his 
 ear. He received something from her, and then begged 
 the court to excuse him for a few moments. They 
 readily consented to do so, and in that painful interval, 
 I rose and fixed my eyes sternly upon Benson, deter- 
 mined to watch closely his diabolical countenance. His 
 eye quailed beneath mine, and an evident paleness 
 came over his cheek. What had produced it '? Had 
 he seen what was tendered by my wife, or did his 
 guilty soul simply tremble before the keen glance of his 
 victim? In a few moments my lawyer returned, and 
 addressed the court with a strong appeal to their feel- 
 ings of humanity. He described the great peril of the 
 prisoner, and the difficulties under which he labored 
 in producing proof to rebut a charge which seemed to 
 be corroborated by such strong circumstances, and said 
 that he trusted the court would have patience and in- 
 dulge him in any effort he might make to establish the 
 innocence of the accused. He then stated the particu- 
 lars I have already related respecting the wadding of 
 the pistol ; its casual preservation, and its discovery by 
 my wife, in the drawer in wliich 1 had left it. He ex- 
 hibited it to the court, and asked at their hands the 
 irpmcdiatc arrest of the witness, Benson, and the detain- 
 
163 
 
 ing him in custody until a search could be made of his 
 house, and that a warrant might issue for that purpose. 
 He was willing, he said, to rest the hopes of his client 
 upon the result of the investigation to be made, whether 
 there was any thing in Benson's house from which the 
 half-burnt calico could have been torn. It was staking 
 all, he admitted, upon a desperate throw; but seeing 
 no better chance, if the court would have patience to 
 make the inquiry and it failed, he would at once sur- 
 render the cause and give up the prisoner to his fate. 
 The court, of course, assented. Benson was forth- 
 with arrested ; the warrant issued, and the officers of 
 justice went to make the search, accompanied by my 
 wife and my legal adviser. Who shall count the ages 
 which rolled away while that search was making? 
 The time seemed to me an eternity. Hope was 
 awakened, and I could not suppress the throbbings of 
 my heart. The court seemed as still as death. I 
 fancied amidst that awful stillness, that every one could 
 hear the pulsations of my heart. I tried every means 
 in my power to be calm, but each effort seemed to in- 
 crease my agitation. I listened for the sound of return- 
 ing footsteps until I thought ray heart would burst with 
 the suspension of my breath. I turned my eyes again 
 upon my foe, and he too seemed striving in vain to be 
 calm. He seemed uneasy and restless. What was 
 the cause? Was he indignant under suspicion? or 
 was he fearful of detection ? I could not reason j my 
 senses were confused by the rapid circulation of my 
 blood. At last the sound of coming steps was heard ; 
 the blood curdled at my heart, and I should have fallen 
 but for the cry of joy which burst forth from my wife, 
 as she entered the court. "It is found! it is found!'' 
 she exclaimed, "and my husband will not die. He is 
 innocent ! he is innocent." In an old chest, covered 
 up by a pile of lumber in Benson's shop, was found a 
 counterpane, from whence had been torn the piece of 
 calico, used in loading the fatal pistol. The figure 
 corresponded precisely, and this, taken in connexion 
 with my constant declaration, that I had received the 
 tobacco from Benson, would have been conclusive 
 
164 
 
 against him, but in the same chest was discovered 
 another pistol, the fellow of the one found in the hand 
 of the murdered man. The testimony was thus so con- 
 clusive against him, that he acknowledged his guilt, 
 and speedily suffered the penalty of his atrocious crimes. 
 Such were the baneful consequences which flowed 
 from my education at an oldfield school, where the 
 laxity of authority engendered every vice. In gallop- 
 ing across the country lately, it was my fortune to lose 
 myself, and to emerge suddenly upon the very spot 
 where once stood our school house. Not a vestige re- 
 mained of it ; the fine grove of oaks, beneath whose 
 shade I had so often gambolled, were all cut down, and 
 the broomstraw field was all washed by the rains into 
 frightful gullies. Just so had time furrowed my cheek 
 with the tears which had coursed them down, and I 
 shuddered as I turned away from the scene of the con- 
 tests of a Benson and a 
 
 Buckskin. 
 
 TO M'/ MOTHER ON MY BIRTH-DAL 
 
 At sunrise this morning I woke — 
 
 Fifty-one years ago I was born ; 
 As the light on my vision first broke 
 
 I thought of that joyful morn. 
 
 That morn they unkennelPd a fox — 
 All nature seem'd ringing with glee 
 
 They ran him through marshes — o'er rocks 
 And kill'd him and brought him to thee. 
 
 How little you dream't it was I 
 
 Whom the huntsman were hunting that morn 
 That the spirit of Reynard so sly 
 
 Had entered the babe you had borne. 
 
 And yet it was true — even so 
 
 I've been hunted for many long years 
 
 My days have been wretched — what woe 
 Ilave I felt in this valley of tears! — 
 
165 
 
 Unkennell'd that morning, I cried. 
 So rough was the greeting and rude. 
 
 The hellhounds of life were untied 
 And the pack of misfortune pursued. 
 
 Ever since have they followed me hard 
 I have doubled and foiled them long 
 
 But the peace of my life has been marred 
 And I faint, and am hanging my tongue. 
 
 Dyspepsy, a dog of great wind. 
 
 Is now very near to my throat. 
 And Colic comes biting behind 
 
 At the date of this comical note. 
 
 To whom shall I turn me, and when ? 
 
 To the mother who bore me that morn — 
 So the fox will return to his den 
 
 When pursued by the hound and the horn. 
 
 I turn then dear mother, to thee 
 And ask your maternal advice — 
 
 Ah where shall I turn me and flee 1 — 
 "My Son ! to the Pearl of great price. ^^ 
 
 MY LAST CANDLE. 
 
 A Parody on Campbell's Last Man. 
 
 All things must end that have a birth, 
 
 A candle too must die. 
 Though 'tis the last we have on earth. 
 
 And we no more can buy — 
 I see a vision as I sit 
 That makes my heart go pat-a-pit 
 
 And feel as if 'twere sick ; 
 I see the last of tallow mould 
 That e'er my candlestick shall hold 
 
 A feeble tottering wick. 
 15* 
 
106 
 
 That candle gives a sickly glare 
 
 Just light enough to scan 
 The skeletons of riches here 
 
 Around me, lonely man ! 
 Some have expired with use — my chairs 
 Are broken down and want repairs. 
 
 My table's propt to stand, 
 My room, it has ten thousand holes. 
 And snow is drifting in by shoals 
 
 For Boreas lends a hand. 
 
 Yet rousing up, I cast a look 
 
 Of patience, on my need. 
 And close the pages of my book, 
 
 I cannot see to read — 
 Then thus apostrophize my light 
 Thou flickering thing adieu — good night 
 
 Thou 'It soon be but a snuff 
 Thou 'It see no more, the poorness here, 
 The total want of all good cheer. 
 
 In truth 'tis bad enough. 
 
 Although by thee a man can see 
 
 What genius hath enshrined. 
 The '^arts which make fire, flood" to be 
 
 The *'vassals" of his mind. 
 Yet my "lone mansion's twinkling star" 
 I will not mourn that death should mar 
 
 Thy Avhiteness in a thrice. 
 For here those arts are all a hum 
 I haven't a superabundant crumb 
 
 To keep alive the mice. 
 
 So, let vile darkness fill the place 
 
 Content I will not sigh. 
 It blots not long ''sweet nature^ grace^^ 
 
 Nor "shuts the windowed skif 
 To-morrow when bright Phoebus throws 
 His thousand suns across the snows 
 
 And cheers me with his rise, 
 T can walk forth to lovelier scenes 
 Than are begemm'd for kings and queens, 
 
 And may regale my eyes. 
 
167 
 
 I'll want not then the yellow haze 
 
 Thou shed'st so faint by day 
 Ail earth in jewels then will blaze 
 
 And shame thy feeble ray — 
 Ten thousand times ten thousand dyes 
 In silv'ry robes will meet my eyes 
 
 And lift my soul from earth, 
 None but a God of wond'rous power 
 "Of mercy dropping like the shower," 
 
 Could give such splendor birth. 
 
 My eyes are aching in this room 
 
 To watch thee quivering, die. 
 But yet a thought doth cheer the gloom 
 
 'Tis better you than I — 
 My lips that tell thy dying lot 
 Of melting grease ail hissing hot 
 
 Of this at least may boast 
 Some other candle lights my way 
 Adown to death, unless the day 
 
 Receive my parting ghost. 
 
 Stay, light, while yet a little grease 
 
 Burns in thy brazen hearse 
 Stay but a moment if you please 
 
 And let me see my purse — 
 'Tis empty all — no — not a crown 
 I cannot chase a sixpence down. 
 
 Pshaw ! — go then with a pun. 
 Thy fate is but the fate of Greece 
 Nought cheers her night of darli decease 
 
 But Liberty's bright Sun. 
 
 TBE SPRINGS, 
 
 I want a mould in which to run my lead 
 You've read dear B — the Cantos of Don Juan 
 
 I'll take their stanza for what's in my head. 
 And sketch a picture which shall be a true one 
 
168 
 
 Vm filled with Sulphur, xohite, blue, grey and red. 
 To drink such oceans, surely must undo one — 
 If, therefore, I should seem a spiteful devil 
 Excuse me — brimstone makes me thus uncivil. 
 
 Pm at the Springs, beyond the Alleghany, 
 The burning sun is scorching us like stubble. 
 
 The dust declares the weather is not rainy 
 And decent people have a world of trouble ; 
 
 Pm sick of Springs all save old Hippocrene, 
 
 That had no sulphur, but with rhymes did bubble. 
 
 Now bubbling rhymes are difficult to stop up 
 
 So take them, dearest B., just as they hop up. 
 
 We have assembled here a crowd of folks 
 From bay of Mexico to Pass'maquoddy, 
 
 The welkin rings with laughter, caused by jokes. 
 By julep sometimes and sometimes by toddy. 
 
 Alas ! to me, all seems like one great hoax, 
 A monstrous cheat imposed on every body — 
 
 But for the fashion, we should shun these waters 
 
 Ye fathers, mothers, brothers, sons and daughters ? 
 
 Great men are plenty here, as well as little. 
 The high and low, plebeians and patricians. 
 
 Small fry and great ! "of fish a pretty kettle" — 
 Here mingle Congressmen, grand politicians ! 
 
 With men whose only business is to whittle — 
 Here's one, long deemed the greatest of magicians. 
 
 And people whisper, that sulphureous station 
 
 Is just the place for dev'lish incantation. 
 
 'Tis time such calumnies should have an end 
 It's like his sable majesty rebuking sin ; 
 
 Or devil, undertaking broken legs to mend — 
 The game is but the game of out and in, 
 
 To this pole-star alone, all needles tend, 
 For this, all panic cries and clamorous dm. 
 
 And things have lately had an end so tragical 
 
 That "non-committaV should expire with "magical." 
 
169 
 
 How like a polypus. Springs multiply ! — 
 
 Sweet, Salt and While! the Blue, the Red, the Grey ! 
 
 Like the weird Sisters in Macbeth, they cry 
 And bid us, ''mingle, mingle while me may^^ 
 
 Aye, blue spirits and grey, poor fools ! we fly 
 To curse our folly at no distant day. 
 
 For when returned to long abandon'd homes 
 
 In ghastly form our hideous demon comes. 
 
 But then we have such charming promenades ! 
 
 A gulf-stream, vast, in which are floating seen 
 Bewhisker'd fellows, and well bishop^d maids 
 
 And withered beldames of a stately mien. 
 Then come old men, with bald and shining heads 
 
 Which look like barbers' blocks alive, between — 
 Oh 'tis a scene it makes one smile to scan 
 In spite of all our sympathy with man. 
 
 God forbid that I should laugh at wrinkles, 
 
 I am so wrinkled and so old myself. 
 But when your eye with rheum gets red and twinkles. 
 
 Just lay yourself aside upon the shelf. 
 And think upon the straggling hair that sprinkles 
 
 Your head, and do not for all Rothschild's pelf 
 Your sinciput in public thus exhibit 
 So hke a skeleton upon a gibbet. 
 
 A word of bishops — tell me if you please 
 
 What means the term? — my head is very thick, 
 
 A bishop's one who owns a diocese. 
 In other words, he has a bishoprick. 
 
 Now prithee, what can ladies want with these? 
 
 And wherefore stick them where we see them stick. 
 
 Much more do they resemble that high hump 
 
 A dromedary carries on his rump. 
 
 That great philosopher, my Lord Monboddo, 
 
 Hefd men were monkies once, both male and female. 
 
 That they continued by decree of God, so. 
 Till civ'lizaiion "docked tli' estate in tailP 
 
170 
 
 The women doubtless will exclaim, oh lud no ! 
 
 But once their gowns were made with monstrous trail, 
 And now they show, by these enormous tumors. 
 That having tails is one of their fond humors. 
 
 Ah ! ha ! I've stumbled on the secret hidden 
 In bishops, perched upon each lady's back. 
 
 Most women have, for ages, been jwiest-ridden. 
 The seat of honor too is a woolsack 
 
 Their backs, by sacks, should argal, be bestridden 
 And thus you see Pve got upon the track : 
 
 Stop then, until I make a memorandum 
 
 That here's quod erat deinonstrandum. 
 
 Do ladies think to laugh so much is pretty ? 
 
 Their faces gleam with everlasting light — 
 The beaux must now be either vastly witty 
 
 Or else their stock of brains must be so slight 
 That blunders half convulse each screaming Kilty 
 
 And she is forced to show her ivory white. 
 And throw her body into such contortions 
 From witnessing dull Witling's sad abortions. 
 
 Since I have mention'd women here so freely 
 
 I'll handle now the Epigastric — 
 Why on such subjects should our mouths be mealy 
 
 Why dont some ^'Pulpit drum ecclesiastic^^ 
 Send forth anathema of thund'ring peal, eh ! 
 
 Against that fashion, cruel and fantastic. 
 Of tightly squeezing up the poor abdomen. 
 Till busts are like inverted cones, in women. 
 
 A truce with gibes against the charming fair 
 For, after all, they're ev'ry way, delightful — 
 
 Now for those mouths all covered up with hair 
 Can any thmg on earth be half so frightful ? 
 
 Were I a despot they should dangle in mid air 
 The running noose I would, with all my might, pull, 
 
 Or banish them to herd v/ith bearded goats 
 
 Which wear such dirty patches on their throats. 
 
171 
 
 But that which beats bobtail and makes one stare. 
 
 That which all other fooleries doth bang. 
 Is the vile foppery of gumming down the hair 
 
 Till youth looks grimmer than Ourang Outang— 
 A further proof that once, men monkies were. 
 
 And to their "hurdles" next a tail will hang. 
 And if lis true, old maids lead apes about in hell 
 'Twill be but what is done, in f/tis world, by a belle. 
 
 Nevertheless, there's something quite amusing 
 About these Sulphur Springs, in what one sees 
 
 Eight hundred people constantly abusing 
 The waters — table — servants — flies and flees ; 
 
 And yet the whole affair's of their own choosing 
 All swarming here, as swarms a swarm of bees — 
 
 And never was there such a set of gluttons 
 
 Devouring every year three thousand muttons. 
 
 A fellow has dyspepsia— ^/wi quorum, 
 
 (I choose to have the Latin changed to please me,) 
 Chotankei: like, I take ray morning jorum. 
 
 And then expect, vain hope ! the spring to ease me ; 
 Next down my throat the buckwheat cakes I pour 'em 
 
 And then, of course, tremendous colics seize me,. 
 The Doctor's called — one of Jack Hornbook's scholars — 
 I swallow pills — he swallows twenty dollars. 
 
 A man whose face is yellow as a pumpkin. 
 For calomel has gone off with his liver. 
 
 With no more prudence than a country bumpkin 
 Consumes more gravy than would make a river. 
 
 And feeds as freely as a Tony Lumpkin, 
 Then straightway has an Indian sweat or shiver. 
 
 And yet by gas — the sulphurated hydrogen — 
 
 He hopes to get, — ye gods! — upon his legs agen. 
 
 A friend complained about his nervous system 
 That Cassius like he "could not sleep o^nights^' — 
 
 He hoped that Sulphur water would assist him 
 And set his weak and shattered nerves to rights— 
 
172 
 
 One day from his accustom'd round I miss'd liim 
 And went to seek in what were his delights — 
 I found him eating — what? — to catch his failing breath 
 Why opium forsooth, and looking grim as death. 
 
 Some not content with Alabama Row 
 
 Get into '*state of sweet duplicity^^ — * 
 That is, get wives "sae trig frae tap to toe" 
 
 And get of ills a multiplicity — 
 The wives go fast — the gouty men so slow 
 
 It gives disparity too much pubhcity — 
 These men who think themselves such strapping fellows 
 To me look'd laughable — much like Othellos. 
 
 Had I enough of time or letter paper 
 
 I could extend far more these trifling sketches. 
 
 But time is passing like the mountain vapor. 
 
 And I'm the veriest wretch, of all these wretches. 
 
 The ball room is the scene of many a caper. 
 The waltz from foreign lands the devil fetches, 
 
 And these, I purposed B — , to lay before ye. 
 
 But I must stop — perhaps I do but bore ye. 
 
 These lines are strictly confidential, mind ye. 
 
 And must not stagger through newspaper column. 
 
 To secrecy, I therefore firmly bind ye 
 
 By "sniacking calfskin'^ in a manner solemn. 
 
 For should you print, and I thereafter find ye. 
 No matter how you may pretend t' extol 'em, 
 
 I'll drag you through a horsepond 'till you're muddy 
 
 Or beat you in arena, till you're bloody. 
 
 In some brief space, I mean to pass you by, 
 A spectre still, and Springs no more explore ; 
 
 Yes I will hie me home, content to die — 
 *'JVot poppy nor viandragora^' can cure, 
 
 * The facetious Nickliu enjoins all bachelors to stop in Alaba- 
 ma Row, but married men go on to Paradise, which it; exclusively 
 devoted to all persons in "a state of happy dvplicity .-'* 
 
173 
 
 Or quell the fiends within my breast that lie. 
 
 Perchance, my health may smile on me no more — 
 Aye — there they are — the blue, the dismal devils ! 
 My lake of brimstone is their place of revels. 
 
 I make no doubt, if we could trace these fountains 
 We'd come at last to that infernal spot. 
 
 Deep in the bowels of these rock-clad mountains. 
 Where Satan flounder'd and became so hot. 
 
 As Milton tells us in his dire recountings 
 Of that most dark and diabolic plot. 
 
 When some cursM spirits sought to storm all heaven, 
 
 And thence, ten million fathoms down^ were driven. 
 
 EDECTION DAI, 
 
 A Parody on the Sleet. 
 
 To-day, to-day's election day ! the day to hold the polls. 
 You'll find assembled on the ground a heap of jovial 
 
 souls ; 
 The folks are dress'd all in their best, the candidates 
 
 are there 
 And jackasses are braying loud, and stallions neigh and 
 rear. 
 
 Each nag and many a noble horse unto the fence is hung 
 And many a gall'd and sorry jade whose ''withers have 
 
 been wining ;^^ 
 The bobtail'd and the long tail'd and the nick tail'd too 
 
 behold. 
 And here and there the constable takes one out to be 
 
 sold. 
 
 The blood-red bay and sorrel see, and old Cornplanter's 
 
 breed. 
 Pale as the steed that Death was on, as in St. John we 
 
 read ; 
 16 
 
174 
 
 Here's ev'ry horse of ev'ry kind, the lame, the halt, the 
 
 blind. 
 And ev'ry man may choose him one as it may suit his 
 
 mind. 
 
 Old Polly in Virginia cloth, with gingerbread, looks gay 
 
 With all her four-pence-ha'-pennies, how rich is her dis- 
 play ! — 
 
 With cake and beer her table groans — it looks so neat 
 and sweet. 
 
 It tempts the careless passer by, to stop, and drink, and 
 eat. 
 
 Old Honeypod ! thou favor'd tree ! fast by our tavern 
 
 door. 
 Long didst thou shade the roaring lads, the men who 
 
 lived of yore — 
 But great as our good fathers were, of whom we're 
 
 justly proud. 
 You never shaded yet such lads, as yonder motley 
 
 crowd. 
 
 The tavern stands with open porch, and bar-room smell- 
 ing strong 
 
 Of whiskey, where the sovereigns take "</ie strong pull 
 and the long,'' 
 
 And now and then some broken glass comes shivering 
 to the ground. 
 
 They're getting high — I know it well, by that symbolic 
 sound. 
 
 Some bully big, some Irishman, "from Ireland all the 
 
 way," 
 Spreads out his pond'rous arms and fists, and dares you 
 
 to the fray ; 
 And as the bull shakes off the curs, that bark with 
 
 might and main. 
 So shakes his weak assailants off, some great O'Shan- 
 
 oughshane. 
 
173 
 
 But time would fail to tell of all, that vast assembled 
 
 host. 
 Election days can show to you, and what each man 
 
 they cost — 
 The hiccup and the staggering gait! — how eloquent 
 
 those signs ! 
 The bloody nose ! the eye gouged out ! "expunged by 
 
 blackened lines.^* 
 
 Ye despots of the earth come here, ye men of thousand 
 
 thrones ! 
 Come down awhile and look upon our sore and broken 
 
 bones — 
 Ye queens, no air must blow upon, what volumes that 
 
 man speaks ! — 
 Who's got a murd'rous blow upon his ruddy swollen 
 
 cheeks ! — 
 
 'Tis Liberty he doats upon, no charms for him have 
 
 crowns. 
 Unless they be the broken ones o'er which his stick 
 
 resounds — 
 Then cast your baubles vile away, and bow as sure 
 
 you ought. 
 To him who hath the glorious fight, of rough and turn* 
 
 ble fought. 
 
 Yet this loud tumult soon must end, and mark me, 'tis 
 
 well known. 
 That by the fate of human things, each king must quit 
 
 his throne — 
 Oh cling not to your grandeur then — its penalties — its 
 
 pains — 
 But free your wretched serfs and slaves, and knock off 
 
 all their chains. 
 
 What though the night so soon must stop the tongues 
 
 that loudly bawl. 
 The law will make them wag again— the law, the lord 
 
 of all— 
 
176 
 
 Election days must come again, in each revolving year, 
 And then will come the gingerbread, the whiskey, and 
 the beer. 
 
 The sun has set behind the hills — the polls are closed, 
 
 away. 
 My friend is dropp'd and tears are shed, our foes have 
 
 won the day — 
 I too could shed some iearSj alas ! and dash to earth ray 
 
 wig. 
 But crying does no good you see — we'll take a parting 
 
 swig. 
 
 THE DISCARDED. 
 
 Imitation of Byron's Ode to Napoleon. 
 
 Old man ! but yesterday, gay Hope 
 
 Held out to thee a wife. 
 And now, a shilling for a rope ! 
 
 To end thy hated life ; 
 Is this the man of thousand pranks. 
 Who spent his time in ''Equips and cranks" 
 
 And was with fun so rife ? — 
 Since he, in old ./S^gean deep, 
 Nor man, nor boy, hath felt so cheap. 
 
 Thou fool! of weak and simple mind. 
 
 To seek so high a prize ! — 
 By gazing on that maid, I find 
 
 Thou must have lost thine eyes ; 
 Bewilder'd — madden'd — so love-sick 
 Thine only gift hath been a kick 
 
 And scorn I'or all thy sighs — 
 Nor till that kick, couldst thou e'er guess 
 Thy chance was less than littleness. 
 
177 
 
 Thanks for that lesson, it will prove 
 
 To after old men, this, 
 That they can never hope for love 
 
 From any youthful Miss ; 
 That warning to declining age 
 Should teach it to walk off the stage. 
 
 And never sigh for bliss 
 With lovely things of rosy lips. 
 And beauteous busts and glorious hips. 
 
 The wooing and the vanity 
 
 Of winning charming wife, 
 That species of insanity 
 
 To thee, the breath of life !— 
 The dance — the ball-room — and the whirl 
 Of waltzing with some giddy girl, 
 
 A sort of dizzy strife — 
 All gone ! — sad spirit, what must be 
 Thy feeling of vacuity ! 
 
 Thy home is now so desolate. 
 Thy house so gloomy grown, 
 
 I wonder thou canst stand a fate 
 So dark as thou hast known ; 
 
 Is it some yet small glimpse of hope 
 
 That with such change can calmly cope. 
 Or dread of death alone 1 
 
 To live despised ! or die by cord ! 
 
 The choice by thee, is one abhorr'd ? 
 
 He who of old would rend the oak 
 
 A sad example stands 
 Of folly, — for oak turn'd the joke. 
 
 And caught him by the hands. 
 As tough a job you undertook. 
 And grim as Milo's in your look 
 
 Caught in your silken bands — 
 Wild beasts ate up that man of fame. 
 But thou must be devour'd by shame. 
 
 16* 
 
178 
 
 Prometheus, who stole lieav'nly lire. 
 
 As thou wouldst fain have done, 
 ChainM to a rock by heaven's great sire, 
 
 Coultl not his sentence shun — 
 Thou in the madness of ihy mind 
 To steal an angel hadst designed. 
 
 And justly art undone — 
 He lived — the horrid vulture's prey. 
 But thou must pine thy heart away. 
 
 He who disclosed what passed above, 
 
 The heathen gods among, 
 Was by that wicked rascal, Jove, 
 
 Into some river flung — 
 Up to his chin the water rose, 
 The apples bobb'd about his nose. 
 
 But could not reach his tongue — 
 That worst of ills ! — "non frui re" 
 Thou'st felt, no doubt, far worse than he. 
 
 When she of Lesbos could not urge 
 
 Young Phaon to her arms. 
 She jumped at once into the surge. 
 
 And drown'd all love's alarms. 
 From some Leucate's awful steep 
 Canst thou not take the lover's leap. 
 
 Which love at once disarms ? 
 'Twould better far despair become. 
 Than sitting thus alone, humdrum. 
 
 But thou ! — from thy reluctant heart 
 
 All hope of her is wrung. 
 And yet thou canst not hence depart 
 
 Nor by grapevine be swung. 
 Thou hast been such an oaf or calf. 
 It is enough to make one laugh 
 
 To see thee so unstrung — 
 To think that God's lair world hath been 
 Encumber'd by a thing so mean. 
 
179 
 
 And earth hath lent her joys to him 
 
 Wlio thus can be cast down. 
 Her bowls have fill'd up to the brim, 
 
 His ev'ry care to drown — 
 Her beauteous hand hath given him all, 
 "His lines in pleasant places fall," 
 
 And yet that hideous frown ! 
 Oh ! sharper than a serpent's tooth 
 Is thine ingratitude — old youth ! 
 
 Thy silly deeds are writ above, 
 
 Writ with a pen of light ; 
 Thy thoughts so late in life of love, 
 
 And fall — thou hapless wight! — 
 If thou hadst died as madman dies. 
 Some gouty beau might yet arise 
 
 To shame us by his sight — 
 But thou hast sunk in such deep gloom 
 That all seem grinning at thy doom. 
 
 Weigh'd in the scales, a jester's clay 
 
 Is vile as other forms. 
 And when by death 'tis passed away 
 
 It's eaten up by worms ; 
 But yet methought a son of fun 
 Might some more striking thing have done 
 
 His mettle to display — 
 Nor deem'd I, he could thus sink down 
 Like any poor clod hopping clown, 
 
 And she, thy sweetly blooming flower, 
 
 That most transcendent maid ! 
 What is she doing at this hour. 
 
 In all her charms array'd? — 
 Uoth she too smile before her glass 
 That thou hast been as sheer an ass 
 
 As ever yet hath bray'd? 
 And dreamed that thou couldst grasp a prize 
 Made for a king to feast his eyes. 
 
ISO 
 
 Then sit thou in thy sullen hall. 
 
 And gaze upon the fioor, 
 Then turn thine eyes up to the wall, 
 
 Or saunter to the door — 
 Or trace, with thine all idle hand. 
 Thy loved one's name upon the sand 
 
 And o'er the letters pore — 
 I would that some old son of grog 
 Could thee with cat-o'-nine-tails flog. 
 
 Thou small Napoleon! in thy trance 
 
 What thoughts thy bosom rule? 
 While dreaming of thy '*sunny France," 
 
 But one — "I've been a fool" — 
 Perchance while shedding tears alone, 
 Thou'lt turn, like Niobe, to stone. 
 
 And thus at last get cool — 
 Now — JafFier-like, I know it well, 
 "Hell's in thyself, and thou in hell." 
 
 DARKNESS. 
 
 No light, but rather darkness visible. — Milton. 
 
 Away with thee. Light! thou "effluence bright!" 
 
 Make room for my ebon car. 
 When it wheels on its track, with hangings of black, 
 
 I curtain the Moon and the Star : 
 I love to go forth, with the storms of the North, 
 
 To follow the hurricane's sweep. 
 When the ships mounting high, ride up to the sky ! 
 
 Then down to the fathomless deep. 
 
 The lightning, it gleams, but I swallow its beams — 
 
 My kingdom it cannot control. 
 The fire-rent cloud I enwrap in my shroud. 
 
 And terror I strike to the soul ; 
 
181 
 
 I darken my scowl with the wind's loud howl, 
 
 When God to the shipwreck'd speaks. 
 And his thunderings drown, as the ship goes down, 
 
 Their wild and unearthly shrieks. 
 
 'Tis I who conceal the murderous steel. 
 
 The assassin's remorseless blow. 
 And I come with the slain, when with gory stain 
 
 He beck'neth his sleepless foe : 
 The murderer's path I beset with wrath. 
 
 Each sound I invest with dread, 
 Ee'n the "cloister'd flight" of the bird of night 
 
 Can waken the ghastly dead. 
 
 When the world I've hush'd with a face deep flush'd. 
 
 Some youth to his mistress hies. 
 Then wrapp'd in my veil, Avith a cheek deadly pale. 
 
 From her home and her friends she flies ; 
 But, oh ! when the scheme of her *^love's young dream" 
 
 Is marr'd by a cold disdain. 
 In deep solitude, with me must she brood, 
 
 While her tears run down like rain. 
 
 When the merciless Jew, his Redeemer slew. 
 
 And the veil of the Temple was rent. 
 The earth felt my power "until the ninth hour," 
 
 As I blacken'd the firmament ; 
 Jerusalem shook, and the graves were forsook. 
 
 Where the just and the sainted had lain ; 
 With my mantle o'erspread, the disquieted dead, 
 
 Walk'd forth 'mongst the living again. 
 
 In the sulphurous flake of hell's dim lake, 
 
 I am '"visible" 'midst the glare ; 
 Those fires burn bright, but they shed no light* 
 
 In the regions of dark despair ; 
 
 * A dungeon, horrible on all sides round 
 As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames 
 No light- —JWTiZf 071. 
 
182 
 
 There floundering deep, the lost spirits weep 
 
 And gnash in their lasting pains, 
 Doom'd by the great Sire to the penal fire. 
 
 And bound in eternal chains. 
 
 In the voiceless tomb, till the final doom, 
 
 I shall brood with my raven wing, 
 'Till the Saviour's breath shall cry unto death, 
 
 "Oh, death ! where is thy sting?" 
 I shall sleep with the dead, in their last cold bedj 
 
 Where the worm is rioting free; 
 Till the Power to save, shall say to the grave, 
 
 "Oh ! where is thy victory?'* 
 
 ANNETTE DE L'ARBRE. 
 
 The following lines were written beneath an engraving of 
 Annette De L'Arbre. 
 
 There she is — the poor maiden — the hapless Annette ! 
 
 Whose story my bosom hath wrung ; 
 What a lesson ! sad lesson to every coquette. 
 And its deep admonitions, ye should not forget. 
 
 Ye lovely and thoughtless and young ! 
 
 Annette was a beauty surpassingly fair ; 
 
 The fairest in Normandy seen ; 
 She loved — and her lover was gone to the war. 
 And she gave at their parting a braid of her hair 
 
 To gladden the heart of Eugene. 
 
 'Twas a talisman dear, which he treasured in fight 
 
 Through a long and a bloody campaign ; 
 And when he laid down on the cold ground at night, 
 'Twas pressed to his heart with a throb of delight 
 And a prayer to behold her again. 
 
183 
 
 Time pass'd— and Eugene to the village retum'd, 
 
 The village where dwelt his Annette ; 
 With feelings unaltered, his bosom still burn'dj 
 And crown'd with the laurels his gallantry earn'd 
 
 What ills were in store for him yet? 
 
 Ah, vain of her beauty — pursued as a belle. 
 
 Of Normandy's peasantry, queen. 
 Though with softest affection her bosom did swell ; 
 Annette would pretend to love others as well. 
 
 And excited his jealousy keen. 
 
 Despairing and madden'd, he rushed from her sight. 
 
 Nor linger'd to bid her adieu — 
 A ship under weigh, furnish'd wings for his flight; 
 And ere her soil slumbers were broken by light. 
 
 To sea, in his frenzy, he flew. 
 
 The first news of her loss, which the fair one obtain'd. 
 
 Filled now with dismay and despair, 
 Was a letter in which, wretched girl ! was contained 
 That pledge she had given, her heart was enchain'd— 
 
 That braid of her beautiful hair. 
 
 Wild, frantic, undone, — disregarding disguise. 
 
 She flies to the beach of Honfleur — 
 She strains o'er the weltering waters her eyes, 
 A speck in the distance, the maiden descries; 
 
 'Twas his ship — and she sank on the shore. 
 
 They bore her from thence, and from that fatal day 
 
 Her spirits and cheerfulness fled — 
 She turn'd from her suitors, disgusted, away 
 From those that were happy, and those that were gay. 
 
 And seem'd to all hope to be dead. 
 
 There was one — and but one — whom she anxiously 
 sought : 
 'Twas the mother of absent Eugene ; 
 •M her, she, alas ! had 'calamity brought — 
 She only, seem'd now to engross every thought- 
 Over her, would she tenderly lean. 
 
184 
 
 At leuglh to that mother^ intelligence came. 
 
 That her penitent son would return ; 
 He confess'd himselfselfish, acknowledged with shame. 
 His conduct to her was deserving all blame. 
 
 And his duty he better would learn. 
 
 What joy sprung up in the heart of Annette ! 
 
 Her hands they were claspM with delight — 
 Ah ! happiness, then, was in store for her yet. 
 From the breast of her lover she'd banish regret 
 
 If once she were bless'd with his sight. 
 
 Tlie months roUM away — and the time was at hand— 
 
 The time when they looked for Eugene ; 
 Dark tempests had swept o'er the sea and the land, 
 And fragments of vessels were strewed on the strand. 
 When his ship was announced in the Seine. 
 
 Dismasted and shatter'd she slowly advanced. 
 While hundreds were thronging the shore — 
 Annette stood among them with pleasure entranced. 
 How sparkled her eyes ! how with joy they danced ! 
 At thought of their meeting once more. 
 
 Vain — vain was the hope ! — the poor maiden they told, 
 
 (And her heart like that ship was a wreck,) 
 That during the storm which had over them roll'd, 
 Eugene, (and her current of life it ran cold,) 
 Had been washed by a wave from the deck. 
 
 She fell to the earth with a shriek of despair ; 
 
 Her reason was shook from its throne ; 
 Dark — dark was the cloud which came over the fair, 
 And long did her malady baffle all care 
 
 By friendship and tenderness shown. 
 
 But at last, from tlie couch of disease, she withdrew 
 
 In a troubled — bewildering maze ; 
 Of the past she knew nothing, of seemingly knew. 
 Except that she prayed when the stormy winds blew. 
 
 And loved on the waters to gaze. 
 
185 
 
 And waving her kerchief, she seem'd to expect 
 
 That some one was coming from sea ; 
 The tears that were coursing each other unchecked. 
 Remembrance all gone that her lover was wreckM, 
 
 Too sadly proclaim'd it was he. 
 
 At times she would deck herself out as a bride. 
 
 Her chamber with white would array — 
 Her cheek with the maidenly blush would be dyed. 
 And smiles take the place of her tears that were driedj 
 And gayest she seem'd of the gay. 
 
 Meanwhile to the village, poor Eugene came back. 
 
 His life had been saved on a spar; 
 A vessel for India, he cross'd on her track ; 
 And thus with a spirit cast down — on the rack. 
 
 His fortune had borne him afar. 
 
 But how shall he meet his dear injurM Annette ? 
 
 Her reason, how shall she regain ? 
 How know that his love is unchanged for her yet ? 
 Ah! wait till her chamber in order is set. 
 
 And deck'd for the bridal again. 
 
 So 'twas — and the day of the bridal came round, 
 
 Annette sat array 'd in her charms : 
 *'He^s coming,^' they cried, and she rose at the sound. 
 The door it flew open — her lost one was found ! 
 
 She knew him and sunk in his arms. 
 
 Peace entered her soul and her reason returned. 
 
 And she seem'd through the past to have dream'd. 
 Then let not a lesson thus bitterly learned. 
 Ye young and unthinking ! be thoughtlessly spurn'd. 
 Nor idle ye maidens be deemed. 
 
 Remember this tale of Annette and Eugene — 
 
 Play not with the chords of the heart ; 
 Those exquisite strings may be sundered I ween. 
 And seldom united again are they seen. 
 
 When once they are forced to dispart, 
 
 17 
 
186 
 
 DAN LONESOME.— Unfinished. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 Is it not Colinet. I lonesome see, 
 
 Leaning with folded arms against the tree? 
 
 Wliy in this mournful manner art thou found, 
 
 Unthankful lad, when ail things smile around? — Philips. 
 
 Dan Lonesome was a wight of gentle blood 
 
 As arjy in this western hemisphere; 
 It had not "crept through scoundrels since the flood," 
 
 And he could trace it up through many a year. 
 
 Far as his country could her lov'd career — 
 No stain on it could tongue calumnious fling ; 
 
 Old heads could trace it higher — do not jeer, — 
 Up to the days of some old Saxon king. 
 But if they could— to do it were an empty thing. 
 
 His home, I wot, it nothing boots to tell. 
 
 Save that 'twas somewhere in that Old Domain, 
 "Which once wished monarchy, 'tis said, so well. 
 
 She honor'd Charles, and loath'd base Cromwell's 
 reign ; 
 
 Right gladly had she rear'd Charles' throne again. 
 And did resolve, if that might not be won, 
 
 T' invite him hither, cross th' Atlantic main. 
 To hold for us, the sceptre and the crown — 
 Ah ! well-a-day, that deed ! — what mischief it haddone! 
 
 Certes, the times are wondrous changed, when we 
 
 The very name of king can scarce abide. 
 Since we have quaff 'd thy cup, sweet Liberty ! 
 
 But let us not our ancestors deride; 
 
 Sly Cromwell ceased his cloven foot to hide; 
 Gain'd were his ends, that subtle Archimage, 
 
 And all his canting cunning laid aside. 
 The tyrant open stalk'd upon the stage ; 
 The play was still the same — they had but turn'd the 
 page. 
 
187 
 
 How changed the features of that virgin land, 
 Adorn'd by windings of innum'rous streams, 
 
 And wrought by Nature, with most lavish liand. 
 And warm'd by influence of her softest beams! — 
 Still smiles that land, and still with wealth it teems, 
 
 But where her palaces of sumptuous ease 1 
 
 Where now her lofty nobles and their dreams ? 
 
 Her gardens — parks — her shady walks and ways ? 
 
 Where all the stately doings of her royal days ? 
 
 Gone, with the foolish hopes which gave them birth ; 
 
 Nipp'd in the very bud of their display ; 
 Crush'd by the hand of Freedom, in her mirth, 
 
 And spared the anguish of a slow decay ; — 
 
 Such Edens were not made to waste away 
 Beneath the griping hand of pamper'd pride ; 
 
 No — they were fashioned for a gentler sway. 
 That there, untrammellM man might safely bide, 
 And waft her golden treasures down their glassy tide. 
 
 But what of Dan ? — no misanthrope was he — 
 He felt all kindness towards his fellow men j 
 
 But yet in paths alone he loved to be, 
 
 'Mid waving woods, or on sequester'd plain. 
 His joys and griefs all hid from mortal ken ; 
 
 Both wealth and friends had he. and pleasant home; 
 Yet more he coveted the lonely glen. 
 
 Or down some winding rivulet to roam. 
 
 Where gentle cascades left white wreaths of transient 
 foam. 
 
 There would he sit, while eagerly he scann'd 
 Some wild romance, with worn and dusky lid. 
 
 Of haunted priory with bloody hand, 
 Or old chateau, in deepest myst'ry hid. 
 Where glided ghosts, and secret pannels slid — 
 
 Then fell the curtain on this mortal vale ; 
 Of earth and all its shackles he was rid ; 
 
 So rapt his soul by Fancy's high wrought tale : 
 
 Compared with bliss like his, all other bhsses fail. 
 
188 
 
 For him, these fictions had a charm divine ; 
 
 Her gallant youths were his companions dear — 
 He trod with them, o'er Alps and Appenines, 
 
 Where bandit lurk'd amid the forests drear. 
 
 And lights were seen to glance and disappear — 
 Soil maidens, too, whose superhuman charms 
 
 Won every heart, were his peculiar care. 
 Till nobly rescued from ten thousand harms. 
 He saw them safely lock'd in love's triumphant arms. 
 
 Dreams of the day ! oft would ye Dan invite 
 
 On grass to lie, in summer shade, supine. 
 While Fancy plum'd her wing for pleasant flight. 
 
 And bore him upward to her halls divine ; 
 
 No hope defeated, there could make him pine ; 
 No cup untasted, from his lips be thrown ; 
 
 No light receding ever, there could shine ; 
 But whatsoe'er of joy to mortal 's known 
 Arrived at, was at once, and easy, made his own. 
 
 Who does not thus at times gay castles build, 
 'Yclept in air? — a name that suits them well; 
 
 For though more splendid far than works of Eld, 
 More passing rare than all which ever fell, 
 (Balbec's — Palmyra's — none could them excel,) 
 
 Yet in a moment, they will topple down. 
 Nor leave one marble column, spared to tell 
 
 The tale of ruin, and in grandeur frown 
 
 Amid the crumbling rehcs of a past renown. 
 
 Such oft are standing seen, 'mid that decay 
 
 By Goth and Vandal, most inhuman, wrought; 
 
 And Goths and Vandals still, in modern day. 
 Will break irruptive on one's chosen spot. 
 Though all unwelcome, and invited not ; 
 
 Misfortunes — Griefs — pale Care — tormenting Debt — 
 Then, Fancy ! all thy revelry's forgot. 
 
 Reluctant, up from our sweet couch we get. 
 
 And homeward, frowning hied, to toil and writhe and 
 fret. 
 
189 
 
 But such the artist's most surprising skill. 
 That, like enchantment of the olden rhyme, 
 
 'Tis hut to ramble forth, where all is still, 
 And wave a wand — when, in an instant's time. 
 Her shining palaces will upward climb — 
 
 Not so, those works barbarians overthrew : 
 
 None know to raise them to such heights sublime — 
 
 Lost are those arts by which they tow'ring grew. 
 
 And we but gaze to sigh — and curse the hand that slew. 
 
 Of late, by whim or fantasy impell'd, 
 
 "A change came o'er the spirit of his dream" — 
 His love of solitude seem'd now dispell'd ; 
 
 Some gayer vision in his fancy teem'd ; 
 
 Perchance bright eyes had through his darkness 
 beam'd : 
 I know not what — but forth the loiterer went; 
 
 "Like standing pool" his sombre visage '^'cream'd," 
 And I, who mark'd him, deem'd his mind intent 
 On some fixed thought, or deed, with hope and fear, 
 'yblent. 
 
 To sadness prone, he, melancholy wight, 
 
 A wand'rer — where, I only cared to know. 
 Sat gazing out upon wide waters bright. 
 
 And from the Sidney watched their ceaseless flow ; 
 
 The waves were roaring round her buried prow ; 
 Unnumbered vessels skimmed Potomac blue ; 
 
 Swift hurrying by the white beach seem'd to go ; 
 Fast, fast behind, the trees and green hills flew. 
 Till Vernon's mournful walls broke on his thoughiful 
 
 Loud rang the bell — on board that flying ship. 
 Full many a pilgrim hastened to her side ; 
 
 Mount Vernon ! broke from every joyous lip, 
 
 And grateful hearts were swelling there with pride : 
 Men from far countries with the native vied — 
 
 Oh heavens ! it was a goodly sight to see ; 
 But chiefly Dan, there silently we eyed 
 
 Our young Virginian gazing wistfully, 
 
 And with a filial love. Mount Vernon! upon thee. 
 17* 
 
190 
 
 Fix'd there he stood, while strong emotions rose; 
 
 That time-worn mansion fills his dreamy soul ; 
 A holy awe around it virtue throws. 
 
 And days of by-gone years before him roll; 
 
 Trenton and Monmouth — Brandywine — the whole 
 Of that long war, at once was shadow'd forth. 
 
 And rose with him, who won fair Freedom's goal ; 
 With him, whose fame all other fame is worth — 
 Whose laurels drop not blood, but blessings on the 
 earth. 
 
 With straining eye, the scene he dimly caught. 
 
 As on lie sped upon that sacred wave, 
 Which breaks on earth's most consecrated spot. 
 
 And sighs beside a hero's hallow'd grave ; 
 
 '*Boast of the good, and idol of the brave!" 
 Cried he, "though now within the voiceless tomb. 
 
 Thy warning words have yet the power to save; 
 Still canst thou snatch us from impending doom — 
 Alive in grateful hearts, though laid in death's dark 
 gloom. 
 
 "Yet where thy monument? methought its shaft 
 Shot high, like beacon, for a guide at sea ; 
 
 Methought those truths would here be telegraph'd. 
 The words of thine immortal legacy. 
 And sought, my country, by thy sons set free : — 
 
 And must ingratitude be still the bane 
 
 Of commonwealths ? — ye rulers ! where are ye ? 
 
 Arise, and wash from us so foul a stain, 
 
 Lest light, so lovely now, should in the distance wane. 
 
 "What have ye done, that great one to exalt. 
 
 Who waked this boundless country into life? 
 Beyond that hill, oh shame ! a petty vault 
 
 Enshrouds the dust, with spirit once so rife. 
 
 And rushing gallantly to battle strife; 
 A humble spot, unlrophied and forlorn — 
 
 What cuttcth keener ihan the filial knife? 
 What taunt so bitter as our children's scorn ? 
 I wrong my countrymen; each heart vviih grief is torn. 
 
191 
 
 "What matters it our warrior's breast to lade 
 With cumbrous pile of monumental stone. 
 When in his country's heart his grave is made — 
 There fresh 'ning still, as time is rolling on ? 
 None need the tomb to canonize them, gone. 
 But such as, living, were the scourge of man. 
 Not friend ; — such as should meet the public ban. 
 Though laid in marble slate for foolish eyes to scan. 
 
 "Or what are pillars? — pyramids? — this earth 
 
 Ne'er yet gave up an adamant too hard 
 For tooth of Time ; — it may outhve the worth 
 
 It would commemorate ; yet, wise award! 
 
 It yields at last and crumbles with the sward — 
 Or did some pyramid still lift its head. 
 
 Baffling the conqu'ror, lo ! desert-ward 
 An ally comes, the storm in Lybia bred. 
 Whelming in whirling sands this fortress of the dead.* 
 
 "^Who now can tell what mighty king reposed 
 Midway its height stupendous ? — left aloft 
 
 Within his marble chamber deep enclosed. 
 As if, in death, he impotently scoff 'd 
 
 *Strabo, as quoted by Savary, says: "Towards the middle of 
 the hei^lit of one of the greatest pyramids, is a stone that may be 
 raised up. It shuts an oblique passage, which leads to a coffin 
 placed in the centre." This passage, open in our days, and 
 which in the time of Strabo was towards the middle of one face 
 of the pyramid, is at present only one hundred feet from the base; 
 so that the ruins of the covering of the pyramid, and of the stones 
 brought from within, buried by the sand, have formed a hill in 
 this place two hundred feet high. If even the Sphynx, though 
 defended by the pyramids against the northerly winds, wliich 
 bring torrents of sand from Lybia, be covered as high as thirty- 
 eight feet, what an immense quantity must have been heaped up 
 to the northward of an edifice, whose base is upwards of seven 
 hundred feet long. Herodotus, who saw it in tlie age nearest to 
 its foundation, when its true base was still uncovered, makes it 
 eight hundred feet square. Pliny says it covered the space of eight 
 acres. It seems an miquestionable fact that this pyramid was a 
 mausoleum, of one of the kings o[ E'^ypt. —Encyclojpxdia, article 
 Pyramid. 
 
192 
 
 His fellow dust ; — he who alive had oft 
 Encrimson'd earth, and moved like dark simoom 
 
 Upon his native land, when death had doff 'd 
 His bloody diadem, found there a tomb. 
 Forgot his pomp — his name, — and undeplored his 
 doom. 
 
 '^Would less than pyramid our chieftain serve ? 
 
 Less than was reared for Egypt's worthless king 1 
 Less for the valor, never known to swerve. 
 
 Than rose in honor of so mean a thing? — 
 
 And whence would such gigantic structures spring ? 
 Not from the labor of the happy free ! 
 
 Myriads of harness'd slaves were lashed to bring 
 That useless pil^ unto the height we see. 
 And kiss'd the hand which smote, and bent the servile 
 knee. 
 
 "Oh no — we'll have no monument but one. 
 
 Whose base is on the universal heart ; 
 Its shaft, the plaudits of a world be won. 
 
 Its capital, the nation's good, — the chart 
 
 By which to point ambition to its part — 
 Dread Time, who blasts with his sepulchral breath. 
 
 And soils, with touch defiled, the works of art. 
 Reluctant, leaves untorn a single wreath, 
 Which 'bleeding sire to son's safe keeping' did be- 
 queath." 
 
 So thought and reason'd that impassioned wight. 
 
 When up the dark blue vista sudden gleam'd 
 The Western Rome, just rising into sight — 
 
 Our hill Capitoline far distant beam'd ; 
 
 O'er its high halls star-spangled banners streara'd, 
 How fair proportion'd and how chastely white. 
 
 Thy temple. Freedom ! to his vision seem'd. 
 In bold relief, on that commanding height. 
 So pure and beautiful ! so grand, and yet so light ! 
 
 "Can crime e'er lurk," thought Dan, "in aught so fair 1 
 
 Its virgin purity would answer, no ; 
 Can men of blood presume to enter there ? 
 
 With hue of shame their guilty cheeks should glow : 
 
193 
 
 From yonder portals let them turn and go — 
 Their footsteps would pollute that tasteful mound 
 
 Where rare trees blossom and the wild flowers blow: 
 Illustrious patriots there are pictured round ; 
 The monuments of dauntless spirits fill that ground. 
 
 A marble cenotaph there meets the eye. 
 
 Symbolic, rising from a mimic sea. 
 Inscribed with those who died at Tripoli, 
 
 Men deem'd dishonored, if they lived not free ; 
 
 Decatur, Somers, Israel, Wadsworth, ye 
 Would shame the wretch who trod that paradise ; 
 
 Let none, with curse of Cain, in Eden be ; 
 Oh hold it sacred to the great and wise. 
 Whose glorious deeds on earth are passports to the 
 skies." 
 
 Now full in view the scatter'd city rose — 
 
 Her sister city flashes on the skies — 
 Midway, the palace in the sunlight glows. 
 
 That fatal cynosure of thousand eyes ! — 
 
 Ah ! thither many a thoughtless footstep hies, 
 Crowds to that shrine, like Mecca's pilgrims, fllowj 
 
 Beneath that hateful Upas, virtue dies ; 
 Self-styled Republicans there gaping go. 
 To ape the fulsome scenes of Europe's courtly show. 
 
 With thoughts like these Dan's visage darker grows j — 
 
 Meanwhile the gallant steamer nears the shore j 
 Swift o'er her sides the rattling cordage goes. 
 
 And fast the vessel to the wharf they moor. 
 
 Forth from her ample womb the crowds now pour ; 
 Men, women, baggage, barrows, all the gangway fill; 
 
 The shouts of hackmen rise in loud uproar — 
 Dan deem'd that demons were let loose from hell. 
 So wild — unearthly — seem'd that loud commingled yell. 
 
 But we must leave him 'midst this tempest whirl'd. 
 To mark his musings at some future time ; 
 
 He hath but touch'd the threshhold of a world. 
 Where food abundant may be found for rhyme. 
 
194 
 
 Unless pprchnnce this would-be flight sublime 
 Shall melt the waxen pinions at my side. 
 
 And hurl me headlong, with my feeble chime. 
 Like him of old, to deep Ailgean tide. 
 When on Dedalian wings, through air he dared to glide. 
 
 Castellanus, or the Castle-Builder turned Farmer. 
 
 Mr. Editor, — It is a long time since I threw ray 
 mite into the treasury of your book ; Nugator's occupa- 
 tion's gone ! was my ejaculation when last I wrote to 
 you. The same devouring element which has recently 
 plunged New York in misery and gloom, had just then 
 triumphed over much of my earthly possessions, but 
 over none more foolishly prized than sundry small 
 wares which were intended for your market. As there 
 was no prospect of getting Congress to extend the time 
 of the payment of imj bonds, to which one would think 
 I was as justly entitled as the rich merchant, I had to 
 set to work as best I might, to repair the ravages of fire. 
 In the midst of saws and hammers, of bricks and mor- 
 tar, my ideas have been so vulgarized, that you must 
 not expect to see a Phoenix rise from my ashes. From 
 me you must never expect any thing but trifles, as my 
 signature portends ; yet when I reflect that this world 
 is made up of small things as well as great, and that 
 the former are as essential to constitute a whole as the 
 latter, and that your book ought, no more than the 
 world, to consist altogether of the grand, but should 
 sometimes admit the triflmg, I am encouraged to begin 
 again, although already scorched by more fires than 
 one, having encountered the fire of some of your critics. 
 As the mouse sets ofl" to greater advantage the bulk of 
 the mammoth, the critics should rather be pleased than 
 otherwise, to see my wretched skeleton in contrast with 
 the vast proportions of some of your contributors, — but 
 enough. 
 
195 
 
 Romances and novels made my neighbor Castellanus 
 a castle-builder ; nothing can be more dissimilar than 
 the world he inhabits and that ideal one in which he 
 always lived ; like certain persons who shall be name- 
 less, he has been literally in the world and out of it at 
 the same time, and his experience therefore might jus- 
 tify a seeming paradox. I think it was Godwin, in 
 his Fleetwood, who drew so beautiful a contrast between 
 our night dreams and day dreams. Castellanus never 
 co^ld bear the former, attended by hag and nightmare, 
 where we are forever struggling to attain some goal, 
 which we can never reach ; he did not like to start 
 affrighted out of sleep ; to sink through chasms yawn- 
 ing beneath his feet ; 
 
 "Nor toss on shatter 'd plank far out upon some deep." 
 
 No, I have heard him exclaim, ''Give me the dreams 
 of day J let me recline upon some bank in summer's 
 shade, supine, where fancy fits her wings for pleasant 
 flight, and quickly ushers me into her radiant halls. 
 No hope defeated can there make me grieve ; no cup 
 untasted from my lips be dashed ; no light, receding 
 ever, there can shine,but whatsoever there be of joy or 
 love to mortals known, is seized at once and easily made 
 my own." There are few persons, perhaps, who do 
 not at some period of life, construct these gay castles, 
 yclept in air, and well indeed is the appelJation bestow- 
 ed, for though more splendid far than the works of old ; 
 more passing rare than all of which we read ; — Bal- 
 bec's ! Palmyra's ! — none could excel them, — yet in 
 a moment they will topple down, nor leave one marble 
 column spared as if to point to the scene of desolation, 
 and to mourn for its brethren, broken, ruined, and over- 
 thrown. Such monuments are sometimes seen stand- 
 ing amid that decay produced by Goths and Vandals; 
 and Goths and Vandals still in modern times will break, 
 irruptivCy on the castle-builder's chosen spot — misfor- 
 tunes! griefs! pale care! tormenting debt! — Then, 
 Fancy, all thy revelry is forgotten ; reluctantly from our 
 sweet couch, we rise and homeward frowning hie to 
 
196 
 
 toil and writhe and fret. But such is the skill of the 
 artist, that he has but to ramble forth where all is still, 
 and wave his wand, when in an instant, like the en- 
 chantment of old, his shining palaces will upward 
 climb. It is not so, alas ! with those works barbarians 
 overturned ; none know how to raise them to such 
 sublime heights, lost are those arts by which they towei^ 
 ing rose, and we but gaze on them to sigh and curse 
 the hands which slew them. 
 
 This practice of castle-building had been the habit c 
 Castellanus, from his boyhood. It gave him a strange 
 unsocial turn, and made him shun the inmates of his 
 father's house. He fled all company, and the pleasures 
 which others pursue were rarely pleasures to him. One 
 enjoyment he had which never palled. Some lonely 
 seat beside a "wimping burn," or Avaterfall, Avhere human 
 sounds fell distantly; there with book in hand he drank 
 in the lulling music with which such a place is fraught ; 
 there would he draw forth, unseen, some old romance, 
 with worn and dusky lid, of "haunted priories," with 
 bloody hand, or dark "Udolpho," with its deep mysteries, 
 its gliding ghosts, and secret pannels. Then would fall 
 the curtain on this mortal vale, and all its hateful re- 
 alities, and his rapt soul would revel in the high wrought 
 tale of fancy. For him these fictions had an unspeakable 
 charm — gallant youths were his companions. He trod 
 with them over Alps and Appenines, where banditti 
 lurked amid the dreary forests, and lights were seen to 
 glance and disappear. Soft maidens, too, were there, 
 whose superhuman charms won every heart; encom- 
 passed by ten thousand dangers, he could not leave them, 
 until he saw them safely locked in love's triumphant 
 arms. Though a very ugly fellow, he had deceived 
 himself into the belief that he should one day or other 
 marry one of these delightful creatures, and had even 
 settled that her name should be Julia, and thought he 
 should be one of the happiest fellows upon earth; but, 
 Mr. Editor, who do you think he now is? aclodhopper! ! 
 aye a miserable clodhopper ! The owner of land and 
 negroes ! ! In that one sentence, I sum up all of human 
 
197 
 
 misery — and what do you think is his wife's name ? 
 Peggy ! PhcEbus what a name ! 
 
 "Cobblers ! take warning by this cobbler's end." 
 
 Yes, ye castle-builders! look upon his undone con- 
 dition, and take warning. Take warning, parents, and 
 bring up your children to suit the sphere in which they 
 are to move. I shall not trouble you with the why and 
 the wherefore of his present condition, but suffice it to 
 say that such it is, and then picture to yourself the un- 
 told miseries he must endure when I depict to you the 
 sort of life he is leading, with such passions as' I have 
 already described his ruling ones to be. Impnmis: there 
 is Peg — but I had better say as little as possible of her, 
 out of respect for the ladies, and out of regard for my 
 friend, because in truth, like "Jerry Sneak," he has not 
 eaten a "bit of under cnist since he was married,^' but 
 follow me if you please upon his farm, and let me in- 
 troduce to you his plagues and tormentors. Let us look 
 for the overseer — we shall find him if at home, which 
 is seldom the case, seated on a stump, with the symbol 
 of his office under his arm. There he is, you see, 
 mounted on his throne, lazily looking at the laborers ; 
 working the land to death by injudicious cultivation ; 
 extorting the last drop of vitality from it; a foe to every 
 species of improvement, and obstinately bent upon go- 
 ing on in the jog-trot of his predecessors. This is Cas- 
 tellanus' companion ex necessitate. Shades of the Or- 
 villes and Mortimers ! pity him. What can there be in 
 common between them ? What can they talk about ? 
 About Evelina and Amanda ? — Cottages covered with 
 woodbine and honeysuckle ? — Landscapes and glorious 
 sunsets ? — the warbling of birds ? — Oh no, Suk and Sail, 
 
 negro cabins or pig-styes, corn fields and yes, they 
 
 can talk of birds, but they are blackbirds and crows, and 
 devil take their warbling — of sunset, but only to lament 
 the shortness of the days. His (the overseer's) themes 
 are rogues and runaways — -he is eloquent upon hog- 
 stealing, and neither Simon Sensitive nor Timothy Testy 
 could recount more readily the miseries cf human life, 
 18 
 
198 
 
 His are ihe miseries of Geoponics. Rot — rust — weevil 
 — fly and cutworm, haunt his imagination, and dwell 
 upon his tongue. Castellanus would rather be a dog and 
 bay the moon, than discuss such subjects. But my 
 friend's delight was once in horses ; it was one of the 
 few pleasures he had. His fancy was early captivated 
 by Alexander mounting Bucephalus ; a horse gayly 
 caparisoned and mounted by a steel clad knight, was a 
 sight upon which his imagination feasted. The red 
 roan charger of Marmion, at the battle of Flodden, had 
 thrilled his every nerve. 
 
 "Blood shot his eye — his nostril spread, 
 The loose rein, dangling from liis head 
 Housing and saddle bloody red." 
 
 Oh what a picture ! and that I should be obliged to 
 exhibit to your view the counterfeit presentment. The 
 ploughboys are just coming out of the stable with their 
 master's horses going to plough. Here, sir, is Buck-e- 
 fallus, as the negro boys call Bucephalus. There is no 
 difficulty in mounting Idm ; they have knocked out one 
 of his eyes ; he has a blind side and cannot see the sha- 
 dow cast by the sun. If his spirit was ever as high as 
 his namesake's, he has lost it now — that little ragged 
 urchin can ride him with a grape-vine — raw-boned, 
 spavined and wind-galled ! let him pass, and let us see 
 the next. This is Smiler! "Lucus a non lucendo.'' 
 I suppose ; alas ! he never smiles — he reminds one of 
 Irving's wall-eyed horse, looking out of the stable win- 
 dow on a rainy day. His look is disconsolate in the 
 extreme; from the imperturbable gravity of his manners, 
 you perceive he is dead to hope ; melancholy has marked 
 him for her own ; bad feeding, constant toil, and a lost 
 currycomb, have made him "what thou well mayest 
 hate,'' although he once "set down" as "shapely a 
 shank" as Burns' auld mare Maggie, ever did. Do 
 you see that long-legged fellow, that Brobdignag, 
 mounted upon the little marc mule? His legs almost 
 drag the ground, and he ought in justice to toat (aye, 
 sir, toat, a good word;, an excellent word, and one upon 
 
199 
 
 which I mean to send you an etymological essay some 
 of these days) the animal he bestrides. There are some 
 singular traits about that mule GoUiver, as the boys, by 
 a singular misnomer, call her. She keeps fat, "while 
 other nags are poor;'' it is because she lives in the corn- 
 field. She can open the stable-door by some inscrutable 
 means, some sort of open sesame, gates are no impedi- 
 ments to her, and even ten rails, and a rider cannot ar- 
 rest her progress. She seems to have a vow upon her 
 never to leave the plantation ; she will go as far as the 
 outer gate with her rider, but if he attempt to pass that 
 boundary, his fate is sealed. He is canted most uncere- 
 moniously over her head, and made to bite the dust; 
 that gate is her Ultima Thulc, her ne plus ultra ; the ut- 
 most bound of her ambition. She has acquaintances 
 enough, as Old Oliver says, and wished not to extend 
 the circle. Her policy is Chinese, or perhaps like Ras- 
 selas, she once escaped from her happy valley, and was 
 disappointed in the world — "one fatal remembrance, '' 
 perhaps casts its "bleak shade" beyond that gate. I 
 know not in sooth, but heaven help me! what am I 
 doing ? If I go on thus, with the whole stud of my 
 neighbor, and write at large upon every thing which 
 torments him, I shall never have done. Suffice it then, 
 that I give you a hasty, panoramic sketch of what he 
 has to encounter in his rides over his farm. See him 
 mounted on his little switch-tailed grey, which has the 
 high sounding title of White Surrey, and whose tail is 
 nearly cut off at the root by the crupper — the mane in 
 most admired disorder, and fetlocks long and bushy. 
 Now what does he behold ? Barren fields — broken 
 fences — gates unhinged — starving cattle — ragged sheep 
 — and jades so galled, that they make Jam wince — hogs 
 that eat their own pigs and devastate his crops — mares 
 that sometimes cripple their own colts — cows on the 
 contrary which have so much of the milk of vaccine 
 kindness, that they suffer their offspring to suck after 
 being broken to the cart — bulls even, that suck — rams, 
 so pugnacious, that they butt his mules down, as the 
 aforesaid Gulliver can attest, for often have I seen her 
 knocked down as fast as she could rise — upon my life 
 
200 
 
 it's true Mr. Editor, and you need not add with Major 
 Longbow, ''what will you lay it's a lie ?" It was amus- 
 ing to see the ram, with head erect and fixed eye, mov- 
 ing round in a small circle, and watching his opportunity 
 to plant his blows, and with all the pugilistic dexterity 
 of Crib or Molyneux. I once knew my unfortunate 
 neighbor to have a fine blooded colt, foaled in the pas- 
 ture with his mules. These vicious devils had no 
 sooner perceived that the colt was without those long 
 ears which characterize their species, than they set to 
 work with one accord to demolish the monstrous pro- 
 duction, and in spite of the efforts of the mother, which 
 fought with a desperation worthy of some old Roman, 
 beset by a host of foes, succeeded in trampling to death 
 her beautiful offspring. What a picture this is of some 
 political zealots and envenomed critics, who no sooner 
 perceive that a man has not asses^ ears, like themselves, 
 than they commence a senseless outcry against him and 
 compass his destruction. I have somewhere read of a 
 madman, and perhaps he was right, who when confin- 
 ed, protested he was not mad ; that all mankind were 
 madder than he, and that they were envious of his su- 
 perior intellect, and therefore wished to put him out of 
 the way. Castellanus goes to ride out with Cecilia, 
 Camilla, the Children of the Abbey, or some such book 
 in his pocket, and so engrossed is his mind with the 
 elegance and refinement of those personages, that he 
 can scarcely bear to go where his overseer is. He 
 shuns him as much as Lovel did Captain Mirvan, or 
 old Mr. Delville, Mr. Briggs. He turns with horror 
 from the pictures of desolation around him, and hastens 
 home to find consolation in the bosom of his heroines, 
 not of liis Peggy, for he cannot yet say, "JYon clamosa 
 mea mulicrjam percutit aures^'* — and in truth that vir- 
 tuous lady has a tongue, and with it can ring such a 
 peal about the above mentioned unproductive slate of 
 things, that he had rather hear the "grating on a scran- 
 nel-reed of wretched straw ;" — or, to be less poetical, 
 
 * Nay what's incretlible, alack ! 
 
 I hardly hear a woman's clack. — Swift, 
 
201 
 
 and to come back to what he hears every day, he had 
 rather listen to the music of his own cart-wheels, which 
 grate so harshly and scream so loudly that they may 
 be heard a mile off. The inevitable result of all I have 
 told you, Mr. Editor, is, that my neighbor is actually 
 sinking three or four per cent, upon his capital every 
 year, and must come to beggary unless you can arouse 
 him from his ridiculous castle-building, and novel read- 
 ing. I wish you could see the style in which he moves 
 "With his car a sposa to church ; they have come down, 
 as we say, to an old gig, which cannot be quite as old 
 as Noah's ark, because no two of the kind were ever 
 seen in this world, and therefore could not have been 
 preserved at the time of the deluge, although the brass 
 mountings on the muddy and rain-stiffened harness are 
 of so antique a fashion, that we might well suppose the 
 ingenuity of that celebrated artificer in brass. Tubal 
 Cain, was employed in their construction. This crazy 
 vehicle is drawn by the overseer's horse, which is bor- 
 rowed for the "nonce," — because neither Buck-e-fallus 
 nor Smiler, nor any of the stud ^.vejit to go, and Gulli- 
 ver, besides being a mule, has declined, as I have already 
 shown, having any thing to do with our "external rela- 
 tions ;" and furthermore, because this is the only con- 
 ceivable mode in which my neighbor can obtain a return 
 for that unlimited control which the said horse exercises 
 over the corn in his corn-house. The contrast between 
 the long lean figure, and rueful and cadaverous counte- 
 nance of Castellanus, and the short figure resembling 
 "the fat squab upon a Chinese fan," and the ruddy 
 countenance of Mrs. Castellanus, is very striking; 
 
 They sit, side by side, in the gig, sir, as solemn, 
 As Marriage and Death in a newspaper column. 
 
 How they ever came together, except by the fortuitous 
 concourse of atoms, I cannot divine, for certainly with- 
 out disrespect, I may say, that however charming Mrs. 
 Castellanus may be, she is not, 
 
 18* 
 
202 
 
 A beauty ripe as harvest, 
 
 Whose skin is whiter than a swan all over, 
 
 Than silver, snow, or lilies. 
 
 Nor has she 
 
 A soft lip, 
 Would tempt you to eternity of kissing, 
 And flesh that melteth in the touch to blood. 
 
 But we may cease to wonder at their union, when 
 we reflect on the couples we see every day — so totally 
 dissimilar in taste and external appearance, that we may 
 almost believe with St. Pierre, that we love only those 
 who form a contrast to ourselves. "Love,'' he says, 
 "results only from contrasts, and the greater they are, 
 the more powerful is its energy. I could easily demon- 
 strate this by the evidence of a thousand historical facts. 
 It is well known, for example, to what mad excess of 
 passion that tall and clumsy soldier, Mark Antony, 
 loved and was beloved by Cleopatra ; not the person 
 whom our sculptors represent of a tall, portly, Sabine 
 figure, but the Cleopatra whom historians paint as httle, 
 lively and sprightly, carried in disguise about the streets 
 of Alexandria, in the night time, packed up in a parcel 
 of goods on the shoulders of Apollodorus, to keep an 
 assignation with JuUus Ccesar." 
 
 TO NIAGARA. 
 
 Pve stood, Niagara ! on thy Table Rock, 
 
 And gazed upon thy falls, in speechless wonder ; 
 
 I've heard the deep reverberating shock 
 
 Where plunge thy waters with the voice of thunder j 
 And now although we are so far asunder. 
 
 Nor time, nor distance, can thy scenes efface — 
 Still — still on thine immensity I ponder. 
 
 And watch thy billows in their madd'ning race 
 
 To that dread verge, where leap they into space. 
 
203 
 
 Thou com'st upon me ever, — day and night ; — 
 Thy rapids, whirHng — lashing — foaming-"roaring, 
 
 Sweeping round Iris island in their flight. 
 In their strong eddies, ev'ry thing devouring. 
 Rush on my vision in the downward pouring 
 
 So furious — wild— magnificent and vast. 
 They lift me, mentally, to heaven upsoaring. 
 
 To him, from whose eternal hands were cast 
 
 Those floods, so many thousand ages past. 
 
 Type of our world ! thus rush we on forever 
 
 In fierce contention, and in endless brawls. 
 Poor human wretches down life's rapid river 
 
 In quick succession unto death's dark falls ; 
 
 The fearful leap the shuddering soul appals; 
 O'er the dread brink, we all must hurrying go ; 
 
 The God of heaven alone can heed our calls. 
 Eternity's vast chasm yawns below; — 
 But o'er the dark gulf the Lord hath spann'd his bow. 
 
 My footsteps track again, that lovely spot. 
 
 Thine isle fast anchor'd 'midst the raging flood ; 
 I muse on him, who once there cast his lot. 
 
 And fled his fellows, in some angry mood ; 
 
 At midnight, it is told the mourner stood 
 Communing with thy cataract — alone — 
 
 What were those ills o'er which he loved to brood 1 
 What disapointments turn'd his heart to stone ? 
 Or what the cries of conscience, thou alone couldst 
 drown 1 
 
 I ramble yet on that romantic path 
 
 Trod by a countless multitude before ; 
 From dizzying height, look down upon thy wrath. 
 
 And gaze until I dare to gaze no more ; 
 
 Then wand'ring on along thy rock-bound shore, 
 I see, far off", that solitary land. 
 
 That speck of earth, round which you madly roar. 
 Whereon the foot of man shall never stand. 
 Stayed by the terrors of thy dread command. 
 
204 
 
 There 'mid the breakers, lies the old Detroit ! 
 
 What recollections rise up with her name ! 
 Brave Barclay's ship in Erie's far famed fight. 
 
 When Perry wrapp'd her in a sheet of flame — 
 
 The trophy of our hero, — there — oh shame ! 
 With sorrowing eyes, her skeleton I view'd. 
 
 While the wild waves were howling round her 
 frame — 
 I'll fated ship ! once dyed with human blood. 
 Now torn to fragments, 'midst Niagara's flood. 
 
 But most I lov'd, from the Canadian shore. 
 To view thy horseshoe, in the sun's soft light ; 
 
 To hear thy "cavern'd echoes" round me roar. 
 
 While sparkling showers swept past me, in their 
 
 flight. 
 For then, like ''one entire chrysolite" 
 One half thy torrent seem'd — the rest pure white 
 
 Like piles of fleecy clouds at close of day. 
 
 But rushing down from that stupendous height 
 
 With rainbows, gilding the rebounding spray — 
 
 Oh words ! — ye are two weak — away — away. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN AT THE GRAYE OF MISS A. F. B. 
 
 I come lost Anne ! from thy father's hall. 
 
 Where once it was sweet to be. 
 When Anne would spring at the sprightly call 
 
 On the loot of delight and glee. 
 
 She was not there and her playful air 
 
 And the voice I loved were fled. 
 The forehead of snow — the wavy hair. 
 
 And the soft and the sylph- like tread. 
 
 I clasped her not to my beating heart — 
 
 The light of the hall was gone. 
 And now I come to this spot, apart 
 
 To weep by her grave, alone. 
 
205 
 
 Oh God ! have they left thee here, sweet child ! 
 
 Deep laid in the silent tomb. 
 Where willows that weep and hawthorns wild 
 
 But add to the reigning gloom 1 
 
 What ! thou left here in the dark, dark night 
 When the air with the tempest roars ? 
 
 And the heavens gleam with the lightning bright 
 And the storm in a torrent pours ? 
 
 What Anne ! whose bed a mother once made 
 
 And over it fondly hung ? — 
 Sweet Anne ! on a father's breast oft laid 
 
 That breast unto madness wrung 1 
 
 She whose eye was the azure heaven 
 
 Lit up by its light divine ? 
 Her skin the snow in its whiteness driven 
 
 And tresses the gay sunshine 1 
 
 Transition abhorr'd ! — oh fearful thought? — 
 But little one ! who sleeps near 1 — 
 
 A brother beneath this grass-grown spot 
 By the side of his sister dear ? 
 
 Sweet babes ! and have ye no parent now 
 In the deep and the darksome bed ? — 
 
 No pitying hand that can gladness throw 
 O'er the place of the silent dead 1 
 
 Oh ! yes, the book of the holy one 
 
 Hath a hope through a Saviour known 
 
 The caskets are here, but the gems are gone 
 To be set by the Sardine throne. 
 
 The body sleeps till the trumpet calls — 
 
 Lock'd then in endearing arms. 
 Together ascend to the jasper walls — 
 
 The city of eternal charms. 
 
206 
 
 CASTLES IN THE AIR. 
 
 A pleasinj^ land of drowsyhead it was 
 
 Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye. 
 
 And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, 
 Forever flushing round a summer sky. — Thomson. 
 
 In yonder clouds by sunset gilt, 
 
 I, mimic castles see; 
 How like the castles that were built 
 
 In air — by me, by me. 
 
 For soon they fade and pass away. 
 
 Bereft, bright sun ! of thee ; 
 And mine, alas, how toppled they ! 
 
 Crumbling — round me, round me. 
 
 On bank reclin'd, with half shut eyes, 
 
 I'd set my fancy free, 
 And by my magic wand would rise. 
 
 Bright domes — like ye ! like ye ! 
 
 What wanted I with those bright domes ? 
 
 And who their queen should be ? 
 For whom rose up those sparkling homes 1 
 
 Lov'd one ! — for thee, for thee. 
 
 A king I reign'd in fairy land, 
 
 'Midst revelry and glee, — 
 Who struck the sceptre from my hand 
 
 The lov'd ! — 'twas she, 'twas she. 
 
 She broke the magic wand I own'd ; 
 
 Disdain'd my queen to be ; 
 And ever since, there sits enthron'd 
 
 Despair — in me, in me. 
 
 Rich sunsets ! now, it wakes a pang — 
 
 Deep pang, to gaze on ye — 
 Your gorgeoiisness but serves to hang 
 
 Dark clouds — o'er me, o'er me. 
 
20T 
 
 The lights that lighted up my domes, 
 Dark eyes that^flashed on me. 
 
 Are turn'd away, and oh sweet homes I 
 Farewell ! — to ye, to ye. 
 
 TO MISS 
 
 This heart now so desolate, fairest ! 
 
 No coldness can chill ; 
 Though nothing for me, love, thou carest, 
 
 I dote on thee still. 
 I must not now meet thee, ah never ! 
 
 Except in the chambers of thought. 
 But there, I'll be meeting thee ever 
 
 To dream of a happier lot. 
 
 Oh yes, in my inmost soul, sweetest, 
 
 I meet thee at will. 
 And there while the moments fly fleetest, 
 
 I gaze on thee still ; 
 'Tis there I hang over and watch thee 
 
 Till fancy transports me to bliss. 
 And then to my bosom, I snatch thee 
 
 Imprinting the long fervid kiss. 
 
 But let it not anger thee, dearest. 
 
 That such feelings thrill — 
 The heart thou so cruelly searest, 
 
 For cold art thou still — 
 A star for my worship thou 'rt given 
 
 To shed o^er my darkness thy ray. 
 Yet coldly and chastely through heaven 
 
 Thou mov'st on thy glittering way. 
 
 In the depths of this bosom, maiden! 
 
 Those depths which you fill, 
 Tho' my spirit's sorely laden 
 
 1 cling to thee still — 
 
208 
 
 No power shall take thee, no lover 
 Shall tear thee away from my heart. 
 
 There, light of my life, shalt thou hover 
 Till death shall decree us to part. 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE RIVER. 
 
 Whilome, old Rappahannock lay 
 
 In glorious beauty, bright 
 She moved adown her diamond way 
 To pay her tribute to the bay 
 
 In gems of sparkling- light. 
 
 Rich commerce floated on her tide. 
 
 Loud sang her merry tars ; 
 White sails were flapping in their pride 
 Or bellying o'er some vessel's side 
 
 Beneath our stripes and stars. 
 
 Sometimes the steamer cleft her path. 
 And drove the madden'd wave. 
 
 To dash on shore with thund'ring wrath 
 
 As if to whelm in turbid scath 
 All things in wat'ry grave. 
 
 A track of blacken'd smoke she'd trail 
 
 Belch'd from her iron throat ; 
 An earthquake voice would fill the vale. 
 To scorn she seem'd to laugh the sail 
 As far ahead she shot. 
 
 Look on the river now — 'tis dead J 
 
 In icy coflin laid — 
 With white sheet it is overspread. 
 Cold — still — all sign of motion fled. 
 
 Like corpse in its last bed. 
 
209 
 
 An air of desolation reigns 
 
 Where all was life before. 
 Like that some desert land retains 
 Where vast white columns strew the plains. 
 
 And cities stood of yore. 
 
 No living thing is now in sight. 
 
 The birds have vanished long — 
 The wild goose took a loftier height. 
 And pour'd forth in his far off flight 
 His plaintive note — cohong. 
 
 Cohong — cohong — that solemn throng 
 
 Sent forth a dirge hke sound. 
 As though in sad procession long 
 They chanted slow some fun'ral song. 
 
 To warmer climates bound. 
 
 Oh River ! thou again mayst flow 
 
 With the returning spring. 
 Pennon and sail again mayst know. 
 And in thy waves, which sparkling go 
 
 The bird may bathe his wing. 
 
 But when in icy fetters, low, 
 
 Pm laid within my grave 
 This world again will never know 
 The wretch who wanders near thee, slow. 
 
 And sings this idle stave. 
 
 Yet River ! ^tis by wise men told 
 
 PU rise to grander scene 
 Where the great shepherd pens his fold. 
 And rivers run of living gold 
 
 Through pastures bright and green. 
 
 19 
 
210 
 
 Mr. Editor, I send you some African Notes, which 
 I hope will have a general circulation. 
 
 TO MASSA B02. 
 
 From de Briber of Sta2;e Number One. 
 
 I heard Massa Boz of dat po piece of fun 
 You write for de British bout stage number one. 
 An' I tink I mus try to be writin' note too, 
 Case I was de driber dat day who dribe vou. 
 
 Wid my Pill'Jiddy, Pill, 
 Pill Jiddy, Pill Jiddy, Pill. 
 
 Dey cry you was comin — great hubbub it caus. 
 Bout great Massa Pickwick ! de great Massa Boz ! 
 But when fus in my presence, you come sir to stand 
 Den I see in a miunit you mighty small man. 
 
 Wid my Pill Jiddy, &c. 
 
 Ha! ha my fine feller! you come here to joke. 
 Den I say in dat wheel I'll soon put a spoke. 
 For PU show you de way dat me dribe to de south 
 An' Pll make you to laf de wrong side ob your mouth. 
 Wid my Pill Jiddy, &c. 
 
 I jolt ober bridges an' bump on de poles. 
 And sink Massa Pickwick in many chuck holes ; 
 Like de debil I dribe, an' mose nock out your tooth. 
 As you say dey sarve nigger down here at de south. 
 Wid my Pill Jiddy, &c. 
 
 An' so you complain dat we keep de bad road. 
 An' fling on de passenger water an' mud ; 
 But de dut which you fling on us all in your Note 
 It is mo dan we spose sich a feller could toat, 
 
 Wid my Pill Jiddy, &c. 
 
211 
 
 Dey tell me you laugh at my glub an' my hat — 
 But, pshuh! my sweet feller ! "John dont care fordat," 
 For your daddy, no doubt, ef you know who he was. 
 Bin war wosser dan dat I'm afeard, Massa Boz. 
 
 Wid my Pill Jiddy, &c. 
 
 At de staff of my whip you must hah a fling. 
 You say it was lied wid a piece o'lwine string 
 Dat is true, an' I'll gib you one word to de wise 
 It was broke on de back ob a vender ob lies. 
 
 Wid my Pill Jiddy, &c. 
 
 Dat nigger you see settin dare on de fence — 
 Dat nigger, my massa, got heap o' hard sense ; 
 An' he see by de twist ob my face an' my eye, 
 I had someting to tell him quite funny bumbye. 
 
 Wid my Pill Jiddy, &c. 
 
 I raus not forgit what old ooman did say. 
 
 When I gib her de cents you gib me dat day ; 
 
 She say, "Hi ! dis here present does look mighty small 
 
 To be sont by great gemman" — an' so dat is all. 
 
 Wid my Pill Jiddy, Pill, 
 PillJiddy, Pill Jiddy, Pill. 
 
 MY HUMBLE LOT. 
 
 Could I escape the humble lot 
 
 To which I am consign'd — 
 It suits me ill — I hke it not, 
 
 "I'm cabin'd — cribb'd — confin'd," 
 Who would I be? — where would I go 
 
 For what exchange my toil ? — 
 I swear and vow I hardly know. 
 
 So let me think awhile. 
 
212 
 
 I'd be an orator — a Clay, 
 
 A Webster or Calhoun — 
 Oh no ! I could not bear to say 
 
 What I'd unsmj so soon. 
 I'd be a Cajsar — or I'd be 
 
 Napoleon, aye, Le grand ! ! — 
 What! live an exile out at sea. 
 
 Or die by Brutus' hand ? 
 
 I'd be a Sultan — a grand Turk ; 
 
 I would not, 'pon my soul ! 
 For there again is dreadful work. 
 
 The bowstring and the bowl — 
 An Autocrat, I would not be. 
 
 With his accursed knout. 
 And Poland ! I would set thee free. 
 
 And turn all captives out. 
 
 Well, I'd be Louis Philippe then, 
 
 A citizen made king — 
 No — Frenchmen are ferocious men. 
 
 Assassins would upspring — 
 Gun barrels fixed all in a row. 
 
 Machines infernal — yes. 
 That fifty balls, at once will throw 
 
 Would not suit me, 1 guess. 
 
 I'd be a congressman, oh lud! 
 
 Why that is worse than all. 
 Some ruffians there who thirst for blood 
 
 Would shoot me with a ball. 
 To meet a man in argument. 
 
 The bully now disdains ; 
 'Tis easier by a bullet sent 
 
 To blow out all one's brains. 
 
 I'd be a President — oh worse ! 
 
 Much worse, upon my word — 
 I'd be as soon yon carrion corse. 
 
 The prey of beast and bird — 
 
213 
 
 The party dogs around would growl. 
 The vultures flap their wings, 
 
 The beasts of prey would ceaseless howlj 
 And tear my flesh to strings. 
 
 Will nothing do ? must I eschew 
 
 All things beneath the sun ? 
 Oh no!— I'll tell you what Pd do, 
 
 I'd do like Washington ! 
 There's nothing there to make one start, 
 
 ''Room for the greatest ! — room" — 
 No dagger for that noble heart ! 
 
 No exile for his doom ! 
 
 Egyptians harnessed slaves to bring 
 
 Their piles of cumbrous stone. 
 To sepulchre some worthless king 
 
 Whose name is now unknown. 
 But freemen, for their godlike son. 
 
 Point us to nobler charts ; 
 They tell us that their Washington 
 
 Is coffined in their hearts. 
 
 But is it so? and is he there? — 
 
 I mourn to answer — no — 
 His labor has been spent in air. 
 
 His work they overthrow — 
 His warning voice, unheeded, falls. 
 
 His legacy forgot. 
 Their brotherhood is lost in brawls, 
 
 "Out — out, thou damned spot." 
 
 Then welcome, welcome, humble lot ! 
 
 What boots it to be great ? 
 I'll dig and delve this little spot. 
 
 Contented with my fate. 
 All things are but inanities ! 
 
 The preacher tells us true — 
 Oh vanity of vanities ! 
 
 What shadows we pursue ! ! 
 
214 
 
 Written on the Ballot Box of the Senate. 
 
 This little simple ballot box 
 
 Is ill itself" a paradox — 
 
 It often proves the silent grave 
 
 Of all that's good and all that's brave ; 
 
 And yet from hence the brave and good 
 
 Derive their breath and life's best blood ; 
 
 It takes alike unto its breast. 
 
 The low, the high, the worst, the best — 
 
 It is a fount as all must know 
 
 Whence "sweet and bitter waters flow j" 
 
 Within this little box of state 
 
 Oft lies extremes of love and hate ; 
 
 Within its close and dark recess 
 
 Lie gen'rous deeds, and littleness ; 
 
 Here patriot warmth and sacrifice 
 
 Meet int'rest vile and prejudice; 
 
 Revenge and malice both here live 
 
 With charity which doth forgive ; 
 
 Here friends and foes unite — and mark 
 
 They stab each other in the dark. 
 
 This hole has proved to one poor Jack 
 
 Like that of curst Calcutta — black 3 
 
 But yet it led another John, 
 
 In triumph on to Washington ; 
 
 The road to heaven is straight, alas ! 
 
 So is this hole through which they pass. 
 
 And yet to some it proves extensus 
 
 "Th' ,Bverni Facilis Descensus ! /" 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 Oh spring and summer time of life! 
 
 Would I recall 
 Your days with disappointment rife ? 
 
 Oh no — not all — 
 
215 
 
 Some few I might call back — how few ! 
 
 But even those 
 Brought with them as they past me flew, 
 
 Unnumber'd woes. 
 
 Autumn of life ! thou hadst a haze 
 
 A soften'd light ; 
 A melancholy twilight as of day's 
 
 Approaching night; 
 Leaf after leaf, I saw them fall. 
 
 Friend after friend, 
 Days sad as these, would I recall? 
 
 Oh to what end? 
 
 Winter of life ! thou'rt come at last 
 
 Descending snows 
 Upon my head fall thick and fast 
 
 Thick'ning like woes — 
 Life's landscape seems a dreary blank 
 
 Life's fire a spark. 
 Time past a dream with troubles rank. 
 
 The future dark. 
 
 What now can cheer thee, winter stern ? 
 
 Summer nor spring ; 
 For immortality I yearn. 
 
 And would take wing ; 
 But through the coffin, it must come 
 
 Must come that crown — 
 What have I done for it?— I'm dumb, 
 
 Christ 'tis thine own. 
 
 'Tis thine to give, oh grant it me. 
 
 Wretch that I am. 
 Unfit to lift my face to thee 
 
 Crucified Lamb! 
 Oh then 'round thine eternal throne 
 
 I'll join the choir. 
 Singing thy praises holy One, 
 
 Son thou and Sire.