THE MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 " Like April morning clouds that pass, 
 With varying shadow o'er the grass, 
 And imitate on field and furrow, 
 Life's chequered scene of joy and sorrow; 
 Thus various my romantic theme 
 Flits, winds, and sinks, a morning dream.'' 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 ArconD EBitton. 
 
 NEW-YORK : 
 
 G. & C. CARVILL, AND ELAM BLISS. 
 
 1828.
 
 Southern District of New*York, ss. 
 
 BE IT REMEMBERED, that onf.be second day of January, A. D. 182fc, 
 and in the fifty-second year of the Independence of the United States of Ame- 
 rica, Elam Bliss, of the said District, hath deposited in this Office the title 
 of a Book, the right whereof he cla&a as proprietor, in the words following; 
 to wit: 
 
 " The Manuscript." 
 
 In 'conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, entitled, 
 " An Act for the encouragement of Learning, by securing the Copies of Maps, 
 Charts, and Books, to the Authors and Proprietors of such Copies, during the 
 times therein mentioned :" and also to an Act, entitled, "An Act supplement- 
 ary to an Act, entitled, " An Act for the encouragement of Learning, by se- 
 curing the copies of Maps, Charts, and Books, to the authors and proprietors 
 of such copies during the times therein mentioned ; and extending the benefits 
 thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other 
 prints." 
 
 FRED. J. BETTS, 
 Clerk of the Southern District of New-York.
 
 THE MANUSCRIPT 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
 
 TO THE LIBERAL AMERICAN, 
 
 DISPOSED TO PATRONISE 
 
 THE EFFORTS OF NATIVE LITERATURE, 
 
 TEE AUTHOR. 
 
 2072816
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 Vage 
 
 The Plan, - 9 
 
 The Sagacious Dog, - M 
 
 The Visit, 28 
 Mary Linden, 
 
 Highland Banditti, 59 
 
 The Country Clergyman, fc 66 
 
 Trenton Falls, - 73 
 
 The Money Dreamer, 86 
 
 Tales of The Prison, 97 
 
 The Illustrious Dead, - 129 
 
 Nahant, or The Indian's Cave, - 139 
 
 The Legend of Schooley Mountain, - 162 
 
 General Washington's Escape, - - 177 
 
 American Literature, - - 186
 
 THE PLAN. 
 
 This folio of four pages, happy work ! 
 
 What is it but a map of busy life, 
 
 Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns ? COWPEH. 
 
 IN trying to interest the community, enlight- 
 ened by the wisdom of so many minds, and 
 amused by such innumerable sources of enjoy- 
 ment, it is difficult to avoid the extremes of over- 
 doing the matter, through anxiety, on the one 
 hand ; or degenerating into common-place, from 
 the fear of being thought too conceited, on the 
 other. Attributing the conduct of every writer 
 to avarice and vanity, rather than a desire of 
 promoting the public good, the repulsive crowd 
 quickly lower the pretensions of every literary 
 hero, which not only chastises him for being 
 wiser than themselves, but tends to raise them 
 higher in the opposite scale of discernment and 
 learning. But, unkind as the world is, there are 
 always to be found souls of a noble and pa- 
 tronising nature, who have minds to comprehend, 
 
 No. I. a
 
 and hearts to appreciate the motives of the 
 honest writer, who had rather feel themselves the 
 severest lash of criticism, than inflict the slightest 
 wound on those who professedly write for their 
 amusement. They feel that is a species of in- 
 gratitude of the blackest dye : an ingratitude en- 
 gendered by envy, fostered by pride, and which, 
 instead of deriving nourishment from the food 
 that is offered it, changes it into " the gall of bit- 
 terness," and the wormwood of calumny, con- 
 verts the garden of nature into a dreary desert, 
 and the smiles of good humour into the wither- 
 ing frowns of hatred. The liberal, enlightened 
 mind not only acts from the spontaneous impulse 
 of its own nature, but from the sacred considera- 
 tions of duty exciting it to the promotion of Ge- 
 nius and Learning. It has in view the cultivation 
 of native intellect, by fanning the sparks of genius 
 till they burst into a flame the dissemination of 
 sound taste, literature, and science, through every 
 part of the globe the extension of liberality and 
 kind feeling over the cold waste of selfishness, 
 prejudice, and pride, and the progression of the 
 human soul from improvement to improvement, 
 until v unshackled from the chains of mortality, 
 it basks in the meridian sunshine of celestial
 
 11 
 
 But while it is our pride to acknowledge the 
 existence of such minds, it is to be regretted that 
 literary neglect is often imputable to the very 
 writers themselves. Like the aurelian insect, 
 numbers weave themselves so closely in a web 
 of their own spinning, that they neither enjoy 
 the light, nor allow themselves to be compre- 
 hended by others. Many fill their subjects so 
 profusely with ornaments, that the reader is at a 
 loss which the author would have him most ad- 
 mire ; and like Tarpeia, overwhelmed by the 
 bracelets of the Sabines, they perish alone 
 through their own weight of tinsel. On the 
 other hand, we are directed to works of biogra- 
 phy, history, and science; but there again, in- 
 stead of meeting with a pleasing variety ; or, to 
 speak figuratively, instead of beholding the lively 
 Corinthian, mingled with the various depart- 
 ments of the Composite order, we either con- 
 template the Ionic, or Doric, or we are com- 
 pelled to plod along in the dull, solemn pomp of 
 the Gothic style alone. Now a truce upon such 
 taste ! The human mind, to bo kept constantly 
 awake, requires a variety of stimulants adapted 
 to its constitutional changes, as what is food at 
 one time, becomes at another, nauseating poison. 
 Who would recommend to the gay reader the
 
 12 
 
 dry detail of public reports, or call the serious to 
 dwell upon the risible adventures of Don Quix- 
 otte or Sancho Panza? It therefore becomes 
 necessary to mingle fancy with instruction, and 
 gayety with rational severity. The tastes of all 
 must be consulted, or the public attention will 
 flag, and the sanguine author, instead of finding 
 his productions on the shelves of the trade, will 
 be compelled to send his friends to the counter 
 of the confectioner or the grocer to collect such 
 scanty remains as the moderation of business 
 has spared. 
 
 44 A general love of variety, however, which is 
 not indulged as a beneficial means of improve- 
 ment, resembles the rose of Florida, the bird of 
 Paradise, or the cypress of Greece. The first, 
 the most beautiful of flowers, emitting no fra- 
 grance ; the second, the most beautiful of birds, 
 eliciting no song ; the third, the finest of trees, 
 yielding no fruit. It has not been inaptly called 
 a species of ' adultery.* It characterizes a weak 
 and superficial mind, ill qualifies it for honour- 
 able exertion, and peculiarly unfits its possessor 
 for selecting subjects to exercise his fancy ; or 
 from furnishing correct and sound materials to 
 form and elevate the understanding."
 
 16 
 
 How many also are travelling over subjects 
 which millions before them have ransacked, so 
 that not a thought is perceptible, but what is 
 found in richer hives than theirs, enkindled by a 
 livelier vein of imagination, enlightened by a 
 sounder information, and enriched by a fresh 
 glow of originality. Not that it is possible to 
 strike out so new a path, or give birth to ideas 
 to which others have been strangers. The re- 
 flections we make, thousands have indulged be- 
 fore us ; and, excepting the novel deductions 
 from the experiments of science, it may be safely 
 asserted, with the wise man of Scripture, 
 " There is nothing new under the sun." Origi- 
 nality may exist in the novelty of the method, 
 the peculiarity of the style, the combination of 
 the sentiments, or the rich and varied colouring 
 to illustrate some well-known truth. Neither 
 imitating the precision of Bacon, the pedantry of 
 Burton, the rotundity of Johnson, the playfulness 
 of Swift, or the romanticity of Irving ; the writer 
 may use his own thoughts, method, and language, 
 and if resorting at all to the sentiments of others, 
 must make the same use of them ae the bee of 
 the flower, by extracting their nectar, and pre- 
 paring it in his own way for the use and enjoy- 
 ment of the public. Those, on the contrary
 
 who pretend to give us nothing but the fruit oi 
 their own growth, soon fail, like rivulets which 
 dry up in summer. Far different are those which 
 receive, in their course, the tribute of a hundred 
 and a hundred rivers, and which, even in the 
 dog-days, carry mighty waters triumphantly to 
 the ocean." 
 
 The Novelists might be mentioned as distin- 
 guished for the highest literary attainments, but 
 too often polluting their pages with fashionable 
 oaths, profane appeals, volatile tattle, and sensual 
 representations. We mean simply to censure 
 their abuses ; and as they will prevail in despite 
 of all our scolding, we wish to behold them the 
 vehicles of sound taste, innocent gayety, and 
 useful instruction. The visible improvement in 
 this department of literature has doubtless con- 
 tributed to its increasing demand ; and no reason 
 can be assigned why, if purged from its dross, 
 Fiction should not be used as the instrument of 
 enlightening and reforming mankind. Why 
 should not the fancy contribute as liberal a mite 
 to the advancement of sound morals as the funds 
 of the understanding, or the sensibilities of the 
 heart ? Is it not important to render the richest 
 of our faculties the medium of instruction, that
 
 15 
 
 the mind may relish the higher branches of in- 
 telligence, and practise the duties persuasively 
 recommended ? 
 
 The Periodicals and Reviews of the day have 
 attained an eminence and popularity superior to 
 any antecedent period, and distinguish the pre- 
 sent age as discriminating and refined, as desirous 
 of cherishing the efforts of native genius. Did 
 they altogether breathe a catholic spirit, disposed 
 to smile upon the talented productions of every 
 sect and party; were malicious and time-serving 
 remarks altogether excluded, and one sole per- 
 severing effort used to advance the literary, moral, 
 and religious interests of the community ; they 
 would rank the highest, next to Christian institu- 
 tions, in meliorating the condition of society, 
 and diffusing that public and social felicity so 
 earnestly coveted by every virtuous mind. 
 
 Will it then be deemed presumptuous, if, shel- 
 tered by the example of loftier names in litera- 
 ture, we add our mite in the diffusion of its spirit, 
 and if unable to edify by the maxims of wisdom, 
 we may, at least, amuse by the exposure of folly ? 
 Our object is amusement, combined with the inv
 
 It) 
 
 proveinent ot' the understanding. To censure 
 vice, by applying the rod of satire, and to reform 
 the follies and errors of the age ; to occasion- 
 ally glance at Biography, Criticism, and History ; 
 to furnish amusing tales for the closet, either 
 facetious or melancholy, just in the frame of 
 mind we happen to indulge, and then again di- 
 verge into some didactic essay, designed only to 
 engage the attention of the serious ; to write 
 just as we please, what we please, and when we 
 please, provided we aim to please those who 
 favour us with their attention ; to provide, in 
 short, a series of essays to amuse an idle hour, 
 and promote the best interests of literature and 
 morality, are the objects we propose ; and if we 
 fail, it must be imputed to the good natured blun- 
 der of unintentional design. Humble as we are, 
 we will not be awed by the pedantic pomp of de- 
 pressing superiority, or shrink from the aspiring 
 attempts of more successful and celebrated 
 writers. Sincerity is our armour ; improvement 
 our watch-word ; the public confidence our sup- 
 port ; and may we not reasonably hope, that the 
 favour and patronage we covet, may shield us as 
 the crown of our reward ?
 
 
 THE SAGACIOUS DOG. 
 
 The world, I cried, 
 
 >Shall hear of this thy deed : 
 
 My dog shall mortify the pride 
 Of man's superior breed. 
 
 Cow J'ER 
 
 THE fidelity of the canine race has been only 
 equalled by their sagacity. Many cases have 
 been recorded of the most extraordinary feats 
 which they have performed, and which, if not 
 ascribable to the keenness of their physical or- 
 gans, must surely originate from intellectual 
 faculties. They have been, however, extremely 
 indebted to the regimen of laborious training, 
 which enables them, after much practice, to un- 
 derstand peculiar signs, drilled into them by their 
 instructers ; and whose results, from the difficulty 
 of detection by those who witness them, are fre- 
 quently regarded as the most unaccountable 
 prodigies. Whether it is from their uncommon 
 power of scent, or their constant habit of watch- 
 ing the actions of their master, they cer- 
 
 No. I.3
 
 18 
 
 tainly possess the faculty of finding his hidden or 
 lost property; and much amusement has been 
 derived from the persevering attempts of these 
 animals in discovering the object of their search. 
 Among the many anecdotes extant on this in- 
 stinctive property of dogs, I will relate one from 
 the recollections of a friend, who seriously as- 
 sured me that the circumstances were correct. 
 
 Two gentlemen were travelling on horseback 
 in the western part of Pennsylvania, accom- 
 panied by a shaggy, nimble-footed pointer, whose 
 vision and movements were governed by those of 
 the horses ; and then he never kept out of the 
 sight or whistle of his master, whom he was 
 sure to notify by his bark of approaching pas- 
 sengers, the starting of a flock of birds, or any 
 of those trivial incidents which keep alive atten- 
 tion on the road. The sprightliness and vigilance 
 of the dog engrossed the conversation on the 
 instinct of animals ; and after they had discussed 
 the question as learnedly as the inconvenience of 
 jolting would allow, one of the friends asserted, 
 that, "whether it was instinct or reason, his 
 Romeo could find any article which he had lost ;" 
 and he enumerated a catalogue of valuables
 
 19 
 
 which the sagacity of his favourite had brought 
 to light. His bold declaration could not but arouse 
 the curiosity of the other, who had obstinately 
 maintained "the instinctive" side of the ques- 
 tion, as he considered dogs a sort of hairy, four- 
 footed machines, operated upon as card images, 
 by the force of the power that moves them. 
 " I'll stake you a twenty dollar bill," uttered he. 
 defyingly, " that Romeo does no such thing ; and 
 if I lose, I'll treat you, and the dog besides, to the 
 best supper the inn can afford." A hearty laugh 
 from his companion, and a shrill whistle, which 
 brought the panting pointer to his side, were the 
 prelude to the acceptance of the challenge. " I 
 verily believe," said he, " that Romeo knows, he is 
 the topic of conversation ! Come here, my old dog ! 
 You can find master's property, can't you, Ro- 
 meo?" The dog flew jumping and barking 
 round the horses then he would spring to meet 
 his master's hand as if intending to kiss it 
 again he would run up and down the road, and 
 after rummaging and smelling behind every rock 
 and stone, he would return to his owner and 
 whine expressively in his face, as if he was de- 
 sirous of saying, " you perceive that I am always 
 watching over your interests."
 
 It was agreed upon, that Romeo and his master 
 should proceed to the inn, which was about four 
 miles distant ; and that the other should remain 
 behind, to conceal, wherever he pleased, a dollar 
 of his friend's own marking ; and he accordingly 
 waited full ten minutes after the dog was out of 
 sight before he made arrangements for the se- 
 cretion of his coin. " Where shall I hide it ?" 
 thought he" To drop it upon the ground, or 
 expose it any where in open sight, would not 
 escape the penetrating eye of the animal ; and 
 to bury it in the ground, or throw it in the water, 
 would be unfair, and render the performance of 
 the undertaking impossible." Pondering a mo- 
 ment, he hid it beneath a huge stone, which he 
 was hardly able to raise ; and remounting his 
 horse, rejoined his companion who had been 
 some time before him at the hotel. " Well, sir," 
 exclaimed he, " have you made sure of my dol- 
 lar ? Safe enough, I warrant, for you have not 
 staid so confounded long for nothing; it is lodged, 
 no doubt, within an enchanted hole, or guard- 
 ed in some fairy castle by a dragon more terrible 
 than that of the Hesperides : I almost tremble 
 for my pocket, and the beef-steak supper of 
 the dog ! But harkee. Romeo, get you back
 
 21 
 
 upon the road, and find my silver dollar which I 
 have lost !" The animal eyed his master wist- 
 fully for an instant, but soon changed his pos- 
 ture for the attitude of searching, and began to 
 frisk along, and scent every corner of the road, 
 accompanying every change of direction by a 
 half-suppressed bark of joy. The final word 
 " away" urged Romeo completely out of view ; 
 and the friends proposed, after dinner, amusing 
 themselves with shooting a few woodcock and 
 snipe, until a reasonable time had elapsed for the 
 arrival of their scout. After vainly searching 
 the meadows and woods, for at least two hours, 
 they began to think of returning to the inn. 
 Romeo's master was positive of meeting him 
 there in the possession of his silver dollar. He 
 whistled for him, assured that he was probably 
 scenting their track ; and even hazarded a consi- 
 derable wager at finding him at the hotel with 
 the landlord. " Well, well," returned the chal- 
 lenger, " If he returns before morning with the 
 money, I promise to pay all the expenses of the 
 day, in addition to the wager I have staked ; but 
 if he comes back without it, you know the bank 
 whence the host and myself are to draw our 
 funds !" " Done !" exclaimed the other, laugh-
 
 22 
 
 ing, for I feel as certain of his return with the 
 dollar, as if I heard his bark, and the rolling of 
 the money." To his disappointment, however, 
 the dog was not there no trace of him was 
 discernible upon the road ; and no travellers, who 
 had arrived from the route which he had taken, 
 had the least glimpse of such an animal. The 
 two friends proposed riding a few miles back 
 upon the road to ascertain, if possible, the cause 
 of the detention ; but the challenger concluded 
 that their presence might endanger the success 
 of his bet; and they both concluded to wait 
 over the finest supper which the season af- 
 forded, for the arrival of their dilatory messenger. 
 
 But to return to the dog. He had gone back 
 with many a useless hunt over field, hedge, 
 and by-way, scenting every course which the 
 travellers had pursued, and wasting his labours 
 at every spot where they alighted for refresh- 
 ment on their journey. After many fruitless en- 
 deavours, he approached, at last, the identical 
 place where the treasure was deposited, and evi- 
 denced, by his motions and whinings, his exulta- 
 tion at the discovery. He proceeded to storm 
 ihe citadel, which detained his master's property;
 
 but, notwithstanding all his pawings, resistances, 
 and barkings, poor Romeo was unable to raise 
 the mighty stone, and like many superior bipeds 
 before him, confessed himself honourably van- 
 quished. His only remedy was patience; and 
 who knows, he might have thought, what will be 
 the consequence of my persevering fidelity ! 
 Here he sat, like an unwearied sentinel, guarding 
 treasures which he could not attain, sometimes 
 looking at the stone, at others, on the road, as if 
 expecting, as a last resource, some relief from 
 that quarter. At this juncture, a weary, heavy- 
 laden pedler was trudging slowly along the high- 
 way, and apparently sinking under his burden ; 
 when, seeing the gestures of the dog, he supposed 
 there was some ground-mole arresting his atten- 
 tion. Besides, here was a fine animal, seemingly 
 without an owner ; and if there were no treasure 
 to reward his search, he might lay claim to a 
 faithful creature, to be the companion of his wan- 
 derings. Whatever were his reflections, he came 
 to the stone, the object of the dog's solicitude, 
 and disburdening himself of his wallet, he re- 
 moved the former with considerable difficulty; 
 when perceiving, to his surprise, a shining silver 
 dollar, he secured it with the avidity of a fowl
 
 24 
 
 picking at a grain of corn, and without regarding 
 the rights of the dog, slipped it into his over- 
 hawls, whose merry jingle as it rolled in bespoke 
 the gracious reception which it received. Along 
 went the pedler whistling after and caressing his 
 new companion, who appeared as well satisfied 
 with his adopted master, and manifested by the 
 playfulness of his gambols his gratitude for the 
 service which had been rendered. Overjoyed at 
 his prize, the weary merchant flung down his 
 pack caressed again and again his sociable 
 friend, and refelt his pockets with the air of a 
 man particularly indebted to good fortune. It 
 was late at night, and Romeo was wandering 
 several miles farther from his master, and ap- 
 peared in no degree disposed to quit the side of 
 the stranger. They arrived at last at an inn, 
 where our trader not only partook of a hearty 
 supper, but made the dog equally the sharer of his 
 good cheer. They feasted daintily until the sea- 
 son of bedtime ; when, fearful of losing so valua- 
 ble a prize, the pedler conducted the animal into 
 his room ; concluding, that if so friendly to him, 
 he might possibly fall a victim to the caresses of 
 others. Romeo was, in no respect, unwilling to 
 follow him, for he had been always accustomed
 
 to a soft bed, and he had no intention tor that 
 night of abandoning his generous benefactor. 
 Having secured the door, and carefully attended 
 to the safety of his goods, the fatigued traveller 
 prepared for bed; and after extinguishing the 
 light, hung his clothes over the back of a huge 
 arm-chair, which almost sunk down with the 
 weight of valuables it contained. Adjusting 
 his head upon the pillow, he listened to Romeo 
 snoring under the bed ; and as he looked through 
 the open window upon the golden stars that 
 twinkled upon his sight, he felt himself the most 
 fortunate of beings, and closed his eyes with the 
 reasonable prospect of enjoying his dog and pro- 
 perty in the morning. 
 
 But Romeo was in a far different plight. He 
 was really leg-weary and anxious to seek the 
 face of his old master, although for a moment a 
 transient slumber overcame him ; but no sooner 
 did he hearken to the snore of the pedler, than 
 he gently made up to the clothes chair, and at- 
 tempted to draw down the overhawls ; but they 
 were unluckily detained by an obstinate button- 
 hole that was looped in the edge. Hearing his 
 clothes moving, the awakened traveller, fearful 
 
 No. I. 4
 
 26 
 
 that thieves were disturbing him, demanded 
 " who 's there ?" and raising himself in the bed, 
 saw nothing but the room that was enlightened 
 by the moon, just setting in her last wane, and 
 the faithful dog standing at his side, who gently 
 licked his hand, as if promising to defend him 
 from every threatened injury. Convinced of the 
 futility of his fears, he felt of his clothes, and con- 
 cluded that they had merely slipped down ; he 
 then raised them from the arm to place them 
 more securely, and again he fell back on his 
 pillow and snored away as loudly as if nothing 
 had disturbed him. The faithful animal could 
 wait no longer. Springing upon the small clothes, 
 he was out of the window in the twinkling of an 
 eye, bearing away the treasures of him who was 
 sweetly dreaming of a prosperous market for his 
 calicoes, and the pleasure of being escorted, on 
 the morrow, by his invaluable dog. 
 
 In the meanwhile, our friends had partaken oi 
 an excellent supper ; the one repining at the ab- 
 sence of his dog, and the other dreaming of his 
 anticipated winnings, and exemption from the 
 expenses of the day. They awoke at break of 
 dawn to pursue their journey ; and while thr-
 
 27 
 
 former was putting into the hands of his friend, 
 and host, the amount of his losses, in came Ro- 
 meo with the pair of overhawls, dripping and 
 besmeared with water and mud, and laid them, 
 with all their contents, at the feet of his master. 
 " Stop, then," cried the latter, " and let us examine 
 this pocket-book, before we determine who is to 
 be the paymaster." "I am willing to sustain all 
 damages," replied the other, in a roar of merri- 
 ment, " provided this be the only promissory note, 
 you can ensure me for your success." They 
 quickly searched the contents, consisting of 
 watches, jewelry, and silver coin; and among 
 them the identical dollar, with the well-known 
 mark, staring them in the face. The articles were 
 hung up and advertised ; and not long after they 
 were sent for by the poor pedler, who had been 
 detained two whole days in bed, until his inex- 
 pressibles were found; when, it is said, he posi- 
 tively vowed, to have nothing more to do with 
 lost money, and more particularly, with strayed, 
 good-natured dogs.
 
 THE VISIT, 
 
 And thus as in memory's bark we shall glide 
 
 To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew, 
 Though oft we may see, looking down on the tide, 
 
 The wreck of full many a hope shining through ; 
 Yet still as in fancy we point to the flow'rs 
 
 That once made a garden of all the gay shore, 
 Deceiv'd for a moment, we'll still think them ours, 
 
 And breathe the fresh air of life's morning anew. 
 
 T. MOORE, 
 
 IT was at the close of a summer's afternoon, 
 that I was sauntering through one of the charm- 
 ing villages which lie on the banks of the Hud- 
 son. Its dark, stone church, shaded by a row 
 of locusts, which enclosed its modest green, 
 seemed reposing at a distance from the cares 
 of the little world around it. A post-chaise was 
 emancipating its passengers at the door of the 
 opposite hotel, and several villagers were lag- 
 ging inquiringly near it, either to catch a portion 
 of its " mighty world of news," or the counte- 
 nances of the travellers alighting on the piazza.
 
 29 
 
 Strolling along, I crossed a rude bridge, em- 
 bracing a narrow stream, which fed several mills 
 that fretted the bordering banks. A sparkling 
 sheet of water dashed in silvery whiteness near 
 me, and raved away among the rocks that dis- 
 puted its intrusive course. The giant branches 
 of the horse-chesnut threw a mellow shade upon 
 the agitated water, and disclosed through their 
 partings, a view of the village spire, whose ball 
 twinkled like a star on the blue of the evening 
 sky. The desire of visiting a family, of which I 
 had not heard for years, induced me to pursue 
 my solitary ramble. The road was diversified by 
 hills and dales ; crops of the richest harvest were 
 bending to the breeze, and the fields were vo- 
 cally enlivened by numerous flocks and herds. 
 The frequent chirpings of some lonely bird sere- 
 naded me from the trees, and all nature was alive 
 with that melancholy hum that denotes its pre- 
 paration for rest. 
 
 I soon reached the romantic spot. The mimic 
 lake of silver that supplied the mill in the valley 
 was darkened by the hills of forest that enclosed 
 its tapering banks. The gushing cataract, fall- 
 ing from its planky bed, wound tremulously along
 
 30 
 
 the border of the road, and became suddenly 
 lost in oblique windings among the trees. Pro- 
 jecting from the mill, the massy wheel bowed 
 beneath the pressure of the stream, and rising 
 proudly again, shook from the mossy paddles its 
 foam of liquid down. Reverberating in hoarse 
 murmurs from the hills, its roar is mistaken, at a 
 distance, for approaching thunder, and the eye 
 instinctively gazes on the sky. 
 
 I walked towards the house. Every object 
 was altered. The window-shutters were closed ; 
 the bench, on which I had sat for hours, was fall- 
 ing to decay ; the frame around which the honey- 
 suckle entwined had lost several of its sticks : 
 the vine was still there, but it had withered, and, 
 like age in distress, had recourse for aid to stran- 
 gers. It had clung for support round the last 
 remaining post of the piazza, which thus grate- 
 fully repaid the shade it formerly enjoyed. The 
 favourite old willow that overhung the entrance 
 of the garden, bent lower to the ground, and in- 
 creased the melancholy gloom that preyed upon 
 the ruins. I approached the garden several of 
 its posts were rotten ; the gate was feebly fas- 
 tened by a mouldering cord : the flowers werr
 
 31 
 
 either gone or hidden among the weeds; the 
 grass had overgrown the walks ; the brook that 
 trickled from the spring was choked by leaves 
 and stones ; but the most affecting sight was the 
 skeleton of an animal, which was, perhaps, the 
 favourite house-dog, that had, probably, died from 
 neglect, without a friend to bury him. 1 raised 
 the knocker, but the rust had stiffened its joints, 
 and caused but a faint and hollow reverberation. 
 I called aloud, but only heard some bustling 
 swallows, that were building above the door, or 
 the echo of my own voice, as it stole back on 
 the wings of the breeze. I could not repress my 
 feelings, but responded to the memorable, pathetic 
 words of Ossian, " Silence reigns in the halls of 
 her fathers." Sitting upon the step, I recalled 
 the pleasant hours I had spent in the cottage : 
 the happy parents the lovely daughter the 
 thousand nameless joys we indulged even the 
 faithful dog, trudging whiningly up the steps, and 
 wagging his half curled tail in welcome of my 
 arrival. But the family had gone, perhaps for 
 ever, from the world. If any thing can inspire 
 me with poetic associations, it is the memory of 
 my early days ; and I could not avoid indulging 
 in the following train of reflection :
 
 My early pleasures ; whence are they '< 
 
 The hours that gave them birth 
 Have melted away as the close of day, 
 
 When it leaves the beauteous earth ; 
 Have melted away as the sun's bright ray 
 
 Is lost in the sky of even, 
 When the, star of the west is in splendour drest. 
 
 In the dark clear blue of heaven. 
 
 Dear youthful pleasures ! blest employ ! 
 
 How oft in fancy's dream 
 Those visions of joy, no time can destroy, 
 
 In happy existence seem ! 
 Their pensive light, like the moon by night, 
 
 Is hallow' d, though distant far ; 
 As the gem at rest o'er the wild wave's breast, 
 
 The mariner's homeward star ! 
 
 Hweet friends of childhood, gentle hearts 
 
 To memory ever dear ! 
 The tear that starts when the fondest departs, 
 
 For you has been sincere ! 
 And the grief that oppress'd the aching breast 
 
 Could never be more deep ; 
 
 Oh, who has not sighed o'er joy that have died, 
 
 And friends have sunk to sleep ! 
 
 Returning to my lodgings, I learned the whole 
 story of the family, and as it may, possibly, be in- 
 foresting, I will endeavour briefly to relate it.
 
 JIARY 
 
 Love, like od'rous zephyr's grateful breath, 
 Tlepays the flower that sweetness which it borrow 7 *]. 
 
 MII/TOX* 
 
 MARY LINDEN was the flower of the little vil- 
 lage circle. Like most young females confined 
 to rural society and enjoyments, she knew little 
 of the world beyond her native home, and was 
 educated in the useful, rather than the showy 
 accomplishments of life. She was not beautiful, 
 but there was a delicacy of form and sweetness 
 of countenance, that silenced the gazing critic ; 
 and such a soul of meaning beamed from her 
 eyes, that the expression of her features was en- 
 tirely forgotten. A disposition kind, artless, and 
 enthusiastic, seldom fails to win attention and 
 esteem ; and if to be the theme of conversation 
 and the confidant of friends are proofs of love, 
 then Mary was blest with the affection of all 
 who knew her. 
 
 No. It. i
 
 34 
 
 Divided between their dutiful child, and their 
 hopes of heaven, time stole insensibly away from 
 her delighted parents. They regarded her as 
 the last and richest gift of Providence; they 
 wished to see her happily married; and hoped, 
 when their declining sun should set, to give her. 
 that best and holiest of gifts the dying parental 
 blessing. There is something peculiarly inter- 
 esting, I may almost say divine, in the parting 
 blessing of parents. Their life resembles an 
 odorous lamp continually emitting a most deli- 
 cious fragrance; but when the nourishment is 
 nearly consumed, its last remaining drops com- 
 bine, and with one instant of brilliancy pour out 
 their precious -perfume to be enjoyed in this 
 world no more. 
 
 During one of the visitations of the yellow 
 fever some years ago, when thousands were 
 flying in terror from the city, a young man, of 
 the name of Clifford, fixed on a transient resi- 
 dence near Mr. Linden's cottage. His person 
 was delicate, but well proportioned ; and his face 
 spoke forth such a sweet-natured benevolence, 
 that the eye which encountered his, supposed 
 itself beloved. The father of William Clifford
 
 m 
 
 was a merchant of New-York, who never suffered 
 his ideas to stray beyond the bounds of specula- 
 tion. His busiest care was the converting of 
 cents into dollars, and beholding his son elegantly 
 settled in life. So devoted was he to business, 
 that he had no time to spare for the relaxations 
 of the country, and he preferred parting with 
 his son to missing an opportunity of adding to 
 his fortune. His opinions of marriage were 
 never associated with the influence of the blind 
 Deity. "Love," he always said, "was a mere 
 phantom of the brain, talked of like ghosts, 
 which the majority believe in, but which no one 
 could assert he had positively seen. Even if ex- 
 isting at all, he can only live under the torrid 
 zone of prosperity ; but carry him to the frozen 
 regions of poverty, and the rascal freezes to 
 death in despair ; but money inhabits all climates, 
 is adapted to all changes and depressions, and 
 wherever there is plenty of money, marriage will 
 always ensure plenty of comfort." With a pa- 
 rent of such an opinion, the situation of a 
 daughter is truly pitiable. Every warm feeling 
 of the heart must be subdued the fire of hope 
 must be extinguished the blossoiji of affection 
 must be withered beneath the pestilential mildew
 
 I 
 
 oi' parental selfishness. The son is more favour- 
 ably situated. Even if suffering the displeasure 
 of an ungenerous father, he can seek in the 
 world for diversion from his troubles. Amidst 
 the turmoils of business, he can almost drown 
 the sorrows that afflict him, and enjoy a transient 
 respite from the gallings of reflection; but even 
 through the clouds of business, he will often 
 catch a melancholy view of that glimmering 
 light, which once shone so beautifully resplend- 
 ent. But what is there for the female ? With- 
 out variety, and often condemned to the im- 
 prisonment of her chamber, she there but re- 
 poisons her happiness with the memory of sor- 
 row, and drives in more deeply the arrow that is 
 rankling in her bosom. The paradise of home 
 is changed to a loathsome dungeon, where she is 
 refused what is allowed the criminal the sym- 
 pathy of misfortune. Each returning day adds 
 a new link to the chain which keeps her from 
 her lover, and which, bound so firmly, threatens 
 of its own weight to tear out the heart which it 
 enslaves. She has no visions of happiness, no 
 consoling surmises, no bosom to echo her dis- 
 tress ; but sl|p sits wrapped in the spell a cruel 
 parent has woven, and cherishes a flame, which.
 
 37 
 
 slowly consuming her peace, can only be extin- 
 guished by the death-damp of the grave. It is 
 not a little curious to observe, on the other hand, 
 the secrecy with which faithful hearts often hold 
 communion. The most rigid parents may enact 
 laws, but cannot always enforce them. A note 
 conveyed by an unknown hand- an assignation 
 to meet at the house of some approving relative 
 and numerous other inventions will often cross 
 the lines in spite of the most watchful sentinel. 
 The ore of love should be tried in the furnace of 
 affliction, for it can only thus be purified from 
 its dross, and its true value known and appre- 
 ciated. 
 
 Mary had just attained her seventeenth year 
 when William took up his residence in the val- 
 ley. A trifling circumstance soon made them 
 acquainted ; for it is surprising how little exer- 
 tion it requires to second the overtures of the 
 heart ; and on the other hand, what insuperable 
 barriers must be surmounted when the inclina- 
 tion must be forced from its channel. It was 
 at a village party he first saw her. She was 
 neatly attired in white, with a simple pink riband 
 encircling her waist, and a small boquet of
 
 SB 
 
 flowers braiding together the dark chesnut curls 
 that played around her forehead. She seemed 
 to him like the modest lily, lifting its unassuming 
 head above the flowers around it, the pride of its 
 companions, but unconscious of its superiority. 
 When they parted, the language of their eyes 
 spoke more eloquently than words. Young, art- 
 less, and confiding, they had no object in con- 
 cealing their regard : they felt that deep-impas- 
 sioned fondness which lures the young heart to 
 repose, on the downy pillow of hope. It was 
 unknown to his father that William visited the 
 cottage. Mrs. Linden feared the consequences. 
 She felt the disparity of situation, the inequality 
 of mental endowments, and a thousand other ob- 
 jections which a fond mother will always urge in 
 behalf of a beloved child. Mary confessed the 
 value of her mother's opinion, but tremblingly 
 hoped that the issue would be different. Their 
 situations and circumstances she confessed 
 widely differed; but there was one in Which 
 there was no superiority they loved each other. 
 Love knows no distinctions. He respects as 
 much the peasant as the prince : and however 
 great the disparity in every other situation, all 
 who kneel at his altar equally receive his blessing.
 
 30 
 
 There is a time of life when the passions are 
 ardent and difficult of restraint, when the heart 
 is susceptible of every impression, and like 
 melted wax once enstamped, the image must be 
 broken to be destroyed. Thus it was with Mary 
 she would trust every thing to William his 
 very thoughts and language were hers ; and, like 
 the air he breathed, wherever he went, her 
 thoughts would instinctively follow. 
 
 Often at sunset, they would stroll along the 
 Hudson, and gaze together upon its variegated 
 scenery : the white-sailed sloops, deeply la^ltii 
 with produce, and marking their courses through 
 paths of silvery foam the distant palisades 
 lifting their frowning heads above the dark 
 waves that border them below the passing 
 steamboats flying on their wingy paddles, and 
 pouring forth their volumes of smoke upon the 
 tranquil air the bright forests of evergreen 
 overhanging the river, and always smiling, like 
 the good man, as well in adversity as joy the 
 lofty hills beyond Tappan, dark amid sunshine, 
 and melting behind each other into the blue of 
 the distant sky the golden clouds piled upon the 
 west as if they were the garments of the sun
 
 40 
 
 thrown off at his entrance into his chamber and 
 the foaming streamlets escaping the thraldom 
 of numerous mills, and paying their small but 
 welcome tribute to the Hudson. Then he would 
 amuse her by the recital of the most popular 
 incidents of history, lead her through the richest 
 fields of poetry and romance, and delineate so 
 happily the enjoyments of the future, that she 
 fairly revelled in the little paradise of his crea- 
 tion. Often at evening, the young companions 
 of Mary would assemble under the willow, and 
 amuse each other with the passing incidents of 
 tl^ village. Then they would listen to the 
 sweet notes of William's flute as he accom- 
 panied Mary in one of his favourite songs. It 
 was the composition of a friend long since de- 
 parted, and was cherished by William as the 
 dearest memento of his affection. 
 
 Forget thee ? No ; I'll ne'er forget 
 That joyous hour when first we met : 
 
 No, never, never. 
 Our love was like a tender flower, 
 That early bloomed in Flora's bower ; 
 Alternately sun, dew, and shade, 
 With cheerfulness bestow'd their aid. 
 Believing that the flow'r was made ;. > ^ 
 
 To bloom for ever-
 
 41 
 
 True love 's a plant to mortals given ; 
 Which blooms on earth, but roots in heaven ; 
 
 It lives for ever. 
 A bird of Paradise that flings 
 Rich odours from its spicy wings : 
 A spark electric that doth move 
 Our hearts to think on joys above : 
 The breath of Deity is love 
 
 That warms for ever. 
 
 The modest flow'r that sinks in death, 
 Obedient to the cold wind's breath, 
 
 Is lost for ever. 
 
 But though it falls beneath the chill, 
 Its sweetest perfume haunts it still ; 
 And the young heart that once has knelt 
 Before love's shrine, and fondly felt 
 Its icy pride in rapture melt, 
 
 Forgets it never. 
 
 I saw thy fond and faithful heart, 
 When last we met so soon to part, 
 
 For ever, ever. 
 
 It told of days long, long gone by, 
 And pour'd forth volumes in each sigh ; 
 It spake a language dearly known 
 To one whose heart was thine alone ; 
 Of a young flow'r just fully blown, 
 
 Blighted for ever. 
 No. II. 2
 
 42 
 
 The abatement of the fever, in the city, ren- 
 dered it necessary for William to return. He 
 knew that Mary loved him ; that in parting, the 
 fibres must be lacerated, by which their hearts 
 had grown together. He departed with the 
 fondest reciprocation of attachment, and con- 
 tinued for three months secretly to visit the 
 cottage. The death of Mr. Clifford's agent in 
 India required the immediate appointment of a 
 successor, and William was selected to fill that 
 important station. A dutiful child is not tempted 
 from his course by the most flattering allure- 
 ments. But how could he part with Mary how 
 leave her, without an explanation of his conduct ? 
 But yet how could he communicate it how tell 
 her, that even in the distant Indies, she still would 
 be dear to him that the remembrance of their 
 mutual vows would alleviate the pangs of ab- 
 sence ? By some unknown means Mr. Clifford 
 became acquainted with William's visits to the 
 cottage. His pride determined to prevent the 
 consequences ; and he hoped, by expediting the 
 voyage of his son, to blight for ever the intended 
 alliance. The next morning was secretly ap- 
 pointed for William's departure. He was about 
 stealing a visit to Mary that night to that dear
 
 object whom he might see again no more. It 
 was about sunset when he came into the vil- 
 kge ; and the last tinges of light, dressing out 
 Nature in a kind of melancholy glory, seemed 
 emblematical of his own hopes gradually ex- 
 piring in darkness. A sudden melancholy preyed 
 upon his feelings he thought he had come 
 there for the last time, although he had no idea 
 of the nearness of the separation. Mary seemed 
 that evening more interesting than ever. She 
 spoke so kindly, and used so many soft methods 
 to win him from his dejection, that her very fond- 
 ness tended rather to increase his melancholy. 
 He tried gradually to break the subject hinted 
 at the possibility of separation spoke of the 
 pangs of parting, and reassured her of the 
 fondest and most lasting fidelity : but he could 
 not speak of his voyage but would defer it till 
 another time, when her heart would be better 
 prepared. Who can pourtray the feelings of 
 Mary ? She feared something dreadful impended ; 
 but her fears served only to unite more strongly 
 the chains of her attachment. There is nothing 
 more durable than woman's first love. Like the 
 unfailing stream, which, stealing through the re- 
 cesses of the forest, secretly struggles with the
 
 impediments that obstruct its course, until it 
 mingles with some other rivulet with which it 
 forms an identity ; but, however divided from its 
 channel, or diversified its way ; notwithstanding 
 the impossibility of attaining its destination, and 
 forced entirely contrary to its original course ; 
 though lost in perpetual windings, and exposed 
 to the influence of a scorching sun, still its 
 source in the forest will always remain pure and 
 unchangeable. They parted with the solemn 
 promise of meeting the ensuing evening. Wil- 
 liam took her hand, and as he pressed it with more 
 than usual earnestness to his bosom, told her 
 that nothing but death should prevent the fulfil- 
 ment of his promise. On his return home, he 
 learned the necessity of his departure in the 
 morning. The vessel was prepared the com- 
 mand of his father was pressing he saw that 
 affection must be sacrificed at the shrine of pa- 
 rental duty. The parting from his family was 
 such as might be expected some tears were 
 shed and blessings bestowed a lingering press 
 of hands a last embrace, and he was gone. 
 
 The afternoon was beautiful in the country 
 The honeysuckle reposing against the posts of
 
 45 
 
 the piazza, breathed forth a delicious fragrance : 
 the torrent dashing from the neighbouring mill- 
 dam sparkled as brilliantly as ever : the birds 
 had never more sweetly serenaded the cottage : 
 a sweet boquet of flowers blushed most be- 
 witchingly from its China prison on the mantel : 
 a fresh bunch of asparagus was budding on the 
 hearth and above the pictures : a pair of new 
 curtains, as white as the driven snow, hung from 
 the windows, while on each side a nosegay of 
 sweet flowers concealed the nails by which the 
 loops were supported. Mary alone was gloomy. 
 She was meditating on the last words of Wil- 
 liam on his wild air and the possibility (as he 
 hinted) of a lasting separation. What could be 
 its meaning ? Could he be really faithless, or 
 was he constrained by the cruelty of an ungene- 
 rous father? The evening came but where 
 was William ? At every opening of the gate 
 at every barking of the dog at every approach- 
 ing step, the lovely sentinel was certain it was 
 her lover. She could not sleep: her parents 
 were disturbed by terrifying dreams, and woke 
 the next morning to relate their apprehensions. 
 The next evening, and a whole week transpired, 
 and he had not yet made his appearance. Se-
 
 cret inquiries were made of him in the city, but 
 his father pretended ignorance; and it was im- 
 possible to learn any thing, except some vague 
 reports, that he had been casually seen, but had 
 as suddenly departed. He could not have been 
 false, but must either have destroyed himself, or 
 been accidentally drowned. The villagers were 
 questioned the neighbouring streams and woods 
 were searched, but not a trace of him remained. 
 A pocket-handkerchief was found bearing the 
 initials W. C., with a few torn papers here and 
 there in the woods, and fragments of writing 
 that could not be deciphered. His mysterious 
 words at parting struck poor Mary to the heart. 
 She believed him dead and, like the flower of 
 the valley, she bowed resignedly to the blast that 
 withered the blossom of her joys. 
 
 A month elapsed, and yet no tidings of him 
 were heard. It was reported by the young vil- 
 lagers, that he was seen sitting on the bank of 
 the river sometimes wandering along the paths 
 where he loved to walk with Mary at others, 
 around the cottage and the well-known music 
 of his flute was heard of a still evening near the 
 lake. One of the rustics affirmed that he saw
 
 47 
 
 him, one moonlight night, upon the bridge, fixing 
 a sepulchral gaze upon the glassy waterfall thun- 
 dering by its side. Others beheld him walking 
 upon the river ; while a few had the folly to assert 
 they perceived him plunging down the mill-dam, 
 and sometimes riding upon a fiery charger, at 
 full speed through the village. All these stories 
 were sacredly treasured up by the superstitious, 
 and had considerable effect in persuading the 
 cottagers, that William must be no more. Su- 
 perstition is a disease contagious to all ranks of 
 society; and they who most sturdily deny the 
 existence of apparitions, are the very first prose- 
 lytes, when the popular voice is in their favour. 
 If there be a superstition, which may be inno- 
 cently indulged, surely that which augments the 
 testimony of a future state may be allowed, to 
 inspire those requiring such numerous incentives 
 for preparation. To stories like these, Mary 
 herself was incredulous, as she could not believe 
 that the happily departed would ever re-mingle in 
 the miseries of the world, and break through 
 established laws for purposes so exceedingly 
 futile. Sitting alone one evening in her cham- 
 ber, she heard the mellow warblings of a flute, 
 apparently issuing from behind the garden. She
 
 48 
 
 listened a tew moments, entranced by the sooth- 
 ing melody, and almost fancied it was the flute 
 of William playing its favourite air. It continued 
 but a short time ; and although she waited seve- 
 ral hours in anxious suspense, it was heard no 
 more that evening. The family searched every 
 part of the garden, but not a creature was there, 
 and no one had been seen passing along that 
 way. Poor Mary was absolutely confounded, 
 and she listened several evenings for a repetition 
 of the sounds ; but she returned disappointed, 
 and felt almost inclined to believe that it might 
 be the spirit of her lover. Her parents tried to 
 dissuade her from such a sentiment, and ascribed 
 the music to the echoes produced by the winding 
 hill, supposing it to proceed from some solitary 
 idler, thinking of any thing else but disturbing a 
 harmless family. All these observations little 
 tended to wear away Mary's impressions. There 
 were no tears or complaints to testify her sor- 
 rows ; for true grief, like decay, does its work in 
 silence, and is only known by the ruin it occa- 
 sions. 
 
 At the close of a calm summer evening, 
 enlightened by the golden-faced mirror of the
 
 harvest moon, Mary was sitting under the arbour 
 of the piazza, contemplating the undulations of 
 light admitted by the trembling vine-leaves, as 
 they were moved by the refreshing breeze, that 
 was fanning the sultry air. All nature was re- 
 posing but the restless stream ; and nothing was 
 heard but a few bustling swallows contending 
 with each other for the best share of their rich 
 feathered nest. Mary's parents were sitting in 
 the little hall, talking over, no doubt, the en- 
 dearments of their younger days, or looking 
 forward with concern to the disposal of their 
 daughter. Mary was humming her lover's fa- 
 vourite air, and was listening to the softness of 
 the echoes as they stole from an opposite emi- 
 nence. On a sudden she heard the melting 
 notes of the same flute which had lately sc 
 pleased and amazed her. It played a little while ; 
 and she was sure she recognised the beloved 
 air ; and then it was repeated and then it died 
 away as if by magic. What was her surprise 
 when she heard the well-known, voice of Wil- 
 liam singing the simple and well-remembered 
 words, furnished him by a friend, and which were 
 singularly calculated to soothe her melancholy : 
 
 No. II.-.
 
 50 
 
 The evening sky the evening sky- 
 How bright its glories are ! 
 
 Exciting thoughts of things that lie 
 Above yon radiant star. 
 
 The joys our spirits burn to know, 
 
 Will never here be given ; 
 The fountain whence true pleasures flow, 
 
 Is only found in heaven. 
 
 When we have slept that dreamless sleep, 
 Which dearest hearts must sever ; 
 
 O may we wake no more to weep, 
 But live in smiles for ever ! 
 
 She felt that she wanted the power to move. 
 Was she mistaken? She fancied she heard a 
 light step approaching from behind the avenue. 
 She was not sure ; but listening again, she heard 
 another, and another ; and by means of the soft 
 moonlight, streaming through the leaves, she 
 caught the dim figure of a man crossing the 
 entrance of the arbour ; and just as he reached 
 the spot, where the moonbeams fell upon his 
 person, she fancied she saw Clifford with his 
 flute in his hand, who, looking anxiously round, 
 pronounced the name of " Mary." A faint dim- 
 ness gathered on her sight ; and summoning in-
 
 61 
 
 btant fortitude, she fled into the house and in- 
 formed her parents of the singular apparition. 
 All their persuasions could not satisfy her of de- 
 lusion: she was sure she had beheld his very 
 face and eye; had heard his own flute, voice, 
 and her own name pronounced in the exact way 
 he always accosted her. Her parents per- 
 ceived the prognostics of a mental malady; 
 and well they might -, for the poor girl not only 
 endured the anguish of disappointed love, but 
 feared she had provoked her lover's spirit to dis- 
 turb her repose. She regarded this appear- 
 ance as the real token of her William's death. 
 She began to wander alone amid the scenes 
 they once frequented, and invoke the shade of 
 her departed lover. Her parents wept in silence 
 over the idol of their hearts ; but tears are feeble 
 ministers to the grief of a distracted mind. A 
 few months since, Mary was the delight of the 
 village ; but now how altered ! Her tall, grace- 
 ful form bent down like a tender rose-bud over- 
 charged with tears; her dark hair carelessly 
 floated on her forehead, and parted in natural 
 ringlets about her snowy neck. Her bright 
 blue eye had lost its brilliancy; and the rose 
 of her cheek had given place to the paleness
 
 52 
 
 ol' the lily. She was beautiful even in misior- 
 tune, like the rainbow, more lovely for the cloud 
 on which it shines; but her half-suppressed words, 
 vacant looks, and sudden smiles that occasion- 
 ally lighted her countenance, bespoke the pro- 
 bability of a partial derangement. Her mother 
 imagining her recovery hopeless, and having 
 used every effort to alleviate her sorrows, gave 
 herself up to the canker-worm of grief, and died 
 of a broken heart, a martyr to maternal disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 The ways of Providence are often dark in 
 domestic dispensations. When we behold the 
 brightest sky overcast by the darkest clouds ; 
 or view the placid stream raised to an inundation 
 by its innumerable sources; we acknowledge 
 that the fertility of the plain is the necessary ac- 
 companiment, and we wonder no more at the 
 singular calamity. But when we contemplate 
 pecuniary misfortunes palsying the arm of in* 
 dustiry, or the poison of disease wasting away 
 the pride of health and beauty when we survey 
 the havoc occasioned by the last enemy of man, 
 and weep over the precious buds and fruits that 
 have been blighted or swept away by the tern-
 
 53 
 
 . 
 
 pest, why can we not perceive an overruling 
 Providence here, enriching and maturing the 
 heritage of the moral world ? " For, as some 
 medicines are healing to the stomach which are 
 bitter to the palate ; and as it is by bruising and 
 dividing its particles that cinnabar assumes a 
 vivid brilliancy, and thence becomes vermilion ; 
 so, by the storms and trials of an adverse for- 
 tune, patience exalts itself into resignation, and 
 resignation into gratitude." 
 
 With the depression of his spirits, sunk also 
 the- father's stimulus for industry. He was no 
 longer seen turning up the mellow soil of his 
 farm. The garden became overrun with weeds ; 
 and every object assumed a wild and desolate 
 appearance, as if its inhabitants had long since 
 deserted it. The debts of Mr. Linden amounted 
 to a considerable sum : the produce of the farm 
 was insufficient to liquidate them; and the 
 wretched man perceived that ruin would soon 
 complete the climax of his misfortunes. He 
 was soon arrested by an officer of justice ; his 
 goods were levied upon, and advertised for sale 
 the following week. The blow was indeed se- 
 vere; but what should he do with Mary? the
 
 54 
 
 
 
 knowledge of this might break her heart. She 
 smiled when she heard the particulars, and 
 taking her father's hand, piteously replied, 
 " Poor father ! You'll no more have any home 
 none to comfort you ; but I I have a home 
 which no one can take away ; William gave it 
 me. There there, on that rock, beside that 
 weeping-willow, we will live so happy, and mo- 
 ther will come there too, and William will be 
 there. I will gather flowers, and William shall 
 make a wreath for your head, and one for mo- 
 ther's but none for mine ; my hot brain would 
 scorch their pretty leaves, and that you know 
 were piteous. Aye, and his flute the little birds 
 will sit on the branches over our heads and listen 
 to his music oh father! how pleasant it will 
 be !" Her aged father could not suppress his 
 feelings : he held his hand more firmly in hers, 
 while tears of anguish rolled down his cheeks, 
 as he said, "Yes, dear Mary, we have a home I 
 trust ; we have an unchanging home in heaven, 
 where I hope we shall all meet, never more to 
 be separated.*' The day soon arrived when they 
 were to experience a severer trial. It was a 
 cloudless summer morning, not unlike that, when 
 William and Mary became acquainted.
 
 father had been busily engaged among his pa- 
 pers, while Mary was sitting in melancholy 
 silence, surveying for the last time, those domes- 
 tic conveniences which were so soon to be sa- 
 crificed. Here was her favourite dressing-table 
 there were her own pictures, which William 
 had taught her to draw there the old-fashioned 
 bureau and chairs, rendered doubly dear because 
 prized by her late affectionate mother. There 
 is something inexpressibly painful in parting with 
 those moveables with which we have been fa- 
 miliar from our infancy. It is like separating 
 from the very friends of our bosom we feel as 
 if we were cast once more upon a desolate 
 world, and we realize the uncertainty of our pil- 
 grimage condition. 
 
 The officer had already commenced the per- 
 formance of his duty, and was offering for sale 
 the first article Mary's work-table when a 
 figure at a distance was seen approaching the 
 arbour ; and, hearing the voice of the auctioneer, 
 he stood suddenly still, as if desirous of listening 
 to the proceedings. His countenance bore an 
 exact similitude to Clifford's; but it was pale 
 and worn down by trouble, and unlike that.
 
 5t> 
 
 which, two years ago, appeared so fresh and 
 blooming. At repeating the name of the article, 
 the company was interrupted by the forbidding 
 voice of the stranger " Forbear forbear !" 
 " 'Tis Clifford's ghost," cried several of the won- 
 dering multitude, and shrunk back from the door 
 in terror. " I am flesh and blood," replied Wil- 
 liam, " and am come to relieve this family from 
 ruin. Minister of justice, take this purse and 
 leave us, or, by my existence, you shall feel the 
 vengeance, your cruelty deserves.'* The villagers 
 fled away from what they considered an appa- 
 rition, and left the family alone with the agitated 
 Clifford. Mary gazed upon him then upon her 
 father a vacant smile played upon her features. 
 She looked again, and with her hands over her 
 face exclaimed, "take him away take him 
 away he's an impostor; he's not William 
 my William 's dead he would deceive you." 
 He affectionately approached her : " Touch me 
 not," she added " do you not see these flowers ? 
 they were gathered for the ceremony, but they 
 are withering like poor Mary: let me crown 
 thee, father, like the angels, with these faded 
 rosebuds ; but theirs fade not, because they are 
 immortal : how well this rose becomes your fore-
 
 head but roses wither if lying on the snow." 
 Her father and William stood with their arms 
 clasped round her : and it was not until measures 
 had been taken to restore her recollection by 
 repose, and some weeks had transpired to pre- 
 pare her for the intelligence, that William re- 
 lated the reasons of his past conduct. 
 
 It appeared that he had commenced the voy- 
 age in obedience to his father ; but that self- 
 reproaches, for thus leaving Mary, urged him to 
 return with the pilot-boat, and secretly wait the 
 departure of another vessel. Dreading his fa- 
 ther's anger, and fearing to be seen by any of his 
 friends, he hired an obscure lodging within a 
 few miles of Mr. Linden's cottage. He after- 
 wards resolved upon an interview with Mary ; but 
 he was restrained by the necessity of a full dis- 
 closure of his misery, and the possibility of being 
 recognised and reported to his father. Several 
 times of an evening he would privately approach, 
 and venture to serenade the cottage. Once, per- 
 ceiving Mary alone, he determined to approach 
 her; but disappointed at her abrupt flight, he 
 attributed her conduct to contempt of his ne- 
 glect, little dreaming of the suspicions respect- 
 No. II. 4
 
 ing his death, and the deep melancholy that was 
 preying on the family. With mortified pride, he 
 determined to gratify his father's wishes, and 
 proceed, disguised, to India in the very next ves- 
 sel. After suffering there two years the pangs 
 of separation, he was called home by the death 
 of his father, who vested in William's possession 
 all his immense estate. He had visited the cot- 
 tage that morning to claim Mary's hand, and 
 atone, if possible, for his singular past neglect. 
 Surprised to learn, at the village, that Mr. Linden's 
 property was exposed to sale, he immediately has- 
 tened to stop the proceedings, and consummate 
 as soon as possible his nuptials with Mary. 
 
 Her mind and countenance soon recovered 
 their former, vivacity. I passed through the 
 village a few days ago, and learned that the 
 happy couple were united, and were residing on a 
 charming seat on the banks of the Hudson river. 
 The aged Mr. Linden had lately deceased. The 
 little cottage was yet desolate the arbour had 
 entirely fallen its vine was dead and nothing 
 enlivened the ruins, but the mill-seat that was 
 still there. Enjoying an ample fortune, a nume- 
 rous offspring, and the society of an affectionate 
 acquaintance, William and Mary Clifford were 
 comparatively happy.
 
 THE HIGHLAND BANDITTI, 
 
 [BY THE LITTLE MAN IN BLACK.] 
 " Who's there ?" SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 I VISITED, some years ago, a few friends in the 
 Highlands of Putnam county, being some of the 
 wildest scenery in any part of the United States. 
 They are a rude, mountainous tract, seemingly 
 parted by some physical convulsion, sinking and 
 swelling into the most grotesque varieties, frown- 
 ing on each other from opposite sides of the 
 river ; sometimes blocking it up in their awful 
 shade, and at others, haughtily enclosing it in a 
 narrower channel. No one would suppose that 
 highly cultivated farms could be found in glens so 
 seemingly barren ; but Providence has provided 
 here roses in the midst of thorns, and blessings 
 amid the frowns of desolation. I left New-York 
 about sunset ; and after passing the rugged pa- 
 lisades, the gloom of evening gathered round the
 
 60 
 
 landscape, and wrapped every object in misty 
 uncertainty. I would often mistake the signal 
 lamp of a steamboat for a light on some distant 
 eminence then the river would seem hemmed 
 in by bold promontories, and headlands fre- 
 quently I would forget the course of the vessel, 
 and then I was bewildered in changing the point 
 of starting with the place of destination. 
 
 After repeated inquiries, the little bell an- 
 nounced the signal of arrival. I leaped into the 
 boat, that rushed noisily through the water; 
 while the paddles of the steamboat suspended 
 their labour, and the liberated steam resounded 
 in shrill echoes from the hills. 1 sprang on shore, 
 and the boat was gone. But where were my 
 friends who were to meet me on the bank? 
 They must either have forgotten their promise, 
 or I was landed at the wrong point. I felt really 
 alone ; for I was in a strange place, and without 
 the sight of a single living creature. But where 
 was the road ? I saw nothing but the steep sides 
 of a shaggy hill, which was washed from below 
 by the moaning river. What must be done ? It 
 was dead midnight ; the moon had not risen ; the 
 stars yielded but a faint light : no sound was
 
 61 
 
 audible, but the signal tappings of a drum heard 
 occasionally from the opposite point, and the 
 roar of some distant cascade sounding fearfully 
 along the valleys. I was environed by dusky 
 eminences, whose shade only served to bring 
 them nearer, and no mode of liberation appear- 
 ed, but finding some passage through their wind- 
 ings. I hailed some sloops that were floating 
 down the tide, but no one heeded the call 
 the next breeze and they were swept from view. 
 I hallooed, but no one answered but the mocking 
 points, and the noise of some snakes or creatures 
 I had disturbed, creeping more securely into their 
 dens. After clambering up the hill, I searched, 
 if possible, for some egress from the fastness ; 
 but I only saw loftier mountains, and lengthening 
 forests beyond, that threatened for the night to 
 detain me a prisoner. The hill swept down a 
 circuitous valley, washed by a filthy streamlet, 
 causing me to sink several inches at every step, 
 and sending forth a brawling laugh as if in 
 triumph at my slavery. What was to be done ? 
 I was literally swamped my boots were ruined 
 by friction among the rocks I felt faint and 
 weary, and determined to procure some asy- 
 lum till the dawn. I found a hollow tree just
 
 82 
 
 suited to my purpose a mis-shapen trunk over- 
 grown by vines and underwood, and lined with 
 delicious moss that supplied the luxury of a pillow. 
 Reflecting on my odd situation, I was disturbed 
 by an approaching footstep. Advancing from 
 behind the tree, it paused a moment in sudden 
 suspense, and resumed its pace more rapidly than 
 before. . I listened but merely caught the hol- 
 low hootings of an owl, that crept through me 
 with dismal forebodings. Removing some of 
 the branches, I saw two persons, apparently in 
 consultation, and approaching at the rustling, 
 somewhat nearer to the tree. "Pshaw!" ex- 
 claimed one, " 'Twas only the wind that blew the 
 leaves ! I'm sure I saw him ! He cannot escape 
 us !" At the word " escape," the seeming clash 
 of swords struck one of the branches, and a 
 severed twig fell to my feet as a witness of my 
 danger. Though I could have faced the bravest 
 enemy in an open field, yet now I began to play 
 the coward. They are doubtless banditti, thought 
 I, prowling on these hills, and my life may de- 
 pend on the closest concealment. 
 
 At this instant a flash of lightning, blazing 
 upon the valley, and the growling thunder, an-
 
 63 
 
 nouuced a coming shower. Listening again, I 
 only heard the gentle flutter of branches, and the 
 hasty roll of oars. The scud was dimly unfurling 
 its smoky froth from the west, and the hills, light- 
 ed with tremulous flashes, rebellowed, even to 
 the faintest reverberations, the crashes of the 
 thunder. The wind from a breeze rose to a vio- 
 lent gale. The roaring river the pattering rain 
 the echoing thunder and wind, prolonged 
 through the crags, were nothing compared to the 
 danger that enveloped me. To fly, might prove 
 instant death to remain, might prove equally 
 fatal ; but what resource was left but to sell my 
 life dearly ? Grasping my cane, I prayed not to 
 be abandoned to the power of banditti, nor 
 allowed thus to perish untimely and unaided. 
 
 The last gleam of lightning, playing on the 
 rocks, disclosed the objects of my alarm, crouch- 
 ing behind the shrubbery, and, doubtless, waiting 
 for their purpose, at the termination of the 
 shower. I passed moments, that seemed hours, 
 in agonizing suspense. The perspiration trickled 
 from my forehead my body felt the coldness of 
 the grave : and regarding myself as lost, I calmly 
 resigned to my fate. At length the shower
 
 64 
 
 abated ; the spongy clouds dispersed from the 
 heavens, and unveiled the silver moon with her 
 family of stars, enlightening the gloomy scene. 
 
 In an instant the same fearful voice was heard 
 again from the tree " Here is indeed the very 
 fellow for whom we have been searching !" 
 Judge my emotions ! conceive my amazement j 
 when two men rushed upon me from the bushes : 
 and as I rose to meet them with my uplifted cane, 
 who would believe it ? I recognised only my 
 friends, who, having seen me land from the point 
 below, had come to find me, but had been un- 
 luckily prevented by the suddenness of the 
 shower. Congratulations took place, at my es- 
 caping their canes mistaken for swords; and 
 though drenched to the skin, we tripped along 
 the valley, now no longer a dreary marsh, to en- 
 joy the hearty delights of my rescue from the, 
 Highland Banditti.
 
 HARY MNDEN. 
 
 [CONTINUED.] 
 
 Love, like od'rous zephyr's grateful breath, 
 Repays the flower that sweetness which it borrow'd. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 MARY LINDEN was the flower of the little vil- 
 lage circle. Like most young females confined 
 to rural society and enjoyments, she knew little 
 of the world beyond her native home, and was 
 educated in the useful, rather than^ the showy 
 accomplishments of life. She was not beautiful, 
 but there was a delicacy of form and sweetness 
 of countenance, that silenced the gazing critic; 
 and such a soul of meaning beamed from her 
 eyes, that the expression of her features was en- 
 tirely forgotten. A disposition kind, artless, and 
 enthusiastic, seldom fails to win attention and 
 esteem; and if to be the theme of conversation 
 and the confidant of friends are proofs of love, 
 then Mary was blest with the affection of all 
 who knew her. 
 
 No. IT. l
 
 Divided between their dutiful child, and their 
 liopes of heaven, time stole insensibly away from 
 her delighted parents. They regarded her as 
 the last and richest gift of Providence; they 
 wished to see her happily married; and hoped, 
 when their declining sun should set, to give her 
 that best and holiest of gifts the dying parental 
 blessing. There is something peculiarly inter- 
 esting, I may almost say divine, in the parting 
 blessing of parents. Their life resembles an 
 odorous lamp continually emitting a most deli- 
 cious fragrance; but when the nourishment is 
 nearly consumed, its last remaining drops com- 
 bine, and with one instant of brilliancy pour out 
 their precious perfume to be enjoyed no more 
 for ever. 
 
 During one of the visitations of the yellow 
 fever some years ago, when thousands were 
 flying in terror from the city, a young man of 
 the name of Clifford, fixed on a transient resi- 
 dence near Mr. Linden's cottage. His person 
 was delicate, but well proportioned ; and his face 
 spoke forth such a sweet-natured benevolence, 
 that the eye which encountered his, supposed itself 
 beloved. The father of William Clifford was a
 
 merchant of New-York, who never suffered his 
 ideas to stray beyond the bounds of speculation. 
 His busiest care was the converting of cents 
 into dollars, and beholding his son elegantly 
 settled in life. So devoted was he to business, 
 that he had no time to spare for the relaxations 
 of the country, and he preferred parting with 
 his son to missing an opportunity of adding to 
 his fortune. His opinions of marriage were never 
 associated with the influence of the blind 
 Deity. "Love," he always said, "was a mere 
 phantom of the brain, talked of like ghosts, 
 which the majority believe in, but which no one 
 could assert he had positively seen. Even if ex- 
 isting at all, he can only live under the torrid 
 zone of prosperity, but carry him to the frozen 
 regions of poverty, and the rascal freezes to 
 death in despair; but money inhabits all cli- 
 mates, is adapted to all changes and depres- 
 sions, and wherever there is plenty of money, 
 marriage will always ensure plenty of comfort." 
 With a parent of such an opinion, the situation 
 of a daughter is truly pitiable. Every warm 
 feeling of the heart must be subdued the fire 
 of hope must be extinguished the blossom of 
 affection must be withered beneath the pesti-
 
 lential mildew of parental selfishness. The 
 son is more favourably situated. Even if suffering 
 the displeasure of an ungenerous father, he can 
 seek in the world for diversion from his troubles. 
 Amidst the turmoils of business, he can almost 
 drown the sorrows that afflict him, and enjoy a 
 transient respite from the gallings of reflection; 
 but even through the clouds of business, he will 
 often catch a melancholy view of that glimmer- 
 ing light, which once shone so beautifully re- 
 splendent. But what is there for the female ? 
 Without variety, and often condemned to the 
 imprisonment of her chamber, she there but 
 repoisons her happiness with the memory of 
 sorrow, and drives in more deeply the arrow 
 that is rankling in her bosom. The paradise of 
 home is changed to a loathsome dungeon, where 
 she is refused what is allowed the criminal the 
 sympathy of misfortune. Each returning day 
 adds a new link to the chain which keeps her 
 from her lover, and which, bound so firmly, 
 threatens of its own weight to tear out the 
 heart which it enslaves. She has no visions of 
 happiness, no consoling surmises, no bosom 
 to echo her distress; but she sits wrapped 
 in the spell a cruel parent has woven, and
 
 rtA 
 
 Jv 
 
 cherishes a lianie, which slowly consuming 
 her peace, can only be extinguished by the 
 death-damp of the grave. It is not a little cu- 
 rious to observe on the other hand the secrecy 
 with which faithful hearts often hold communion. 
 The most rigid parents may enact laws, but 
 cannot always enforce them. A note conveyed 
 by an unknown hand an assignation to meet 
 at the house of some approving relative and 
 numerous other inventions will often cross the 
 lines in spite of the most watchful sentinel. The 
 ore of love should be tried in the furnace of 
 affliction, for it can only thus be purified from 
 its dross, and its true value known and appre- 
 ciated. 
 
 Mary had just attained her seventeenth year 
 when William took up his residence in the val- 
 ley. A trifling circumstance soon made them 
 acquainted ; for it is surprising how little exer- 
 tion it requires to second the overtures of the 
 heart ; and on the other hand, what insuperable 
 barriers must be surmounted when the inclina- 
 tion must be forced from its channel. It was 
 at a village party he first saw her. She was 
 neatly attired in white, with a simple pink
 
 38 
 
 riband encircling her waist, and a small boquet 
 of flowers braiding together the bright chesnut 
 curls that played around her forehead. She 
 seemed to him like the modest lily lifting its 
 unassuming head above the flowers around it, 
 the pride of its companions, but unconscious 
 of its superiority. When they parted, the lan- 
 guage of their eyes spoke more eloquently than 
 words. Young, artless, and confiding, they had 
 no object in concealing their regard : they felt 
 that deep-impassioned fondness which lures the 
 young heart to repose, on the downy pillow of 
 hope. It was unknown to his father that Wil- 
 liam visited the cottage. Mrs. Linden feared 
 the consequences. She felt the disparity of 
 situation, the inequality of mental endowments, 
 and a thousand other objections which a fond 
 mother will always urge in behalf of a beloved 
 child. Mary confessed the value of her mother's 
 opinion, but tremblingly hoped that the issue 
 would be different. Their situations and circum- 
 stances she confessed widely differed ; but there 
 was one in which there was no superiority they 
 loved each other. Love knows no distinctions. 
 He respects as much the peasant as the prince ; 
 and however great the disparity in every other
 
 39 
 
 situation, all who kneel at his altar equally re- 
 ceive his blessing. There is a time of life when 
 the passions are ardent and difficult of restraint, 
 when the heart is susceptible of every impres- 
 sion, and like melted wax once eristamped, the 
 image must be broken to be destroyed. Thus 
 it was with Mary she would trust every thing to 
 William his very thoughts and language were 
 hers ; and, like the air he breathed, wherever 
 he went, her thoughts would instinctively follow. 
 
 Often at sunset, they would stroll along the 
 Hudson, and gaze together upon its variegated 
 scenery: the white-sailed sloops, deeply laden 
 with produce, and marking, their courses through 
 paths of silvery foam the distant palisades 
 lifting their frowning heads above the dark 
 waves that border them below the passing 
 steamboats flying on their wingy paddles, and 
 pouring forth their volumes of smoke upon the 
 tranquil air the bright forests of evergreen 
 overhanging the river, and always smiling, like 
 the good man, as well in adversity as joy the 
 lofty hills beyond Tappan, dark amid sunshine, 
 and melting behind each other into the blue of 
 the distant sky the golden clouds piled upon the 
 west as if they were the garments of the sun
 
 40 
 
 thrown off' at his entrance into his chamber and 
 the foaming streamlets escaping the thraldom 
 of numerous mills, and paying their small but 
 welcome tribute to the Hudson. Then he would 
 amuse her by the recital of the most popular 
 incidents of history, lead her through the richest 
 fields of poetry and romance, and delineate so 
 happily the enjoyments of the future, that she 
 fairly revelled in the little paradise of his crea- 
 tion. Often at evening, the young companions 
 of Mary would assemble under the willow, and 
 amuse each other with the passing incidents of 
 the village. Then they would listen to the 
 sweet notes of William's flute as he accom- 
 panied Mary in one of his favourite songs. It 
 was the composition of a friend long since 
 departed, and was cherished by William as the 
 dearest memento of his affection. 
 
 -, 
 
 Forget thee ? No ; I'll ne'er forget 
 That joyous hour when first we met : 
 
 No, never, neve*. 
 
 Our love was like a tender flower, 
 That early bloomed in Flora's bower ; 
 Alternately sun, dew, and shade, 
 With cheerfulness bestow'd their aid, 
 Believing that the flow'r was made 
 
 To bloom for ever.
 
 x : 8. '>" 
 
 \"KW 
 
 \ / h il . 
 ^Jj. . 
 
 II 
 
 True love ; s a. plant to mortals given. 
 To bloom on earth, but roots in heaven ; 
 
 It lives for ever. 
 A bird of Paradise that flings 
 Rich odours from its spicy wings : 
 A spark electric that doth move 
 Our hearts to think on joys above : 
 The breath of Deity is love 
 
 That warms for ever. 
 
 The modest tiow'r that sinks in death, 
 Obedient to the cold wind's breath, 
 
 Is lost for ever. 
 
 But though it falls beneath the chill, 
 Its sweetest perfume haunts it still ; 
 And the young heart that once has knelt. 
 Before love's shrine, and fondly felt 
 Its icy pride in rapture melt, 
 
 Forgets it never. 
 
 I saw thy Ibnd and faithful heart, 
 When last we met so soon to part. 
 
 For ever, ever. 
 
 It told of days long, long gone by, 
 And pour'd forth volumes in each sigh ; 
 It spake a language dearly known 
 To one whose heart was thine alone ; 
 Of a young flow'r just fully blown, 
 
 Blighted for over 
 No. II. 2
 
 The abatement of the fever in the city, ren- 
 dered it necessary for William to return. He 
 knew that Mary loved him ; that in parting, the 
 fibres must be lacerated, by which their hearts 
 had grown together. He departed with the 
 fondest reciprocation of attachment, and con- 
 tinued for three months secretly to visit the 
 cottage. The death of Mr. Clifford's agent in 
 India required the immediate appointment of a 
 successor, and William was selected to fill that 
 important station. A dutiful child is not tempted 
 from his course by the most flattering allure- 
 ments. But how could he part with Mary how 
 leave her without an explanation of his conduct ? 
 But yet how could he communicate it how tell 
 her, that even in the distant Indies, she still would 
 be dear to him that the remembrance of their 
 mutual vows would alleviate ^the pangs of ab- 
 sence ? By some unknown means Mr. Clifford 
 became acquainted with William's visits to the 
 cottage. His pride determined to prevent the 
 consequences; and he hoped, by expediting 
 the voyage of his son, to blight for ever the in- 
 tended alliance. The next morning was secretly 
 appointed for William's departure. He was 
 about stealing a visit to Mary that night to that
 
 4J 
 
 clear object whom he might, see again no more. 
 It was about sunset when he came into the vil- 
 lage ; and the last tinges of light, dressing out 
 Nature in a kind of melancholy glory, seemed 
 emblematical of his own hopes gradually ex- 
 piring in darkness. A sudden melancholy preyed 
 upon his feelings he thought he had come 
 there for the last time, although he had no idea 
 of the nearness of the separation. Mary seemed 
 that evening more interesting than ever. She 
 spoke so kindly, and used so many kind methods 
 to win him from his dejection, that her very fond- 
 ness tended rather to increase his melancholy. 
 He tried gradually to break the subject hinted 
 at the possibility of separation spoke of the 
 pangs of parting, and reassured her of the 
 fondest and most lasting fidelity : but he could 
 not speak of his voyage but would defer it till 
 another time, when her heart would be better 
 prepared. Who can pourtray the feelings of 
 Mary ? She feared something dreadful impended ; 
 but her fears served only to unite more strongly 
 the chains of her attachment. There is nothing 
 more durable than woman's first love. Like the 
 unfailing stream, which, stealing through the re- 
 cesses of the forest, secretly struggles with the
 
 v 
 
 M 
 I 
 
 impediments that obstruct its course, until it 
 mingles with some other rivulet with which it 
 forms an identity ; but, however divided from its 
 channel, or diversified its way; notwithstanding 
 the impossibility of attaining its destination, and 
 forced entirely contrary to its original course ; 
 though lost in perpetual windings, and exposed 
 to the influence of a scorching sun, still its 
 source in the forest will always remain pure and 
 unchangeable. They parted with the solemn 
 promise of meeting the ensuing evening. Wil- 
 liam took her hand, and as he pressed it with more 
 than usual earnestness to his bosom, told her 
 that nothing but death should prevent the fulfil- 
 ment of his promise. On his return home, he 
 learned the necessity of his departure in the 
 morning. The vessel was prepared the com- 
 mand of his father was pressing he saw that 
 affection must be sacrificed at the shrine of pa- 
 rental duty. The parting from his family was 
 such as might be expected some tears were 
 shed and blessings bestowed a lingering press 
 of hands a last embrace, and he was gone.- 
 
 The afternoon was beautiful in the country. 
 The honeysuckle reposing against the posts of
 
 t.* 
 
 the piazza breathed forth a delicious fragrance : 
 the torrent dashing from the neighbouring mill- 
 dam sparkled as brilliantly as ever: the birds 
 had never more sweetly serenaded the cottage : 
 a fresh boquet of flowers blushed most be- 
 witchingly from its China prison on the mantel : 
 a fresh bunch of asparagus was budding on the 
 hearth and above the pictures : a pair of new 
 curtains, as white as the driven snow, hung from 
 the windows, while on each side a nosegay of 
 sweet flowers concealed the nails by which the 
 loops were supported. Mary alone was gloomy. 
 She was meditating on the last words of Wil- 
 liam on his wild air and the possibility (as he 
 hinted) of a lasting separation. What could be 
 its meaning ? Could he be really faithless, 
 or was he constrained by the cruelty of an un- 
 generous father? The evening came but 
 where was William ? At every opening of the 
 gate at every barking of the dog at every ap- 
 proaching step, the lovely sentinel was certain it 
 was her lover. She could not sleep : her parent? 
 were disturbed by terrifying dreams, and woke 
 the next morning to relate their apprehensions. 
 The next evening, and a whole week transpired, 
 and ho, had not yet made his appearance. SP-
 
 46 
 
 cret inquiries were made of him in the city, but 
 his father pretended ignorance ; and it was im- 
 possible to learn any thing, except some vague 
 reports, that he had been casually seen, but had 
 as suddenly departed. He could not have been 
 false, but must either have destroyed himself, or 
 been accidentally drowned. The villagers were 
 questioned the neighbouring streams and 
 woods were searched, but not a trace of him re- 
 mained. A pocket-handkerchief was found 
 bearing the initials W. C., with a few torn papers 
 here and there in the woods, and fragments of 
 writing that could not be deciphered. His mys- 
 terious words at parting struck poor Mary to the 
 heart. She believed him dead and, like the 
 flower of the valley, she bowed resignedly to the 
 blast that withered the blossom of her joys. 
 
 A month elapsed, and yet no tidings of him 
 were heard. It was reported by the young vil- 
 lagers, that he was seen sitting on the bank of 
 the river sometimes wandering along the paths 
 where he loved to walk with Mary at others, 
 around the cottage and the well-known music 
 of his flute was heard of a still evening near the 
 lake. One of the rustics affirmed that he saw
 
 n 
 
 him, one moonlight night, upon the bridge, fixing 
 a sepulchral gaze upon the glassy waterfall thun- 
 dering by its side. Others beheld him walking 
 upon the river ; while a few had the folly to assert 
 they perceived him plunging down the mill-dam, 
 and sometimes riding upon a fiery charger, at 
 full speed through the village. All these stories 
 were sacredly treasured up by the superstitious, 
 and had considerable effect in persuading the 
 cottagers, that William must be no more. Su- 
 perstition is a disease contagious to all ranks of 
 society; and they who most sturdily deny the 
 existence of apparitions, are the very first prose- 
 lytes, when the popular voice is in their favour. 
 If there be a superstition, which may be inno- 
 cently indulged, surely that which augments the 
 testimony of a future state may be allowed, to 
 inspire those requiring such numerous incentives 
 for preparation. To stories like these, Mary 
 herself was incredulous, as she could not believe 
 that the happily departed would ever re-mingle in 
 the miseries of the world, and break through 
 established laws for purposes so exceedingly 
 futile. Sitting alone one evening in her cham- 
 ber, she heard the mellow warblings of a flute, 
 apparently issuing from behind the garden. She
 
 48 
 
 listened a few moments, entranced by the sooth- 
 ing melody, and almost fancied it was the flute 
 of William playing its favourite air. It continued 
 but a short time ; and although she waited seve- 
 ral hours in anxious suspense, it was heard no 
 more that evening. The family searched every 
 part of the garden, but not a creature was there, 
 and no one had been seen passing along that 
 way. Poor Mary was absolutely confounded, 
 and she listened several evenings for a repetition 
 of the sounds; but she returned disappointed, 
 and felt almost inclined to believe that it might 
 be the spirit of her lover. Her parents tried to 
 dissuade her from such a sentiment, and ascribed 
 the music to the echoes produced by the winding 
 hill, supposing it to proceed from some solitary 
 idler, thinking of any thing else but disturbing a 
 harmless family. All these observations little 
 tended to wear away Mary's impressions. There 
 were no tears or complaints to testify her sor- 
 rows ; for true grief, like decay, does its work in 
 silence, and is only known by the ruin it occa- 
 sions. 
 
 At the close of a calm summer evening, 
 enlightened by the golden-faced mirror of the
 
 49 
 
 harvest moon, Mary was sitting under the arbour 
 of the piazza, contemplating the undulations of 
 light admitted by the trembling vine-leaves, as 
 they were moved by the refreshing breeze, that 
 was fanning the sultry air. All nature was re- 
 posing but the restless stream ; and no sound was 
 heard but of a few discontented swallows con- 
 tending with each other for the best share of 
 their rich feathered nest. Mary's parents were 
 sitting in the little hall, talking over, no doubt, 
 the endearments of their younger days, or looking 
 forward with concern to the disposal of their 
 daughter. Mary was humming her lover's 
 favourite air, and was listening to the softness of 
 the echoes as they died away from an opposite 
 eminence. On a sudden she heard the melting 
 notes of the same flute which had lately so 
 pleased and amazed her. It played a little while, 
 and she was sure she recognised the beloved 
 air ; and then it Was repeated and then it died 
 away as if by magic. What was her surprise 
 when she heard the well-known voice of Wil- 
 liam singing these simple and well-remembered 
 words : 
 
 The evening sky the evening sky 
 How bright its glories are ' 
 
 No. If. 3
 
 Exciting thoughts of tilings that lie 
 Above yon radiant star. 
 
 The joys our spirits burn to know. 
 
 Will never here be given ; 
 The fountain whence true pleasures flow. 
 
 Is only found in heaven. 
 
 When we have slept that dreamless sleep. 
 
 Which dearest hearts must sever ; 
 O may we wake no more to weep, 
 
 But live hi smiles for ever '. 
 
 She felt that she wanted the power to move. 
 Was she mistaken ? She fancied she heard a 
 light step approaching from behind the avenue. 
 She was not sure ; but listening again, she heard 
 another, and another ; and by means of the soft 
 moonlight, streaming through the leaves, she 
 caught the dim figure of a man crossing the 
 entrance of the arbour ; and just as he reached 
 the spot, where the moonbeams fell upon his 
 person, she fancied she saw Clifford with his 
 flute in his hand, who, looking anxiously round, 
 pronounced the name of " Mary." A faint dim- 
 ness gathered on her sight ; and summoning in- 
 stant fortitude, she fled into the house and in-
 
 ibrmed her parents of the singular apparition. 
 All their persuasions could not satisfy her of de- 
 lusion : she was sure she had beheld his very 
 face and eye ; had heard his own flute, voice, 
 and her own name pronounced in the exact way 
 he always accosted her. Her parents per- 
 ceived the prognostics of a mental malady; 
 and well they might ; for the poor girl not only- 
 endured the anguish of disappointed love, but 
 feared she had provoked her lover's spirit to dis- 
 turb her repose. She regarded this appear- 
 ance as the real token of her William's death. 
 She began to wander alone amid the scenes 
 they once frequented, and invoke the shade of 
 her departed lover. Her parents wept in silence 
 over the idol of their hearts ; but tears are feeble 
 ministers to the grief of a distracted mind. A 
 few months since, Mary was the delight of the 
 village ; but now how altered ! Her tall, grace- 
 ful form bent down like a tender rose-bud over- 
 charged with tears; her dark hair carelessly 
 floated on her forehead, and parted in natural 
 ringlets about her snowy neck. Her bright 
 blue eye had lost its brilliancy; and the rose 
 of her cheek had given place to the paleness 
 of the lily. She was beautiful even in mjpfor-
 
 tune, like the rainbow, more lovely tor the cloud 
 on which it shines ; but her half-suppressed words, 
 vacant looks, and sudden smiles that occasion- 
 ally lighted her countenance, bespoke the pro- 
 bability of a partial derangement. Her mother 
 imagining her recovery hopeless, and having 
 used every effort to alleviate her sorrows, gave 
 herself up to the canker-worm of grief, and 
 died of a broken heart, a martyr to maternal dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 The ways of Providence are often dark in 
 domestic dispensations. When we behold 
 the brightest sky overcast by the darkest clouds ; 
 or view the placid stream raised to an inun- 
 dation by its innumerable sources; we ac- 
 knowledge that the fertility of the plain is the 
 necessary accompaniment, and we wonder no 
 more at the singular calamity. But when we 
 contemplate pecuniary misfortunes palsying the 
 arm of industry, or the poison of disease wasting 
 away the pride of health and beauty when we 
 survey the havoc occasioned by the last enemy 
 of man, and weep over the precious buds and 
 fruits that have been blighted or swept away by 
 the tempest, why can we not perceive an over-.
 
 53 
 
 ruling Providence here, enriching and maturing 
 the heritage of the moral world? " For as some 
 medicines are healing to the stomach which are 
 bitter to the palate; and as it is by bruising 
 and dividing its particles that cinnabar assumes 
 a vivid brilliancy, and thence becomes vermilion ; 
 so, by the storms and trials of an adverse for- 
 tune, patience exalts itself into resignation, and 
 resignation into gratitude." 
 
 With the depression of his spirits, sunk also 
 the father's stimulus for industry. He was no 
 longer seen turning up the mellow soil of his 
 farm. The garden became overrun with weeds ; 
 and every object assumed a wild and desolate 
 appearance, as if its inhabitants had long since 
 deserted it. The debts of Mr. Linden amount- 
 ed to a considerable sum: the produce of 
 the farm was insufficient to liquidate them ,- 
 and the wretched man perceived that ruin 
 would soon complete the climax of his misfor- 
 tunes. He was soon arrested by an officer of 
 justice; his goods were levied upon, and ad- 
 vertised for sale the following week. The blow 
 was indeed severe, but what should he do with 
 Mary? the knowledge of this might break her
 
 64 
 
 heart. She smiled when she heard the particu- 
 lars, and taking her father's hand, piteously re- 
 plied, "Toor father ! You'll no more have any 
 home none to comfort you ; but I I have a 
 home which no one can take away; William 
 gave it me. There there, on that rock, beside 
 that weeping-willow we will live so happy, and 
 mother will come'there too, and William will be 
 there I will gather flowers, and William shall 
 make a wreath for your head, and one for mo- 
 ther's but none for mine ; my hot brain would 
 scorch their pretty leaves, and that you know 
 were piteous. Aye, and his flute the little birds 
 will sit on the branches over our heads and listen 
 to his music oh father ! how pleasant it will 
 be !" Her aged father could not suppress his 
 feelings : he held his hand more firmly in hers, 
 while tears of anguish rolled down his cheeks, 
 as he said, " Yes, dear Mary, we have a home I 
 trust ; we have an unchanging home in heaven, 
 where I hope we shall all meet, never more 
 to be separated." The day soon arrived when 
 they were to experience a severer trial. It was a 
 cloudless summer morning, not unlike that, 
 when William and Mary became acquainted. 
 Her father had been busily engaged among his
 
 ao 
 
 papers, while Mary was sitting in melancholy 
 silence, surveying for the last time, those domes- 
 tic conveniences which were so soon to be sa- 
 crificed. Here was her favourite dressing-table 
 there were her own pictures, which William 
 had taught her to draw there the old-fashioned 
 bureau and chairs, rendered doubly dear because 
 prized by her late affectionate mother. There 
 is something inexpressibly painful in parting with 
 those moveables with which we have been fa- 
 miliar from our infancy. It is like separating 
 from the very friends of our bosom we feel as 
 if we were cast once more upon a desolate 
 world, and we realize the uncertainty of our pil- 
 grimage condition. 
 
 The officer had already commenced the per- 
 formance of his duty, and was offering for sale 
 the first article Mary's work-table when a 
 figure at a distance was seen approaching 
 the arbour ; and, hearing the voice of the auc- 
 tioneer, he stood suddenly still, as if desirous of 
 listening to the proceedings. His countenance 
 bore an exact similitude to Clifford's ; but it was 
 pale and worn down by trouble, and unlike that, 
 which, two years ago, appeared so fresh and 
 

 
 at} 
 
 blooming. At repeating the name of the 
 article, the company was interrupted by the 
 forbidding voice of the stranger " Forbear 1 
 forbear !" " 'Tis Clifford's ghost," cried seve- 
 ral of the wondering multitude, and shrunk back 
 from the door in terror. " I am flesh and blood,'" 
 replied William, " and am come to relieve this 
 family from ruin. Minister of justice, take 
 this purse and leave us, or by my existence 
 you shall feel the vengeance, your cruelty de- 
 serves." The villagers fled away from what they 
 considered an apparition, and left the family alone 
 with the agitated Clifford. Mary gazed upon 
 him then upon her father a vacant smile play- 
 ed upon her features. She looked again, and with 
 her hands over her face exclaimed, " take him 
 away take him away he's an impostor; he's 
 not William my William's dead he would de- 
 ceive you." He affectionately approached her t 
 " Touch me not," she added " do you not see 
 these flowers ? they were gathered for the cere- 
 mony, but they are withering like poor Mary : let 
 me crown thee, father, like the angels, with these 
 faded rosebuds; but theirs fade not, because 
 they are immortal : how well this rose becomes 
 your forehead but roses wither if lying on
 
 67 
 
 the snow." Her father and William stood with 
 their arms clasped round her; and it was not 
 until measures had been taken to restore her re- 
 collection by repose, and some weeks had trans- 
 pired to prepare her for the intelligence, that 
 William related the reasons of his past conduct. 
 
 It appeared that he had commenced the 
 voyage in obedience to his father ; but that self- 
 reproaches for thus leaving Mary, urged him to 
 return with the pilot-boat, and secretly wait the 
 departure of another vessel. Dreading his 
 father's anger, and fearing to be seen by any of 
 his friends,, he hired an obscure lodging within a 
 few miles of Mr. Linden's cottage. He after- 
 wards resolved upon an interview with Mary ; but 
 he was restrained by the necessity of a full dis- 
 closure of his misery, and the possibility of being 
 recognised and reported to his father. Several 
 times of an evening he would secretly approach, 
 and venture to serenade the cottage. Once per- 
 ceiving Mary alone, he determined to approach 
 her; but disappointed at her abrupt flight, he 
 attributed her conduct to contempt of his neg- 
 Ject, little dreaming of the suspicions respect- 
 ing his death, and the deep melancholy that 
 was preying on the family. With mortified 
 
 No. IL 4
 
 pride, he determined to gratify his father's wishes- 
 and proceed disguised to India in the very next 
 vessel. After suffering there two years the 
 pangs of separation, he was called home by the 
 death of his father, who vested in William's pos- 
 session all his immense estate. He had visited the 
 cottage that morning to claim Mary's hand, and 
 atone, if possible, for his singular past neglect. 
 Surprised to learn, at the village, that Mr. Linden's 
 property was exposed to sale, he immediately has- 
 tened to stop the proceedings, and consummate 
 as soon as possible his nuptials with Mary. 
 
 Her mind and countenance soon recovered 
 their former vivacity. I passed through the 
 village a few days ago, and learned that the 
 happy couple were united, and were residing on a 
 charming seat on the banks of the Hudson river. 
 The aged Mr. Linden had lately deceased. The 
 little cottage was yet desolate the arbour had 
 entirely fallen its vine was dead and nothing 
 enlivened the ruins, but the mill-seat that was 
 still there. Enjoying an ample fortune, a nume- 
 rous offspring, and the affection of numerous 
 acquaintance, William and Mary Clifford were- 
 comparatively happy.
 
 THE HIGHLAND BANDITTI. 
 
 (BY THE LITTLE MAN IN BLACK.] 
 
 Who 's there?" -SHAKSPEARE, 
 
 I VISITED, some years ago, a few friends in the 
 Highlands of Putnam county, being some of the 
 wildest scenery in any part of the United States. 
 They are a rude, mountainous tract, seemingly 
 parted by some physical convulsion, sinking and 
 swelling into the most grotesque varieties, frown- 
 ing on each other from opposite sides of the 
 river ; sometimes blocking it up in their awful 
 shade, and at others haughtily enclosing it in a 
 narrower channel. No one would suppose that 
 highly cultivated farms could be found in glens so 
 seemingly barren ; but Providence has provided 
 here roses in the midst of thorns, and blessings 
 amid the frowns of desolation. I left New-York 
 about sunset : and after passing the rugged pa-
 
 lisades, the gloom of evening gathered round the 
 landscape, and wrapped every object in misty 
 uncertainty. I would often mistake the signal 
 lamp of a steamboat for a light on some distant 
 eminence then the river would seem hemmed 
 in by bold promontories, and headlands fre- 
 quently I would forget the course of the vessel, 
 and then I was bewildered in changing the point 
 of starting with the place of destination. 
 
 After repeated inquiries, the little bell an- 
 nounced the signal of arrival. I leaped into 
 the boat, that rushed foamingly through the water ; 
 while the paddles of the steam-boat suspended 
 their labour, and the liberated steam resound- 
 ed in shrill echoes from the hills. I sprang on 
 shore, and the boat was gone. I felt really alone, 
 for I was in a strange place, and without the sight 
 of a single living creature. But where was the 
 road? I saw nothing but the steep sides of 
 a shaggy hill, which was washed from below 
 by the moaning river. What must be done? It 
 was dead midnight ; the moon had not risen ; the 
 stars yielded but a faint light: no sound was 
 audible, but the signal tapping's / of a drum 
 heard occasionally from the opposite point.
 
 and the roar of some distant cascade sounding 
 fearfully along the valleys. I was environed 
 by dusky eminences, whose shade only served to 
 bring them nearer, and no mode of liberation 
 appeared, but finding some passage through 
 their windings. I hailed some sloops that 
 were floating down the tide, but no one heed- 
 ed the call the next breeze and they were 
 swept from view. I hallooed, but no one an- 
 swered but the mocking points, and the noise of 
 some snakes or creatures I had disturbed, creep- 
 ing more securely into their dens. After clam- 
 bering up the hill, I searched, if possible, for 
 some egress from the fastness; but I only saw 
 loftier mountains, and lengthening forests beyond, 
 that threatened for the night to detain me a pri- 
 soner. The hill swept down a circuitous valley, 
 washed by a filthy streamlet, causing me to sink 
 several inches at every step, and sending forth a 
 brawling laugh as if in triumph at my slavery. 
 What was to be done ? I was literally swamped 
 my boots were ruined by friction among the 
 rocks I felt faint and weary, and determined to 
 procure some asylum till the dawn. I found a 
 hollow tree just suited to my purpose a mis- 
 shapen trunk overgrown by vines and underwood.
 
 and lined with delicious moss that supplied the 
 luxury of a pillow. Reflecting on my odd 
 situation, I was disturbed by an approaching 
 footstep. Advancing from behind the tree, it 
 paused a moment in sudden suspense, and re- 
 sumed its pace more rapidly than before. I 
 listened but merely caught the hollow hootings 
 of an owl, that crept through me with dismal 
 forebodings. Removing some of the branches. 
 I saw two persons, apparently in consultation, 
 and approaching, at the rustling, somewhat nearer 
 to the tree. " Pshaw !" exclaimed one, " 'Twas 
 only the wind that blew the leaves ! I'm sure I 
 saw him ! He cannot escape us! !" At the word 
 ;t escaped," the seeming clash of swords struck 
 one of the branches, and a severed twig fell to 
 my feet as a witness of my danger. Though I 
 could have faced the bravest enemy in an open 
 field, yet now I began to play the coward. They 
 are doubtless banditti, thought I, prowling on 
 these hills, and my life may depend on the closest 
 concealment. 
 
 At this instant a flash of lightning, blazing 
 upon the valley, and the growling thunder, an- 
 nounced a coming shower. Listening again. I
 
 #3 
 
 only heard the gentle flutter of branches, and the 
 hasty roll of oars. The scud was dimly unfurling 
 its smoky froth from the west, and the hills, light- 
 ed with tremulous flashes, rebellowed, even to 
 the faintest reverberations, the crashes of the 
 thunder. The wind from a breeze rose to a 
 violent gale. The roaring river the pattering 
 rain the echoing thunder and wind, pro- 
 longed through the crags, were nothing com- 
 pared to the danger that enveloped me. To fly, 
 might prove instant death to remain, might 
 prove equally fatal ; but what resource was left 
 but to sell my life dearly ? Grasping my cane, I 
 prayed not to be abandoned to the power of ban- 
 ditti, nor allowed thus to perish untimely and un- 
 aided. 
 
 The last gleam of lightning, playing on the 
 rocks, disclosed the objects of my alarm, crouch- 
 ing behind the shrubbery, and, doubtless, waiting 
 for their purpose, at the termination of the 
 shower. I passed moments, that seemed hours, 
 in agonizing suspense. The perspiratipn trickled 
 from my forehead my body felt the coldness of 
 the grave ; and regarding myself as lost, I calmly 
 resigned to my fate. At length the shower
 
 (54 
 
 abated: the spongy clouds dispersed from the 
 heavens, and unveiled the silver moon with her 
 family of stars, enlightening the gloomy scene. 
 In an instant the same fearful voice was heard 
 again from the tree " Here is indeed the very 
 fellow for whom we have been searching!" 
 Judge my emotions ! conceive my amazement ! 
 when two men rushed upon me from the bushes ; 
 and as I rose to meet them with my uplifted cane, 
 who would believe it ? I recognised only my 
 friends, who, having seen me land from the point 
 below, had come to find me, b*ut had been un- 
 luckily prevented by the suddenness of the 
 shower. Congratulations took place, at my es- 
 caping their canes mistaken for swords; and 
 though drenched to the skin, we tripped along 
 the valley, now no longer a dreary marsh, to 
 enjoy the hearty delights of my rescue from the 
 Highland Banditti.
 
 THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN, 
 
 c: Remote from town, he ran his godly race, 
 Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his place." 
 
 GOLDSMITH. 
 
 I HAVE always thought, that a country clergy- 
 man, whose habits, associations, and interests 
 are identified with his people, whose simple aim 
 is to be useful, and devoted to his family and 
 flock, is a model not only of pious simplicity, but 
 of what the sacred character ought to be in 
 every situation in the church. His residence is 
 peculiarly congenial to his profession. The con- 
 tinual observation of pure skies, and healthful sun- 
 shine the calm, composing quiet disturbed only 
 by the song of the birds, or the lowing of the 
 cattle the contemplation of nature in her soft- 
 est and wildest attire, with all that can charm by 
 
 beauty, or solemnize by frowns the mingling with 
 No. Ill 1
 
 66 
 
 the poorer classes of people who respect tht; 
 counsel of clergymen, and enter with all the soul 
 into their feelings the simplicity, the retiredness, 
 the adaptation in short of rural scenes, habits, 
 and pursuits to clerical knowledge, purity, and 
 usefulness, render their situation, in my estima- 
 tion, delightful and enviable. 
 
 I know a country clergyman, the original of 
 this picture. Settled many years at a neighbour- 
 ing village, in the first parish of which he has 
 had the charge, he has seen many of the middle- 
 aged becoming gray under his ministry, and a 
 large portion of the young grown up or married, 
 regarding him with the purest respect and most 
 filial-like affection. He is repeatedly consulted 
 in matters of advice, even by the elders of his 
 flock, who frequently come miles for that pur- 
 pose, and scarcely ever a difference happens, but 
 he is the arbiter of the dispute, which generally 
 ends in the warmest reconciliation. Two ladies 
 of his communion so far indulged their resent- 
 ment, that they would not accost each other when 
 meeting; and their mutual revilings had been 
 long the theme of the village conversation : but 
 at the second visit, of their pastor, they consented
 
 to meet arid confess their folly. It was delightful 
 to see them approach the altar the following 
 Sunday, and pledge their forgiveness over the 
 sacred elements. It was indeed the triumph of 
 love over the bitterness of hatred. Like the 
 grains of the holy bread uniting into one mass, 
 and the clusters of many vines mingling in the 
 same element, their hearts were knit together in 
 Ihe firmest affection. 
 
 There is nothing very striking in the appear- 
 ance of my friend. He is uncommonly plain in 
 his costume and manners, and one would natu- 
 rally wonder what rendered him so beloved. 
 But the only secret is He is a good man free 
 from ail that assumed politeness taught by fashion 
 rather than the heart, from all that finesse and 
 scheming policy which varnish loftier names, in- 
 tent only upon the happiness of his own flock 
 and family, and no farther versant with the world 
 than their interest and comfort are concerned. 
 He was never heard speaking to the detriment 
 of any one, and of all the opinions he had ex- 
 pressed of his clerical brethren, he was never 
 known to lisp the least unfavourable sentiment. 
 He always thought, that as the most finished por-
 
 trait exhibits, in unfavourable light, but blemishes 
 to the eye, so the virtues of the best, unpropitiously 
 viewed, may bear the aspect of vices, and their 
 infirmities, virtues of no ordinary degree. Parti- 
 cularly fond of books, he would treasure up every 
 theological rarity with miserly fondness, and no- 
 thing would detain him from his study, but the 
 cultivation of his garden, the visitation of the 
 concerned, the afflicted, or the dying. He was 
 extremely attached to children, and wherever he 
 went, the little ones would leave their parents to 
 fondle upon his knees ; and his approach was 
 always notified to the family by their rejoicing 
 around the door. He had a catechetical class 
 of interesting little lambs who met for recitation 
 every Saturday afternoon at his house, and after 
 amusing themselves in playful festivity about his 
 cooling enclosure, they were often dismissed with 
 little books, as a reward for their diligence. He 
 was always in the habit of making them holy day 
 presents, and these operated as a motive to their 
 good behaviour at home, and served more than 
 the harshest threats to keep them still during the 
 service of the church. 
 
 Once a year the families of the congregation
 
 convene at his house, not only for the purpose of 
 bestowing the tokens of their liberality, but mani- 
 festing the affection of both pastor and people. 
 These parties, termed " Spinning bees," bring to- 
 gether numbers who can but seldom attend 
 church, associate families otherwise strangers to 
 each other, and tend to cement a family-like es- 
 teem among all the members of the flock. Here 
 the young mingle in isolated groups, and indulge 
 in sportive, innocent amusement there the more 
 advanced talk over their past adventures, or 
 stimulate each other in the path that leads to 
 heaven. Even those of other denominations fre- 
 quent this festival of my friend, and vie with one 
 another in affectionate liberality, as their pastors 
 associate on the kindest of terms, and inculcate 
 on their people the same friendly feelings. It is 
 a picture, indeed, illustrating the beautiful decla- 
 ration of the Psalmist " Behold, how good, and 
 how pleasant it is, for brethren to dwell together 
 in unity !" 
 
 I am especially pleased with his parochial vi- 
 sitations. His visits of courtesy are not filled up 
 with unmeaning stories, calculated only to excite 
 foolish laughter, but with serious advice, with
 
 pleasant illustrative anecdotes adapted to the in- 
 struction of those whom he addresses. He en- 
 ters not the chamber of mourning as the cold- 
 hearted formalist, conning over a lesson he had 
 previously learned, his countenance belying the 
 sympathy he professes, but like a member of the 
 family, making the affliction completely his own, 
 and applying consolation in that easy, affectionate 
 manner that cannot but impress the listeners 
 around him. After every communion, it is his 
 practice to visit the sick members of his altar, 
 and afford them the elements of their dying Re- 
 deemer, enabling them to realize that Jehovah 
 " makes their bed in all their sickness," and as 
 the " Shepherd" of his flock, folds the diseased 
 ones in his arms. 
 
 My friend is not remarkably learned ; but his 
 mind is stored with a fund of the richest mate- 
 rials, which he can draw at command from the 
 well of memory, to edify those who are the sub- 
 jects of his ministrations. There is sufficient 
 fancy to enliven the attention sufficient erudi- 
 tion to avoid the air of pedantry and sufficient 
 zeal to escape the charge of fanaticism. But 
 then there is such a vein of good sense, such
 
 warm and practical treasures of divine truth, 
 and such pathetic, forcible appeals to the heart, 
 that if he cannot rank as the finest of orators, 
 he may be defined one of the best and most use- 
 ful of preachers. 
 
 I lately visited him in the house of sorrow, for 
 the very best must drink of its purifying cup ; and 
 as affliction, I conceive, is the surest criterion of 
 character, I deemed it a favourable opportunity 
 of testing that of my friend. It was a dim Oc- 
 tober afternoon. The sky wore a dark livery of 
 clouds the wind blew rather loud and chilly 
 the parti-coloured leaves were eddying on its 
 wings the trees were almost bare, and nature 
 seemed in mourning for the affliction of the 
 pastor. He had just closed the eyes of a charm- 
 ing boy on whom he had doted ; and no one but 
 a parent knows what it is to part from the 
 dear little objects, who have, like tender vines, 
 clung and fastened themselves about the heart. 
 The door was somewhat ajar as I entered the 
 threshold, and I saw the parents kneeling in 
 prayer with two small cherub daughters, near 
 the coffin enclosing the casket of the departed 
 jewel. The father spoke of the pangs of separa-
 
 72 
 
 lion, occasioned by the monster Sin expressed 
 his submission to the divine will, invoking a sane- 
 tification of their sorrows, but, oh! he dwelt 
 longer on the joys of restoration, when the tears 
 of parting should be for ever wiped away. At 
 the close of the prayer, my friend met me as if 
 nothing had happened, but his tender companion 
 pointed me to the corpse, and then her sorrows 
 began to break forth afresh. " Nay, but my 
 love," observed the feeling pastor, " were heaven 
 opened, and you allowed to see your Henry with 
 a palm in his hand, joining the song of angels, 
 all smiling and glorious, could you indulge a mo- 
 ment's lamentation ? Though his body is cold, 
 may not his spirit be now regarding us, and up- 
 braiding us for shedding tears at the felicity of 
 his triumphs ? I heard," he said, " of a circum- 
 stance that should afford consolation. An aged 
 parent, in the highlands of Scotland, was deprived 
 of an only child. Neither his friends nor his 
 Bible could yield him the least comfort. As it 
 was usual to sacrifice a lamb for the guests of the 
 funeral wake, the customary offering was accor- 
 dingly preparing. On the evening before the 
 burial, while the father was sitting disconsolate 
 in his door, a stranger appeared, sprinkled with
 
 73 
 
 silver hairs but his face glowed with the sweet- 
 est benevolence, and his pure mild eye denoted a 
 celestial being. 4 What lamb, Sir,' he mildly 
 demanded, 'is to be slaughtered for the ap- 
 proaching wake ? Is it the whitest, and fattest, 
 or do you mean to surrender the poorest of your 
 flock?' 'Oh Stranger,' replied the weeping 
 parent, 'your question is too cruel on an oc- 
 casion like this ; can I fail to present the fairest 
 and most valuable ?' 4 And yet,' rejoined the 
 stranger, 4 you would withhold your child, thr 
 fairest, and the most valuable of your family, 
 from God.' The aged stranger vanished in the 
 evening mist but the father was comforted. 
 And O that we too could receive similar consola- 
 tion from the joyful surrender of the best of our 
 domestic flock !" The remains of the dear bo) 
 were deposited the following day in their sepul- 
 chre, and every Sunday morning before service, 
 the pastor's family may be seen there a moment 
 in silent meditation over the sod, before they 
 publicly mingle in the devotions of the sanctuary. 
 
 Several years have rolled away and my 
 friend still officiates at the little village church, 
 
 beloved by a happy congregation, who hope one 
 No. III. 2
 
 74 
 
 day to mingle their ashes together. Both he and 
 his companion have passed through similar trials 
 sickness has worn away the bloom of the pas- 
 tor ; but the pride of intellect and piety remains 
 verdant, and, like the smiling evergreen, vege- 
 tates in snow as well as sunshine. 
 
 I have read of divines whose philanthropy and 
 learning have excited a glow of enthusiasm I 
 have listened to preachers who have delighted 
 with their oratory, or awed by the masterly 
 powers of their intellect I am acquainted with 
 many clergymen whose erudition, piety, and use- 
 fulness endear them to my friendship ; but I know 
 of none who more effectually wins my confidence 
 and love, than the model of every other, in my 
 humble estimation, THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN.
 
 TRENTON 
 
 Heights, which appear as lovers who have parted 
 In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, 
 
 That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted. 
 
 BVRON. 
 
 THOUGH we have heard much of the scenery of 
 Europe, of its meandering rivers which beautify 
 and enrich the most charming of valleys its 
 cragged mountains, darkening with solemnity 
 the surrounding country its swelling landscapes 
 rich in architecture, variety^ and plenty its 
 smiling skies dispensing health, serenity, and 
 beauty and its caverns and grottos unsounded 
 by human plummet, and secreting in darkness 
 their riches from the eyes of man ; yet but few 
 Americans can visit this fairy land, and realize 
 the truth or falsity of the picture. The poet and 
 painter have adorned it with many a false tint 
 denied by the hand of nature : and they who" have
 
 lingered most around its famous wonders, have 
 been surprised at enthusiasm so unsanctioned by 
 reality. It is a punishment worthy of those over- 
 looking their native country, and anticipating, 
 like wayward children, purer delight from home. 
 But though separated from the old world by an 
 enchaining ocean, yet the American feels that he 
 has prouder rivers rolling through vaster tracts 
 landscapes enriched by wilder prospects skies 
 enkindled by as bright a sunshine mountains 
 more lofty, and venerable with snow and grottos 
 and caverns, if not richer and vaster, yet arousing 
 more the curiosity of the inquisitive traveller. 
 
 Whoever has visited "Trenton Falls" must 
 feel aware of this truth. Not as at Niagara, or 
 the Cohoes, where the purple sunshine crowns the 
 boiling waters with rainbows and coronas 
 and where a laughing landscape relieves from the 
 frowns and thunders of the elements but where 
 desolation, solitude, and wildness reign fearfully 
 alone where the gloom of nature never kindles 
 with a smile, and where nothing but the roar of tor- 
 rents, and the scream of the mountain hawk ar 
 ever known to dart upon the ear. In descending by 
 a flight of steps into this valley of romance, it seem c
 
 like leaving the living for the dead. The rapid 
 stream appears rolling far below, black with the 
 shadows of scowling hills and forests ; and occa- 
 sionally dim openings are seen, shaggy with rocks 
 and cavities, and prostrate trunks of trees. A deep 
 ravine, yawning to the view, seems the effect of 
 an earthquake tearing and dissevering immense 
 masses of limestone apparently fitted to each 
 other. The Canada creek, forced from its pa- 
 ternal bed, and seemingly alarmed at its awful 
 prison, nobly endeavours to leap from the rocky 
 barriers to escape the chains that are trying to 
 stop its way. Urging its course about three 
 miles through the windings, and toiling and strug- 
 gling with the obstacles around, it finally unites 
 with its parent, the Mohawk like the troubles 
 of life terminating at last in the home of its de- 
 sires. Sometimes it gently whispers over smooth 
 atones and gravel at others it foams impetuously 
 down torn, sharpened rocks. Now it falls mur- 
 muring in gentle cascades and then, storming 
 in all the madness of thunder, it is hurled into 
 rapids, whirlpools, and eddies, which cause the 
 hills to complain of the horrors of the war. Va- 
 rious petrifactions of shells, serpents, and fishes.
 
 78 
 
 are found imbedded in the limestone deserted 
 by the waters, as if the creatures congealed by 
 terror at the scene, became a part of the very 
 objects that occasioned their death. Frequently 
 the visiter descends under black, projecting 
 rocks, eclipsing the mid-day of heaven, and then 
 rises upon narrow eminences overlooking fearful 
 depths, from which he is feebly upheld by the pro- 
 tection of a chain. Often the precipices appear 
 to hem in the valley, and then the pomp of forests 
 vies with the sublimity of cataracts. Now they 
 form a cragged wall for the guidance of the 
 waters, and again, suddenly breaking, are lost 
 for a season from the view. Here and there upon 
 the surface of the steep limestone, may be seen 
 the tender wild flower blooming midst desolation, 
 like the joy of memory springing in the bosom of 
 sorrow ; while amid the gray rocks, hardy forest 
 trees tower forth, reminding of fearless ambition 
 threatening amid the terrors of death. To con- 
 template the gay who continually resort here, 
 gazing around them with astonished inquiry 
 balancing their steps for fear of the yawning pre- 
 cipices, and often overpowered in bewildered 
 silence by the solitude and thunder of this dreary
 
 79 
 
 gulf, resembles worldly pleasure drowned in 
 noisy dissipation, but feeling gloom and danger 
 perpetually hanging round. 
 
 I never heard of a more affecting circumstance 
 than one which lately occurred here. A young 
 lady, the idol of fond parents, had visited this 
 place in company with a few dear friends. She 
 was beloved, affectionate, and interesting; un- 
 tainted by a world to which she was almost a 
 stranger, and warmed with an enthusiasm, that 
 paints futurity in the loveliest charms. Glowing 
 with animation, she was fond of enlivening the 
 happy circle of her friends, and joining in all those 
 innocent amusements so natural and agreeable 
 to the young. Her mind could either rise upon 
 the wings of the poet, unfurl the sail of the tra- 
 veller, or raise the veil of history to trace its 
 shadowy pictures. She had a taste for the rich 
 melody of music. She could mimic with her 
 pencil nature's fairy scenes ; and having a romantic 
 taste, she was fond of wild, rural scenery, where 
 the power of God subdues the feeling heart; 
 or gazing on the softened landscape, where his 
 mercy is so beautifully portrayed. They who 
 stray not beyond the din of cities, have no idea of
 
 80 
 
 the effects produced by natural sublimity. Alone 
 amid the works of God, the worldly heart throws 
 off its cloak of guile, and sees and feels the awful 
 footsteps that are near. It hears him in the thun- 
 dering cataract the echoing mountain and the 
 whispering forest views him in the cooling 
 rivulet, the swelling landscape, and the winding 
 river ; all these proclaiming in " the still, small 
 voice" of the breeze " If this world is so beau- 
 tiful what must be the grandeur and magnifi- 
 cence of heaven !" 
 
 The lovely young lady had never appeared 
 more interesting and cheerful, than on the morn- 
 ing of the excursion. She expressed an enthu- 
 siastic wish to feast upon the scenery, and con- 
 tinued after most of the party to linger yet 
 longer around its glooms. Was it a presenti- 
 ment of the grave she was soon to find, or a 
 melancholy adieu to the enjoyments of the world? 
 Insisting on venturing forward, she gayly tripped 
 nearer the precipice, holding the arm of a gen- 
 tleman, who expressed his fears of advancing to 
 the edge. It was a bold projection of rock, 
 overlooking the maddening waters, now thunder- 
 ing down in broken cascades, then foaming
 
 81 
 
 below in wild confused eddies, and raging in 
 whirlpools that mock the opposition of man. 
 Standing on the dizzy eminence, she was gazing on 
 the mountain forests beyond, seemingly wreathing 
 their branches in the curling clouds ; or she was 
 watching the bubbles and breaking spray, which 
 smoked round the basement of the rocks. But 
 whether it was that her foot slipped, or the 
 tumult of the scene had overwhelmed her senses, 
 certain it is her companion looked wildly 
 around, but, alas ! she was gone ! His frenzied 
 eye glared among the rocks, supposing she 
 had wandered behind some shadowy projec- 
 tion. He called loudly upon her name but 
 he saw nothing but her bonnet floating on the 
 rapid whirlpool, and heard only the roaring tor- 
 rent, and answering rocks announcing her dying 
 knell. Her remains were soon found in the deep 
 pool, wearing the same sweet look, sustaining 
 but a slight bruise, and as the immortal spirit had 
 fled, were committed to their parent dust far 
 from the home of her childhood. Bedewed 
 with the fondest tears, her grave will always be 
 a monument to the young, thoughtless visiter, of 
 the brittleness of life's thread, and the vanity of 
 
 those calculations that may so suddenly bp 
 No. TIT. 3
 
 82 
 
 thwarted. To her this valley, indeed, was the 
 " valley of the shadow of death." Gay and happy 
 a few hours before, she little thought of exchang- 
 ing so soon her parental home for a tomb of 
 raging waters. Who would have dreamed that 
 the joys of the morning would thus be quenched 
 in tears that the song of health would so shortly 
 be drowned in the notes of the funeral dirge ! 
 
 What are all the dreams of worldly pleasure, 
 interest, and honour, but curling mists that play 
 around the mountain, dispersing in air at the 
 rising of the sun ! Let the gay consider, that 
 the flowers of Paradise bloom not in this world ; 
 and that no enjoyment can be lasting, which 
 germinates not in heaven. Every hour reminds 
 them, that the fondest hopes will perish that the 
 richest treasures will fly away from the heart 
 that nothing but cheerful piety can yield rational 
 pleasure, and ensure everlasting bliss beyond the 
 prison of the tomb. Let youth, beauty, and strength 
 remember, that human life is a descent into the 
 valley of tears ; and that every step they take is en- 
 vironed with dangers. Let them taste their bless- 
 ings with gratitude and trembling, as thorns are 
 among the blossoms, and poison among the fruit
 
 But Oh, let the bereaved take comfort, remem- 
 bering, that though " God's ways are unsearch- 
 able," his mercy mingles in the bitterest cup 
 that trials are requisite to purge the dross of 
 prosperity, and compel the heart to feel the 
 presence of the Almighty that the greatest 
 afflictions most effectually purify the soul, and 
 drive it nearer to its everlasting home that if 
 we would wear crowns of triumph with the 
 piously departed, we must patiently suffer, and 
 resign to the dispensations of an all-righteous 
 Providence. 
 
 She has gone to the home, where the blessed are keeping 
 Their watch over hearts, here in ignorance sleeping ; 
 Where the soul, freed from earth, is resplendently shining, 
 Undimm'd by the clouds of an earthly repining. 
 
 She has gone to the home of the King of creation ; 
 A jewel to shine in the crown of salvation : 
 That his power and his mercy by her might be spoken, 
 In choosing a gem from a casket thus broken. 
 
 She has gone to her home, tender bud of the morning 
 No longer the garden of Beauty adorning ; 
 But though in its spring-time, the floweret has faded, 
 Tt blooms in the wreath, which the angels have braided
 
 She has goue to the home that's untainted by sorrow- . 
 Where eternally rises a blissful to-morrow ; 
 Where the joy so unbounded requires no addition, 
 And hope sinks to rest in the lap of fruition. 
 
 She has gone to the blest home, whence none have departed : 
 The last, holy home of the fond and warm-hearted ; 
 Yes, the home where enjoyment shall no more be blighted 
 The dear, blessed home, where all hearts are united.
 
 THE MONEY DREAMER. 
 
 ' Dreams are like portraits, and we find they please, 
 Because they are confess'd resemblances." 
 
 CEABBE. 
 
 AMONG the numerous vagaries deluding tho 
 imagination in sleep, it is no wonder that some 
 should tally with circumstances about to happen, 
 as our waking thoughts have often been the pre- 
 cursors of corresponding realities. They who 
 dream most, and talk most about their dreams, are 
 the richest of all in the treasury of coincidences^ 
 and become a sort of standing prophets to the vi- 
 sionary world, which treasures up their follies, and 
 retails them from age to age. Individuals have 
 dreamed themselves more frequently rich than 
 poor ; and the reason is, because the inclination 
 in the one case, excites to vigorous exertion, and 
 nerves, on the other hand, the arm that trembles 
 at the evils of poverty. With all their follies.
 
 dreams may be providential instruments, of com- 
 forting distress, supporting despondency, and ani- 
 mating pious perseverance ; and again, they may 
 arouse the callous conscience, exhibit the hate- 
 fulness of vice, and reclaim to duty the profligate 
 offender. They who repose most credit in dreams 
 may receive some benefit from the following 
 story. 
 
 A rich, old publican, fonder of drawing corks 
 than inferences, and of pocketing cash than 
 insults, resided on a bend of the great southern 
 turnpike. He was a singular genius that always 
 wore two pair of small clothes, a white, circular 
 crowned hat resembling an inverted punch-bowl, 
 and a coat and vest that would have done honour 
 to the days of the good old Antony Van Bummel. 
 He was a huge smoker ; so that every room in his 
 inn seemed coloured with yellow ochre ; and his 
 pipe, of a clear, dark night, might be mistaken for 
 a signal-light to welcome travellers to the hotel. 
 He had something of a batchelor-like appear- 
 ance ; though he always denied the fact, averring, 
 that he had buried his wife somewhere in the old 
 countries ; and no one could doubt it from the 
 dismal effects that might naturally accrue from
 
 87 
 
 such a connexion. He was always fond of crack- 
 ing a sly joke, and though you could not perceive 
 the connexion of his stories, he would shake your 
 sides at his manner of telling them. Whenever 
 a part pleased him, he would lay his pipe on the 
 floor, roll a queer squint of the left eye, and 
 stamp the floor with his foot, giving at the same 
 time his thigh such a slap, as defied the powers 
 of the soundest sleeper. But his ruling passion 
 was superstition. He was a singular believer in 
 tokens, dreams, and hobgoblins disclosing ac- 
 counts of buried money ; and he declared that 
 he was no less than a seventh son, entitled 
 by the law of dreams, to all the benefits of the 
 birthright. 
 
 It happened one evening, that a hatchet-faced 
 fellow rode up to his door, mounted on a poor, 
 sorry mare almost tumbling to pieces, with a worn 
 pair of saddle-bags, apparently a^ empty as the 
 beast which they bestrid. He had a keen, know- 
 ing eye, a quick, restless air, denoting a turn for 
 business ; and a droll mode of putting questions, 
 that trod so hard on one another's heels, that 
 they might almost be mistaken for a single de- 
 mand. Old Boniface eyed him with hurried puff?
 
 of his pipe ; and with a sifting leer of his eye. 
 shook his white, arched beaver as if doubtful of 
 his customer. "Why, zounds!" cried the new- 
 comer, " I've travelled these long twenty miles, 
 and dreamed of nothing but smoking steaks, and 
 foaming ale ; but I see nothing but a pipe as long 
 as my arm, and hear nothing but quarrelling fowls 
 on the roost, which should long ere this have 
 been smoking on the gridiron !" The old Ger- 
 man shifted his head to the other point of the 
 compass, and smoked away in dogged sullenness ; 
 but at the chink of silver crawling from the new 
 customer's pocket, there played upon his lip an 
 old-fashioned smile of welcome. In a trice, our 
 traveller fared like a prince quaffed off his ale 
 smacked his lips, and began to talk seriously of 
 jogging to the land of Nod. " That's a place, 
 young man, I never heard of in these parts," ob- 
 served the softened landlord, "except you mean 
 a country spoken of by Moses ; but heavy roads, 
 and dark clouds, let me advise, are but sorry ac- 
 commodations, of a night like this." "Indeed," 
 returned the stranger, " then if you will accommo- 
 date me with a boot-jack, night-cap, and candle, 
 and give me the honour of following in your wake. 
 I will inform you in the morning of the appearance
 
 of the country." So, without more ado, he wa^ 
 cooped up into a low-ceiled, tobacco-scented 
 room, to sport in the land of Nod among the do- 
 mains of his somnolent majesty. 
 
 By break of day, the stranger was walking the 
 piazza, looking rather meditative and solemn, 
 eying his host rather inquisitively, as he drew a 
 chair within his cloud of tobacco smoke ; and at 
 length he thus broke the mysterious silence "Are 
 you a believer in dreams?" The old veteran 
 ceased puffing, resumed the charge, and regard- 
 ing him with a spectral eye, replied, " It ill be- 
 comes a novice to ask me that question, young 
 man Believe in them ? Humph ! If I had all 
 the bags of dollars which my dreams have 
 brought to light, I would not at this day be stand- 
 ing behind a bar." " Why, what a providence," 
 resumed the long-faced fellow, " that I should be 
 selected to disclose such a mystery ! To come 
 to the point then, my old worthy, I am a seventh 
 son, and I had a remarkable dream last night." 
 "A dream and a seventh son," muttered the 
 wary old German, shaking his head musingly ; 
 " and what proofs can you give me of the truth 
 
 of what you say ?" " An honest tongue, and the 
 No. III. 4
 
 90 
 
 fulfilment of my dream," whined out the younger 
 long-face " or no cure, no pay." " Enough," 
 coughed out the other, " but your dream your 
 dream." "I dreamed then," returned the other, 
 "that I was walking in the field behind your 
 barn have you a barn ?" " To be sure I have," 
 said the eager listener, pointing, as if the other 
 doubted, to its sloping roof, " but what of the 
 field ?" " Why, then, I crossed a pair of high 
 bars then through a meadow a meadow was 
 it ? Oh yes, and then I came into a dreary look- 
 ing place, with a woods on one side, and an old 
 stumpy tree on the other, rotting on a mound 
 overgrown with vines and briars and the place 
 looked so confoundedly queer that I almost 
 wished myself awake." "What an inspired 
 dreamer !" muttered the gray hairs to himself: 
 " that was the very place where my predecessor 
 was hanged ; but what then ?" " Why, as I was 
 standing near the old stump, I saw a strange figure 
 beckoning me towards it ; and I felt myself sink- 
 ing, and sinking till I stood bolt upright in a 
 mighty heap of money and then I said to my- 
 self, I heartily wish that I was awake with all this 
 cash in my saddle bags !" " But what farther ?" 
 Why, nothing ; for yonr twanging horn pealed
 
 91 
 
 Such a blast in my ears, that I was forced to leave 
 all behind me, and instead of having the money 
 in my pocket, I was only enabled to bring you the 
 news of it." " A dream a seventh son and 
 buried money," repeated the venerable leer-eye^ 
 ; but you did not dream of bringing away the 
 treasure how can it possibly be true ?" " True," 
 replied the other, with a knowing squint, " but am 
 I not a seventh son, and if you had that honour, 
 you would rather be counting out the money, than 
 dozing over the story." The publican really 
 believed there was something in it, and without 
 another word, conducted the stranger behind the 
 barn, then through the bars, field, and meadow, 
 and stood before the identical tree pointed out in 
 the vision. The traveller seemed to look round 
 with terrified astonishment, but his guide after 
 superficially examining the ground, disappoint* 
 edly shook his head, observing, " Who would 
 dream of money below brushes and rocks* 
 which seem more the resort of rattlesnakes, than 
 the abode of sovereigns and dollars. You are 
 either no seventh son, or some foolish ghost has 
 played you a trick in your dream." He turned 
 on his heel in spite of the other's remonstrances^ 
 who apparently disappointed, returned whistling 
 to his room.
 
 92 
 
 The next morning he was found again on the 
 piaiza, and declared to his landlord, that he had 
 dreamed the same dream again. He protested 
 that the goblin had disclosed to him, under the 
 tree, a hole filled with chests and pots of the rich- 
 est coin ; but while he was carrying them away, a 
 clap of thunder arrested his progress, and awoke 
 him only to communicate the disappointment. 
 After some persuasion, the old man walked back 
 with him to the place they drew up the bushes 
 and thought they saw something like formerly 
 opened ground but the noise of something ap- 
 proaching impeded further research, and they 
 determined to postpone their enquiries for the 
 present. 
 
 The dawn had no sooner purpled the hills, than 
 our traveller was wide awake. With eyes, wild 
 as hawk's, he soundly averred, " that he had 
 dreamed the same dream again only that he 
 had brought home a shower of money but that 
 the noise of counting it had actually awakened 
 him." " Aye now," exclaimed Boniface, " there 
 may be something in that. Finding and count- 
 ing money are always infallible signs. So now 
 for business !" The crow-bar, pick-axe, and
 
 93 
 
 shovel, were all slily conveyed by these cautious 
 blades to the dreary tree of visions. It was a 
 fine, clear morning. The rising sun appeared to 
 clothe every object with gold, reminding them of 
 the riches its light would soon reveal. It was a, 
 spot seldom frequented, as it bore the name of 
 the " Haunted Tree," and even the cattle would 
 not approach it, as the knoll produced nothing to 
 satisfy their hunger. " Now come," said Boni- 
 face, " we'll see what there is in dreams !" "Yes, 
 and the dreams of a seventh son," retorted the 
 sharp-witted stranger. " But hush ! what's that ?" 
 " It is only the noise of my farm horn," said the 
 trembling old man, " that has no business to 
 sound without my express orders." " It would 
 be strange," whispered the other, " if my dream 
 should prove false, for who ever heard of a triple 
 dream becoming otherwise than true ?" " Si- 
 lence !" returned the busy gray hairs, plying awk- 
 wardly with the shovel, " and let us wait for con- 
 versation when the gold is in our pockets." They 
 had some difficulty in removing the brush and 
 stone that entangled their labour, until at last 
 they opened something resembling newly opened 
 ground. Hang it, but," said Boniface, " the 
 ground works rather easy, considering years'
 
 94 
 
 must have hardened it, and from the ease with 
 which you work, you must be a capital hand in 
 clearing new lands, but hush! what noise is 
 that ? or the State will cheat us of half of our 
 earnings !" They heard another, but it was only 
 the cawing of a crow perched upon a neighbour- 
 ing fence. " Nonsense," said the old one, " why 
 toil here in vain for stumps and rocks, when we 
 might be relishing at home a smoking, hearty 
 breakfast !" " Peace," returned the other, striking 
 against something hard and shining ; but it was 
 only a polished stone which he threw in vexation 
 at the crow. Having dug about six feet, they 
 were arrested by something of a chest-like ap- 
 pearance, that caused a hollow rattling when 
 plied upon by the pick-axe. " Huzza ! huzza !" 
 shouted the raw-boned laugher ; " behold the 
 dream of the seventh son realized !" " But 
 where's the goblin ?" interrogated the venerable 
 trembler. " It must have been that crow," sighed 
 the fellow facetiously, " or else my own ghost ; for 
 you know that the spirits of seventh sons wander 
 while their bodies are snoring quietly in bed." In 
 breathless silence, they raised a large chest, and 
 several pots of coin about the size of dollars, but 
 they were covered by a thick mould and rust, that
 
 95 
 
 rendered it impossible to define their value. " I 
 know them \ I know them i" rejoined the gray 
 hairs, chuckling, " they are doubtless dollars or 
 joes buried here in the continental war !" " Be 
 careful, my old buck," returned the other, " what 
 you mumble behindthese trees, or I warrant before 
 night, that the harpies of the land have it snug in 
 their coffers !" They concealed the hole in which 
 the treasure was deposited, and behind the veil 
 of darkness, it was silently conveyed to the most 
 secret room of the inn. It was counted upon the 
 
 floor and made ten rows of twelve pieces each, 
 
 
 extending round the chamber. " All I want is my 
 
 rights !" droned the smooth-tongued fellow, " and 
 justice demands that I am entitled to half as 
 finder." " Right," replied his grinning compa- 
 nion, " and I will close my barn of an inn, and 
 
 live like a" " A seventh son," responded the 
 
 eye-sparkling stranger. 
 
 The old man agreed, that as the traveller could 
 not carry so much specie in his saddle bags, that 
 he would commute with him for bills to the value 
 of three thousand dollars, and he besought of him 
 as a favour, that he would speedily leave his pre- 
 mises, for fear of suspicions respecting the booty.
 
 96 
 
 The traveller obligingly left the happy publican 
 chuckling in the midst of his enormous treasures 
 and it was not until the following day, when he 
 made arrangements to deposite his cash, that he 
 discovered, the money was only base metal bu- 
 ried by the fellow, and washed over with a 
 chymical preparation that the best horse was 
 missing from the stable that the vision was all 
 a fable and that the pretended seventh son 
 was only a villanous MONEY DREAMER.
 
 TALES OF THE PRISON, 
 
 [BY THE LITTLE MAN IN BLACK.] 
 
 How many pine in want and dungeon glooms : 
 Shut from the common air, and common use 
 .Of their own limbs ! 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 IN Liberty-street, New- York, there is a dark 
 stone building, grown gray and rusty with age, 
 with small, deep windows, exhibiting a dungeon- 
 like aspect, and transporting the memory to scenes 
 long ago transpired, when the revolution poured 
 its desolating waves over the fairest portions of 
 our country. It is five stories high ; each of 
 which is divided into two dreary apartments; 
 but the ceilings are so low, and the light from 
 the windows so dim, that a stranger might be 
 apt to mistake the edifice for a prison. Etched 
 upon the walls, the initials of names, and ancient 
 dates are still plainly discernible, which are said 
 to have been the work of the American prisoner?. 
 No. IV. 1
 
 da 
 
 confined there during the continental war. There 
 is a gaol-like appearance of a door opening into 
 the street, and another descending at the side 
 into a dismal cellar-region scarcely allowing the 
 mid-day sunshine to peep through its window 
 gratings. The yard around this tall pile has 
 been fenced up of late years, and a wing added 
 to the south-west end to aid in the manufacture 
 of sugar, to which the structure was originally, 
 and has ever since been devoted. Curiosity led 
 me lately to loiter round the premises, and rum- 
 mage amid the gloomy mass, for relics of past 
 events. A cart, backed at the gate, was receiv- 
 ing a huge supply of sugar loaves a number of 
 busy, smoky^faced fellows, were plodding up and 
 down the steps a sleepy-headed mastiff was 
 dozing near the door and around me were old 
 hogsheads and boxes, and barrels, rough gable- 
 ends of houses, the golden rooster that seemed 
 crowing from the neighbouring steeple, together 
 with the dumpous, old fabric, that made me 
 fancy myself near the Bastile. As I was sitting on 
 the step, there entered the yard a couple of aged 
 veterans, somewhat shabbily dressed, haggard 
 with years and cares; the one tremblingly sup- 
 ported by a staff which shook under his hand, and
 
 99 
 
 the other by a crutch which but feebly supplied 
 the deficiency of a leg. They gazed around in 
 wild, inquisitive silence, and whispering to each 
 other something which I could not hear, the one 
 wiped away a tear from his eye, while his compan- 
 ion pulled him by the arm as if hurrying him from 
 the most melancholy scene. "Stop, my good 
 fellows," said I, overcome by the affecting sight, 
 " Does either of you remember this old build- 
 ing ?" " Aye, indeed," replied one of the silver- 
 haired veterans ; " this hole was once my home ! 
 For a long tedious year I was imprisoned here by 
 the English, until Providence was pleased to 
 favour me with the means of escaping. You 
 may see the initials of my name, H. W. there," 
 said he, pointing with his cane to an adjoining 
 brick building; "and that was done when we 
 were occasionally allowed to take a moment's 
 fresh air in the yard. But come, Jenkins, we 
 have had enough of these sad memorials !" I 
 was wound up to the highest pitch, and for my 
 life I could not let the poor fellows go. I insisted 
 on their accompanying me to a neighbouring 
 hotel, where, after they had partaken of an excel- 
 lent dinner, they amused me with the recital of 
 some of their past adventures. The one-legged
 
 100 
 
 veteran broke the silence first. " Perhaps you 
 wish to learn somthing, Sir, respecting the sugar- 
 house in Liberty, once, Crown-street : if you will 
 pardon an old man's garrulity, I will relate to you 
 the following particulars. 
 
 About the year 1777, when the British, under 
 General Howe, had possession of New-York. 
 they appropriated a number of public buildings 
 to the confinement of their American prisoners. 
 Among them were the Brick Meeting, the North 
 Dutch Church, the late Friends' meeting-house in 
 Pearl-street, the Gaol, and the Sugar house in 
 Crown-street, while the Middle : Dutch Church 
 was sometimes used as a hospital, and also as a 
 riding school for the use of the English cavalry. 
 Though the bravest of nations, I regret that the 
 British thus violated the temples of religion ; con- 
 verting them from asylums of peace, into unhal- 
 lowed magazines of war. But War, you know, 
 is a rash, blustering fellow, and whenever he flies 
 in a passion does many things to repent of, when 
 the carnage and bustle are over. I was then 
 quartered at Belleville, New-Jersey, in the Ameri- 
 can army under Colonel Courtlandt, and we were 
 encamped on both sides of the river on the
 
 101 
 
 woody hills, where the village was seen beauti- 
 fully reflected on the Passaic, seeming to clasp it 
 in its silvery zone. We had been hourly expect- 
 ing an attack from Sir Harry Clinton, but had 
 been for several days disappointed. Delay, un- 
 fortunately, rocked us into security, and we were 
 at last unexpectedly surprised. It was a dark 
 cloudy night not a star was to be seen. The 
 last tap of the reveille had sunk us into a sound 
 sleep, and only the watchword of the sentinels 
 interrupted the silence of the camp. The fierce 
 report of musketry roused us from slumber, and 
 looking through the darkness, we saw the blaze 
 of artillery playing upon our camp, and heard 
 upon our right the shouting of a multitude of 
 soldiers. A part of our army being on the op- 
 posite side of the river, many of us supposed 
 that succour might be found there, and hastily 
 plunged into the tide in the hope of deliverance 
 from that quarter. "Come along come along, 
 my brave fellows,'* cried cheering voices from 
 the other side of the Passaic, " here are your 
 friends," and sure enough, we were taken up 
 and secured by a body of American refugees 
 waiting to receive us on the bank. We were 
 all made prisoners, and we were hurried along.
 
 102 
 
 some with their hands tied behind, as a pe- 
 nance for their past bravery, and others growl- 
 ing under a hearty luncheon from a corporal's 
 thwacking sword, doubtless to soften their flesh 
 and prejudices at the same time. Our journey 
 was rather tedious, lying through a long cor- 
 deroy causeway, formed of round logs sunk in 
 the meadows, through a bewildering forest of 
 pines, which is said to have been consumed by 
 the burning of a load of hay, from a sleeping 
 dutch farmer's pipe. Oh, the curses that were 
 showered upon us by the rabble that followed, 
 and more particularly by the American refugees, 
 ten thousand times worse than the enemy. To 
 cut a long story short, my detachment was march- 
 ed to the Sugar-house in Liberty-street, and there 
 we were allowed to rest our aching bones 01* 
 sugared floors, by way of sweetening our bitter lot, 
 and softening the hardships we had previously 
 encountered. Our prison was literally an epi- 
 tome of national distress. Here were herds of 
 unfortunate Irish, belaboring every hair of their 
 heads for suffering themselves to be cooped, 
 like wild beasts, in such a hole ;-r there, wrong- 
 headed Hollanders, spitting forth their malice, 
 and muttering in broken English, their growls of
 
 103 
 
 threatened vengeance. A number of frolicsome 
 Frenchmen would snuff up whole vollies of rap- 
 pee, and snapping their fingers at the sentinels' 
 backs, would sing out " Washington and Liberty 
 for ever." In short, we had English, German, 
 Italian, and Portuguese ; and such a motley crew 
 of fellows you would be puzzled to find, except 
 in the walls of the State's Prison, or Bridewell. 
 Then we had continual bickerings, revilings, and 
 battles ; so that the soldiers were often obliged to 
 separate the prisoners to prevent the effusion of 
 blood that would have otherwise ensued. Our 
 rations were unwholesome, and often scantily fur- 
 nished. The neutral citizens would often send 
 us temporary supplies ; and although the English 
 must have been privy to this, they had the mag- 
 nanimity not to prevent it. To describe the filth, 
 vermin, and intolerable stench which we con- 
 stantly encountered would be impossible. The 
 prison fever, at this time, breaking out among 
 us, swept numbers from our society, and consign- 
 ed hundreds but half dead to the clutches of the 
 undertakers. I have seen many a cart-load of bo- 
 dies piled up, like billets of wood, to be interred 
 in deep holes around the city, without any other 
 covering than their clothes and the cold ground.
 
 104 
 
 One poor fellow was observed stirring in a heap 
 of dead bodies carrying off for burial, but some 
 humane citizen snatched him from the cart, and 
 having been resuscitated, he lived many years to 
 thank his deliverer. But I am not disposed to 
 censure the cruelty of the English ; for in such 
 times as these it is impossible, amid the uproar 
 and confusion, to avoid many things, which in 
 public tranquillity we would abhor. New re- 
 cruits to our body were continually arriving, and 
 others were discharged who had been regularly 
 exchanged. I became dreadfully sick of this 
 prison life, and determined, if possible, to break 
 the bonds of my servitude. I had been confined 
 about eleven months, and had been anxiously 
 waiting an honourable redemption. But as I in- 
 dulged no farther hopes, I resolved to adopt some 
 expedient for escaping. Though I had previously 
 made several attempts, yet I was always unsuc- 
 cessful. Either the sentinels were too wary the 
 yard was too full of soldiers the windows were 
 too high from the ground, and to fly from the 
 doors would be to rush upon the very guards 
 themselves. 
 
 . I resolved that very night, when a large body
 
 JO.O 
 
 , 
 
 of prisoners was expected, to slip through the 
 back door into the yard, and escape, by the dark- 
 ness and bustle, to the house of a friend in the 
 city. I had nothing about me but my clothes, 
 an empty tobacco-box, and a few shillings ; and 
 there were no impediments in my way, but want 
 of courage, or else failure in the attempt. I 
 paced all day up and down the floor, feeling like 
 a general with a heavy design in view, but with 
 a fluttering heart, lest my favourite scheme should 
 fail. I gazed through the windows on the town ; 
 but only a few English flags were seen waving in 
 the distance, and crowds of officers and soldiers 
 patrolling below through the street. The roar of 
 distant artillery from the river was occasionally 
 announcing new arrivals, and the shouts of mobs 
 in various directions, filled me with no very 
 agreeable sensations. I again longed to be in 
 the thickest of the battle, and to rejoin the army 
 under General Gates, to repay the enemy for my 
 long-continued sufferings. I absolutely lost my 
 appetite. When the evening rations were served 
 out, I most independently refused my share, and 
 felt that I was offered my own country's spoils, 
 and enslaved on the soil of my own paternal 
 home. I grew proud and sulky, and thought 
 . No. IV. 2
 
 106 
 
 only of drinking in the morning the success of 
 General Washington, and the confusion of those 
 who had so long made me a slave. The time 
 rolled so tedious, that I feared the hour of deli- 
 verance would never come. The sky began to 
 look stormy and dark, and the wind whistled 
 shrilly about the windows. The clock, from the 
 neighbouring steeple, tolled the hour of nine. It 
 was about the time when the sentinels changed 
 posts ; and I resolved to be near the back entrance 
 the very moment they relieved each other. I 
 listened till I caught the rumbling of feet in the 
 court-yard, and the deep, quick voices of the sen- 
 tinels answering, around the building, to each 
 other. I stole stealthily along through the pri- 
 soners, and heard the tapping of the drum an- 
 nouncing the wished-for event. As I stood be- 
 hind the door, I distinguished, through the 
 gratings, the dim figures of the sentinels, and the 
 slow clattering of steps ascending up the stair- 
 way. With a beating heart, I listened to the 
 key rattling in the rusty wards, and immediately 
 the door opened, and a deep file of prisoners en- 
 tered. Stooping on all-fours, I crept cautiously 
 through them, to the bottom of the steps, when I 
 gave a spring into a dark, opposite corner, where
 
 1 just perceived the sentry turning round the edi- 
 fice, and the heavy prison-door rolling back upon 
 its hinges. O, how delicious did the sweet air of 
 heaven feel to my parched-up spirits, and the very 
 gloom of the sky became an object of admiration 
 but the recollection of where I was, chastised 
 the satisfaction, and filled me with a horror which 
 language cannot describe. I was standing in the 
 angle of a high enclosure lately used as a bar- 
 rack, but was now deserted of the soldiers^ 
 who were absent somewhere on service. The 
 sentries were pausing near the door, and reload- 
 ing their arms by the light of a flickering lamp, 
 when a voice cried out from the yard, that a pri- 
 soner was standing in the corner. My first en- 
 deavour was to scale the lofty fence, or search 
 for some avenue or window, to avoid the impend- 
 ing danger. But there was no possible egress, 
 except by turning round and facing the enemy, 
 for the fence was too high, and no aperture could 
 be found capable of admitting my body. How 
 the perspiration trickled from my forehead, when 
 several footsteps were apparently approaching, 
 and I felt that my plans were altogether blasted ! 
 The snapping of a musket-lock grated awfully 
 upon my ears, and the figure of a red coat was
 
 108 
 
 advancing hastily towards me. 1 cannot say 
 what I did ; but at this instant, a board gave way 
 to my pressure, and immediately I was on the 
 other side, flying, like a stricken deer, for my life. 
 The flash of a gun was just visible behind me. 
 and loud, murmuring voices were urging the pur- 
 suit of the fugitive. Nassau-street and Broad- 
 way were crossed with the rapidity of lightning ; 
 but the trampling of the hunters was fearfully 
 gaming ground. Favoured by the darkness, I 
 took refuge in an alley, now called Lumber-street, 
 and several muskets were fired apparently in the 
 next street, down which my enemies pursued me. 
 It was really an uncomfortable night. The 
 clouds were flying, like myself, in uncertainty and 
 darkness, and occasional flurries of rain pattered 
 down on my unsheltered head. But where was I 
 to go ? The house where I expected shelter was 
 on the other side of the city, and to venture in 
 the direction of my prison, was almost flying into 
 the arms of death. There was but one resource 
 left, which was to gain the North river, and find, 
 if possible, a boat that might convey me to the 
 American army. As I was stealing past the 
 corner, a British soldier passed me : the barrel of 
 his gun glittered on his shoulder, and the flapping
 
 of his red coat darted for a moment upon my eye. 
 I fled once more with the agility of an eagle, and 
 heard again the cry of pursuit ringing fearfully 
 after me. Words cannot express my emotions, 
 when I found a skiff at the wharf furnished with a 
 pair of oars, and moored to the shore by a short 
 and slender fastening. O how wonderfully Provi- 
 dence often succours its dependants, and leads, 
 as by an unseen hand, the wandering and perish- 
 ing sufferer ! I cannot tell how the chord was 
 broken, but I only remember plying away with the 
 oars, before I was conscious of handling them. 
 It was fortunately flood tide, and with a lusty 
 sweep, for I was no bad sailor, I was clearing 
 the wharf with the velocity of an arrow, when I 
 saw a company of soldiers collecting at the pier, 
 and taking deadly aim at my poor, unsheltered 
 carcass. The balls whizzed reboundingly back 
 upon the water, and one of the oars trembled 
 under the shock. But uninjured, I bent myself 
 back upon the seat, and pulled away with a grasp 
 which nothing but death could unfasten. I was 
 already a mile from the landing, when, after 
 the sound of advancing oars, a boat appeared 
 behind manned with several persons, and a lamp 
 in the pinnace seemed to light up the counte-
 
 110 
 
 nances of soldiers. The wind was blowing a 
 gale from the south-west, and the rocking of the 
 skiff among the waves constantly endangered it 
 with filling, and afforded me only an occasional 
 glimpse of the barge, the rolling of whose oars 
 sounded most appalling to my ears. I feared 
 not death but the idea of being enslaved by the 
 enemy was dyingly oppressive. The boat really 
 seemed gaining upon me ; for what can one do 
 against the united exertions of several ? Once 
 I turned my head as the barge was mounting a 
 wave, but the whistling noise of a bullet chilled 
 further curiosity, and the report of distant cannon 
 made me imagine that the whole British army 
 was pursuing. My best plan was to fall in the 
 shadows of the palisades, and rather than be 
 taken, to make speedily for the shore, and con- 
 ceal myself amidst the entangling shrubbery. 
 The louder noise of approaching oars urged me 
 to land as rapidly as possible. It was in a 
 shelving cove, darkened by a gigantic rock on 
 the left, whose top was overhung with hemlocks 
 and cedars, some of which, torn off by the ele- 
 ments, were trailing their wild branches in the 
 water. I pulled the skiff along over a ledge of 
 slippery weeds, and hid it in a dark hole, fasten-
 
 in 
 
 mg the cord round the cleft of a rock. I clam- 
 bered carefully along on the body of a fallen 
 tree, which landed me on a rugged knoll over- 
 looking the dark waters, and terminating behind 
 in a deep valley that retired into a cavity of the 
 hill. Rocks, forests, and bushy heights over- 
 shadowed me from observation, as I looked down 
 upon the boat, from which several fierce soldiers 
 sprang, intending, no doubt, to secure the run- 
 away prisoner. I feared to stir ; as the least 
 rustling might discover my retreat, and lodge in 
 my head a few silencing bullets. There was no 
 one here to tell tales ; and avoidance of death 
 in such a place must depend on concealment, or 
 the most heroic bravery. Four or five brawny 
 fellows, armed apparently with muskets, stood 
 immediately at my side, and sat down on the 
 very rock under which I had sought shelter. 
 " Confound it !" said one, " We had like to have 
 finished that chap on the wharf; but what a tug 
 we had in letting off from the shore !" " Yes," re- 
 turned a hoarse, murdering voice, " I wish I had 
 driven this bayonet through his liver, and then 
 had the sport of setting him on that stump for 
 the pleasure of popping him down: but where can 
 that fellow have gone for whom we have had such
 
 112 
 
 a goose chase ? By the powers ! if I had him 
 here, I'd make gravy of every bone in his body !" 
 I felt the feet of one of the gang kicking my 
 back, and immediately a fellow sung out, " Why, 
 hang it, what have we here ? I believe on my 
 conscience that we have stumbled on that very 
 identical scoundrel. Come out here, my hare- 
 hearted soul, and do not be ashamed to look in 
 the face of six brave, honest soldiers !" I was 
 dragged out, neck and heels, and with all the force 
 I could oppose to the opposition of several, I 
 cried out "Murder me here, ye miscreants! 
 but take me not back to that execrable prison !" 
 " Murder Prison och blazes," screamed out a 
 squalid Hibernian, " do ye think, jewel, its mur- 
 dering ye we're after. Be quiet honey, we'll not 
 harm a hair of your head, only tell us what ye're 
 after doing here; doubtless, ye're a murderer 
 yourself, or else ye would not be squatting be- 
 hind rocks to fall upon poor defenceless travel- 
 lers." " I am a poor, unfortunate American," I 
 replied, " who have just escaped from the prison- 
 house in Crown-street ; and I have been flying for 
 my life from the pursuit of the English guard !". 
 " Ah, monsieur," squeaked out a poor Frenchman. 
 " I tell you he vas de prisonaire just fly from our 
 prison, and vy did you fire de gun ?"
 
 U3 
 
 The mystery was soon explained. The party 
 were some of my late fellow sufferers, who, 
 taking advantage of the search of the sentinels, 
 had escaped, through one of the windows, to the 
 North river, but not without maiming several of 
 the Hessian guard, whose guns they fortunately 
 brought away. Perceiving my boat, and mis- 
 taking me for a peaceable farmer, they discharged 
 a musket to alarm me, and arrest my progress, in 
 order to avail themselves of my counsel and as- 
 sistance. They had followed me from the shore, 
 and disappointed at not finding any person 
 or house, they had determined to remain where 
 they found me, till the morning. Oh, how joyfully 
 did we recount the sufferings which we had es- 
 caped, and the future plans to be pursued, after the 
 victories we should assist in gaining. By break 
 of day, we jumped into our boats, and not long 
 after rejoined the army at Saratoga, where 
 that memorable surrender took place so im- 
 portant and glorious to America." 
 
 The one-legged veteran ceased, and the other 
 laying aside his cane, related the following med- 
 ley of adventures. 
 
 No. IV. 3
 
 When the Americans had possession of Fort 
 Washington, on the North river, which was the 
 only post they held at that time on New-York 
 island, I was a captain of light infantry stationed 
 there on duty. The American army having re- 
 treated from the city of New-York, Sir William 
 Howe determined to avail himself of the oppor- 
 tunity, and reduce that garrison to the subjection 
 of the British. Our detachment at that time 
 began to be in want of provisions, and as General 
 Washington was at Fort Lee, it was a difficult 
 matter to supply ourselves from a distance, with- 
 out running the hazard of interception by the 
 enemy. There was, only a few miles from our 
 garrison on the Northern turnpike, a well stock- 
 ed Inn-keeper, who, alarmed by British threats, 
 was something of a refugee, and having refused 
 to take any active part in the war, was suspected 
 of secretly apprising the English of the strength 
 and movements of the American forces. Though 
 a noted coward, he was known to have in his 
 cellars a large quantity of groceries, which 
 he was in the habit of constantly retailing to 
 both armies, and as he was considered an out- 
 law by the Americans, it had long been 
 secretly determined to dispossess him of his
 
 stores. It being the time of need with us, 1 was 
 appointed, with a few others, to pay the landlord 
 a visit, and under pretence of -refreshing our- 
 selves on the road, to ease him of the booty we 
 so eagerly desired. But the grand difficulty was, 
 whether we should openly attack him, or accom- 
 plish our purpose by some insidious stratagem. 
 The former was not so easy, as he might secretly 
 notify the enemy of our approach, and then the 
 difficulty of finding the object of our search, 
 might delay and frustrate the purpose of our 
 mission. We considered ifr the best method, to . 
 be indebted to artifice, as a smaller body of men 
 would answer, and as we were less liable to inter- 
 ruption and surprise. I was always fond of sin- 
 gular adventures, and to oblige my commander, 
 and more particularly my own humour, I started 
 off with several brother officers to put our de- 
 signs in execution. We arrived at the inn in less 
 than an hour, and found the landlord quite good 
 natured and cozey. We called for a snug supper, 
 with all the luxuries which his establishment 
 afforded. We had broiled quails roasted fowls 
 a fine boiled turkey a surloin of beef- and 
 every vegetable offering of the season. On one 
 side sparkled gay-blushing Jamaica and crimson-
 
 I Hi 
 
 cheeked Bourdeaux on the other, were pale- 
 faCed Holland and hasty-tempered Porter, ranged 
 
 O 
 
 opposite to sparkling pitchers of cider and ale, 
 which kindly foamed a welcome to the guests ; 
 while, as a body of reserve, appeared apple pies, 
 mince pies, and custards, bringing up the rear of 
 this formidable army. "Bless me, landlord," 
 said I, " this is all finer than the cash which must 
 pay for it but it seems to me you are charmingly 
 at ease amid the dangers which hang over your 
 head !" " I have harmed no man," replied the 
 thick-lipped taverne*, " and by the same rule I 
 hope that no one will harm me !" " What," ex- 
 claimed I, " have you no fear of the scowling 
 English, who are ravaging the land, and making 
 poor men of the richest among us ? Think you, 
 that if they will not let New-York rest, they 
 will suffer you to slumber on the fat of the 
 land ?" " I have done no man any harm," again 
 whined the landlord, " and I know not by 
 what principles they attack those who place 
 themselves under their protection;" "And do 
 you suppose, you narrow-souled refugee, that the 
 British will keep their promise ? No, I warrant 
 you 'tis only a pretext of war to entrap the 
 unguarded, that they may the more securely
 
 117 
 
 unload you of the booty of which they are in 
 quest. Now harkyou, landlord we are American 
 officers, as you perceive, and wish to put you on 
 your guard. Now, from what we have heard 
 on the road, we have reason to believe that your 
 inn will be attacked to-night, and all its inn-door 
 blessings divided among a scouting party of 
 English ; but we only speak from hear-say, there 
 may be no truth in the report but we would only, 
 as friends, warn you of the consequences, that 
 you may know who your friends are, in case of 
 the threatened attack." " Come, no jokes, now, 
 brave Captain Dennis," droned the chuckle- 
 headed fellow, turning pale as he laughed, "I 
 would not believe it, if I even heard it myself 
 but where did you learn the report ?" " Hear 
 the report, why, what a joke that the fellow will 
 not believe us; but dont imagine that we will 
 forsake you and leave you to the clutches of 
 these plundering vermin ! No, no so all you 
 have to do is to surrender us your keys, and 
 direct us to the place where your groceries are 
 secured, and we will draw our swords most 
 lustily in your defence." The landlord stifled 
 a horse-laugh, as he took down from a hook a 
 bridewell-looking bunch of keys, opening certain
 
 pantries arid closets which he generously pointed 
 out, and being inwardly satisfied that we were 
 a garrison of ourselves, he declared that he felt 
 himself as safe as if he were in the centre of 
 General Washington's army. We pretended to 
 be fatigued desired to be showed to our rooms, 
 and were only suffered to retire, on our express 
 stipulation with the landlord, that he should be 
 allowed the privilege of sleeping in our apartment. 
 This was agreed to, and as the night was rather 
 windy, and the hotel somewhat solitary and desert- 
 ed, we repaired to our beds at an early hour : but 
 not so the landlord he seated himself near the 
 fire and began to stir it up then he would twist 
 around in his chair sometimes walk the floor 
 and at others stare out of the window, as if 
 watching the motion of every shadow. "Gen- 
 tlemen ! American officers, I would say," stam- 
 mered the trembling refugee, " this seems to me to 
 be an improper time for sleep ! but no dispar- 
 agement to your bravery, understand me, for I 
 know that you dare to doze even under the muzzle 
 of a cannon ! But I say, Gentlemen Officers it 
 appears to me that we had better stand guard, 
 watching for the enemy, than suffer ourselves, 
 like pigeons to be caught asleep in our cages ! T
 
 119 
 
 say, Gentlemen I mean Officers !" We heard 
 the poor fellow's complaints but we snored 
 purposely so loud, that it actually drowned his 
 noisy expostulations. I had considerable diffi- 
 culty in smothering a roar of laughter at seeing 
 our Boniface take off his coat and vest, and then 
 put them on again then he unhitched his 
 pantaloons and again he would rehang them on 
 their gallows. Now he would peep out of the 
 windows then listen at the door but at last he 
 ventured, like a true veteran, to dismantle for the 
 night, and retire behind the fortification of soft 
 sheets for safety till the morning. But still the 
 cry of " Gentlemen Officers" rang in our ears for 
 a full half-hour, when, provoked by the grumbling, 
 and discordant complaints, Sleep laid embargo 
 upon the tongue of the weary host. We re- 
 mained still, and listened to the whistling of the 
 wind, that was every moment sweeping the branch- 
 es of the trees against our windows. The rattling 
 of the sashes, the creaking and slamming of some 
 terrific shutters and doors, that were keeping tune 
 with each other, and the immense snoring of our 
 landlord kept up so doleful a concert, that were 
 it not for the purpose that kept our minds alive, 
 we should really have given way to nervous pro-
 
 120 
 
 Densities. Amidst this discordant music, the 
 firing of musketry was heard around the house, 
 and the confused voices of a multitude of per- 
 sons approaching nearer and nearer to our hotel. 
 It would have defied a Hogarth's pencil to depict 
 our landlord dancing up and down the room, 
 arousing us by the most endearing appellations 
 to which he could lay his tongue. " O, the per- 
 fidy of the British ! My house is attacked ! O, 
 the perjured promises of the infernal red coats ! 
 My property will be robbed! Gentlemen, dear 
 gentlemen officers, help, help, help !" " Why, 
 what's the reason now," we cried, " for all that 
 confounded racket ? Is this the way you disturb 
 your guests from sleeping, because you only hear 
 the report of a few muskets ?" " Oh, gentlemen 
 officers," the eloquent landlord pled, " your pro- 
 phecy has come to pass : there there only see 
 those red coats endeavouring to break into the 
 cellars !" " Sure enough, there they are," we 
 amazedly exclaimed, hastily dressing, "but be 
 pacified, my good sir, your property is in safe 
 hands we have promised to protect you !" Se- 
 veral volleys of small arms were heard under the 
 windows : the cellar doors, the side shutters, 
 and the hall door were pounded with the most
 
 121 
 
 abusive violence. " Open your doors open your 
 doors, you obnoxious rebel, or we will burn you to 
 the ground, and make moonlight shine through 
 you unlock your cellars, and hand us out your 
 stores, or we will roast you like a turkey before 
 your own kitchen fire !" The taverner was after us, 
 bringing up the van, holding up his small clothes, 
 and entreating us to defend him from the red 
 coats threatening to make havoc of his property. 
 We heard the cellar door broken open, and per- 
 sons apparently forcing their way down ; and then 
 the rolling of barrels, the clatter of voices, and 
 the ringing of arms kept our host in a state little 
 short of distraction. "Load your pistols, my 
 brave fellows, I cried, and draw your swords, and 
 let us march into the lower regions to be revenged 
 upon these plunderers !" In a moment we were 
 all arrayed, being eight in number, with our wea- 
 pons, and were on the point of descending 
 into the cellar, when Boniface insisted that I 
 should stay behind to defend him, and in case I 
 was wanted, that a signal of three knocks should 
 be given. " Go on, then, brave comrades, I ex- 
 claimed, and let success crown the efforts of 
 your valour!" We heard the tramp of their 
 heavy boots till they reached the bottom of the 
 No. IV. 4
 
 122 
 
 < 
 
 stairs, and then there commenced a tremendous 
 firing of small arms now the house would re- 
 echo with the clashes of broadswords again the 
 shouts of victory would ring through the halls 
 then a dead silence would prevail and now the 
 rolling of boxes and barrels, arid the apparent 
 struggling of bodies as if violently contesting for 
 life. To the publican's dismay, three loud knocks 
 were heard upon the floor. They were the sig- 
 nal for my retreating below, and I accordingly 
 left the landlord half dead with fright ; and just 
 as I was flying from the cellar, a party of British 
 soldiers were entering the house, and our host 
 was just informing them of the battle among his 
 kegs. But my men at this time must have been 
 more than a mile ahead with their booty, and 
 mounting my fleet courser waiting for me in the 
 road, I rejoined, in a short time, my party at the 
 garrison. But our punishment was at hand. Our 
 fortress was stormed on the following day by 
 the British army; by General Kniphausen on 
 the north, by General Matthews, aided by Lord 
 Cornwallis, on the east, together with Lieutenant 
 Sterling, and Lord Percy. So fierce and suc- 
 cessful was the attack, that twenty-seven hundred 
 of us were taken prisoners, and a number with
 
 123 
 
 myself were marched off to New- York, to take 
 our board and lodging at the Crown-Street 
 Sugar House, where I think that I paid compound 
 interest for the trick I paid the poor refugee land- 
 lord. If " one good turn deserves another," I 
 am sure that injustice and crime seldom fail of 
 meeting their deserts in this world ; so that the 
 pleasures of criminality are far outweighed by 
 the accompanying evils which it inflicts. It 
 would require a more eloquent tongue than mine, 
 to describe my residence in this filthy prison. It 
 was like the soul inhabiting a putrified body. I 
 made a number of attempts to escape ; the first 
 of which, for its oddity, I cannot fail to mention. 
 Feigning myself sick, I refused to taste the 
 least morsel of food ; and so well did I play my 
 part, that the surgeon pronounced me actually 
 in danger. I carried the joke so far, as to coun- 
 terfeit death, and I lay nearly half a day stretched 
 out in the manner of a corpse. In the hurry of 
 removing the bodies to the cart, I too was bun- 
 dled with the rest, and while my hearse was 
 moving off, I had the temerity to give my under- 
 taker the slip, and in my haste to mingle with the 
 living, I unloaded by my struggles several of the 
 dead. The driver, supposing that the corses
 
 124 
 
 were returning to life, was just on the point of 
 taking to his heels, when, perceiving the soldiers 
 giving chase to a dead man, he calmly adjusted 
 his load, and drove along to the place of inter- 
 ment. My weakness prevented me from running 
 as fast as my pursuers, and, to my chagrin, I was 
 brought back to the prison, and honoured, they 
 said, beyond my deserts, with a real resurrection 
 to life. I began to resign myself to despair ; a 
 fever set in after this mockery of death, and 1 
 came very near being carried off its victim. 
 The prisoners were becoming as discontented 
 as myself. A large proportion had been im- 
 prisoned more than a year, and there was no 
 prospect of deliverance. I became acquainted 
 with an amiable young American, the wretched- 
 ness of whose lot tended to alleviate my own. 
 Brave, companionable, and kind, he has sat 
 many a weary night at my side, consoling my 
 sorrows, and beguiling the dreary hours with his 
 interesting history. He was the child of wealthy 
 and doting parents, who, having given him the 
 best education in their power, intended to devote 
 him to some honourable profession. When the 
 revolution broke out, he was pressed into the 
 service, and having been broken down in various
 
 battles, was imprisoned in the Sugar House, tar 
 from his parents and friends, who had long since 
 considered him dead. But there was one, from 
 whom he had been torn, whom he loved better 
 than all the world, to whom he had repeatedly 
 written, but had received no reply. " My dear 
 friend," he would say to me, " if you survive me, 
 and escape this deadly hole, will you inform my 
 dear parents and Eliza, that their Henry perished 
 a captive here, breathing the most fervent prayers 
 for their happiness ?" I gave him the most so- 
 lemn assurances but I tried to cheer him by the 
 hope, feeble as it was, of restoration to the friends 
 of his bosom. " Tell me not," he would add, 
 " of the hopes of reunion. There is only one 
 world where the ties of affection shall never 
 break, and where the joys of kindred spirits will 
 evermore commingle. The imprisonment we 
 suffer is one of the strongest arguments for such 
 a state, or the Being who made us would be un- 
 just to his wretched creatures !" One evening, as 
 we were sitting in the narrow window, we per- 
 ceived a young woman standing at the gate, and 
 imploring the sentinel for admission into the 
 prison. She entered this dreary abode, like an 
 angel among the dead, and flew to her recog- 
 nizing lover, all pale and altered as he was. Oh.
 
 126 
 
 love requires no tokens to point out the beloved 
 object ; but like the magnetic needle, points, with 
 undeviating exactness, to its mark, in all climates 
 and seasons ; and like two kindred drops of water, 
 mingling instinctively with each other. There 
 could not have been a more affecting meeting. 
 She told him, that she had received his last letter, 
 but could not answer it that his parents were 
 yet living, and that she had written to them of the 
 contents that her widowed mother was still at 
 the homestead, and that anxiety to see her Henry 
 had nerved her to brave the perils of the journey. 
 Staying with a friend in the city, she promised to 
 visit him every day, and alleviate the sorrows 
 which she could not remedy. I resolved to inte- 
 rest the guard hi behalf of the young man. 
 Among the Hessian sentinels, there was one who 
 was in the habit of serving out our rations, and 
 who, from long intimacy with the prisoners, was 
 almost considered a friend. As he was about 
 closing us up one night, I kindly solicited his at- 
 tention told the story of the hapless couple, and 
 endeavoured to make some impression upon his 
 feelings. He was about turning away, when, 
 upon my offering him a guinea, which I had 
 secretly concealed, he became all ear, and pro 
 mised to befriend us. He informed me that hr
 
 12? 
 
 would not mount guard till the following night, 
 and that if we would be at the rear door precisely 
 at midnight, he would certainly unfasten it, and 
 clear the coast for our escape. The news ope- 
 rated on our minds like the most bewitching 
 cordial. Even the gloom of our prison wore a 
 livelier aspect, and our bondage seemed lightened 
 of half of its burden. Who can describe the 
 heaviness of the lingering moments? We 
 counted, with fluttering spirits, the middle church 
 bell tolling the appointed hour. The prisoners 
 were sunk in a profound sleep, and not a single 
 step of the sentry was heard walking its rounds. 
 I was inclined to believe that the Hessian had 
 forgotten us ; when we heard on a sudden a cau- 
 tious tread from without, and the wards of the 
 lock slowly yielding to the key. The door partly 
 opened, and a low, rough voice invited us to ad- 
 vance. It was a clear moonlight night, but not 
 a creature was to be seen. We softly descended 
 the stairs, and, headed by our guide, we were led 
 through a narrow opening, at the corner of 
 which we fancied we saw a soldier, but it was 
 only a tall post partly illumined by the beams of 
 the smiling moon. The dark figure of our con- 
 ductor trailing behind him a short, heavy musket.
 
 128 
 
 made us feel how much we were in his power. 
 Leading us through several windings, the faithful 
 Hessian brought us to a side street, near which 
 were two persons, apparently engaged in conver- 
 sation. The tapping of a drum warned the sen- 
 tinel to depart ; and while Henry was expressing 
 his apprehensions about the strangers, his name 
 was called, and in a moment he was folded in the 
 embraces of his parents and Eliza. 
 
 Having received her letter, the former had that 
 very day arrived, and it was by a secret appoint- 
 ment, between the sentinel and Eliza, that Henry 
 so unexpectedly met them. Words cannot ex- 
 press our mutual rejoicings. We lodged that night 
 at the house of a friend, and the next morning I 
 took leave of my affectionate companions, who 
 immediately returned to their native villages, and 
 were shortly, I understood, rewarded with each 
 other. Wearied of battles, I remained neutral 
 in the city, during the remainder of the war ; and 
 peace soon shedding its happy influence around, 
 the voice of devotion again ascended from the 
 churches which had been occupied as prisons, and 
 business resumed its sway in the Sugar House, 
 the dungeon of all my sufferings.
 
 THE ILLUSTRIOUS DEAD. 
 
 All that's bright must fade, 
 
 The brightest still the fleetest : 
 All that's sweet was made, 
 
 But to be lost, when sweetest. 
 
 T. MOORE. 
 
 INHERE is something sublimely affecting in the 
 contemplation of the illustrious dead. We can 
 follow ordinary persons to the grave, and hallow 
 their sleeping remains ; we can mingle our tears 
 with the bereaved, and pour in their bleeding 
 hearts the balm of consolation*; but their death 
 leaves no permanent impression, like the mur- 
 muring stream that washes the traces from the 
 sand. But when we bend over the ashes of those 
 who towered among us as pyramids in wisdom 
 and usefulness, whose path was illuminated by 
 their genius and virtues, and whose life and de- 
 parture have been consecrated by the prayers of 
 thousands whom they have blessed ; we almost 
 
 feel as if the world had suffered a momentary 
 No. V. 1
 
 shock, and we look despairingly around to reme* 
 dy the loss. The fall of a solitary rock, the pros- 
 tration of a single edifice, may produce a momen- 
 tary tremour ; but it is only when the mountain 
 totters, and the city is engulphed in ruins, that the 
 soul is electrified with dismay. 
 
 This reverential homage to the memory of the 
 truly great is the adoration which is paid to in- 
 telligence and virtue, and is, in some degree, an 
 evidence of the immortality of the mind. It is 
 not the unmeaning respect rendered to the indi- 
 vidual, but to the principles which have elevated, 
 the virtues which have adorned, and the ben- 
 efits which have immortalized his character ; and 
 these consecrated by our best wishes and feel- 
 ings, are embalmed in pious recollection, and 
 preserved by the sculptor and historian from the 
 shades of oblivion. Every nation has shed its 
 tears over those who, having been sent by heaven 
 to illuminate their country, have retired from the 
 world, to give place to the exertions of others. 
 They are like the stars of heaven, which as fast 
 as one declines, others rise to diffuse their light. 
 Great and good men may be indeed regarded, as 
 the instruments of Providence in the meliora-
 
 tion of the world. They are the moral angels 
 deputized to enlighten and purify society, arouse 
 the ambition dormant in the human breast, and 
 fire, by their example, to brilliant and praise-worthy 
 deeds, transmitting their blessings to the latest 
 posterity. Yet they are nejper appreciated till 
 their mortal career is closed. Familiarized with 
 seeing them, with catching from their lips the 
 treasures of intelligence, with living as it were in 
 the sunshine of their superiority, we never know 
 their loss till they are set upon our sight, and 
 every object around is involved in darkness. 
 When we see the death-pall covering the ashes 
 of the renowned, and a nation's tears are beheld 
 falling upon their sod from the eyes of its noblest 
 citizens, it is then they find " an epitaph in every 
 mind, and a tomb in every heart." The instanta- 
 neous burst of feeling, " How can such men be 
 dispensed with ?" is answered by the reply that 
 the Omniscient has done this to convince us he 
 can do without them that his means are as end- 
 less as his purposes that he can raise up others 
 more powerful than they, and that he can render 
 even their death instrumental in the furtherance 
 of his designs.
 
 13-2 
 
 In the death of illustrious men we view the 
 imbecility of human plans. So supremely de- 
 pendent seems success on the efforts of human 
 sagacity, that we calculate the issue, by the 
 talents of those concerned. National prosperity 
 appears identified wijh the genius of its statesmen, 
 the policy of its rulers, and the mental powers of 
 its literary men. All the light that streams from 
 literature and science all the social gifts which 
 impart gladness to the domestic circle, and fill 
 the soul with silent and unspeakable enjoyment 
 all the privileges which flow from the hallowed 
 fountain of civil and religious liberty, are sup- 
 posed entirely indebted to the wisdom of worldly 
 prudence, and the calculation of a few enlight- 
 ened philosophers. But when the wisdom that 
 should have counselled is speechless, and the in- 
 fluence which sustained, is palsied by the spear 
 of death : when the genius that should have en- 
 lightened, is quenched in its orbit, and the heart 
 that would have administered happiness, has 
 frozen in its tabernacle, who does not perceive the 
 folly of dependences so frail, so flattering, and so 
 false ? When the enlightened statesman, on whom 
 are suspended the destinies of his country, falls a 
 victim to the destroyer, and the judicious policy
 
 133 
 
 he has pursued, bids fair to be blasted by the ga- 
 thering political storm : when the eloquent coun- 
 sellor who is both the guardian of justice and the 
 advocate of suffering, is swept from the ranks 
 which he ornaments as well as defends : when 
 literature is bereft of its firmest and loftiest pillar : 
 when the illustrious physician bows to the stroke 
 which he has averted from the hearts of others ; 
 and when the useful divine, cut off in the prime 
 of his usefulness, resigns the earthly for the hea- 
 venly fold of his Redeemer, are we not taught 
 the fallacy of human policy, and the vanity of 
 the wisest calculations? These pillars are re- 
 moved, that we may perceive that they are not 
 our supports: These luminaries are quench- 
 ed, that we may realize, they are not the source 
 of wisdom. Powerful means, like these, must 
 be used to eradicate our worldly dependence, 
 and found our hopes on a better and more 
 durable foundation. The heart must be often 
 wrung with disappointment, that the mind 
 may contemplate a superintending Providence 
 an Omniscient Intelligence controlling our 
 concerns, eliciting good from evil, light from 
 darkness, and consolation from the thorns of 
 sorrow.
 
 IU 
 
 fc 
 
 The death of the illustrious tends to excite a 
 spirit of public sympathy. Oppressed by its own 
 griefs, the heart is too selfish to feel for the public 
 weal, and make its interests, in any degree, its 
 own. In lamenting the departure of a great man, 
 devoted to the public good, all are led to feel their 
 relation to the community ; and in sympathizing 
 for the loss of one equally endeared to all, they 
 foster a sympathetic spirit in the distresses of 
 others. The illustrious dead are regarded as a 
 sort of family relative. They are the ties which 
 entwine the reserve of ignorance with the warmth 
 of consanguinity, and connect the enjoyments of 
 private life with those of the community. They 
 are the common centres about which the public 
 hopes and fears revolve ; and if they expire, like 
 fallen stars, in darkness, while every eye is fasten- 
 ed on them, it is no wonder that the tears of 
 mourning should stream from every eye. 
 
 ". : ,-J-vi; .?..,.;? .Oifij&'lijfc 
 
 In the demise of the great, we contemplate 
 the intellectual glory to which they have been 
 admitted. Though towering far beyond the 
 mind of the multitude, they were still imperfect 
 beings, dazzled by the same phantoms, deceived 
 by the same hopes, and limited by the same nar-
 
 135 
 
 row boundaries. Embued with the literature and 
 erudition of the age, they felt the infancy of 
 mind, and the barriers which opposed its perfec- 
 tion. To suppose that those faculties are torpid, 
 and those principles dead, would be an imputation 
 on the goodness of the Supreme Being. It is a 
 conclusion, warranted by supernatural testimony, 
 that they have joined kindred spirits in the 
 light of celestial intelligence, and are exercising 
 their faculties in the highest possible perfec- 
 tion. As every thing in nature rises to its 
 level, so the intellect of the pious will seek its 
 own element in glory. Occupied in a sphere 
 adapted to its capacities, the soul may cultivate 
 its own peculiar taste, only freed from the corrup- 
 tions enfettering mortality. Why may not the 
 distinguished in intellect mingle together in ce- 
 lestial unison, and " differing from others as other 
 stars in glory," be especially favoured with the 
 contemplation of those mysteries, to be hidden 
 perhaps from less aspiring minds ? What a re- 
 fined association, when the bards of profane, 
 shall mingle their pious songs with those of sa- 
 cred poetry : when the holy historians, philoso- 
 phers, and literaries of all ages and nations shall 
 commune together in mind : when the wise, the
 
 eloquent, and the powerful of the earth, shall 
 meet the apostles, the prophets, and the princes 
 of inspiration ! It will be an intellectual feast 
 worthy of enkindling our most burning anticipa- 
 tions ; for their expansion of faculty must equal 
 their glory. No mortal eloquence can describe 
 such a meeting ! not the loftiest angel could de- 
 pict the heart-entrancing blessedness that must 
 emanate from a state like this ! 
 
 It is profitable to meditate upon the illustrious 
 dead, that the heart may be excited to imitate 
 their virtues. We are more satisfied with ad- 
 miring than rivalling the excellent. Cold senti- 
 ments evaporate from the lips, but virtuous princi- 
 ples seldom take root in the heart. We think 
 that the height of the illustrious is too lofty to 
 reach; and commending them for supernatural 
 gifts, we are cowardly contented to occupy the 
 valley. But we should remember, that the de- 
 servedly renowned are often more indebted to 
 persevering industry, than remarkable mental en- 
 dowments; and that it is in the cultivation of 
 the faculty in which we excel, that we may be 
 enabled to attain greatness of character. But it 
 is not by a single step that the lofty mountain is
 
 137 
 
 ascended, but by gradual advances unremittingly 
 up its side. Thousands that have gone before us, 
 may ascribe their success to progressive attain- 
 ments in wisdom and virtue ; and myriads that 
 will come after us, will arrive by the same road, 
 to conspicuity. 
 
 What should then retard our pace, or in- 
 timidate our exertions ? We are not required to 
 pursue the bubble reputation, which breaks as 
 soon as formed, but the honourable distinction of 
 great and good men, who laboured more to de- 
 serve than seek after fame. The example they 
 have taught, shines before us like a pillar of fire, 
 to encourage our advances. We feel the world 
 trembling and crumbling beneath us; and we 
 hear the death bell of our hopes on every passing 
 breeze. We see that nothing is immortal but 
 lives devoted to usefulness and piety, in enlight- 
 ening the wanderer, solacing the mourner, and 
 alleviating the toils of the pilgrimage of life. 
 Let no earthly fascination, no corrupting senti- 
 ment, no hollow example, seduce us from the 
 narrow path, and plunge us into whirlpools of in- 
 evitable ruin. As citizens of heaven, aspiring 
 after an immortal crown, let us vigorously press 
 
 No. V. 2
 
 138 
 
 ibrward to our imperishable reward. Then, whe- 
 ther living in obscurity, we pine away in poverty 
 and neglect : though our names are ungraven on 
 obelisks, or monuments, yet we shall live in the 
 affections of the amiable and the virtuous ; we 
 shall receive the commendation of the searcher 
 of hearts; and on every bosom shall our epitaph 
 be written : 
 
 They have gone from the world in the light of their fame, 
 Like the star that is lost in the morning's pure fiame, 
 
 The brightest that shone at even : 
 But they live in the home of the blessed on high. 
 And their star is now hid in the glorious sky, 
 
 By the holy light of heaven. 

 
 
 OR THE 
 
 INDIAN'S CAVE. 
 
 The murmuring of the sea-shore was a hymn 
 Sung by sweet voices : every chafd pebble 
 Rang with a crystal tinkling as it roll'd. 
 
 AxHERsrom 
 
 , THE human mind, panting after enjoyment, 
 courts every variety of occupation and scene. 
 Enervated by pleasure, we seek the shades of 
 meditation : wearied by business, we retire to the 
 stillness of solitude : oppressed by the robes of 
 ambition, we mingle in domestic scenes, and find, 
 in the friends of our bosom, the comforts denied 
 by the world. The eye wearies with reposing on 
 the fairy landscape, the dimpling river, or the 
 soft blue heaven spangled with its crown of stars, 
 but wanders among dreary mountains, caverns, 
 and volcanoes ; pauses at the seashore, and drinks 
 ir> its wild tempestuous scenery; or it pierces
 
 through the innumerable systems, peopling the so- 
 litude of space. This adaptation of circumstances 
 to the varying moods we indulge, not only ar- 
 gues an overruling Providence, but the limitless 
 powers of the soul. It shows, that there is 
 nothing beneath heaven which can satisfy the 
 heart; that every station we take discovers a 
 higher, and still higher in prospect ; and although 
 lost in the immensity of our conceptions, we still 
 dare to penetrate the fathomless regions beyond. 
 
 Every large city is generally endowed by 
 nature with charming romantic retreats, ap- 
 parently intended to gratify this propensity. 
 Among the enviable resorts frequented by the 
 citizens of Boston, is the little peninsula of Na- 
 hant, joining the township of Ljnn, and am- 
 bitiously jutting out into the bay, as if vying with 
 the main land in warding off the incursions of 
 the sea. To a person approaching it by land, it 
 appears like an arm stretched out to welcome his 
 arrival ; whilst the timid might construe it as a 
 token of warning to guard him from the dangers 
 which yawn around. Of a still calm day, it swells 
 out upon the bosom of the bay, lifting its gray 
 rocks above the smeoth mirror of the water.
 
 141 
 
 which, darkened by their angry scowl, resembles 
 virtue overshadowed by the trials of adversity. But 
 when a strong east wind beats upon the ocean, 
 it more resembles an island attacked on all sides 
 by the waves, and bravely defending itself by its 
 towers of rocks which rise defyingly around it. 
 Though it is delightfully accessible by water, yet a 
 visit by land is far more agreeable ; as the prospect 
 is diversified by a fine view of Boston harbour 
 the numerous bridges connecting the opposite 
 sides the beautiful village of Charlestown, and 
 the famous Bunker hill, near which the tra- 
 veller passes ; and then the fine Salem turnpike, 
 beautified with country-seats, churches, and vil- 
 lages, until we arrive by a bye-road in full view of 
 the ocean to the north ; while to the right a white 
 level beach sweeps more than a mile and a half 
 to the south-west, forming a narrow isthmus join- 
 ing the peninsula of Nahant, which seems from 
 the agitation of the sand, to be entirely inacces- 
 sible except by water. To ride over the beach 
 on a strong west windy day, the foaming surges 
 rolling in silvery ranks, and breaking along the 
 shore the white clouds of sand, of various 
 shades, flitting rapidly by like a river towards the 
 ocean and then the roaring wind pouring over
 
 the dreary waste, makes you fancy yourself riding 
 on the very sea itself; and frequently dizzied by 
 the motion of the rapid sands, you can scarcely 
 perceive that you are moving. There is some- 
 thing powerfully impressive in the observa- 
 tion of wild ocean scenery. We rise above 
 ourselves- we forget the petty pursuits and vani- 
 ties of the world we seem to view the Deity in 
 the union of sky and water, and hear the whis- 
 pers of eternity in the dying of the waves upon 
 the shore. As in the moral world, seasons of 
 adversity are peculiarly adapted to improve the 
 pious mourner, so it is beautifully ordered, that 
 gloomy contrasts, in the physical, tend to elevate 
 the soul in wisdom and goodness. 
 
 After crossing Bass neck, which suddenly winds 
 to the north, a smaller beach is passed conduct- 
 ing immediately to great Nahant, consisting of 
 about three hundred acres of cultivated land and 
 a number of dwelling houses, occupied as inns? 
 for the reception of visiters in the summer. A 
 spacious hotel has been erected at the north end, 
 about three stories high, surrounded by a double 
 range of porticoes, and furnished with bathing 
 houses, and other resorts of amusement for those
 
 143 
 
 who have more taste for worldly gayety than the 
 sublime enjoyment of natural phenomena. On 
 the western side appears the beautiful village of 
 Lynn ; and farther beyond, within a distant pro- 
 montory, the busy town of Marblehead, swept 
 upon the east by a bold strait of sea, several miles 
 in extent; and then the eye moves along the 
 opposite side, down Boston bay, among shelving 
 coves, projecting cliffs, and irregular winding 
 shores. The borders of this peninsula are one 
 continued mass of iron-bound rocks, thrown into 
 the most irregular postures, and, seemingly, the 
 effects of one of those earthquakes, said to have 
 visited Massachusetts more than two centuries 
 ago. Here nature appears in her wildest and 
 most beautiful attire. A noble river bearing on 
 its bosom the commerce of the east villages 
 gladdening the distant view with their spires re- 
 posing upon the green of the shadowy landscape 
 bold, lively shores rising and tapering into the 
 wildest irregularity the dark blue sea beyond 
 apparently embraced by the sky, and occasionally 
 enlivened by a dim snowy sail fluttering on the blue 
 of the perspective the torn, rugged rocks around, 
 the roar of the waves dashing among the 
 cliffs the shrill cry of the sea-gull and other wild 
 
 ,* 
 
 >
 
 144 
 
 birds joining the loud concert of the ocean, ren- 
 der this spot the most agreeable and most ro- 
 mantic of scenes. 
 
 On the northern banks of this peninsula is a 
 chasm nearly thirty feet in depth, which, from the 
 violent rushing in of the water at about half-tide, 
 and the noisy gush with which it is accompanied, 
 is distinguished by the appellation of "the spouting 
 horn." Towards the eastern extremity is a sin- 
 gular curiosity known by the name of the " natu- 
 ral bridge." It is formed over a cavity between two 
 solid rocks, which look towards the sea, and join 
 by an oblique cleft of stone seemingly torn from the 
 general mass, and obstinately contending for its 
 right to the parent sides. You look down a narrow 
 ravine about fifty feet deep, between shattered 
 cliffs, and wild verdant shrubbery, and a view is 
 caught of the ocean waves rolling their frothy 
 surf to the shore. One could sit for hours 
 musing upon the rocks below, here rising into 
 mimic hills^there sinking into vallies-^-now 
 frowning into precipices then towering aloft into 
 mountain-like boldness, and hemming in their 
 dark shade the restless waters beneath them. 
 The waves continually dashing among the rocks
 
 present the most interesting spectacle. In some 
 places, where these are high, and scooped out into 
 excavations, the eye reposes upon diminutive 
 lakes, occasionally flurried by the eddying wind and 
 spray. When lower, and guarded from the sea by 
 a sloping mass, they present small stagnant fens 
 and pools, covered by sea-weeds and moss, wait- 
 ing only for the incursion of the next tide to sweep 
 them into existence. Amid the slanting gulleys, 
 numerous streamlets, supplied by reservoirs con- 
 tinually filled by the sea, wind and rush along, 
 bearing on their narrow bosom the tributary 
 freight of twigs and sea-weed to the beach then 
 they are broken off into mimic cascades, eddies, 
 and whirlpools, until weary of tossing and con- 
 tending with each other, they- insensibly mingle 
 with the floods of the approaching tide. The 
 contemplation of such a scene is a beautiful con- 
 trast to the sublimity of ocean prospect. It is 
 like the moral variety that chequers the path of 
 life. There are moments when seas of affliction 
 lower and rage around the soul but then Pro- 
 vidence always affords some gleams of consola- 
 tion- some green and pleasurable prospect on 
 which the heart may delight to rest. 
 No. V. 3
 
 146 
 
 At the southern extremity, nearly at the verge 
 of the shore, is situated the phenomenon deno- 
 minated " the Swallow's Cave." Descending from 
 the bank, along the steep gravelly hill, the path 
 suddenly turns a high shadowy projection, into 
 a deep, Gothic-like excavation about five feet 
 high, and pursues, through the solid rock, a dis- 
 tance of about twenty-four yards. The ceiling 
 is earved by nature into tall but irregular Gothic 
 arches, and rises through the whole passage from 
 eighteen to twenty feet. The sides are ruggedly 
 perpendicular, and the floor uneven by its ele- 
 vations and cavities. Perpetual humidity reigns 
 in this dreary cavern, from the continual drop- 
 pings of water through the crevices of the ceiling. 
 There is a slight .bend in this singular cave, and 
 through a fissure of rocks from which one enjoys a 
 fine view of the sea, you step along the rugged 
 beach, and grope your way up the opposite side of 
 the hill to that you just descended. It is called 
 " the Swallow's Cave" from the great number of 
 that species which hatch their young, and inhabit 
 there the greatest part of the year, and are even 
 said to exist in it during winter, in a completely 
 torpid state. From a circumstance, said to have 
 happened there about two hundred years ago.
 
 147 
 
 when the primitive settlers of Massachusetts were 
 embroiled in war with the Indians, it may be 
 more properly distinguished by the appellation of 
 " the Indian's Cave." 
 
 The wars of king Philip, Sachem of the Wam- 
 panoags, with the original settlers of New- 
 England, filled it with terror, devastation, and 
 blood. Jealous of the growing wealth and in- 
 fluence of the English, and exasperated at the 
 diminution of their paternal territory and privi- 
 leges, the Indians took occasion, from the execu- 
 tion of three of their people, to open an imme- 
 diate warfare. The whole contest consisted in a 
 series of ambushes, skirmishes, and skulking 
 battles, requiring the most undaunted courage 
 and finesse ; and such as distinguished Captain 
 Church, who was remarkably successful in the 
 war. Sometimes Philip and his people would 
 secretly attack the settlements and villages, and 
 put to death many of their peaceful inhabitants : 
 often they would swarm the country in search of 
 plunder consume the dwelling-houses carry 
 away their families, and treat them with every 
 kind of cruelty, and commit all those barbarous 
 outrages congenial to their method of warfare.
 
 148 
 
 Much may be offered in their extenuation, wheo 
 we recollect the wrongs they endured ; in being 
 driven from their native soil, in beholding their 
 hunting-grounds wrested from their possession, 
 and in their everlasting alienation from the 
 homes of their childhood. Where is the patriot 
 who would not thus have been aroused to shed 
 his dying blood, at the loss of his liberty, his 
 commonwealth, and his home ! 
 
 About this time an attack was apprehended by 
 the peaceful inhabitants of Lynn. They were 
 mostly a colony of Friends, mingled with a large 
 body of Puritans, who, strongly tinctured by the 
 superstition of the times, attributed their calami- 
 ties to their own, or their ancestors' crimes. 
 Witchcraft, at this period, maintaining considera- 
 ble sway in the New-England colonies, many old 
 women not only professed demoniacal inspira- 
 tion, but the power of divination, with regard to 
 public and domestic events. Numerous atmos- 
 pherical phenomena happening about this time, 
 gave a kindred tone to the feelings of the people; 
 and battles, earthquakes, and deaths, were as 
 accurately determined by second sight, as if the 
 facts themselves had actually occurred. It had
 
 149 
 
 been publicly reported, that a large body of In- 
 dians were in ambush around the village. Some- 
 times, several were said to have been skulking in 
 the environs at others, near the sea-shore then 
 the report of musketry, and the shrill war-whoop 
 of savages would terrify the listener, and some 
 of the inhabitants would be swept from their 
 families. The people were kept in continual dis- 
 quiet. Constantly under arms, they never knew 
 when they should be attacked ; and they dreaded 
 to be off their guard, lest they might be surprised 
 by a party of Indians. One night, the villagers 
 were aroused by the war-cry of the enemy ; the 
 discharge of fire-arms was heard at a distance ; 
 and about forty Narragansets made their ap- 
 pearance. The Lynnites charged so vigorously 
 upon them, that, panic struck by the attack, they 
 fled towards the sea, in the direction of Nahant, 
 and were soon lost sight of in the darkness of 
 the night. These assaults became so annoying 
 that, scarcely a night, some dwelling was not 
 burned, or some one found dead or missing in the 
 morning. Public measures were devised to pre- 
 vent these depredations. But who should pursue 
 the enemy, and attack them in their own for- 
 tresses? Where were they to be found? and
 
 150 
 
 who should be the guide to discover their retreat? 
 There was a bold fellow, captain of a troop of 
 infantry, who agreed to go upon the expedition, 
 with a volunteer corps of twenty-five men. As 
 the utmost caution was necessary, they were not 
 to whisper a syllable of their intention, but set 
 off the following night on the object of their em- 
 bassy. They were all armed with broad-swords 
 and muskets ; and each one, for safety's sake, 
 carried a bible in his right, and the Westminster 
 catechism in his left pocket. As a pilot to their 
 course, they resolved to consult a knowing old 
 witch, by the name of-" Wonderful ;" a harmless, 
 keen-tongued woman, that lived, near the Salem 
 shore, by fortune-telling; discovering lost pro- 
 perty, and predicting many odd events, even by 
 the roll of a cow's eye, or the curling of the 
 smoke about her chimney. She was always ap- 
 plied to in every emergency ; and what could be 
 more important than the protection of their lives 
 from the Indians ? It was a dismal night, when 
 the cavalcade halted at the ruinous -looking hut ; 
 but they found the attentive " Wonderful" leaning 
 on the creaking under-door, as if anxiously wait- 
 ing for their arrival. The dim light of a candle 
 was seen flaring on a crazy sort of a table be-
 
 151 
 
 hind her, and gave her whole profile such a 
 ghastly appearance, that she might have been al- 
 most mistaken for an inhabitant of the lower 
 world. "Welcome, my brave soldiers," cried 
 the dark withered dame, leering her small gray 
 eyes expressively upon the leader, " success to 
 the enterprise you have undertaken, to defend your 
 land ! There is plenty of game, I warrant, where 
 so many fowlers are ready with their pieces ! But 
 I know where they are," whispered she in a slow, 
 drawling tone ; and the candle near the door, that 
 instant, was extinguished by a gust of wind 
 " and before to-morrow's sun, you'll be sure of 
 the wild, yelling devils !" " Hark ! comrades, are 
 we betrayed," said the eagle-eyed Captain, with his 
 hand upon his sword, looking round as he spoke ; 
 but, raising his voice, he added, " Take care 
 what you say, 4 Wonderful,' to an up-and-down 
 son of old England, or, confound me, witch, 
 you'll wish, to your sorrow, you had a shorter 
 tongue !" " Ods, bugs !" shrieked out the withered 
 hag, " I have not lived these three-score years to 
 be laughed to scorn by a blustering soldier of 
 thirty ! I tell you then, that you are after the In- 
 dians ; and that you will find them, forty in num- 
 ber, on the Nahant shore, waiting to dip theiy
 
 152 
 
 tomahawks in the blood of your families ! I have 
 been counting the clouds all this past week I 
 have watched the motions of the cattle and the 
 curling of the smoke, that wildly blew towards 
 the Great Neck, made me morally certain that 
 something terrible is brewing : 
 
 " Mingle mingle mingle mingle 
 Away apart together single 
 The Indians on the shore you'll see 
 Your death or life remember me !" 
 
 She bolted the door in their faces, and with des- 
 perate courage, they betook themselves to the 
 great beach, joining the peninsula of Nahant. 
 The dark sea was beating upon the shore its tu- 
 multuous waters the loud west wind sweeping 
 over its sandy plain, caused its surface to resem- 
 ble a snow-drifted field then it would roar along 
 the sides of some pent up hill, causing the dry 
 weeds and brushwood to rattle; and again it 
 would die away like the spent groans of some 
 one in pain. The seeming island before them 
 resembled a black stormy cloud, resting on the 
 river ; and not a single ray of light glimmered on 
 either of the party. " Are you ready men, to 
 stand by me and die?" demanded the gallant
 
 153 
 
 Commander, pausing to search for the road, 
 almost buried in the drifting sand. " Aye, aye, r 
 exclaimed twenty voices at once, fixing on their 
 bayonets to as many muskets, and preparing to 
 draw from their scabbards the same number 
 of clumsy swords. " Follow me, then, my boys," 
 was the reply, " to the Nahant shore ; and 
 I will go and reconnoitre; and let the report 
 of my pistol be the signal for you to advance." 
 " Agreed !" cried the wfoble party at once ; and, 
 after cautiously moving along under the shadow 
 of the lofty rocks, they arrived at last under the 
 natural bridge that overshadows the easterly 
 shore of the peninsula. The tall acclivities on 
 either side were hemmed in by the hill behind ; 
 and observation was partially excluded from above 
 by the rugged cleft that crowned the top. A wind- 
 ing, gulleyed path led around the rock to the 
 brow of the steep eminence from below ; and there 
 was no danger of being surprised, without suffi- 
 cient opportunity of ascertaining the strength of 
 the enemy, and secreting, or escaping, just as 
 the occasion served. Here the party was left, by 
 its intrepid commander, who silently withdrew to 
 search after the Indians. A full hour elapsed, 
 and still no step was heard among the gravel. 
 No. V. 4
 
 "Where can our Captain be staying?" every 
 tongue inquired : " he has either been scalped 
 by one of the red-faces or has fallen off some 
 rock into the rapid current below !" A light 
 footstep was heard cautiously treading upon the 
 stone bridge above, and appeared as if clamber- 
 ing, and striving to gain a higher footing. " That 
 surely is not our Commander," whispered one of 
 the company, " for he would not be so foolhardy as 
 to expose himself to observation ; and besides, 
 who would think of finding the red boys on the 
 high, flat banks of the river ?" " True," replied 
 another ; but further inquiry was suspended, when 
 some loose gravel and stones were heard falling 
 from the sides of the precipice ; and through the 
 torn excavations between the bridge and hill, the 
 profile of a tall figure was seen moving among 
 the bushes; and then it stood still, as if lis- 
 tening to every breath of sound. The veiling 
 clouds hid every star from view the waves of 
 the Atlantic broke almost at the feet of the sol- 
 diers there was nothing before them but the 
 sea, which the darkness identified with the sky ; 
 and the whole scene, like the object of their 
 mission, appeared enveloped in perilous uncer- 
 tainty. " Hark ! what noise is that Heroche?" de- 
 manded a rough voice above them, " I certainlv
 
 saw an English soldier skulking among these 
 rocks !" " Impossible !" returned the other, " do 
 you suppose any white man would be so daring, 
 as to venture in our thickets, and expose his na- 
 ked head to the tomahawk of an Indian? No, 
 no ;" he added with a screeching laugh, " the white 
 man is no such fool!" " Pontiac," resumed the 
 other, " are the tomahawks all sharpened, and our 
 guns all ready?" "To be sure they are," re- 
 plied the other, " the Indians' wrongs are deep 
 and hot they require sharp hatchets to reach 
 them and much blood to cool our feverish 
 brains !" All again was still ; the sound of their 
 voices and footsteps died upon the ear ; and the 
 first suggestion of some of the band was to 
 search for, and attack the individuals : but ma- 
 ture reflection taught them that it was their duty 
 to await the return of their Commander ; and that 
 the pursuit of but two of the enemy might ex- 
 pose them to the assaults of hundreds. The 
 absence of their leader became alarmingly 
 tedious : they thought they heard his approach 
 in every rustling leaf in every sliding pebble : 
 " Hark ! do you not hear their war-dance ?" in- 
 quired one. " No," replied a listener, " I only 
 hear the roar of the spouting horn, or the sighing 
 of the wind along the cavities." " But what is
 
 156 
 
 that ?" said another. " It is only the point of a 
 gray rock, broken off by the ocean. And see 
 how that cedar waves at its side, like some tall 
 Indian, to waylay the traveller !" The wind par- 
 tially subsided, and the dim, cold sky became 
 lighted by a streak of stars, through a long broken 
 cloud from the ocean. At this moment a light, 
 cautious tread was heard upon the beach ; and, 
 in a moment, the Captain rejoined his troop, 
 commanding them to follow him in breathless 
 silence. They had hardly turned the brow of the 
 hill, when they perceived a gigantic figure, skulk- 
 ing among the rocks, and, in an instant, he was 
 gone ; but where, it was impossible to discover. 
 " Shall we fire at him, Captain ?" interrogated a 
 low voice. " Your life depends on silence," whis- 
 pered the cautious leader, glancing narrowly 
 around ; " so you have only to hide behind this 
 cavity ; and whenever you hear my blunderbuss, 
 hasten and fire upon the enemy within that nar- 
 row chasm. He pointed to the spot, now called 
 "the Swallow's Cave," and his compliant troop 
 sunk down, prepared, behind the sides of the hol- 
 low hill. Hearing an approaching step, he spied, 
 at the angle of the projection, an Indian entering 
 into the natural cavern ; and he rapidly hurried 
 to give the signal of alarm to his men. Clam-
 
 157 
 
 bering silently along by the edge of the chasm, 
 he saw, once more, within it, a number of Indians 
 asleep upon the rocky floor. A small fire was 
 burning at the farther end, and two gigantic fel- 
 lows, one of whom seemed to be the chieftain, 
 were examining the edges of their hatchets, and 
 the ammunition in their pouches. The other 
 was apparently listening, but hearing only the 
 moaning wind, he fell in a half recumbent posture, 
 regarding his companions, whom an instant's 
 warning could awaken. " Curses light upon the 
 cruel English !" said one of them ; " to-morrow's 
 sun, I trust, will set upon them for ever ; whoever 
 flies from the spot before they are sacrificed, shall 
 be scalped, in the morning, and his body hung 
 upon a pole." The Captain could wait no longer, 
 but aiming at the chief, whose death might de- 
 cide the contest, he heard a step at his side, and 
 felt his arm pulled back by a person, he perceived 
 to be a woman. Her face was wrinkled and 
 gaunt ; her motion slow, but firm ; and, muffled up 
 like a spectre, she beckoned the soldier to follow. 
 It was a moment of singular suspense. It was 
 at the dead hour of midnight ; and certain of its 
 being a messenger from the grave, he resolutely 
 accompanied the figure. They gained the brow 
 of the hill, and, raising the mantle from her head.
 
 which revealed the snowy locks of three-score 
 and ten years, she spoke : " I am no appari- 
 tion, Captain, but I am only 4 Wonderful,' come 
 to implore you to shed no blood. What ! would 
 you cowardly murder these poor wretches in their 
 sleep, when you have it in your power to secure 
 them in a far more honourable way ? I promise, 
 on one condition, to deliver the enemy into your 
 hand, without the loss of a single drop of blood." 
 The Captain solemnly pledged his word, if com- 
 patible with honourable war. " Then wait here !" 
 exclaimed 'Wonderful,' for the Indians are at 
 your mercy." In a moment she was out of sight. 
 What was to be done ? The most perplexing 
 suspicions crossed the mind of the soldier. 
 Could it be a stratagem to entrap him? Had 
 he not better alarm his men ? But then the pro- 
 bability of endangering the scheme of the enemy's 
 capture, and besides the well-known integrity 
 of " Wonderful," urged him to await in silence, 
 the result of the adventure. After something 
 like an Indian shout, he thought that he distin- 
 guished the low notes of conversation ; then it 
 died away, and again it was resumed in louder 
 and more earnest tones. Fearful of surprise, he 
 stood with one foot on the side of the hill, pre- 
 pared to alarm his troop, in case of accident or
 
 159 
 
 treachery. He perceived, at length, trom the 
 pinnacles of the gray rocks, two persons ad- 
 vancing ; and, on their nearer approach, recog- 
 nised an Indian under the guidance of the witch. 
 The Captain, with his hand upon his blunderbuss, 
 boldly advanced somewhat nearer to the parties. 
 " Whiteman !" the Indian chief exclaimed, "an 
 Indian knows both bravery and gratitude. Our 
 mother informed us, you approached, like the lion, 
 our sleeping party, and, with his magnanimity, 
 you spared our lives. You first unsheathed the 
 tomahawk, but we desire to bury it. Why cause 
 the poor Indians' hearts to bleed, and make them 
 as dark as their own forest caverns ? Was not 
 this our home ? Did not the Great Spirit give us 
 these rivers those hills and forests, from the 
 rising to the setting sun? Why drive us among 
 the panthers and bears ? We only fight for our 
 rights, and the Great Spirit tells us that they are 
 usurped by the white man !" " This is no time to 
 parley, chieftain," observed the English soldier; 
 " our business is to avenge our wrongs, and your 
 only hope is to surrender, or these shores must 
 drink your blood 1" " I came not, brother, to 
 sue your favour," replied the Indian ; " if we have 
 been tigers, instead of lambs, who is to blame 
 but the white man? Were not our homes first beg-
 
 160 
 
 gared by the English ?" " One fire of my gun," 
 interrupted the other, " decides the fate of your 
 people in the cavern ; and, unless you surrender 
 this instant, all Nahant shall be in a blaze!" "Bro- 
 ther," resumed the chief, " I surrender on one con- 
 dition only." " Mention it," returned the other. 
 " That we be allowed to depart in our boats, on 
 condition of burying, for ever, the tomahawk." 
 " No :" declared his indignant antagonist, " we 
 will not," "Captain," muttered 'Wonderful,' "Do 
 you remember the oath, you solemnly pledged 
 me ?" " What oath, woman ?" demanded the 
 soldier. " That you would grant me one request, 
 if the Indians were delivered into your hands ?" 
 " And that request is" " It is," returned the 
 hag, " to grant a free passage to the enemy as he 
 desired." " If, brother, you refuse," added the 
 son of the forest, " we will rather swim in our 
 blood, than submit to other terms." The pistol 
 of the officer was already levelled, and snapped 
 in the air but the flash was the only conse- 
 quence. " Heaven forbids you," cried the with- 
 ered woman, " to make the intended sacrifice; 
 and if you still persist, I will arm its indigna- 
 tion against you." The clouds, clearing away, 
 disclosed several bows of light, spanning the 
 eastern and western shore : and the shock of an
 
 161 
 
 earthquake, accompanied by a peal of thunder, 
 arrested the attention of the party. " I consent, 
 then," replied the relenting son of Mars, reading 
 his duty in the elements ; k4 but pledge me your 
 solemn oath, that your people shall not engage in 
 the war !" " I swear it," said the chieftain. Both 
 were satisfied. They parted on the hill, each to 
 announce to his people the approaching prepara- 
 tions. After meeting on the shore, and exchanging 
 a last farewell, the former returned to Lynn, to 
 announce the termination of hostilities, and the 
 latter in their canoes, for the shores of Pocasset. 
 
 It was full morning ; the sun shone beautifully 
 on the rocks of Nahant, no longer the theatre of 
 war. It has been rumoured, that the old witch 
 was secretly under the protection of the Indians, 
 for the advice which she bestowed; and grati- 
 tude, for their kindness, induced her to save their 
 lives. Her death soon rendered further inquiry 
 useless ; and she is said to have been buried near 
 the entrance of the natural cavern. Many of the 
 superstitious, living near the spot, profess to have 
 seen her apparition among the rocks ; and few of 
 the aged can visit " Swallow's Cave" without re- 
 membering the singular escape of the Narra- 
 ganset Indians. 
 
 No. VI. i
 
 THE JLUUJEAU 
 
 SCHOOLEY MOUNTAIN, 
 
 As the ivy climbs the tallest tree, 
 
 So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound, 
 
 And with his spells subdu'd the fierce and free. 
 
 W. SCOTT. 
 
 THE same light which diffused literary and 
 religious knowledge has dispelled the shades of 
 superstition from the greatest portion of our 
 country. Occupied exclusively in clearing and 
 cultivating their lands, our ancestors were con- 
 tented with the rude, oral traditions, transmitted 
 from father to son ; and, unable to discriminate 
 falsehood from error, they received them as the 
 undoubted observations of experience. But when 
 scientific research began to pour its blaze upon 
 the darkened understanding : when commercial 
 interests opened a communication between places 
 hitherto estranged, and the doctrines of religion.
 
 found the mind prepared to comprehend, and 
 abandon the absurdities of ignorance ; then the 
 mind, not only loathed the thraldom which it had 
 escaped, but wondered at the infatuation which 
 had so long enslaved it. Experience is, doubt- 
 less, the grand test of delusion ; and they who 
 have been most thoroughly drilled in her school, 
 and suffered most under the rod of her chas- 
 tisement, know best how to appreciate the moral 
 light which they enjoy. 
 
 On one of those branches of the Alleghanies, 
 which intersect the southern part of Morris 
 county, New-Jersey, there is a singular mineral 
 spring, trickling through a small crevice in the 
 solid rock, and led off by gutters into bathing- 
 houses, and other reservoirs, for invalids, who 
 frequent this spot at various seasons of the year ; 
 not only on account of the properties of its 
 waters, but the salubrity of air, and romanticity 
 of scenery, with which this mountain so pecu- 
 liarly abounds. The range, though not very lofty, 
 is here and there scooped out into wild, deep 
 forest glens, divided into narrow and devious 
 passes, enlivened by noisy cataracts of water that 
 foams down its cragged precipices : and. some-
 
 164 
 
 times impervious, by the forest trees and shrub- 
 bery, which line its sides, eminences, and valleys. 
 There is a particular part of this mountain, not 
 far from the spring, hollowed out into a gloomy 
 circular cavity, about half a mile in breadth, girt 
 by woodlands of impenetrable shade, appa- 
 rently the abode of wild beasts, or banditti, and 
 calculated to foster those superstitious impres- 
 sions so naturally imbibed in early established 
 settlements. Not many miles from this place is 
 a beautiful little village, that has grown into con- 
 spicuity since the continental war, consisting of a 
 sparse, but busy population the descendants of 
 many brave families, who suffered much in the 
 achievement of our independence, and the per- 
 petuation of those blessings so proudly enjoyed 
 by all. When the revolution poured its ravages 
 in this neighbourhood, many of the wealthy in- 
 habitants are said to have buried large sums of 
 money in the mountain ; not only to avoid the 
 danger of being plundered, but to secure retreats 
 for themselves and families, in case of being com- 
 pelled to fly from their habitations. In conse- 
 quence of a tradition of concealed treasures in 
 the ravine, before alluded to, many attempted to 
 discover the spot, and enrich themselves with
 
 165 
 
 wealth inherited only by the moles. But the 
 grand difficulty was, how to accomplish this; 
 for though months were spent in examining the 
 ground, digging up and clearing the paths, and 
 testing by the money rod the value of every spot 
 still their efforts were fruitless. Some went so 
 far as to say that they knew the place well, for that 
 the money was guarded so strictly by the spirits 
 of the owners, that it was almost worth a man's 
 neck to venture upon the search : and numbers of 
 shrewd, knowing ones, declared that they had 
 been frequently attacked by these miserly ghosts ; 
 and that several of their more cowardly friends 
 had been entirely carried off by them. This report 
 continuing to gain ground, research was suspend- 
 ed for several years after, and they who had been 
 the boldest in searching for the treasures, re- 
 solved to wait until they had found some one 
 supernaturally endowed, to discover the identical 
 place, and exorcise the obstinate spectres. 
 
 There lived, or rather stayed, in Connecticut, 
 a miraculous, gifted fellow of a pedagogue, 
 named Rogers ; who, in addition to his talent 
 for governing children, professed himself ca- 
 pable of controlling the empire of the devil.
 
 166 
 
 and cudgelling the most obstinate demons 
 into compliance with his authority. He could 
 scarcely read his own name ; but he possessed 
 such a rapid and oily tongue, that, it was said, 
 the latter gift was given to urge on the flight 
 of the other;, and then it smoothed away all 
 opposition, for they who understood more of the 
 noise than substance, would certainly suppose 
 him in league with his Satanic majesty. He 
 knew all the signs of the zodiac, the months of 
 the year, and could even calculate the number of 
 seconds in a week ; but whether he acquired his 
 knowledge from Newton's Principia, or a common 
 almanac, it would puzzle the wisest heads to 
 determine. He was decidedly a natural philoso- 
 pher ; for he could make it thunder and lighten, 
 in the clearest weather could cause a candle to 
 burn blue besides, he could count the stars; and, 
 from his old acquaintance with the dead, with 
 whom he had been in habits of bosom intimacy, 
 was particularly versant in the art of finding bu- 
 ried money. But philosophers are always great 
 travellers; so our genius removes the stakes of his 
 tent, in search of new information, to the south; 
 or, in other words, he packed up bag and baggage, 
 and became country schoolmaster, at Smith's
 
 167 
 
 Clove, in the state of New- York. The fame ot 
 the marvellous is not only universal, but is famous 
 for the speed with which it travels ; and such a 
 magician as this, could not long escape the anx- 
 ious individuals who were so eager to become 
 rich on the leavings of their deceased ancestors. 
 A committee was appointed to visit this communer 
 with the dead ; and, after cautiously demurring 
 whether he would starve to death on the bad pay 
 of a declining school, or make his fortune by 
 combating with the shades of the departed, he 
 graciously resolved to bend to the prayers of the 
 committee, and resume his profession about three 
 miles from the village ; not only to manage the 
 mental, but the ghostly interests of the place. 
 Having taken possession of his new ferrulean 
 sceptre, our pedagogue was solicited to put his 
 talents at once to the test, in raising the dead, 
 and discovering the long buried treasures. Ro- 
 gers shut his eyes, and hesitated, as if something 
 supernatural was crossing his mind; but after 
 opening them, with nothing but the whites visi- 
 ble, he answered, in a deep sepulchral tone, that 
 they must exercise much patience and long-suf- 
 fering, before the attainment of the reward ; and 
 that, as the object was of the highest moment, it.
 
 168 
 
 would require much deliberation, prudence, and 
 delay. He demanded a full month's absence, to 
 arrange about removing his family, as well as 
 other domestic concerns, and promised to return 
 immediately after the settlement of his affairs. 
 He accordingly went ; and engaging an assistant 
 from Connecticut, as a viceroy in the school, he 
 returned in September to realize the expectations 
 of his employers. 
 
 An association was immediately formed for the 
 purpose of devising and pursuing the best me- 
 thods of procedure ; and, elated with the certain 
 prospect of wealth, it was soon increased to 
 about forty individuals. These, secretly con- 
 vening every night at each others houses, were 
 informed by Rogers, that " the undertaking was 
 intricate, and extremely solemn that several 
 persons had been murdered, and buried with the 
 money, and that the spirits must be raised and 
 conversed with, before the money could be ob- 
 tained." He moreover assured them, that the 
 greatest propriety of conduct was expected from 
 them, as the apparitions were determined to im- 
 part their treasures only to the virtuous, and that 
 "they should meet together the following evening
 
 169 
 
 to ascertain their pleasure. It was a stormy 
 night, when the party arrived at the appointed 
 place. After anxiously waiting a considerable 
 time, a deep, hollow voice was heard from the 
 floor, exhorting them to unity, and decision of 
 conduct ; and informing them that they must as- 
 semble at Schooley Mountain on a particular 
 night, in a certain field, half a mile from any 
 house ; that they must keep within the circles 
 appointed by Rogers ; and that, in case of re- 
 fusal, they should not only lose their treasures, 
 but be spirited away from the spot. Words can- 
 not express the anxiety indulged by the associa- 
 tion until the anticipated period. Under the 
 guidance of Rogers, they proceeded to the magic 
 mountain, anticipating a revelation from the dead 
 and the immediate disclosure of the object of their 
 search. The road over which they were to pass 
 was circuitous and hilly; and, having been lately 
 washed by an autumnal freshet, it was rutty and 
 tedious ; and a cold north wind sweeping over the 
 meadows, served almost to chill the ardour of the 
 enterprise. It was such a night too as was propi- 
 tious to the object : the new moon had set in the 
 west, and the stars shone but dimly, through a 
 cloud of hazy mist that was rising from the 
 
 No. VI. 2
 
 170 
 
 marshy ground. The members of the fraternity 
 had secretly left their families at home; and, 
 under the conduct of Rogers, were breasting 
 every difficulty to arrive at riches by a new and 
 unheard-of expedient. So strangely perverse is 
 the human mind bent upon its own sensual grati- 
 fications, and undirected by any other light but 
 that of misguided reason ! 
 
 Like a true and gallant leader, Rogers ascended 
 before them the steep passes of the mountain, 
 gloomy with its forest trees and precipices, and 
 filling them with constant dread of meeting the 
 objects of their apprehension. The waving of 
 every rustling branch seemed to wear the aspect 
 of a spectre every whistle of the wind conjured 
 up a thousand supernatural voices. After much 
 fatigue, they arrived at last at the dreary spot 
 where they were to contend in reality with the 
 awful powers of darkness. The deep, extended 
 dell was more than a mile from any house, and 
 the footstep of a^human creature rarely trode that 
 way. They dismounted in the road, and fastening 
 their horses to the trees, they followed their ad- 
 venturous guide with trembling steps, revering 
 him at the moment as something more than mor-
 
 171 
 
 tal. They halted upon a shelving field of rocks, 
 overlooking the black ravine, filled with the mur- 
 murings of the restless branches, and the echoes 
 of distant water, gurgling its course along the 
 valleys. A magical circle had been previously 
 prepared by Rogers, marked with a variety of 
 cabalistic figures ; and into this the party were 
 directed to remain, on pain of death, until the 
 mysterious business was concluded. A tent, con- 
 structed of posts, covered over with a dark cloth, 
 had been erected for the magician ; and here, as 
 upon his throne of empire, he was to sit as the 
 controller of the supernatural proceedings. A 
 peal of sharp thunder broke from the centre of 
 the dell below, and fires of various colours illu- 
 minated the sides of the dim mountain, from 
 which, occasionally, elongated flames would 
 burst, and breaking high in air, would sometimes 
 fall and expire almost at the feet of the trembling 
 members ; voices too, apparently from the dead, 
 were heard commanding them to follow impli- 
 citly the directions of Rogers ; to preserve unity 
 and virtuous deportment ; and that each man 
 must deposite, by way of ghostly tribute, twelve 
 pounds, lawful currency, at the foot of the tree, 
 under the penalty of certain destruction. The
 
 m 
 
 affrighted company perceived that fleshless beings 
 would not be trifled with; and after remitting the 
 debt demanded by the spectres, they silently pur- 
 sued their way homeward, amazed, no less than 
 Rogers, at the wonders they had witnessed. 
 
 Convinced of the supernatural abilities of their 
 conductor, they continued to assemble every 
 night at one of the member's houses, and there 
 Rdgers met them, not only to receive the moneys 
 for the dead, but to consult respecting the time 
 of inheriting the anticipated treasures. To 
 his credit, be it recorded, that, whenever any 
 was unable to pay the stipulated sum, he was 
 merciful enough to reduce it to one-half, or in 
 proportion to the ability of the person. But 
 the great difficulty was in the procural of the 
 money ; for the apparitions believing that bank 
 notes were very precarious property, demanded 
 silver and gold in lieu of the loan paper circu- 
 lating in New-Jersey; and the consequence was t 
 that rather than not obtain it, the parties would 
 mortgage their farms, and sacrifice their furniture 
 and stock, than disappoint the generous spirits 
 who had so much in store for them. While 
 Rogers communicated his errands at these noc-
 
 173 
 
 turnal meetings, deep groans and knocks, the 
 falling of heavy articles, and the jingling of 
 money, would be heard within and around the 
 house and sometimes a loud, hollow voice start- 
 ling every one of the company with the injunc- 
 tion to "press forward!" At others they were 
 told by invisible tongues " that they were em- 
 powered to enrich them ; and that all they 
 demanded was money for the relief of the poor." 
 Families were aroused from their beds by the im- 
 portunities of these purse-proud spirits, who 
 would give them no rest till they gave their fee 
 for a verbal promissory note, for the payment of 
 the money. It was drawn at three months, 
 payable with interest on the first of May. 
 
 Nothing more powerfully stimulates the mind, 
 than the prospect of immediate wealth. Intoxi- 
 cating the heart with ungovernable passions, it 
 corrupts its principles, deludes it with projects im- 
 possible to realize, and finally drowns it in irre- 
 parable ruin. Consumed with this desire, the 
 ghostly fraternity could hardly rest iji their beds, 
 or pursue their customary business. Their farms, 
 their families, their own interests were forgotten. 
 On the other hand, many of them, weak in the
 
 174 
 
 iaith, were disturbed by rebellious doubts as to 
 the reality of the proceedings : others withheld 
 their rightful tribute from the dead ; in short, the 
 whole winter was spent in continual disputes with 
 each other respecting the integrity of their leader. 
 The approach of May became a new era of ex- 
 pectation ; and, as with children, it beguiled their 
 tedious hours with many an amusing dream. 
 Who can describe their delight when the appoint- 
 ed moment arrived? They hastened again, with 
 their fearless guide, to the enchanted mountain, 
 where they were certain of realizing so ample a 
 fortune. Again they were paraded within the 
 circle again the thunders and supernatural fires 
 played from the awful dell again the voices of 
 the dead spoke; but they appeared not as at 
 first, the peaceable tenants of Elyzium, but they 
 raged in all the violence of Tartaric fierceness, 
 upbraiding the company for want of faith in their 
 conductor, for withholding the moneys due to 
 their kindness, for their continual altercations 
 with each other, and threatening them with im- 
 mediate extermination unless submitting to the 
 authority of Rogers. They informed them, be- 
 sides, that they had broken the condition on 
 which their promise was suspended ; and that the 
 time of reaping the reward depended entirely
 
 on their future good behaviour. So violently 
 did they rage, that even Rogers himself became 
 dreadfully alarmed ; and excited by the entreaties 
 of the petrified members, he was compelled to 
 put in requisition all his inherent energies ; and, 
 after bribing the spectres with a valuable fee from 
 each of the party, they were driven at last in 
 triumph from the field. 
 
 Several months had now elapsed, and still there 
 was no prospect of the anticipated fortunes. 
 Though the society had paid the round sum of 
 five hundred pounds, lawful currency, they had 
 only received the note of promise from the 
 mouths of apparitions ; and they began to con- 
 sider them as bankrupts, deserving of condign 
 punishment. They were almost disposed to seize 
 upon Rogers as their security, when mindful of 
 his promises, and the dangers from which he 
 rescued them, they believed his integrity, and that 
 the apparitions had become insolvent. 
 
 A singular circumstance happening about this 
 time, dispelled the darkness that hung upon these 
 mysteries. A gentleman in the village was impor- 
 tuned at his window, every night, by a noisy ap- 
 parition, who promised to make his fortune
 
 provided he would compensate him with a 
 liberal present. He informed him that he was the 
 spirit of one of those who were murdered oil 
 Schooley Mountain, and that he would disclose 
 to him the very spot where the treasures were 
 deposited. The gentleman paid the demand; 
 for who could resist the importunities of the 
 dead? There had fallen a deep snow during the 
 night, and, unfortunately for the honour of the 
 spectre, the tracks of a human foot were traced 
 to the house of Rogers, who, being immediately 
 committed to prison, confessed his fraud upon 
 the society ; but he was bailed out by a friend, 
 who was compelled, alas, to advance two hundred 
 pounds for the escape of his thankless prisoner. 
 Some wrong-headed fellows still say, that he took 
 refuge among the spirits of Schooley Mountain ; 
 but others aver that he resumed his old profes- 
 sion somewhere to the west of Ohio. Some 
 broken kegs of powder were soon discovered 
 among the mountain weeds, and the remains of 
 rockets, and white, muslin sheets, and other im- 
 plements of ghostly warfare, under some of the 
 rocks. The story is told with much humour by 
 the young folks of Morris county, and nothing has 
 proved such a warning to covetous people as the 
 fate of the impostor of Schooley Mountain.
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON'S ESCAPE. 
 
 Washington 's a watch-word, such as ne'er 
 Shall sink tvhere there 's an echo left to air. 
 
 *., BYRON. 
 
 THE name of Washington is dear to every 
 American. Distinguished, not only for bravery 
 and intelligence, but for the purest virtues which 
 can adorn the human heart, he has been vene- 
 rated in the memory of distant nations, and im- 
 mortalized by the blessings which he shed upon his 
 country. He resembles the orb of day, impart- 
 ing his twilight long after he is set; and in- 
 visibly dispensing his light and cheering warmth 
 to the world. Cautious, and prudent, he was 
 never surprised by the most disheartening failures ; 
 nor alarmed into compliance by the most un- 
 daunted threats. His eye could penetrate the 
 darkest designs ; ^md his powers of invention 
 enabled him to escape the most formidable strata- 
 gems. The very means, employed by the enemy 
 
 No. VI. 3
 
 J78 
 
 to incommode him, were frequently, in his own 
 hands, the instruments of their ruin. As an illus- 
 tration of his eagle-eyed caution, I will briefly 
 narrate his escape from a singular plot, which I 
 learned from the lips of a venerable man several 
 years deceased. 
 
 When the American army was stationed at 
 West Point, during the revolutionary war, the 
 British head-quarters were not many miles dis- 
 tant, on the Hudson ; and each were waiting, like 
 the figures on a chess board, for some favourable 
 movement, to disconcert and thwart the opera- 
 tions of the other. Scouting parties would en- 
 gage in frequent skirmishes ; and wagons of pro- 
 visions, ammunition, and clothing, would fall into 
 the power of those superior in number and ad- 
 dress. On one of these occasions, a quantity of 
 English uniform was seized by an American de- 
 tachment; and several notable advantages ob- 
 tained by the latter, inspired the enemy with a 
 desire to retaliate. About this time, while at West 
 Point, General Washington had an intimate ac- 
 quaintance, not far resident Jirom the army, in 
 whose family he enjoyed the kindest hospitality, 
 as well as relief from many of those sterner en-
 
 179 
 
 gagements which harassed his weary mind. As 
 every circumstance was food to either army, a visit 
 like this, not many miles from their camp, could 
 not long escape the cognizance of the English.; 
 and to possess a prisoner like General Washing- 
 ton, would tend, in their opinion, to shorten 
 the period of the war. But the undertaking was 
 difficult : there were always advanced guards to 
 cover the American Commander, and there was 
 no mode of discovering his visits, except by win- 
 ning over some one of the family. The friend 
 whom the General visited was once thought to 
 have espoused the interests of the British; but 
 he had taken a decided stand in favour of 
 America ; and though a brave man, he professed 
 the strictest neutrality, alleging as his reason his 
 years, and dependent family. 
 
 During the intimacy of the General, it was ru- 
 moured in the American army, that his friend had 
 been often seen returning from, the British camp. 
 Washington seemed to disregard the account ; 
 for he never ceased to visit the family, and, ap- 
 parently, mingled as cordially with the host, as if 
 no suspicion had crossed his mind. At length, 
 one day, as the General was taking his leave,
 
 180 
 
 his friend earnestly requested him to dine with 
 him the following afternoon, and emphatically 
 named the hour of 'two, as the moment of ex- 
 pecting him. He reminded him of the uncommon 
 delight which his intimacy conferred begged 
 him to lay aside every formality, and regard his 
 house as his home ; and hinted, that he feared the 
 General did not consider it in that light ; as the 
 guard that always accompanied him seemed to 
 indicate, he was not visiting a friend. " By no 
 means, dear sir!" exclaimed the worthy patriot; 
 " there is no man I esteem more than yourself; 
 and, as a proof of the confidence which I repose 
 in you, I will visit you alone to-morrow, and I 
 pledge my sacred word of honour, that not a 
 soldier shall accompany me." "Pardon me, 
 General," cried the host ; " but why so serious on 
 BO trifling a subject? I merely jested." "I am 
 aware of it," said the hero, smiling ; " but what 
 of that ? I have long considered the planting of 
 these outposts unnecessary, inasmuch as they 
 may excite the suspicion of the enemy ; and al- 
 though it be a trifle, that trifle shall not sport with 
 the friendship you indulge for me." " But then 
 the hour, General ?" " Oh, yes, two o'clock you 
 said." " Precisely !" returned the other.
 
 181 
 
 At one o'clock on the following day, the Gene- 
 ral mounted his favourite horse, and proceeded 
 alone, upon a bye-road which conducted him to 
 the hospitable mansion. It was about half an 
 hour before the time, and the bustling host re- 
 ceived him with open arms, in addition to the 
 greetings of the delighted family. " How punc- 
 tual, kind sir !" exclaimed the warm-hearted 
 friend. " Punctuality," replied Washington, " is 
 an angel virtue, embracing minor as well as im- 
 portant concerns. He that is unpunctual with a 
 friend, may doubt his integrity." The host start- 
 ed ; but recovering himself, he added, " then 
 yours is a proof that we enjoy your fullest con- 
 fidence." Washington proposed a promenade 
 upon the piazza, previous to the dinner. It over- 
 looked a rough country several miles in extent ; 
 fields of grain, here and there sweeping beneath 
 the sides of bleak hills producing nothing but 
 rocks and grass shallow runnels of water flow- 
 ing along the hollows of the uneven waste then 
 hidden by woodlands intercepting a prospect of 
 the country beyond spotted now and then with 
 silver glimpses of the Hudson, stealing through 
 the sloping grounds below, and chequered on both 
 sides by the dim, purple Highlands, frowning
 
 182 
 
 sometimes into hoary battlements, and tapering 
 again into gentle valleys, hardly illuminated by 
 the sun. " This is fine, bold scenery !" exclaimed 
 the General, apparently absorbed in the beauty 
 of the prospect. " Yes, sir," replied his friend, 
 looking wistfully around, as if expecting some 
 one's approach ; but catching the piercing glance 
 of Washington, his eyes were fastened con- 
 fusedly on the floor. " I must really rally you. 
 my friend," observed the General ; " do you per- 
 ceive yonder point, that boldly rises from the 
 water, and suddenly is lost behind that hill which 
 obstinately checks the view ?" " I do," replied the 
 absent listener, engaged apparently in some- 
 thing else than the subject of inquiry. " There," 
 continued the hero, " my enemy lies encamped ; 
 and were it not for a slight mist, I could almost 
 fancy that I perceive his cavalry moving; but 
 hark, that cannon ! Do you not think it proceeds 
 from the head-quarters of the enemy ?" 
 
 While pointing out to his friend the profile of 
 the country, the face of the latter was often 
 turned the opposite way, seemingly engrossed in 
 another object immediately behind the house. 
 He was not mistaken: it was a troop, seemingly.
 
 of British horse, that were descending a distant 
 hill, winding through a labyrinth of numerous 
 projections and trees, until they were "seen gal- 
 lopping through the valley below and then again 
 they were hidden by a field of forest that swelled 
 along the bosom of the landscape. " Would 
 it not be strange,' 5 observed the General, appa- 
 rently unconscious of the movements behind him, 
 " that after all my toils, America should forfeit 
 her liberty?" "Heaven forbid !" said his friend, 
 becoming less reserved, and entering more 
 warmly into the feelings of the other. "But," 
 resumed Washington, " I have heard of treachery 
 in the heart of one's own camp ; and, doubtless, 
 you know that it is possible ' to be wounded even 
 in the house of one's friend.' 1 * " Sir ;" demanded 
 the downcast host, unable to meet the searching 
 glance of his companion, "who can possibly intend 
 _sp, daring a crime?" " I only meant," replied the 
 other, " that treachery was the most hideous of 
 crimes ; for, Judas like, it will even sell its Lord 
 for money !" " Very true, dear sir," responded 
 the anxious host, as he gazed upon a troop of 
 British horse, winding round the hill, and riding 
 with post haste towards the hospitable mansion. 
 * 4 Is it two o'clock yet ?" demanded Washington ;
 
 184 
 
 - for I have an engagement this afternoon at the 
 army, and I regret that my visit must, therefore, 
 be shorter than intended." " It lacks a full quar- 
 ter yet !" said his friend, seeming doubtful of his 
 watch, from the arrival of the horsemen. " But, 
 bless me, sir ! what cavalry are these that are so 
 rapidly approaching the house ?" " Oh, they 
 may possibly be a party of British light horse," re- 
 turned his companion, coolly, " which mean no 
 harm ; and, if I mistake not, they have been sent 
 for the purpose of protecting me." As he said 
 this, the Captain of the troop was seen dismount- 
 ing from his horse; and his example was fol- 
 lowed by the rest of the party. " General ?" 
 returned the other, walking to him very familiarly, 
 and tapping him on the shoulder, " General, you 
 are my prisoner !" I believe not," said Wash- 
 ington, looking calmly at the men who were ap- 
 proaching the steps ; " but, friend," exclaimed 
 he, slapping him in return on the arm, " I know 
 that you are mine ! Here, officer, carry this 
 treacherous hypocrite to the camp, and I will 
 make him an example to the enemies of America." 
 
 The British general had secretly offered an 
 immense sum to this man, to make an appoint-
 
 ment with the hero, at two o'clock, at which 
 time he was to send a troop of horse, to secure 
 him in their possession. Suspecting his intentions, 
 Washington had directed his own troop to habit 
 themselves as English cavalry, and arrive half an 
 hour precisely before the time he was expected. 
 
 They pursued their way to the camp triumph- 
 ing at the sagacity of their Commander, who 
 had so astonishingly defeated the machina- 
 tions of the British General. But the humanity 
 of Washington prevailed over his sense of jus- 
 tice. Overcome by the tears and prayers of the 
 family, he pardoned his treacherous friend, on 
 condition of his leaving the country for ever; 
 which he accordingly did ; and his name was 
 ever after sunk in oblivion. 
 
 No. VI.4
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE- 
 
 When first the eaglet, at his sire's behest, 
 On untry'd pinions, leaves his parent nest, 
 Flutt'ring he files ; but soon the bird of Jove, 
 On wings of thunder, seeks the courts above. 
 Just so Columbia ! when she dared to fling 
 Her infant fingers, o'er the magic string ! 
 With bolder hand she sweeps the muse's lyre, 
 While thronging thousands listen and admire. A. 
 
 DESCENDED from ancestors, who brought from 
 the old world a portion of its literary treasures, 
 Americans have resembled, more than a century 
 past, persons who had been removed in child- 
 hood from the city to a desert, and forgetful of 
 the illustrious home and parentage from which 
 they sprung. Regarding themselves as a new 
 race of beings, they have slumbered in the dream 
 of neglectful self-distrust ; and it is therefore that 
 they have been so long awakening to a sense of 
 intellectual duty. They begin to feel that they 
 possess the same physical and mental energies 
 with the most renowned Europeans, and are 
 only waiting for similar incentives to provoke the 
 exertion of their powers. The physical features
 
 187 
 
 of our country are calculated to lire the imagine 
 tion of the bard. The cloudy grandeur, and 
 trackless extent of our mountains the solemn 
 whisper of our deep and rapid rivers the awful 
 stillness and sublimity of our vast ocean-lakes 
 our endless labyrinth of forests the magnifi- 
 cent variety of our landscapes, and the simple, 
 but interesting aspect of our cities and villages, 
 breathe the very air of poetry, which the con- 
 templative enthusiast must inhale. The his- 
 torical associations of the primitive settlers of 
 our country of the aboriginal Indians, who were 
 expelled from their native soil of the revolu- 
 tionary war, numerous circumstances of which 
 live only in recollection, constitute treasures for 
 our historians and philosophers, to weave the 
 garland of immortality around their native land. 
 Though proud of the distinguished names which 
 have adorned American literature, we regret 
 that any obstacles should retard the promotion 
 of its fame. 
 
 One cause, for the slow advancement of our 
 literature, is the want of a more general compe- 
 tition. In Europe, generally, the greatest portion 
 of its people are readers. You can scarcely 
 enter a cottage in Scotland, whose inmates are
 
 unable to converse on scientific subjects: 
 throughout England and Germany, persons of 
 the lowest ranks peruse the literature of the 
 day, and become zealous competitors for some 
 particular system. But here it is otherwise : the 
 ta>ste for mental research is too often superseded 
 by the love of mechanical enterprise, the unwea- 
 ried pursuit of business, which deadens every 
 other care, and the enjoyment of public amuse- 
 ment, which is frequently followed by conse- 
 quences repugnant to mental improvement. It 
 is our habits, then, more than our want of ability, 
 which retard our intellectual advancement. 
 The purest gold, if unsubmitted to the skill 
 of the polisher, will present a dulness and rust 
 which it will be difficult to wear away ; and the 
 brightest intellect that ever adorned the world, will 
 tarnish, unless submitting to salutary discipline. 
 Were literary topics more extensively interesting y 
 the field of mental exertion would necessarily 
 widen ; excitement would be given to the most 
 distinguished to advance far beyond the sober 
 limits they have reached; and we should be 
 taught, as in Europe, that it is by the united com- 
 petition of many, that the march of literature is 
 extended. But what is there to dispirit so 
 noble an emulation ? Thousnnds enjoy atom-
 
 J89 
 
 dance of leisure, undisturbed by national or do- 
 mestic cares, who might ensure to themselves 
 sources of profitable pleasure, and augment the 
 literary taste that begins to dawn upon their coun- 
 try. Even the man of business, the mechanic, 
 the labourer, is culpable : if idling away spare 
 moments that might be usefully employed, they 
 cruelly contribute their mite towards the de- 
 pression of American literature. 
 
 Another cause is, a diffidence of our own 
 abilities. Forgetful that we sprung from a na- 
 tion pre-eminent in literary glory, we have been 
 led to suppose that our mental powers are in- 
 ferior to those of Europe, and we fear to teach the 
 the world the vileness of the calumny. In all other 
 respects we contend for an equality. The mer- 
 chant believes that he can plan as sagacious a. 
 speculation the mechanic proudly vies with the 
 European artizan the patriot feels his own on a 
 level with the greatest nation of the earth, in 
 domestic, civil, and religious privileges. But why 
 should mental competition alone be disregarded ? 
 Why should we not soar to the same height with 
 other nations, and as victoriously contend for the 
 same intellectual honours ? When conscious of 
 talents, and a capacity of enlightening others, is it
 
 190 
 
 not the duty of all to diffuse the light of moral and 
 scientific knowledge, and assist the efforts of 
 their country in the improvement of its.members ? 
 But when the talented shrink from the cultivation 
 of their faculties ; when minds of acknowledged 
 wisdom fear to give their thoughts to the world, 
 from the apprehension of error, or the sarcasms 
 of ridicule, however they may be applauded on 
 the score of their modesty, they are far from pro- 
 moting the interests of national literature. But 
 would Europe have acquired its literary celebrity, 
 if its sages had been thus afraid or distrustful of 
 their powers ? And how is America to derive 
 the same benefits, but by the united zeal of 
 its talented citizens ? Is it not in the cultivation 
 of the humblest abilities, and the fearless exer- 
 cise of the noblest with which we have been en- 
 dowed ? Is it not in surmounting that groundless 
 diffidence, which prevents so many from be- 
 coming shining lights to their country, and con- 
 fines her ambition among so few competitors ? 
 
 The last cause to be noticed, is the discourage- 
 ments from ourselves. Cradled almost in the be- 
 lief, that nothing is literary but the productions of 
 foreign lands, we have scarcely presumed, till 
 lately, that an American publication could thrive.
 
 J91 
 
 The dream is nearly broken by the glorious success 
 of many of our native worthies, who have nobly 
 dared to refute a sentiment so absurd. There is 
 talent enough in America to raise her to the 
 highest literary glory ; but it only wants excite- 
 ment ; like the powder, it only demands the aid of 
 the spark ; like the diamond, only vigorous ex- 
 ertion, to reveal its native lustre. But as the 
 greatest " foes are those of one's own household," 
 so the darkest obstacle to our literature is the 
 indifference of Americans. Is it not a fact, that 
 our own productions, generally, are received with 
 a cautious sneer ? Does not political interest fre- 
 quently resist the claims of genius, and persecu- 
 tion wield her rod over the head of the friendless 
 writer? Do not the censors of the press sometimes 
 wound by contemptuous silence, and punish, at 
 others, with merciless severity ? Although per- 
 mittted to discountenace stupidity, yet do they 
 not often blast numerous buds of genius, arid scat- 
 ter to the four winds the seeds of knowledge and 
 virtue ? Americans should despise so unworthy 
 a spirit. If ever respected abroad, they must first 
 respect themselves. If refusing to nurture the 
 germ of native talent, they cannot expect to ga- 
 ther its fruits ; but it must be either swept away, 
 to take root in foreign soils, or wither from ne-
 
 19-2 
 
 gleet by those who should have raised it to 
 maturity. 
 
 Let then Americans labour to advance their 
 literary glory ! Let the nation take the lead f 
 Let the infant colleges and schools throughout 
 the land be liberally endowed, and let observato- 
 ries and philosophical cabinets be established in 
 every state ! Let public libraries, literary associ- 
 ations, and the fine arts, be generously sanctioned 
 by the donations, the presence, and the co-opera- 
 tion of our citizens ! Let learned lecturers be ap- 
 pointed, at the national expense, to unfold the 
 principles of physical and moral science, and dif- 
 fuse a taste for belle lettre and eloquence ! Let 
 encouragement be always given to the young, ad- 
 venturous writer, and premiums be unceasingly 
 
 
 offered to successful literary candidates ! Let 
 not the talented of our country withhold their 
 pens in the vindication of truth and virtue ! Let 
 the guardians of the press unite in defending 
 American talent, and arousing its ambition instead 
 of mortifying its pride ! Thus our country shall be- 
 come the first in wisdom, as the first in liberty 
 the land of sages as the land of heroes not 
 only the home of the friendless pilgrim, but the 
 literary home of the nations of the world.
 
 THE REWARD OF AVARICE. 
 
 Gold glitters most, where virtue shines no more : 
 As stars from absent suns have leave to shine. 
 
 YOUNG. 
 
 THERE resided, not many years ago, in a beau- 
 tiful village on the Delaware, an elderly man who 
 possessed a wife tolerably handsome ; and who, 
 although regarded rich in the estimation of his 
 neighbours, was distinguished by a parsimony 
 almost denying him the comforts which ordinarily 
 fall to the lot of humanity. Though avaricious 
 in the extreme, he was by no means unwilling to 
 contribute to the happiness of his consort, who, 
 on the other hand, was as desirous of making 
 wings for his property as he was disposed to clip 
 them of their liberty. Being many years younger 
 than himself, she was ungrateful enough to re- 
 pent of the partner she had chosen and more 
 particularly on account of that narrow penurious 
 disposition which made an idol of other treas- 
 
 No. VII. i
 
 ures than those which he so solemnly vowed, at 
 the altar, to cherish. Her complaints could not 
 be otherwise than sincere. Having married her 
 husband solely for his property, she began to ex- 
 perience, that hoarded wealth was fully equal to 
 the infirmities of age, and that of all disappoint- 
 ments to be incurred, none are comparable to 
 those of matrimonial life. There was no other 
 remedy but patience, and submission to the 
 doom which awaited her ; so, pretendingly obe- 
 dient to the wishes of her lord, she studied only 
 to discover his long-hidden possessions, and 
 apply them to every purpose which the cravings 
 of her cupidity suggested. If, on the other 
 hand, her spouse was unreasonably wedded to 
 his perishable mammon, it is certain that his 
 lady was as passionately inclined to the other ex- 
 treme; the one worshipping his idol with the 
 most exclusive devotion; the other refusing to 
 give it even common respect, but desirous of 
 rendering it the means of sacrificing to other 
 deities, which her heart more passionately adored. 
 Avarice and prodigality are equally despicable 
 and ruinous ; the former entombing the heart in 
 the prison of its own possessions the latter 
 wafting it on the wings of every unhallowed pas-
 
 sion, which, sooner or later, must fall a wretched 
 sacrifice to the world. If avarice be the rust of 
 the mind prodigality is the poison that cankers 
 and blasts its hopes. 
 
 The venerable spouse, whom we shall distin- 
 guish by the name of Michael, was one of the 
 stillest men in the world. He would occasionally 
 converse with a neighbour on the rise and fall of 
 the market, or gently chide his wife for running 
 into those extravagances so natural and ruinous 
 to her sex ; but he was by no means an unkind 
 husband, for he would always compensate his 
 reproofs by all those kind attentions which are 
 pleasing to any but a woman who regards with 
 indifference the assiduities of age. Although 
 married several years, she had never been able 
 to identify his property. It could not consist in 
 either mortgages, deeds, or bank stock, as she 
 would certainly have found them in an old trunk, 
 where he only deposited his papers ; but in spite 
 of ah 1 her rummaging, she only found torn bills, 
 fragments of old letters, and writing books which 
 he had preserved from a boy, to convince pos- 
 terity, at least, that if he wielded nothing else, 
 he was able to wield a pen. Sometimes she
 
 4 
 
 thought that he must be a poor man, for he did 
 no kind of business, was in the habit of receiving 
 no money, and, as far as she knew, was in no 
 likelihood of ever becoming richer. But then 
 she had detected him counting whole piles of 
 guineas in his room, of a Sunday, and had as fre- 
 quently met him with bags in his hand, which 
 her fancy saw filled with brimming heaps of 
 coin. But what could he have done with them ? 
 Ah, there was the mystery ! And how should 
 she discover so desirable a prize ? On the sub- 
 ject of his treasures the old man was always 
 silent ; and whenever allusion was made to them, 
 always shrugged his shoulders, looked anxiously 
 down the garden, and folding his hands, drew a 
 deep sigh, as if in resignation to his narrow cir- 
 cumstances. At the approach of dusk, he was 
 always in the habit of resorting to his garden ; 
 and his wife generally improved the most of this 
 time in examining every part of the house, to find 
 something, if possible, which his cupidity might 
 have concealed. But all her efforts were fruit- 
 less; for she only found a rusty silver dollar 
 which had rolled behind the surbase, and which 
 would doubtless, without a finder, have remained 
 there as long as the house itself.
 
 One evening, while Michael was absent as 
 usual hi the garden, a spirit of curiosity excited 
 her to follow him, and ascertain the object of 
 his nightly visitations. He had been gone longer 
 than customary, and she was resolved to know 
 the reason ; for who knows, thought she, but I 
 may stumble on the treasures ? So, without de- 
 lay, she slipped into the garden, and after busily 
 searching, could perceive no traces of her hus- 
 band ; when, hearing on a sudden, the noise of a 
 shovel, she concluded that some one must be 
 near, and accordingly pursued her way to a dark 
 retired corner from which the sound appeared to 
 proceed. A thick bushy apple tree grew at the 
 side-walk, and enabled her to secrete herself to 
 observe whatever was going on. The figure of 
 the old man was dimly visible on the other side 
 turning up the ground, and then removing the 
 lid of a box into which he was seen depositing 
 something glittering like money, whose hollow 
 rattling as it fell in made it impossible to mistake 
 its nature. Again he fastened the chest 
 again the ground was replaced ; and after look- 
 ing inquisitively round in suspicion of discovery, 
 he cautiously bent his way to the house, satisfied 
 of the safety of his wealth. But Michael little
 
 6 
 
 dreamed that there was a witness so near, to de- 
 tect the altar of his idol, and more particularly 
 the person who was so much interested in the 
 discovery. Thus it frequently happens, that our 
 favourite plans are most cruelly marred by those 
 most nearly connected to us ; and that, where we 
 least apprehend danger, we generally experience 
 the saddest reverses of fortune. 
 
 Here was a mighty discovery indeed ! Here 
 was the fulfilment of all her fondest anticipations ! 
 Michael then was rich ; but how would she have 
 preferred to see him a beggar, than accursed 
 with so grovelling a disposition, which could 
 thus basely conceal from her the possession of 
 such a fortune. It was not only a mark of con- 
 tempt towards herself, but it was too dastardly a 
 spirit for a woman of her temper to brook. It 
 was high time, she concluded, to break asunder 
 the chains by which she had been enslaved. 
 Desperate as the measure was, she was deter- 
 mined to dig up the discovered booty, and escape 
 that very night from the habitation of her lord. 
 But where could she, a solitary woman, take 
 refuge ? She had a relative in a distant part of 
 Connecticut with whom she might find a tempo-
 
 rary retreat, or she might take private lodgings 
 in some neighbouring city, and there patiently 
 wait the issue of the event. Accordingly, that 
 very night, assisted by a servant, she removed 
 the good man's strong hold of consolation, and 
 set off in a carriage, which she had hired, for 
 New- York. Thus guilt always commences with 
 a discontented mind, which, growing presump- 
 tuous under a privation of imaginary blessings, 
 reasons itself into a right of casting off all re- 
 straint, and employing any means in the pro- 
 motion of its desires. 
 
 They had not proceeded far, before conscience 
 began to accuse her of the impropriety of her 
 conduct but was she not flying from a man 
 whom she inwardly detested ? a man who was 
 refusing her the confidence of a husband, and 
 denying her those luxuries which she imagined 
 were justly her due ? The coachman was direct- 
 ed to proceed with all possible despatch ; as if 
 that could hurry her from the reproaches of 
 self-accusation, and the danger of escaping the 
 future retribution of justice. The quick-trotting 
 of horses, and the rattling of a carriage behind 
 them, made them almost fear that the throng of
 
 8 
 
 pursuit was after them, and they several times 
 resolved to return and replace their booty. 
 But they, who are bold enough to silence the re- 
 monstrances of virtue, are always apt to resist 
 them to the last ; and how few are the attempts 
 to follow her amiable convictions and determine 
 to be virtuous in spite of all their temptations to 
 dishonour ! 
 
 Having arrived at New-York the following 
 day, she took private lodgings at one of the 
 fashionable hotels, giving out that she was a 
 widow, who had just buried her husband, and 
 had come to the city for the purpose of settling 
 his concerns. But -then there was that unlucky, 
 heavy box, which she had forgotten to have se- 
 cured ; and, from its weight and rattling, con- 
 vinced the porters who conveyed it to her lodg- 
 ings, that there were treasures concealed of 
 more than ordinary importance. Suspicion, for 
 it is always busy, began to rest upon her as some 
 heroine in disguise, who had committed some 
 enormous robbery, and was flying away from the 
 pursuit of the officers of justice. But there was 
 nothing about her to excite such surmises ; for 
 she possessed a winning and genteel address.
 
 9 
 
 and exciting those irresistible impressions which 
 the contemplation of a friendless woman always 
 inspires. But it is difficult to stop the tongues 
 of the talkative and envious ; and with all her 
 claims to general sympathy, her presence became 
 shunned by the inmates of the house. To pre- 
 vent further mortification, she deemed it expe- 
 dient to depart ; and her next step was to find 
 an asylum, with her relative in Connecticut, from 
 all those suspicions resting upon her character. 
 But what was she to do with the confounded 
 box, which, like Abu Casern's slippers, haunted 
 her wherever she went? She dared not de- 
 posite the coin in any bank, or with any indi- 
 vidual, for that, she knew, would be the most 
 certain method of blazoning abroad her folly. 
 Fool that she was ! why had she not provided 
 for all this dilemma, and been more cautious in 
 taking so precipitous a step ? It is plain, that she 
 had been urged by the violence of ungovernable 
 passions, which too frequently 'egislate for the 
 understanding. * She arrived at her relative's in a 
 few days; but there it was necessary to plan 
 some specious story to account satisfactorily for 
 her newly acquired possessions; and she ac- 
 cordingly declared, that her husband was dead, 
 
 No. VTI. 2
 
 10 
 
 and that she had brought away the property 
 which he had left her. 
 
 She had not been there longer than a month, 
 before the newspapers were teeming with a most 
 singular robbery, said to have been committed 
 upon a gentleman in Pennsylvania; and par- 
 ticular mention was made of his wife who had 
 left her home. No name was inserted: but 
 the dread of discovery hanging heavy upon her 
 heart, she apologized to her friend for the ne- 
 cessity of her return, and departed that very 
 day with her hapless box and servant. She now 
 began to feel the painful consequences of guilt, 
 and the wretchedness of yielding to her ruling 
 desires. Accusing herself of the maddest folly, 
 she seemed like one awakening from a sickly 
 dream, and wondered how she could have thus 
 forgotten the dignity of her sex, and plunged 
 into dangers which, she feared, were inevita- 
 ble. She remembered that Michael, though pe- 
 nurious, had always been an attentive husband ; 
 and that the crime for which she hated him was 
 the result of his declining years. But had she 
 no faults of which to accuse herself no spirit of 
 extravagance fully equal to the avarice of her
 
 11 
 
 consort, and just as much entitled to the een* 
 sures she bestowed on him ? Such were the re- 
 flections which conscience inspired in the bosom 
 of our penitent dame, while bending her sorrow- 
 ful way to her husband's house, from which she 
 had been absent almost two months ; and who 
 could tell her what had transpired since last she 
 left it ? It was after dusk when she arrived. 
 The place looked more dreary and desolate than 
 formerly; the window-shutters were closed no 
 living creature was seen around the premises 
 and a small wooden bar nailed upon the entrance 
 of the door intimated that admittance was alto- 
 gether in vain. The returning prodigal resolved, 
 at all events, to restore the fatal box to the place 
 whence it was taken, that in case of appre- 
 hension, by the neighbours, or her husband, she 
 might not have in her possession so awful a wit- 
 ness against her. Having entered the garden, 
 through a small unfastened gate, they found the 
 hole just as they had left it ; and after replacing 
 the chest, the ground was covered over the ob- 
 ject of her cupidity. She returned to the house 
 with a slow, dejected air ; and after requesting 
 the servant to remain within her call, she ap- 
 proached the back piazza ; but there was nothing 
 here more indicative of inhabitants than at the
 
 front; and she consequently concluded that 
 either Michael had left the premises, or had sunk 
 under the weight of her neglect. She observed 
 a light, however, from a small window in the 
 gable end of the kitchen ; and while she was con- 
 jecturing the cause, the cellar-door was opened^ 
 and the form of a woman arose from the steps, 
 who, perceiving a stranger in the garden, paused.* 
 as if awaiting her approach. " Who can this 
 be ?" whispered the forlorn wanderer to herself. 
 " Michael surely is not re-married or has the 
 house fallen to some other occupant ?" " Who 
 are you," demanded the ill-natured voice of a 
 withered woman, " disturbing our rest at this un- 
 seasonable hour? Can it be the ghost of Mi- 
 hael's wife or is it some beggar that comes to 
 demand a night's lodging ?" " For the love of 
 heaven," the other inquired, " inform me whether 
 Michael is yet living, and is it possible that I can 
 see him ?" " Living, indeed," drawled out the 
 other ; " if lying on a death-bed be what you 
 call living ! he is alive enough, I trust, and as to 
 your seeing him to-night, it will cost you more 
 steps than I am willing to take in showing you ; 
 so your best way is to decamp from this yard, or 
 I'll call the old watchdog to your assistance, for 
 I warrant you have no good designs to be wan-
 
 IS 
 
 denng alone in other people's property." Retreat- 
 ing like a culprit from her former home, she re- 
 traced her way to the garden gate, but perceived 
 that her servant-man was gone and to her dis- 
 may, observed that the hole was re-dug, and 
 the box removed. Suspicion flashed upon her 
 mind, that her attendant must have secured it in 
 the interval of her absence. Fear and despair 
 took possession of her soul, as she dwelt upon 
 her situation. She called for her domestic, but 
 she was only answered by the growls of a fierce 
 mastiff, disputing over the fence for his right to the 
 grounds. " You may willingly have them ," ex- 
 claimed the weary woman ; " box, property, and 
 all, only give me back my husband, and the peace 
 of mind which I have forfeited." She heard a 
 quick step behind her, and a voice demanding 
 " Who 's there ?" Concealment was vain ; for 
 faint and weary, she clung for support to the ban- 
 nisters of a piazza, on which she had sat in more 
 happy days ; and saw by her side a tall, uncouth 
 figure leaning inquisitively on her, and calling her 
 by the name of her injured husband. " Where 
 oh, where can I find Michael ?" her lips were 
 just able to repeat. " If that be all you want," 
 said the other, carelessly, " I'll bring you to him 
 in a trice." Supported by her companion, she
 
 14 
 
 was conducted to a small cottage without the vil- 
 lage, where, informing her that she could find 
 Michael, he left her at the door to the anguish of 
 her reflections. The house was, doubtless, closed 
 for the night ; but a dim light shone from one of 
 the windows, and a murmuring voice within 
 aroused her to the melancholy of her situation. 
 She was about meeting an injured husband ; the 
 victim, it is true, of many faults and infirmities ; 
 but still he was her husband; perhaps expiring, 
 as she believed, from the cruelty of her conduct. 
 How could she endure his look what apology 
 offer how avert his deserved reproaches ? She 
 knocked at the door with a trembling hand, and 
 a feeble cry answered from the chamber, to 
 " Come in ;" when, raising the latch, she felt the 
 door yielding to her pressure ; and she was stand- 
 ing in the presence of Michael, extended on 
 his dying bed, preparing to render up his ac- 
 counts. The room was feebly lighted by a 
 flaring taper in the chimney, and a boy was 
 standing at the bed-side administering to the last 
 moments of the dying man. " Doctor, you have 
 arrived too late," exclaimed the quivering lips of 
 threescore years ; " but why not come before ?" 
 44 1 have come indeed," replied the guilty daughter 
 of sorrow. " to bind up the wounds which I have
 
 inflicted, and atone for the injury you have sus- 
 tained." " Is that the voice of Adelaide," returned 
 the reviving sufferer, " or is it her spirit from the 
 grave, come to warn me of my departure ?" " I 
 am no spirit, Michael, but your own wretched 
 wife, who has ruined your temporal and domestic 
 comforts, and is kneeling at your side to express 
 the penitence she feels." " Oh, it is too late," mur- 
 mured the dying man ; " I cannot curse you, Ade- 
 laide, for money has been my idol ; it was the 
 loss of that, more than yourself, that has reduced 
 me to what you see; but we can only profit by 
 the past since we cannot recall it ; for I feel that 
 avarice has not only ruined me, but " " Say it 
 was my extravagance," sobbed the other, " that 
 led me to defraud you and break the wretched 
 heart that here lies fluttering before me; Oh, 
 could I restore the past, how differently would I 
 have acted ! but the cursed box is gone, and " 
 " You have not spent them all ?" the aged miser 
 inquired, his eyes lighted up by the fire of his 
 ruling passion. The other had no opportunity to 
 reply, for a deep groan broke from the expiring 
 pillow ; and, after a dreary pause, the aged man 
 resumed, " Adelaide, I am dying : I will not leave 
 you pennyless, though my precious box has gone 
 after my death, you will find about me all that
 
 Iti 
 
 1 can leave you but oh, I have sinned against 
 the hope of forgiveness, and " " But there is a 
 precious Saviour," said the weeping wife, " that 
 can wash the penitent clean ; for it is written, ' all 
 manner of sins shall be forgiven unto men.' ' 
 Strange as it may seem, the guilty woman 
 prayed in all the fervency of her soul for her 
 companion ; and, at the close, his eye was lighted 
 up with a more than common smile. " Adelaide," 
 he muttered, " you have come to close my dying 
 eyes would it had been always thus ! but oh may 
 we meet to part no more, in a better and hap- 
 pier world !" The spirit of Michael soon departed, 
 and Adelaide was a widow : but, though entirely 
 destitute, she felt in what she had performed, a 
 consolation which worlds were unable to bestow. 
 
 Michael sold his house immediately after the 
 loss of his treasures; and converting it into 
 money, purchased the cottage, where his trou- 
 bles reduced him to the grave. True to him- 
 self, he had fastened his gold in a flannel waist- 
 coat, next his body ; and it was not until he was 
 laid out that Adelaide was aware of the fact. 
 Her servant was soon apprehended, and the fatal 
 box restored to its mistress, who had learned to 
 abhor the effects of prodigality and avarice.
 
 THE CHURCH PRISONER. 
 
 'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower 
 Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume, 
 And we are weeds without it. COWPER. 
 
 THE legend of American recollection abounds 
 with a rich variety of incidents, confined alone 
 to the social circle, or the ear of a few favoured 
 friends ; unless, perchance, some inquisitive an- 
 tiquary patiently investigates, and rescues them 
 from oblivion. It is a source of regret, that so 
 many facts, in the possession of the aged, who 
 bore a conspicuous part in the revolutionary 
 struggle, should lie entombed in their remem- 
 brance, when the eyes that witnessed, and the 
 hands which achieved them, will be shortly dim 
 and cold in the grave. The rising generation 
 around us will soon be unable to identify the 
 spots, hallowed by memorable deeds; and all 
 that will remain of many past exploits will be a 
 dark tradition, varied by contradictory accounts 
 
 No, VII. :>.
 
 18 
 
 of the listeners ; until, for want of satisfactory 
 evidence, they will altogether fade from the me- 
 mory. Whenever I behold an aged American, 
 who has journeyed down to us through the vi- 
 cissitudes of threescore years and ten, I not only 
 contemplate a chronicler of past events, but a 
 witness of the protection and providence of 
 Heaven. With sentiments like these, I visited, a 
 few days ago, an aged gentleman, by the name 
 of Doughty, whose recollections furnished me 
 with the following remarkable facts. 
 
 Linton Doughty was a young farmer of Mon- 
 mouth county, New-Jersey, and while the British 
 had the controul of New-York, was drafted from 
 the militia to protect the shores from invasion, 
 and give notice of every movement, both on 
 land and water, annoying to the American arms. 
 The country about the seashore was extremely 
 uneven and woody, so that parties of soldiers 
 might clandestinely approach, and not become 
 visible till upon the enemy ; and on this account 
 the sentinels had but little opportunity of alarm- 
 ing the main guard in season. News had arrived, 
 of a large body of the English marching across 
 the country in their direction, and the Major of
 
 19 
 
 he battalion immediately ordered about twenty 
 of the bravest men that could be selected, to 
 stand on guard that night, as every thing depend- 
 ed on the valour of those employed. Doughty 
 was among the number ; and was distinguished 
 for his courage and prudence; being bravely 
 resolved, not to be surprised by the best con- 
 certed movements of the enemy. He was sta- 
 tioned in a thick wood, about a mile from the 
 main body, and his peremptory orders were, to 
 fire whenever he heard the least motion or 
 noise. It was a bright, moonlight night ; and he 
 stood behind one of the tall trees, watching the 
 variations of light and shadow which the waving 
 branches produced. The dead silence was in- 
 terrupted by the rustling of a distant tree, with 
 the tramp of feet ; and the figure of several per- 
 sons were seen stealing before him ; when the 
 quivering moonbeams revealed the dress of Eng- 
 lish soldiers. He immediately fired his gun, 
 which was directly answered by several of the 
 company. He heard the balls whizzing along 
 the branches, but he felt that he was safe. Re- 
 treating in the direction of his regiment, he found 
 that his own camp had been surprised by an 
 overpowering force ; and he was accordingly cap-
 
 tured with the rest, and escorted to New-York, 
 to become prisoner of war, in the Dutch Re- 
 formed Church in William-street. It was a spa- 
 cious stone building, without a spire, enclosed 
 by a white paled fence, more thoroughly secured 
 by high joist pickets, to prevent the escape of 
 the American prisoners. A tavern was kept in 
 a corner of the yard, by one Varnum, the captain 
 of the prison, and a sort of sutler, who made 
 considerable money in retailing liquors to the 
 soldiers, and the friends who came to visit them. 
 The condition of the church beggared all de- 
 scription. The ceiling and pillars, which might 
 have been formerly white, were yellowed by the 
 exhalations of vapour and tobacco smoke con- 
 tinually rising. Large pieces of the side-wall 
 were broken off, from the yawning lathes, through 
 which the hungry rats and mice were constantly 
 scampering; and the deep windows were filled 
 with tangled cobwebs and dust, that almost de- 
 barred the admittance of the light. The gallery 
 pews were still standing, but their doors had been 
 broken off to manufacture three-legged stools ; 
 and the floor of the former had been torn up in 
 many places by the noisy crew, exposing the 
 naked rafters to observation. On the ground-
 
 21 
 
 floor, nothing but the pulpit was standing, whose 
 dark mahogany aspect seemed in mourning for 
 the sacrilege around it. The prisoners, for 
 amusement, were, in one direction, pitching 
 quoits, in another, playing fives against the walls. 
 At other times they would foot away cotillons, 
 hornpipes, and four-handed reels while others, of 
 a serious mood, would huddle in dull communion, 
 and prose over the adventures and consequences 
 of the war. The great difficulty in dancing was 
 the attainment of proper music the coarse hum- 
 ming of one of the party only serving as their 
 band. But Doughty was a cabinet-maker, and 
 with the assistance of a carpenter, and a person, 
 by the name of Williams, who was a professed 
 musician, had the hardihood to demolish the 
 pulpit, and manufacture violins from its pannel- 
 work^ which, with the addition of catgut, in the 
 possession of one of the company, composed 
 tolerable instruments to amuse most of their me- 
 lancholy hours. But all this was miserable bu- 
 siness for Doughty, who was dreaming rather of 
 military triumphs, than tuning up silly jigs in a 
 church. He accordingly determined to escape. 
 He thought, that if he could so manage it as to 
 be put upon the sick list, and sent to the hospital.
 
 that he should have a better chance of success, 
 'than among vigilant guards, and lofty picket 
 fences. Knowing that tobacco made him deadly 
 sick, he chewed, one night, a considerable quan- 
 tity, and the next morning he feared, in good 
 earnest, that he had carried the joke almost too 
 far. The physician felt his pulse shook his head, 
 and giving his opinion that the rascal had merely 
 a sick stomach, precluded, at least for that time, 
 his favourite design. The next attempt was in 
 concert with several others, to endeavour, during 
 the inattention of the sentry, to break through 
 the pickets, surrounding the churchyard. The 
 prisoners were allowed, throughout the day, to 
 come without the walls, and amuse themselves in 
 whatever way they pleased. It was concerted, 
 that while the sentinels were walking at either 
 end of the building, a number of prisoners should 
 crowd around them, and in that manner prevent 
 their observation of what was transpiring. 
 Among the rest was John Paul ding, who was 
 also desirous with Doughty of deliverance from 
 his captivity. On the following day the adven- 
 turous scheme was attempted. The guard was 
 accordingly blinded by the stratagem, and John 
 Paulding was the first that escaped through thr
 
 pickets: and immediately, as if Providence so 
 designed, was present at Tarrytown to arrest 
 Major Andre ; so that the freedom of one person 
 became the death-warrant of another. After 
 Paulding, another fortunately followed ; but when 
 it came to Doughty's turn, a woman, from a 
 neighbouring window, notified the sentinels that 
 their charge was making off, so that disappoint- 
 ment again mocked the wishes of our hero. He 
 was not however to be damped by failure, for it 
 was his favourite motto, that difficulty was the 
 highway to success. He accordingly conceived 
 a project, which he communicated to his fellow- 
 prisoners, as bold in its conception, as difficult in 
 its results. It was to dig a hole under the foun- 
 dation of the church, and excavate a passage 
 into an opposite neighbouring house. It de- 
 manded all his cunning to devise the method and 
 place of commencing operations, so as to elude 
 observation, if suspicion should be excited. He 
 had a large case knife, which a file soon con- 
 verted into a saw, and pieces of plank were easily 
 made into spades. Under both stairs, there were 
 large closets with doors, and into one of these 
 our resolute veteran entered, and his first bu- 
 siness was to saw out a place from the floor suf-
 
 24 
 
 iiciently large to admit several persons. The 
 work was to be effected at night, when a candle 
 could be safely introduced within the closet, and 
 no suspicion could be indulged of what was 
 going on in the church. Those disposed to 
 escape were divided into two parties ; the one to 
 take their turn in digging, the other to convey 
 the dirt beneath the floor of the gallery. It was 
 extremely difficult to move the ground, on ac- 
 count of the numberless stones impeding their 
 way; but, at length, sufficient progress was made 
 to learn the difficulty of the undertaking. It is 
 surprising with what silence and secrecy the 
 work was conducted. The weather being warm, 
 the prisoners took off their shoes ; and preserving 
 the deepest silence, laboured up and down stairs 
 without a suspicion from without, that the least 
 design was in operation among them. They 
 dug about ten feet before they attempted to pur- 
 sue a horizontal course towards the street; and 
 here they found a soft clay soil, less resisting 
 to the shovel, and forming, by its continuity, an 
 artificial arch above their heads. The aperture 
 was just large enough to admit them on their 
 hands and knees, and after patiently toiling, they 
 arrived under the solid foundation. They con-
 
 25 
 
 tmued undermining the wall which was eight feet 
 thick, when they were partially obstructed by seve- 
 ral of the heavy stones breaking away from above, 
 which, after considerable assiduity they removed 
 to their reservoir in the gallery. They perceived 
 that they were working immediately under the 
 churchyard, for they distinctly understood the 
 conversation of the sentinels, whose heavy steps 
 above their heads sounded most dolefully to their 
 ears. As it was impossible to ascertain, under 
 ground, the distance to be pursued, Doughty 
 paced, during the day, the exact space from the 
 church to the pickets ; and comparing the breadth 
 of the street with the measurement thus taken, 
 observed the same plan in the subterranean pas- 
 sage. To determine the course, it was only re- 
 quisite, while he was below, that several of the 
 party should walk heavily over head, in the pre- 
 cise direction which they were to take. Having 
 perforated a chasm of more than thirty feet, they 
 arrived at a stone wall, which, they conjectured, 
 was the foundation of the opposite building ; and 
 it being broad day-break, they agreed to wait 
 till the following night, when they were resolved 
 to succeed or perish in the attempt. It so hap- 
 pened, that the prisoners were examined, every 
 
 ^o. VII. 4
 
 morning, alternately, by an English and Hessian 
 officer, and it fell to the turn of the Hessian 
 commander to inspect the captives that day. 
 While scanning them over, his eye singled out 
 a fellow whom he accused of deserting from the 
 Hessian infantry, and he threatened him with in- 
 stant death for taking up arms with the rebels. 
 His countenance turned deadly pale, and his 
 companions supposed that his fate was absolutely 
 sealed. In a few hours, he was conducted from 
 the yard by a file of soldiers, and he bade his 
 associates farewell, regarding himself in the con- 
 dition of a dead man. 
 
 It was about evening when the Hessian de- 
 serter left the yard; and every one being too 
 deeply engrossed in his own safety, forgot the 
 circumstance in preparation for the approaching 
 adventure. The church-door was locked, as 
 usual, for the night, and all but those too cow- 
 ardly to purchase freedom, were alive with ex- 
 pectation to descend into the cavern. It was a 
 moment, indeed, of considerable solicitude, since 
 it was to decide the termination of their inglo- 
 rious captivity, and arm the darkest vengeance 
 against them, in case of being discovered. They
 
 27 
 
 felt that their country demanded their services ifi 
 rescuing her from a thraldom so unnatural to 
 be maintained, and unsarictioned by laws both 
 human and divine. To minds like theirs, wea- 
 ried by long continued subjection, in a building 
 too sacrilegiously distorted into a miserable 
 dungeon, and on the very soil where most of 
 them drew their first breath of life, any means 
 were adopted to escape from confinement, and 
 punish the violators of their liberty. Provided 
 with a dark-lantern, the intrepid Doughty first 
 ventured down the secret cavity, desiring the 
 rest to follow, whenever they heard the signal of 
 his call; so that in case he succeeded in work- 
 ing through the wall, he would certainly notify his 
 anxious companions. They were aware that no 
 one was more capable than himself, of regulating 
 the plan ; and that, even in case of surprise, it 
 were better that one should suffer, than that all 
 should be implicated in the penalty. Having di- 
 rected one of their number to listen at the closet, 
 they waited in the church, a considerable time, to 
 catch the welcome message of their precursor. 
 Nearly an hour had elapsed, and the voice of 
 Doughty was unheard. Disappointed, and as- 
 tonished, severa,! of the party were preparing to
 
 28 
 
 descend, when, on a sudden, the heavy church- 
 door creaked upon its hinges, and the hasty 
 trampling of feet indicated that something un- 
 usual was about to happen. As quick as thought, 
 the appearance of a file of soldiers silenced ob- 
 servation, and they were directing their steps to 
 the subterranean chasm. " Is this the way, you 
 rebels," roared out a corporal-looking fellow, 
 " that you manifest your gratitude for the favours 
 you have received ? But chains, with bread and 
 water, will soon cool down the ringleaders !" Se- 
 veral of those standing near the closet were 
 taken into custody, and instantly ordered to be 
 carried to the guard-house; while the others 
 were required to fill up the hole with the mate- 
 rials which were taken from it. " But first let 
 the place be examined !" said the crusty soldier, 
 making motion for one of the troop to venture 
 below ; but all expressing some reluctance, the 
 cavity was filled up with a pile of rubbish and 
 stones, and a double floor was immediately 
 nailed over the entrance. The enclosures were 
 soon also removed from under the stairs, that 
 the whole of the lower floor might be laid 
 open to the inspection of the soldiers. The un- 
 fortunate fellows, found near the closet, were
 
 29 
 
 hurried to the guard-house, where they were sen- 
 tenced to ten days' confinement, on bread and 
 water, in the darkest dungeon of the Prevot, now 
 the old jail. 
 
 But where was Doughty all this time ? He 
 had crept slowly along the passage ; and while 
 under the yard, he overheard a conversation 
 above his head, apparently that of the sentinels. 
 " Have you been told of the prisoners' plot," said 
 a rough voice, " which the Hessian deserter has 
 divulged to the officers ; was n't he a cunning 
 dog to save his life at so trifling an expense ?" 
 u Confusion upon them !" replied the other ; " I 
 have heard of the cunning scheme, and I have 
 no doubt that the foxes are grubbing already 
 under ground ; but they will sing a different tune 
 when they see over their heads the guns of our 
 soldiers. But hark ! let us endeavour to listen if 
 any thing is going on below !" Doughty, at this 
 moment, almost drew in his breath, for fear of 
 being heard but the conversation changing on 
 another less important topic, he began to de- 
 liberate whether or not he should return. He re- 
 collected, that if he went back, he was certain of 
 slavery : and. that to remain where he was.
 
 30 
 
 would be a strong probability of escape. He 
 knew that not a moment must be lost. Guided 
 by his lantern, whose dark side he turned to him- 
 self, he commenced sapping, with his tools, 
 the foundation of the building ; but feared, from 
 the solidity of the mason-work, the impossibility 
 of securing an entrance. While thus engaged, the 
 clattering of feet were heard over-head, and the 
 opening of the church-door, attended by the loud 
 hum of the party. He was almost certain of 
 being dragged from his concealment, and made 
 an example to the rest of the prisoners. But he 
 had no friend now, but his own fortitude, to con- 
 sult ; and he was excited to persevere, in spite of 
 the dangers which hung over his head. Willingly 
 would he have gone back, could that mitigate the 
 penalty of his companions, and rescue him from 
 the danger which he was so fearlessly braving. 
 The idea too of being murdered, or buried alive, 
 was too excruciating for his fancy to dwell on ; 
 but if unsuccessful in the object of his enter- 
 prise, what alternative was left but to return to 
 the prison? What was his dismay, when he 
 heard the noise of stones and other rubbish fill- 
 ing up the cavity ; and his lamp extinguished by a 
 sudden current of wind, left him overwhelmed by
 
 the most oppressive darkness. The damp air 
 began to breathe heavily, and the horrible sen- 
 sation, for the moment, came over him, that, per- 
 haps, he might perish for want of air. The con- 
 finement of his associates appeared perfect 
 liberty, compared to his own abandonment ; and 
 he almost resolved to clear out the avenue 
 through which he had waded. But a moment's 
 reflection taught him that he had the power, per- 
 haps, of effecting his escape, and avenging the 
 wrongs of his country. His courage became, more 
 than ordinarily, emboldened. The stones began 
 to crumble more easily away, and, by degrees, he 
 succeeded in perforating an aperture into a cel- 
 lar, where he saw hogsheads, barrels, and lumber 
 of various kinds ; but hearing the sound of foot- 
 steps, and the echo of voices, he paused for a 
 while; and all again being still, he climbed 
 through the hole into the cellar, and taking re- 
 fuge behind two immense casks, he was deter- 
 mined to wait there till assured of his safety in 
 venturing forward. To his chagrin, he listened 
 again to the approach of persons down the steps, 
 who, coming to the butts, behind which he was 
 secreted, began to bore a hole in one of them as 
 if intending to draw off the contents ; and while
 
 turning the gimblet, one of them observed, 
 " What a fine posse of soldiers, Bill ; doubtless 
 they are drinking like fishes to the confusion of 
 the prisoners' plot." " Avast there, Tom,'* cried 
 the other, u draw away for your life, for so much 
 talking over the ale will certainly turn it sour." 
 " They say," returned the other, " that one of the 
 rebels has escaped through the hole, but I hope 
 that he '11 not appear to us in the cellar, or by 
 the hair of my head I'll souse him in the beer to 
 his chin ; but dont you hear something moving ?" 
 " Nothing, you ninny," said his comrade, " but 
 the beer gurgling from the cask, and if you don't 
 mind, it will overrun the measure." At this in- 
 stant, the pipe rolled on Doughty 's left foot, 
 and occasioned a hollow groan from behind. 
 " Powers of mud !" screamed the fellows, taking 
 to their heels up stairs, with the rapidity of squir- 
 rels, forgetful of their lantern and the escape of 
 the foaming beer. Our hero was bold enough to 
 take a hearty sup ; and suffering the cellar to en- 
 joy a deeper draught, he fled through an area into 
 the yard; and while the landlord and soldiers 
 were searching for the ghost, he escaped through 
 the darkness to a friend's house, from which he 
 speedily joined the American army.
 
 CONVERSATIONS 
 
 THOMAS PAINE. 
 
 The mind was still all there ; but turn'd astray : 
 A wandering bark, upon whose pathway shone 
 All stars of heaven, except the guiding one. 
 
 T. MOOKE. 
 
 ILLUSTRIOUS minds have existed, who have de- 
 nied the credibility of scripture, and ascribed to 
 the dimness of reason all the mental and moral 
 light which they enjoy : but they were intellects 
 which, enslaved and corrupted by the world, re- 
 nounced a system so mortifying to their passions, 
 and so ruinous, if true, to their everlasting peace. 
 As the rays of light, transmitted through a dense 
 medium, prevent the eye from correctly viewing 
 the object, so the unhappy medium through 
 which revelation is beheld, either veils it in con- 
 tradiction and absurdity, or exhibits it in a 
 different language from that originally intended. 
 
 No. VIII. i
 
 34 
 
 Indebted to the Bible for every public and do- 
 mestic privilege, and illuminated and warmed by 
 its holy and invigorating beams, the skeptic un- 
 fairly places reason upon the throne of the uni- 
 verse, when she is merely the pupil of a greater 
 and wiser power. It is as absurd as if the scho- 
 lar should deny that he was indebted to education 
 for the light that he possessed ; and maintain that 
 the powers of unassisted intellect are capable of 
 directing him on his way. If reason be thus predo- 
 minant, let an instance be shown of any barbarous 
 nation ever civilizing itself ever turning from 
 the darkness of savage ignorance, until enlight- 
 ened and purified by Christianity ; and the palm 
 of victory shall be decided in its favour. The 
 classic nations, though from their proximity to 
 the Jews, they must, doubtless, have received a 
 considerable portion of sacred light, never rose 
 higher in the scale than civilized barbarians ; for 
 the imperfection of their philosophy, and the 
 corruptions of their moral code, evidence how 
 low, compared with the Christian world, they 
 were sunk in the shades of error. To the 
 association of their sages with the prophets of 
 Judea, they may have been entirely indebted 
 for all their improvement ; and hence the lofty
 
 pinnacle they reached, affects not, in the least de- 
 gree, the issue of the question. The living fact 
 evidenced these eighteen hundred years past that 
 no nation has attained intellectual and moral 
 worth, until refined by Christianity, is sufficient 
 to prove, that reason is indebted to the wisdom 
 that is from heaven. To elevate reason above the 
 latter, is, as if the astronomer should ascribe to 
 the moon the sole power of enlightening, and 
 forget that she was only an auxiliary to the sun 
 that is invisible. Were the evidences of Chris- 
 tianity weak and fallacious, it would manifest a 
 sickly spirit in questioning its claims ; for who 
 would not rather desire that so glorious a system 
 should prove true, than that infidelity should 
 usurp the supremacy? What possessor of an 
 estate is constantly labouring to discern flaws in 
 his title, but does not rather substantiate its va- 
 lidity in despite of every suspicion ? If the hopes 
 of heaven were half as valuable in their estima- 
 tion, men would feel more interest in defending 
 than in weakening their authority. The adversa- 
 ries of the Bible, then, ought to reverse their con- 
 duct, by first examining the testimony which es- 
 tablishes its authenticity, before they proceed to 
 canvass their objections.
 
 The prevalence of skepticism too often arises 
 from a laxity of morals, which rivets the mind 
 to a perusal of the objections against Christianity, 
 and a familiarity with those sarcastically hostile 
 to its promotion. A sneering laugh has often 
 more weight with the multitude than the most 
 powerful arguments ; and majority of names have 
 effected more than the deepest learning, or the 
 purest light of example. It is certain, however, 
 that thousands oppose the gospel, more from the 
 restraints of pride, and the persuasions of cor- 
 rupt associates, than from the power of convic- 
 tion derived from sober and patient investiga- 
 tion ; and that oftentimes the tears of penitence 
 would fall, and the chains of infidelity be broken, 
 were they not frozen and forged by the sneers and 
 opposition of the abandoned. The hope of 
 
 being recorded in the annals of posterity the 
 
 t 
 
 passion for novelty attracting a crowd of follow- 
 ers the mortification of renouncing one's own 
 opinion, and pursuing the track we formerly de- 
 spised, too often render the mind impenetrable to 
 the convictions of religion. That it was the 
 case with Thomas Paine, the author of " The 
 Age of Reason," I am strongly persuaded, from a 
 conversation which a friend of mine enjoyed
 
 37 
 
 with him, not long previous to his death. My 
 liberal-minded friend always respected genius 
 wherever it shone, and was desirous of visiting 
 that extraordinary man, to learn whether he 
 was the monster as had been represented, 
 and discover, if possible, his predominant senti- 
 ments. The conversation may be relied on ; and 
 as I am in no respects disposed to caricature the 
 picture, every circumstance shall be recorded 
 precisely as it occurred. 
 
 Having learned from some of the papers that 
 Thomas Paine had lately published his work on 
 " Dreams," my friend considered this an excel- 
 lent excuse to visit him. His lodgings were on 
 the south side of the Bear market, near Green- 
 wich-Street ; and he was pointed out sitting at 
 an upper window, apparently engaged in writ- 
 ing. The weather was sultry, and the windows 
 and doors were invitingly open: so, without 
 ceremony, my informant entered the apartment, 
 fearful, on the one hand, of improperly in- 
 truding, and of arousing, on the other, the in- 
 dignation of the occupant. His room embraced 
 the whole width of the house, the floor and 
 walls of which were remarkably filthy. In the
 
 north-east corner, behind a jointed screen, was 
 discernible a pal'et-bed, upon the floor, covered 
 with papers. In the opposite angle was a 
 large trunk ; and at the other, a disorderly 
 pile of several scores of pamphlets. Before 
 Mr. Paine, at the middle window, stood a 
 crazy table, containing a decanter with some 
 liquor, a tumbler, with a broken-eared pitcher 
 a huge snufF-box well filled with rappee, and an- 
 other without a cover, containing some loose 
 change, while several newspapers were lying in- 
 discriminately before him. There was a broken- 
 legged table behind him, on which were the im- 
 plements of writing, and apparently that at which 
 he had been sitting. The lines on the paper 
 were singularly.irregular the top of the sheet 
 was fair, but the middle and bottom of the page 
 were whimsically discoloured by snuff, which the 
 sage was in the habit of profusely taking. 
 
 The appearance of Mr. Paine was remarkably 
 eccentric. His dark hair, which seemed to have 
 borne the marks of the French style, stood in 
 all directions, with a long slender cue reaching 
 to his hips. His face was curiously discoloured 
 by pimples, so that a clear spot was scarcely dis
 
 39 
 
 cernible, of the size of a wafer. His beard seem- 
 ed, at least, of several weeks' growth, and his 
 upper lip was extremely stained with snuff. The 
 linen which he wore was, nearly, the same colour 
 as the floor ; the collar was open, and the bosom 
 of a similar complexion to his upper lip. His 
 countenance was somewhat gaunt; his nose, 
 large; his brow, protruding and heavy; and 
 his small dark eyes, threw a brilliancy of ex- 
 pression which no description can convey. He 
 wore a gown of red and yellow striped stuff, 
 called Bengal, with pantaloons of the same kind ; 
 and his stockingless feet were attired in coarse 
 list-moccasins, with one of the points so broken, 
 as to expose his great toe to observation. In 
 this " Otium cum dignitate," sat this extraor- 
 dinary philosopher, intent only upon his studies, 
 and apparently holding in contempt the pomp 
 and insignia of grandeur. My friend respectfully 
 saluted him, and told him that the object of his 
 interruption was to purchase his work on 
 " Dreams." Mr. Paine regarded him with a look 
 of courteous surprise apologized for inability to 
 rise, owing to his lameness ; but requested him to 
 be seated until his boy should return, whom he 
 had just dismissed upon an errand. Independ-
 
 40 
 
 ently of the arm-chair which the intirm sage oc- 
 cupied, my friend found another without a back? 
 which was the only other in the room ; and here, 
 in midst of this wretchedness and disorder, he 
 was to encounter a man who had thrown all 
 Europe into agitation. 
 
 Referring to his book, the philosopher opened 
 the conversation on dreams, and several other 
 topics of physical philosophy, and branching off 
 into the merits of various writers, terminated in 
 desultory remarks upon his own productions. It 
 was plain that he was anxious to enlist the other 
 in religious cannonade, who without suspecting 
 that the charge was so soon in readiness, was 
 thus questioned by Mr. Paine; " Have you read 
 my writings, sir ?" " I have, sir," replied his 
 visiter, " read all that have been published, ex- 
 cept the work I have just called for." " And 
 what do you think of them, sir ?" demanded Mr. 
 Paine, his little sparkling eyes glancing dubiously 
 upon his companion. This was a question by 
 no means anticipated, but politeness required an 
 immediate reply. " Your political works, sir," 
 answered the visiter, " contain some of the finest 
 sentiments and representations of liberty, which.
 
 41 
 
 probably, arc to be found in any language; and 
 i am persuaded that your ' Common Sense,' and 
 Rights of Man,' with many of your similar pieces, 
 will be always read with pleasure by every lover 
 of freedom. Mr. Paine seemed pleased with the 
 reply, and interrupting his visiter, went into a 
 short detail of circumstances, connected with 
 the period when he published ' Common Sense.' 
 "It was, sir," said he, accompanying the ex- 
 pression with a most expressive glance of his eye, 
 " at the very time when this country was fighting 
 for reconciliation Yes !" he repeated, " fighting 
 for reconciliation." The visiter observed, "About 
 that time, sir, a very excellent man, and fine 
 scholar, who was a clergyman of the Church of 
 England, published a political work, entitled 
 ' The Bible and The Sword,' with a view to en- 
 courage religious persons to engage in the war 
 against America ; and though some of the Eng- 
 lish ministry were highly gratified with his pub- 
 lication, yet the wisest and best of that clergy- 
 man's friends considered him injudiciously med- 
 dling with political subjects, with which he was 
 so little acquainted; and I intended to say, sir," 
 continued the visiter, "that the most respect- 
 able of Mr. Paine's friends have extremely re- 
 No. VTIT. 2
 
 gretted that he ever ventured to write upon the 
 subject of religion. There is nothing new to be 
 developed in the extensive field of objection 
 against divine revelation; every difficulty has 
 been repeatedly retailed from age to age, and 
 has received powerful answers which have never 
 been refuted by a reply. The most which I have 
 ever heard from wise and good men, on the sub- 
 ject of Mr. Paine's religious writings, were, that 
 his talents had only given a new and popular 
 combination to old materials." Mr. Paine gave 
 a dissatisfied smile, leaned his head upon his 
 hand, and, without deigning a reply, gazed upon 
 the street. 
 
 After a short silence, my friend assured Mr. 
 Paine that he had not the slightest intention of 
 offering him the least offence or disrespect ; that 
 independently of procuring his treatise on 
 " Dreams," he was desirous of conversing with 
 him as a gentleman and a philosopher. Mr. 
 Paine then turned to renew the conversation. 
 The visiter then demanded, " Have you ever 
 read, sir, the answers which have been addressed 
 to your ; Age of Reason ?' " " Not I," returned 
 the other, rather crustily ; " read them, indeed !
 
 i;; 
 
 No ; not I ! Some of those writers appear to be 
 deists themselves, and I understand, have been 
 answered by Jews. There is a man in New-Jer- 
 sey who has written two large volumes against 
 my little work, to which he has given the title of 
 An Antidote to Deism.' Now an antidote to 
 deism, in my opinion, is atheism. The only 
 one whom I have considered worthy of notice 
 among all my adversaries, is the Bishop of Lan- 
 daff; and I have prepared a reply to his book, 
 which is in that trunk," pointing to one that was 
 in a corner of the room. He then repeated part 
 of the answer which he had written, beginning 
 with a catalogue of titles, belonging to the pre- 
 late. He then proceeded to repeat the com- 
 mencement of it ; " The name of your book, sir. 
 4 An Apology for the Bible,' is well worthy of the 
 cause to which you have directed your pen : now 
 an apology always supposes that the person or 
 thing, for which apology is offered, is more or 
 less in error." The visiter remarked, " A play 
 upon words might manifest considerable inge- 
 nuity, but seldom amounted to an argument ; and 
 that a gentleman of Mr. Paine's understanding 
 must know that nothing is gained by attacking 
 ambiguous, but popular titles of books, as the
 
 44 
 
 term 4 Antidote.' or Apology,' which he well 
 knew, was susceptible of very different mean- 
 ings. I am of opinion," continued my friend, 
 growing bolder from familiarity, " that a revela- 
 tion from God to man, can be fairly sustained 
 from the very nature and necessity of things. 
 In all large associations, there must be a revela- 
 tion or exhibition of law, to define general and 
 social duties, without which, nations cannot be 
 governed, or society supported. If the whims, 
 passions, and prejudices of every man, are to le- 
 gislate for himself, there must be an end to civil 
 and moral association. To suppose that the Al- 
 mighty has left the knowledge of our religious 
 duties, to the dictates of the various shades of 
 human character, which was never known to 
 agree in any thing, would be a contradiction to 
 reason and common sense ; and human govern- 
 ment, whose principles and duties are prescribed, 
 would be wiser and more humane than the divine ; 
 which is a manifest contradiction." Mr. Paine 
 regarded the speaker sternly, as if he entered 
 into the argument ; but, with a sigh, he directed 
 his eyes to the heavens, and was for a moment 
 wrapt in contemplation. After a pause, the 
 visiter continued ; " Sir, there are substantial
 
 45 
 
 reasons lor adopting the Scriptures as 4 The 
 Word of God,' which, perhaps, have not occurred 
 to you." The philosopher instantly turned 
 round, and good -humouredly observed, " Yes, 
 air ; but there are so many ' Words of God !* The 
 Chinese have their 4 Word of God !' The Ma- 
 hometans, their ' Word of God !' And the Jews, 
 and the Christians, have also theirs !" " True, 
 sir ;" replied the other, " but this very objection, 
 which Mr. Volney also mentioned, is an additional 
 proof of divine revelation. The fact of there 
 being numerous claimants to the same object, evi- 
 dences that the rightful claim exists somewhere. 
 We have numerous examples of this, in our 
 courts of justice : and the very existence of spu- 
 rious coin, supposes an original which they are in- 
 tended to represent. So, among the different pre- 
 tensions to revelation, it is the business of sound 
 philosophy, unbiassed by pride or prejudice, so- 
 berly to examine the evidences of each ; and pure 
 Christianity has nothing to fear from the result." 
 Mr. Paine appeared considerably affected, sighed 
 deeply, and with his head upon his hand, continu- 
 ed to gaze upon the sky. At this moment, the 
 boy returned ; and at Mr. Paine's direction, hand- 
 ed the other his pamphlet, " On Dreams." He
 
 46 
 
 oliered to pay for .it ; but the philosopher re- 
 fusing, held it to him, observing, " I beg you to 
 accept it, sir." My friend thanked him, and 
 prepared to withdraw, remarking, " 1 fear that I 
 have trespassed too much upon your time !" 
 " No, sir," the other replied ; " and if you are not 
 particularly engaged, I would be happy if you 
 would stay longer, for farther conversation." My 
 informant again thanked him, and told him that 
 he had long desired to see and converse with him, 
 and would remain, with pleasure, a few moments 
 longer. 
 
 While standing at the table, he took up a 
 newspaper, which contained an extract from an 
 English journal, proposing a substitute for a life- 
 boat along the most dangerous parts of the 
 coast ; namely, that a line, of sufficient length, 
 should be attached to a ball, and shot over a 
 wreck, by which many lives might be saved, 
 who might be providentially enabled to draw 
 themselves a-shore. The visiter remarked that 
 " the invention was very simple, but would, no 
 doubt, prove exceedingly useful." " Yes, sir," 
 said Mr. Paine ; " but this was discovered by a 
 Frenchman, while I was at Paris. The British
 
 47 
 
 are fond of claiming every thing.' 1 He* spoke of 
 the superiority of the French to the English; and 
 mentioned many circumstances connected with 
 the government. He dwelt particularly on Buo- 
 naparte ; of his intended descent on England, 
 and said, " I would have accompanied him in 
 that business, for the people of that country are 
 tired of their masters ; and Napoleon is that kind 
 of a man, sir," digging his fingers into his snuff- 
 box, and raising to his nose an immoderate pinch, 
 escaping, as he spoke, " that he makes every thing 
 tell yes, sir, he makes every thing tell !" His 
 guest sat listening, and looking over the pamphlet, 
 from which he quoted a passage that changed the 
 conversation again. The philosopher was at- 
 tentive, as if anxious for farther remark. " I 
 believe, sir," resumed the visiter, " that the pos- 
 sibility of God's making a revelation of his will 
 to mankind, has never been called in question ; 
 for it would be surely a most glaring absurdity to 
 deny the exercise of Omnipotent power. And 
 that such a revelation from Heaven has been the 
 universal desire of all ages and nations, there is 
 abundant evidence, with which a gentleman of 
 your reading must be familiar. Many of the an- 
 cient sages publicly and frequently declared, that
 
 48 
 
 it was bat reasonable to expect, that the great 
 Creator should interfere, to redeem men's souls 
 from the dominion of error.' That such a revela- 
 tion has been imparted in the Old and New Tes- 
 taments, is susceptible of stronger proof, than the 
 authenticity of any other writings extant. The re- 
 cords of national and domestic history have never 
 detected a single fallacy in it the discoveries 
 of science have served only to throw light 
 upon its pages : the most eminent critics have 
 found no inconsistencies, save a few verbal er- 
 rors of names and dates, which are doubtless 
 owing to the carelessness of its transcribers, 
 through the lapse of so many centuries; and 
 what is more important, the more it is examined, 
 the better it is found adapted to the wants and 
 weaknesses of human nature. Its doctrines are 
 rational its precepts not only carry with them 
 their own reward of public confidence and es- 
 teem, but open the most cheering prospects of 
 felicity beyond the grave." " The morals of 
 Christianity," replied the sage, " are certainly 
 worthy of respect ; but could they not have been 
 discovered by the virtuous, without a revelation 
 from Heaven ?" To this, it was answered, " Mr. 
 Paine will recollect the anecdote of Columbus
 
 49 
 
 setting the egg on end, which any one could do 
 after the manner was shown. So, the united wis- 
 dom of the world produced nothing equal to 
 Christianity, until presented by revelation ; which 
 was so distinguished for simplicity, and so well 
 adapted to the wants and circumstances of society, 
 that it has been a subject of wonder, why it had 
 not been sooner discovered. The best system of 
 the ancient philosophers would now be consider- 
 ed highly barbarous, and injurious to mankind. 
 Plato, Cicero, and Epictetus, not only practised, 
 but commended the polytheism and idolatry of 
 their forefathers. Some maintained that all 
 crimes were equal; and others, the open in- 
 dulgence of the most unnatural appetites : num- 
 bers sanctioned the perpetration of theft and 
 adultery ; while the immortality of the soul, and 
 the existence of an after life, were openly de- 
 nied and rejected." The philosopher manifested 
 the same respectful attention as before, and 
 evinced, by the fervour of his looks, the serious 
 sentiments that were passing in his mind. 
 
 In examining Mr. Paine's pamphlet, my friend 
 was powerfully arrested by the passage " I hope 
 for happiness after this life :" and after reading 
 
 No. VIII. 3
 
 60 
 
 it aloud, quoted the correspondent lines from 
 Shakspeare : 
 
 " I see some sparkles of a better hope, 
 Which elder days may happily bring forth." 
 
 and again, 
 
 " Be that thou hop'st to be !" 
 
 Rational hope, he continued, always supposes 
 that the good which we earnestly desire, ia 
 practicable in attainment, implies the best use of 
 the most efficient means to reach the object, but 
 above all, an adaptation of the mind to its enjoy- 
 ment. Every representation which has been 
 given of a future state of happiness, whether by 
 the ancient philosophers, or from what is con- 
 sidered to be revelation, is always connected 
 with the greatest purity and excellence. And 
 indeed, it must be so; for even in this life, the 
 most virtuous, benevolent, and devoted minds, are 
 the most happy. Every object of which we 
 have any knowledge, finds its proper level, and 
 mind with kindred mind forms a natural associa- 
 tion. It is no less philosophical than monitory, 
 than, that 4 without holiness, no man shall see the 
 Lord.' There must be a congruity between the 
 mental character, and the object or situation to
 
 5) 
 
 be enjoyed ; and hope sustained upon any other 
 ground does not appear to be rational hope, so 
 much as the unmeaning expectation of the pre- 
 sumptuous enthusiast." The author of the " Age 
 of Reason," with his head upon his hand, sat 
 anxiously regarding the speaker. " I perceive, 
 sir," resumed my friend, " that this statement of 
 the question forcibly impresses your mind. I 
 have no doubt, sir, that you have deep and so- 
 lemn reflections respecting your Maker, and the 
 relation which you sustain to him. But permit 
 me to ask you, sir, do you ever pray ?" This 
 was a question which he little expected, and it 
 seemed to produce considerable excitement; 
 but with a * pleasant smile, he immediately 
 replied, " I have views of prayer, sir, different 
 from most of men. Prayer appears, to me, to 
 be directing the Creator upon what business he 
 should be engaged, what wants to supply, and 
 what deficiencies to fill up ; or, in other words, 
 requesting the Almighty to alter his purposes. 
 Now my views of God are, that he well knows 
 what he is about, without any interference or 
 dictation from me." All this was said rather 
 in the manner of stating an objection, than ex* 
 pressing a conviction. After a momentary pauscp
 
 my friend observed, " Prayer appears, to me, a 
 duty, sir, dependent on no religious system what- 
 ever. It is the voice of human nature in distress, 
 or want, and is as impossible to be restrained 
 as our sensibilities. The pages of history 
 are without an example of a single nation be- 
 lieving in a Supreme Ruler, which was not fa- 
 miliar with sacrifices and prayers. As to altering 
 the Divine purposes, Mr. Paine well knows, that 
 the beam of a balance is as much changed by 
 taking out of one scale, as by putting into the 
 other. The substitute for the life boat, of which 
 we have just read, where a line is propelled over a 
 wreck, that the sufferers may save their lives, 
 the question is, whether the wretched individuals, 
 by seizing the rope, draw themselves to the shore, 
 or the shore to themselves ? Because safety is 
 as much the consequence of the one, as if they 
 were able to effect the other." The attentive 
 sage gave a most significant look of approbation. 
 " Thus, prayer, sir,*' resumed my friend, " is ad- 
 mirably adapted by the Author of our existence, 
 to the exigency of our situation; and the change 
 to be produced by it is upon ourselves, and not 
 upon the Almighty. Experience has always 
 tested that prayer persevered in reclaims the
 
 33 
 
 mind from the dissipations of life, impresses the 
 heart with a sense of its dependence controls 
 our passions, and corrects our errors inclines to 
 the cultivation of every virtuous disposition and 
 duty, bends us in submission to the dispensa- 
 tions of Providence, disclosing to the view a 
 blissful immortality ; and, in short, like the cord 
 of which we were speaking, draws the whole 
 man to a closer union with his Maker, in princi- 
 ples, dispositions, and conduct." Mr. Paine ap- 
 peared considerably affected by these remarks, 
 frequently sighed, and looked upwards for some 
 moments. " The mercy of God is great, sir," 
 observed Mr. Paine, " and his wisdom, that well 
 knows what we are, is capable of applying it." 
 " True," returned the other ; " but the divine at- 
 tributes are like so many rays of light, of equal 
 lustre, shooting from the same centre, where 
 one is not capable of dimming, or superseding 
 the others." " Repentance for our errors," the 
 philosopher said, " is sufficient nothing more 
 can be done ; and the doctrine of atonement is 
 a contradiction." My friend remarked, " Now, 
 sir, let us fairly consider this subject !" " You 
 are a clergyman?" said Mr. Paine. "I am, sir," 
 replied my friend ; " but before my Maker, I am
 
 54 
 
 an honest man. I have turned my back on many 
 flattering prospects, for the profession which I 
 have adopted. My mind is laboriously in search 
 of truth. I have read most of the deistical 
 writers, and I have many of their works on my 
 shelves : and my firm conviction is, that Chris- 
 tianity has nothing to suffer, but from superficial 
 and partial investigation. If truth, that jewel 
 truth, is to be found with you, sir, I will become 
 a willing disciple, and zealously join you. Your 
 views of repentance, however, are at variance 
 with the universal consent of mankind; for all 
 ages and nations have ever united with their con- 
 trition the most expensive and sanguinary sacri- 
 fices, to propitiate the gods : and no people were 
 ever heard of, that confessed the sufficiency of 
 repentance, without atonement; the one being 
 an acknowledgment of wrong, that is, justice 
 violated ; the other, an attempt at reparation, or 
 the acquirement of mercy. Atonement is purely 
 an English word, and is remarkably expressive, 
 being more properly at-one-ment, or the agree- 
 ment of principles previously discordant." Mr. 
 Paine smiled his assent at this etymology. 
 " When we speak, sir," the other continued, " of 
 the character of man as wise, just, good, and the
 
 55 
 
 like, they are mere appendages of his nature, 
 which may, or may not, exist, without affecting 
 the individual. But every attribute of the Di- 
 vinity is illustrative of his existence; such as 
 wisdom, justice, and mercy itself, &c., perfectly 
 harmonizing and uniting with each other. Now 
 you are aware, sir, that it is not in the nature of 
 pure justice to remit, in the slightest degree, 
 the crimes of the offender, otherwise it were not 
 justice." " What !" exclaimed Mr. Paine, " do 
 you mean to say, sir, that the mercy of God can- 
 not pardon the offences of mankind ?" " Sir," 
 returned the visiter, " we must reason as philoso- 
 phers, and not as the creatures of system or pre- 
 judice. I meant to say, that the existence of 
 perfect justice and mercy, with regard to a 
 culprit, is a philosophical contradiction : for, like 
 the pole of a balance, in proportion as mercy is 
 exalted, justice must relax ; for every shade of 
 departure from strict justice, must be so far a 
 degree of injustice ; and can we consider the 
 Deity as partially unjust ? It is well observed, 
 that in l human administration, the pardoning 
 power, or the authority to commute or absolve 
 from punishment, must be lodged somewhere ; 
 but this arises from the imperfect exercise of mi-
 
 56 
 
 < 
 
 man justice; for, says Godwin, 4 If justice haa 
 been done to condemn, what then is clemency 
 but the mistaken tenderness of him who thinks 
 to do better than justice, which is a contradic- 
 tion ?' But though these things are admitted in 
 earthly governments, the weakness and imper- 
 fection of human systems cannot possibly ap- 
 ply to the Creator. How, then, Mr. Paine, can 
 this at-one-ment be effected?" A pause en- 
 sued, but no reply; the philosopher seemingly 
 lost in a contemplative gaze. " All nations," my 
 friend resumed, "have answered this by their 
 sanguinary sacrifices, and penitential rites : the 
 doctrine of substitution has every where prevail- 
 ed from the earliest times, and numerous have 
 been the examples of self-devotion for the public 
 benefit. The case of the siege of Calais, is fa- 
 miliar to every one ; and more particularly the 
 example of the famous Zaleucus, prince of the 
 Locrians ; in whom the right, will, and power to 
 save his son, and sustain the purity of the laws 
 united, but yet he hesitated not to make the offer- 
 ing, when the public interests were at stake. So, 
 the ordinary business of suretyship, in which 
 one becomes voluntarily bound for the demands 
 of another, is a case where no rights of public
 
 or private justice are violated ; and tins, 1 believe, 
 is the simple amount of what is presented in the 
 Christian scriptures. The sum of the argument 
 is briefly this either man is an offender, or he is 
 not. If he be not, then error does not exist, and 
 there is an end at once, to all law and justice. 
 But if he be, he cannot be restored, unless suit- 
 able reparation be made to the violated attribute ; 
 such an one, in short, as Christianity proposes as 
 a remedy to a guilty world. Depend upon it, 
 sir, that reflection, in a mind unbiassed by sys- 
 tem, or passion, will direct you to behold the 
 consistency and excellence of the Christian re- 
 velation." 
 
 During the conversation, several persons came 
 into the room, with a loud " How do you do, Mr. 
 Paine ?" to whom he would either give a short 
 answer, or an unwelcome glance of his eye ; and 
 after they had alternately gazed on him and my 
 friend, they silently, but reluctantly, withdrew. 
 Some of these persons were respectably dressed; 
 but others were of the lowest dregs of society, 
 and among them, several who had been inmates 
 of the penitentiary. After they had gone, the 
 visiter demanded of the philosopher, whether 
 
 \o. vni. 4
 
 he knew those men ? " Know them f" he re~ 
 plied, rather crustily, " No ; 1 dont know one in 
 fifty of those who make these calls !" " No,*' 
 returned my friend ; " I presume that you do not 
 know them, otherwise you would not permit it. 
 Some of them, sir, are among the convicts of our 
 city, and I am persuaded that they do not visit 
 you from any respect, but simply to attach some 
 consequence to themselves, by retailing the re- 
 marks which may escape you. Ah ! there was a 
 time, sir, when your society was sought for by 
 the first and best of the land ; but, unfortunately, 
 your religious publications have inflicted much 
 injury upon yourself as well as others. And 
 many such men as have just visited you, doubt- 
 less, have been emboldened in dissolute habits, 
 by the influence of those writings ; for, sir, when 
 the restraints of religion are dissolved, what is 
 to be expected from the passions ?" 
 
 Mr. Paine seemed wounded by these last re- 
 marks, and made some sarcastic observations 
 upon the clergy ; to which my friend observed, 
 " Many of the clergy, it is to be regretted, have 
 deserved your reprehension ; but are there not 
 aumerous examples, where they are blessings as
 
 well as ornaments to the community? To asperse 
 the whole profession, because many have dis- 
 honoured it, is as unreasonable as to proscribe 
 the mercantile department, because numbers have 
 proved knaves, and unworthy of the public con- 
 fidence. But bad as some of the sacred profes- 
 sion may have been, they would, probably, have 
 been much worse, without the restraints of reli- 
 gion." My friend now rose to depart, and said, 
 in a very friendly manner, " Sir, I have found you 
 to be a very different person from what you have 
 been represented. I was informed that you 
 would of der me from your room, and treat any 
 one with rudeness who should accost you on 
 serious subjects. You have received me with 
 kindness ; and I thank you for your attention." Mr. 
 Paine inclined forward with a smile of pleasure. 
 44 But before we part," observed my friend, " allow 
 me to suggest to you a few topics for reflection. 
 Was it ever read, or heard of, sir, that any one 
 was reclaimed from vicious principles or habits, 
 by the instructions of deism ? And, on the other 
 hand, are there not numerous examples, of the 
 most abandoned having become virtuous, through 
 the influence of Christianity ? Or reverse this, 
 and inquire, how many good men. in conse-
 
 60 
 
 <juence of adopting deistical sentiments, have 
 grown corrupt, and dangerous members of so- 
 ciety ! Surely, Mr. Paine, if the value of prin- 
 ciple is to be tested by its results, that cannot be 
 right, productive of such injury; and that, on 
 the contrary, must be true which tends to en- 
 lighten and purify, as well as advance the best 
 interests of human nature. I would beg leave to 
 suggest another reflection. The instances are 
 numerous, of those who, having boastingly pro- 
 fessed deism, have pronounced upon their death 
 beds the most bitter reproaches, and condemna- 
 tion upon its principles. They have not only 
 warned others against them, but they have used 
 their best efforts to enjoy the hopes of the gos- 
 pel, and have even partaken of the Christian sa- 
 crament, in token of their sincerity. But who, 
 sir, has ever known of any Christian, in a similar 
 situation, repenting and despairing of the mercy 
 of God, for having embraced the sentiments of 
 Christianity ? Has not the system which he has 
 espoused, grown more precious in his estimation, 
 and has not his last testimony borne witness to 
 the triumph and consolation which it inspires ? 
 Mr. Paine ! Lord Herbert pronounces 4 the Chris- 
 tian religion to be the best religion.' Mr. Tin-
 
 til 
 
 dal declares that, * Christianity, stripped of the 
 additions which policy and superstition have 
 made to it, is a most holy religion !' And to 
 mention but one or two others, Lord Bolingbroke 
 declares, 'No religion ever appeared in the 
 world, whose natural tendency is so much di- 
 rected to promote the peace and happiness of 
 mankind.' And Rousseau also observes, ' The 
 majesty of the scriptures strikes me with ad- 
 miration, and the purity of the gospel hath its 
 influence on my heart.' I cannot but fervently 
 wish, that he who has contributed so much to 
 enlighten the world on the subject of civil liberty, 
 may be led to add the same testimony by his 
 sentiments and experience." My friend respect- 
 fully bade the philosopher adieu, who instantly 
 calling him back, and stretching out his hand, 
 said, " Sir, sir, and will you not shake hands 
 with me ?" " Most cordially," returned the 
 visiter ; " and I leave you with my most fervent 
 wishes for your happiness." " Come and visit 
 me again," exclaimed Mr. Paine ; " for I will be 
 very glad to see you, and I wish you to come soon." 
 
 Thus terminated this desultory conversation, 
 which lasted about two hours, and which, from
 
 62 
 
 the interest indulged, fled away like moments. 
 It was plain, that Mr. Paine was not a skeptic, 
 from impartial and laborious examination; but 
 from having, like many others, mingled with 
 the unprincipled and depraved, whose lives were 
 in perpetual enmity with the convictions of re- 
 ligion. Corrupt associates and habits are the 
 fatal clouds which hide from the soul the light 
 of the moral heavens ; and until these be dis- 
 persed, it must walk for ever in darkness. It can 
 be said alone of the gospel, that the more it is 
 understood, the better it is appreciated: and 
 there is little doubt, that had the author of " The 
 Rights of Man," availed himself of the society 
 of the virtuous and intelligent, and honestly di- 
 rected his researches to the topics of revelation, 
 he would have ranked among its brightest and 
 most powerful defenders. 
 
 Mr. Paine, shortly after, removed his lodgings 
 to a distant part of the city ; and my friend in- 
 formed me that he never saw him more ; but the 
 remembrance of the conversation has excited 
 his regret that he never enjoyed a similar privi- 
 lege ; as he was persuaded that the philosopher's 
 mind was open to conviction that the visit had
 
 not proved unprofitable ; and that the strong 
 tation which he received arose from the transient 
 ascendency of conscience, over the slumbers of 
 self-delusion. Thus, what benefits might often 
 accrue from the serious conversation of the in- 
 telligent with the adversaries of religion; who, 
 approached with kindness, rather than severity, 
 might -be often led to reflect upon the conse- 
 quences of their skepticism. That venomous 
 hostility, which sincere'y, but imprudently vents 
 forth anathemas, has done more in the promotion 
 of infidelity than the most flagrant assaults of its 
 writers, who are taught to suppose that bitter- 
 ness is the strongest defence of scripture, whose 
 only mode of triumph is to trample upon human 
 reason. If ever reclaimed to duty, they must 
 be drawn by the counsel and example of Chris- 
 tians. When all other means have failed, af- 
 fectionate persuasion will melt down the heart, 
 and like the magnetic influence, convert it into 
 its own nature. Despised and neglected, the re- 
 jectors of revelation too often, on that account, 
 are hardened in unbelief. Their principles have 
 been corrupted : their finest sensibilities, blunt- 
 ed ; and their chimerical anticipations of happi- 
 ness, unrealized ; but possibly, by pious counsel,
 
 64 
 
 a chord of sympathy may be awakened, that had 
 long slept in silence, which may stir them up to 
 the perception of all their neglected duties; and 
 like a warning voice from the grave, lead them 
 to the kingdom of heaven. The accession of a 
 single wanderer to the ranks of Christianity, will 
 operate upon his companions more powerfully 
 than language. He feels that he has awakened 
 to a new world of moral light and beauty, and 
 escaped the darkness and dangers in which rea- 
 son once enveloped him. He frequents his 
 former haunts but they are no longer lovely 
 he sees poisonous serpents coiling about their 
 path. He walks among his associates but 
 he seems among the dead; and if he ever speaks, 
 it is only with tears and persuasions. He would 
 give worlds to allure them to the narrow path he 
 has chosen; but expostulations, as with him, 
 have too often proved in vain. Soon he shares, 
 with angels, the felicity and triumphs of heaven, 
 from which, his voice, could it be heard, would 
 exclaim to every deluded follower in error, "If 
 thou hadst known, even thou, at least, in this thy 
 day, the things which belong unto thy peace! 
 but now they are hid from thine eyes,"
 
 THE MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 " Like April morning clouds that pass, 
 With varying shadow o'er the grass, 
 And imitate on field and furrow, 
 Life's cheqner'd scene of joy and sorrow ; 
 Thus various my romantic theme 
 Flits, winds, and sinks, a morning droam." 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 G. & C, CARVILL, AND ELAM BLISS. 
 
 J. AND 3. HARPER, PRINTERS.
 
 'JTHE PROVIDENTIAL, RELEASE. 
 
 Beneath 
 
 The shelter of these wings thou shalt be sate. 
 As was the eagle's nestling once within 
 Its mother's. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 YES; there must be a divine Guardian thai 
 superintends our concerns, that protects us from 
 danger, ministers to us in affliction, and conducts 
 us, on the wings of hope, to that haven of peace 
 where our restless spirits would repose, j^y 
 whom but this unseen agent were we preserved 
 from the diseases and perils which threatened 
 to nip the buds of infancy : from the thoughtless- 
 ness, and ruinous labyrinths which perplexed the 
 giddy footsteps of childhood from the gilded 
 temptations the hollow promises the false 
 smiles, and withering attacks of the world ? Are 
 we more certain that the finger; of chance has 
 conducted us on our way ? that our lives com- 
 menced and have continued without meaning, and 
 No. IX. i
 
 tki 
 
 that the grave is the termination of our present 
 existence? But does not conscience give the 
 lie to a doctrine so absurd? Is there not a 
 regularity in the train of moral events which 
 indicates design ; and is there not an immortality 
 that cries within us ? If we imagine ourselves 
 indebted to our own foresight or manage- 
 ment, and to the feeble faculties and strength 
 which belong to frail mortality, have there not 
 been seasons when our wisest plans were baffled, 
 and our best-directed exertions, palsied and mock- 
 ed with derision? Have not innumerable cir- 
 cumstances transpired, independent of our agency 
 or controul, thwarting our fondest wishes and an- 
 ticipations, and leading us by new and unexpected 
 results to the dearest objects of our pursuit ? It is 
 not in the hasty and feverish excitement of youth 
 that we realize our insufficiency : reflection is too 
 much bewildered and led astray by passion, and 
 the mind too warmly clings to the enjoyment of 
 the world, to enable us to pause and inquire how 
 we are led along. It is when the heart has been 
 schooled to the knowledge of its own weakness, 
 and been stung by the disappointments and afflic- 
 tions incident to the present state, that it begins 
 to feel distrustful of its own powers and re-
 
 67 
 
 sources. It is at the evening of a well-spent 
 life, when the fancy has been sobered down 
 by experience and reflection when the world no 
 longer seduces by its snares, or intoxicates by its 
 pleasures, that we look back upon the scenes we 
 have passed, and perceive how little is to be 
 ascribed to ourselves, and how much to an over- 
 ruling Power that has led us along the highway 
 of existence. 
 
 They who derive no consolation in the belief 
 of an overruling Providence deprive themselves 
 of the sweetest enjoyments, and the dearest hopes 
 which can possibly sustain humanity. What sa- 
 tisfaction is it, that we are wandering guideless 
 through the world, without a superior Being to 
 correct the errors, and remedy the weaknesses 
 of human nature, and guard us from the innu- 
 merable attacks to which we are continually ex- 
 posed? Who would not rather believe such a 
 doctrine, though the creature of the imagination, 
 than forfeit the consolation which it inspires ? It 
 fills us with ideas of the Divine government, 
 which ought to be true to comport with the cha- 
 racter of that God whose attributes are allowed 
 to be perfect. He cannot be supremely benefi-
 
 cent if he can overlook even the most trivial or 
 human concerns, and abandon his poor, depend- 
 ent creatures to their own unassisted powers. 
 But what is there in the sentiment unworthy of 
 bur belief? Is it impossible, that the Being who 
 made, should produce certain impressions upon 
 mind and matter, and by means, now unfathom- 
 able, guide and sustain the spirits which he has 
 sent into the world ? It would be the foulest im- 
 putation upon the Divine character, that he has 
 ceased to govern and protect his moral creation, 
 and that he has left it exposed to the evils which 
 casualty or ignorance may inflict. If it be no de- 
 rogation to the dignity of Jehovah, to create a fee- 
 ble mite with the numerous organs adapted to its 
 nature, should its preservation be considered less 
 worthy of his attention ? If the creation of man, 
 with faculties not dissimilar to an angel, be ho- 
 nourable to the Creator, is it less befitting his 
 wisdom to guide him through the shoals and 
 quicksands of mortality, until he reach his final 
 resting-place beyond " the valley of the shadow 
 of death ?" 
 
 It is objected, that we perceive no external con- 
 nexidn between the spiritual and visible world :
 
 that we see no angelic messengers hovering near 
 us : that we hear no divine footsteps approaching 
 to our aid. It is very true ; for how can flesh 
 and blood comprehend, with material senses, the 
 silent and inexplicable communion of disembo- 
 died spirits ? But do we not feel their effects t 
 The air breathes upon the parched frame, and 
 communicates, though unseen, the most delight- 
 ful sensations : the magnet points to its beloved 
 North, but the agent that moves it is invisible : 
 and is not a moral effect, issuing from a com- 
 bination of causes, over which man has no con- 
 troul, as certain an argument of a superintend- 
 ing power, as if that power were visible to the 
 senses ? If we judge, in the one case, by the force 
 of the result, then surely it ought to operate as 
 irresistibly with the other. I have always thought 
 that there is a dark veil drawn over the natural 
 senses, which clouds and renders indistinct 
 our perceptions of an after life; and it may 
 be, by the partial removal of this, that the soul 
 occasionally enjoys bright conceptions of eter- 
 nity. Some faculties too may be thus buried in 
 darkness, for a season, until our connexion with 
 this world dissolves ; for here we might not un- 
 derstand the sublimity of spiritual communion-
 
 tions, nor might it be profitable to investigate 
 topics that concern merely a future state. 
 
 But although continually indebted to the pro- 
 tecting Providence of Heaven, how prone are we 
 to dwell upon the evils of human life, which oc- 
 casionally darken it like summer clouds, which 
 purify the air and enrich the soil which they over- 
 shadow : but of the numerous preservations and 
 blessings we have experienced, how few are 
 stamped upon the memory after the heart is 
 crowned with satiety ; after the pulse of anticipa- 
 tion has ceased to beat, and the first vows of gra- 
 titude have been registered on high ! Is it be- 
 cause the mind is more pleased with the contem- 
 plation of misery, than of the mercies which 
 gladden the wilderness of life? or is it not rather 
 owing to the prodigality of the Divine bounty, 
 to our being satiated with the fulness of our en- 
 joyments, and to the comparative infrequency of 
 adverse circumstances, which seem, on that ac- 
 count, like so many mountain summits known 
 only by their desolation, while all around, gay with 
 Nature's richest livery, passes unheeded from the 
 view ? But place the individual in a sphere where 
 his privileges are contracted, his anticipations
 
 71 
 
 thwarted, and where tears are his only solace, 
 it is then that the memory of happier days rushes 
 upon the heart, like the strains of midnight mu- 
 sic : the sufferer recollects the bounties of that 
 Providence which had long been buried in for- 
 getfulness: he looks forward to happier days, 
 and feeling humbly dependent upon the guidance 
 of his Maker, longs to breathe forth his gratitude 
 in pious and acceptable services. 
 
 A belief in an overruling Providence not only 
 results from the testimony of scripture, but the 
 deductions of our own experience. It is not 
 when the cup of our prosperity is filled to the 
 brim, that we are enabled to realize the consola- 
 tions of the doctrine. When the tide of our 
 worldly affairs flows on calmly and unimpeded 
 when our countenances are flushed with the 
 bloom of health, and when the voice of friend- 
 ship is heard responding to our own ; when the 
 garden of our domestic comforts is unassailed 
 by storms, and we behold no choice tree or plant 
 levelled unexpectedly to the ground, we forget 
 the Divine hand that conducts us on our journey, 
 and mistakenly ascribe to ourselves all the merits 
 of our store. But let the tempest of adversitv
 
 n 
 
 and affliction arise ; let the winds of disease and 
 dissolution beat upon our little bark, and wrest 
 from us the objects on which we had fastened 
 our hearts, then we realize our folly, we awaken to 
 a sense of our dependence upon Jehovah, and we 
 are softened into compliance with our darkest 
 dispensations. 
 
 1 remember an adventure which occurred, 
 during the continental war, to an American sol- 
 dier at Saratoga, which, trivial as it may seem, 
 illustrates in some degree the sentiments which 
 have been advanced. To imagine that to be 
 trifling which does not comport with our ideas of 
 importance, is irrational in the extreme ; as events 
 we deemed of little moment, repeatedly eventuate 
 in our highest interests ; while frequently those 
 that appeared momentous in their results, are 
 the sources only of vexation and disappointment. 
 The soldier, to whom I refer, was attached to the 
 army of the brave General Gates ; and like many 
 others, had been compelled to leave his family 
 alone, in a log cabin in the woods, exposed to 
 the ravages of those foraging parties that were 
 scouring the country every moment, and only 
 dependent upon a slender supply of provisions.
 
 73 
 
 which, previous to his departure, had been pro- 
 cured. It was dead midnight when the father 
 was aroused from his bed, by the tapping of a 
 drum from without, to prepare to join his coun- 
 trymen in defending his native land. All the feel- 
 ings of a father were awakened within him, when 
 he remembered that he had to leave behind him 
 a tender wife, dear to him as life, and four little 
 children, who were locked asleep in each others 
 arms. There was no alternative but to obey the 
 call of his country ; so, without suffering himself 
 to be governed by the impulse of his feelings, and 
 having made those slight preparations which the 
 pressure of the occasion allowed, he took an 
 affectionate farewell of his wife, and joined the 
 anxious party, who were waiting to escort him to 
 the scene of action. How wisely is it ordered, 
 that weak and helpless woman should be en- 
 dowed with powers of mind frequently superior 
 to those of the other sex ; intended, no doubt, to 
 bear up hardier manhood in hours of peril and 
 despondency, when nothing but the sunshine of 
 her fortitude can alleviate and soothe the dangers 
 and trials which beset him. Thus the vine, 
 which clasps the towering oak, and fastens its 
 tendrils securely upon some neighbouring rock. 
 No. IX. 2
 
 74 
 
 defends the former from the violence of the tem- 
 pest; or should the tree fall a victim to the ground, 
 the vine leaves not its beloved partner to bear 
 the ruin alone, but yields up its own branches 
 and leaves, seems to mourn over the other in 
 refusing to relax its hold, and silently withers 
 away, as if unable to remedy its loss. Thus a good 
 wife is often the instrument of sustaining the hus- 
 band in his adverse hours ; and though the weaker 
 vessel, often bears him up in storms for which he 
 is disqualified alone, and is willing to fall a sacri- 
 fice to the same calamity which weighs down 
 her consort's heart. Thus it was with our 
 poor soldier ; he had been supported under 
 the shock by the fortitude of his wife : he felt 
 that he had left all his world at home ; but he 
 hoped that the same Providence which removed. 
 would speedily restore him to his family. 
 
 They arrived at the American camp early on 
 the following day. The army was busily engaged 
 in preparation for battle, since it was confidently 
 believed that Burgoyne's army would make a 
 sudden attack, as the proximity of the British 
 troops, and the skirmishes which had taken place 
 several days previous, kept the Americans in
 
 75 
 
 constant excitement. The fears of a battle so 
 natural to a novice, and even sometimes to those 
 familiar with its bloodshed, are always known to 
 evaporate during the agitations of the contest; 
 so that those who trembled a few moments be- 
 fore, at the apprehension of danger, become 
 armed with extraordinary prowess. There is 
 also a hectic excitement kept up by the notes of 
 martial music, the roaring of the cannon, and the 
 rushing of the multitude, which prevents the 
 mind from meditating on its situation, and hurries 
 it along with the current of passing events, so that 
 it has no leisure to dwell upon itself, but seeks 
 rather to take a part in the giddy, tumultuous 
 scene. This our hero felt when he saw the Eng- 
 lish army pouring upon his own regiment, in the 
 morning, and perceived that he was contending 
 with Indians, who were united in the service of 
 the British. He fought as courageously as any 
 man in the ranks ; nor did he once dream of his 
 defenceless family at home : his usurping sensa- 
 tion was victory over the enemy, and the rescue 
 of his country from foreign usurpation. In the 
 heat of action, his own company had, by some 
 means, broken off from the main line ; and in this 
 situation they came in close contact with a body
 
 76 
 
 of Indians, who, superior in numbers and address, 
 caused them to retreat still farther, until, by de- 
 grees, they were completely entangled in a wood, 
 where they endeavoured to take refuge from their 
 savage pursuers. Enveloped in thick dust and 
 smoke, they scarcely perceived their danger be- 
 fore it was too late to avoid it; and they found that 
 they must either fly, or try to save their lives by 
 secretion behind the trees. But whoever is ac- 
 quainted with the Indian mode of warfare, must 
 be aware of their perilous situation. Our unfor- 
 tunate soldier was one of the number ; and being 
 totally unused to the hazards of war, felt, for the 
 moment, as if his last hour had come, and deli- 
 verance was altogether impossible. But how 
 seldom are we aware of the nature of our situa- 
 tion ! we often imagine ourselves in the most im- 
 minent perils, when the hand of Providence is 
 opening to befriend us ; and we as frequently view 
 that as the instrument of our relief which tends 
 to plunge us into the evils which we are so de- 
 sirous of escaping ! The truth is, we never know 
 when we are really in danger, nor when the Di- 
 vine hand is interfering in our behalf; so that it 
 always becomes us, while depending on celestial 
 aid, never to despair, but to use every means in
 
 77 
 
 our power to remedy our condition. While thus 
 terribly encompassed, our soldier made a pre- 
 cipitate retreat farther within the intricacies of 
 the forest ; and, favoured by the noise and smoke, 
 he penetrated, he thought, sufficiently far to 
 evade the scrutiny and capture of the enemy. 
 But the report of a gun near him, and the sound 
 of a multitude of feet, urged him to procure tran- 
 sient shelter within the recess of a darker grove, 
 and prepare himself for the issue. Now he had 
 a slight opportunity to re-collect his scattered 
 thoughts, and contemplate on what a slender 
 thread his destiny was suspended. The roar 
 of the adjacent cannon fearfully resounded 
 from the sides of the hills, allowing no interval 
 for the ear to listen to their dying cadences 
 the shrill and deafening tones of martial music, 
 borne aloft upon the wind, with occasional guttural 
 murmurs, that resembled cries of human distress, 
 kept the mind alive with overwhelming sensa- 
 tions. The soldier now thought of himself then 
 of his wife and children, whom he had left the 
 night before. He seemed like one labouring 
 under the influence of a horrible dream, and had 
 not the power of awakening and shaking off the 
 delusion. He already heard the cry of battle
 
 78 
 
 approaching around his enclosure, and he feared 
 to raise the impending branches to inform him- 
 self of what was passing. The discharge of a 
 shower of muskets against the grove where he 
 was concealed, aroused him from his stupor, and 
 forced him to plunge deeper, if possible, within 
 the shades of the forest, and seek some avenue 
 to a safer asylum. He succeeded in extricating 
 himself from the thickets ; but what was his dis- 
 may in retreating, to observe several fierce In-* 
 dians making hastily towards him, and threaten- 
 ing, by their gestures and shrieks, to sacrifice him 
 to their revenge. Fear, for the instant, lent him 
 the fleetness of a deer, and he was conscious of 
 leaving behind him trees, rocks, and stubble ; at 
 one time wounding his feet by the thorns which 
 grew along the ground; at another, being im- 
 peded by the wildering bushes and briars, which 
 entangled the course he was pursuing. He some- 
 times heard the trample of his hunters then he 
 listened to the rattle of their war instruments, 
 then almost to their breathings, and looking be- 
 hind, he actually saw one of their hatchets raised, 
 and felt as if it was already lodged within his tem- 
 ples. A tall, mis-shapen rock suddenly diverted 
 the progress of the fugitive ; and catching at a
 
 79 
 
 vine branch which hung down its side, he gained 
 an instant footing upon the opposite cleft, which 
 shelved down a steep hill into a gloomy valley, 
 that hardly admitted the least glimpse of day. 
 The rock upon which he sprung was one of those 
 singular excavations which nature has so fre- 
 quently produced, doubtless, by some of those 
 physical convulsions which have rent the fairest 
 portions of our globe. It contained within it a 
 hollow passage that seemed to wind around the 
 sides of a hill, and was completely hidden from 
 observation by the immense forest trees above it, 
 and the innumerable boughs of bush foliage and 
 vines, which involved the devious cleft in its sha- 
 dow. Into this seasonable cavity our hunted 
 veteran sought refuge from the attacks of his 
 brethren of the forest : he laid quietly down be- 
 neath an overshadowing vine, which seemed to 
 hover over him as a watchful sentinel, preparing 
 to ward off every danger. He listened only to 
 hollow moanings of the wind, rushing through 
 the high projecting rocks, and now arid then, the 
 faint murmurs of the battle which was raging so 
 fiercely behind. No sound of either human voice 
 or footstep was heard. He began to think that 
 the Indians had abandoned their prey, and that
 
 ao 
 
 they had returned to rejoin the contest in the 
 field. Thus we often fancy ourselves secure, 
 when danger most imminently threatens us ; and 
 it is rarely, until we are startled by the thunder- 
 bolt, that we are alive to the perils of the storm. 
 He was nearly closing his eyes with fatigue, when 
 he spied several of his enemies climbing the 
 rocky enclosure, and gazing anxiously around in 
 search of their victim. They soon discovered 
 him in the gloom of his concealment, and they 
 rushed eagerly to secure their prey. But as swift 
 as lightning he slipped through the hollow rock, 
 and alighted unhurt upon the valley beneath. He 
 fled down the hill through the thickest of the 
 forest, and still heard the warwhoop of the blood- 
 hounds crying terribly from behind. He began 
 to fear that escape was impossible. He had 
 placed too much dependence hitherto in his own 
 unaided efforts, and too little in the protection of 
 an overruling Providence ; and, now that he be- 
 gan to despair of his own resources, he cried 
 aloud to Heaven, in the anguish of his spirit, in- 
 voking its aid in behalf of his defenceless situa- 
 tion. He who knows our wants, only requires 
 our prayers to make us sensible of our depend- 
 once; and before he extends the blessing, desires
 
 that the heart be first prepared for its reception. 
 Having followed the valley that was washed 
 by a brawling streamlet, he crossed a thicker 
 labyrinth of trees, and here stood still to as- 
 certain whether his enemies were near. The shrill 
 cry of the whippoorwill, and the hoarse croak- 
 ing of the frogs, were all the sounds that he 
 heard; and nothing appeared in view but the 
 dim forest scenery. He was entirely defenceless; 
 for his musket he had been compelled to throw 
 away to assist him in his flight ; and he was wea- 
 ried out by anxiety and fatigue. The dread of 
 meeting the Indians, whom he fancied he beheld 
 in the wavings of every branch, urged him to 
 move on ; but it was dejectedly and slowly ; and he 
 fainted at the idea of perishing in the desert, 
 without the succour of a single friend. He was 
 in one of those forests which sweep many miles 
 in extent, without the possibility of finding an in- 
 habitant. He had no charter or compass to direct 
 his course : night was coming on, and the small 
 portion of the heavens which met the eye was 
 gradually sinking into the same obscurity as 
 the forest. The roar of the panther and the 
 bear, added to the cry of other innumerable 
 creatures, diverted the soldier's- fears into a dif- 
 No. IX. 3
 
 82 
 
 ferent channel. He concluded that he had been 
 driven here by the Indians, merely to be devoured 
 by wild beasts ; and his fears inspiring him with 
 renewed caution, he began to look around for 
 shelter for the night. It is singular, how one fear 
 is often removed by the apprehension of another, 
 and what slender hopes can minister support to 
 the exhausted and anguished mind. There is 
 something too insupportable in the thought of 
 being entirely alone, exposed to evils out of the 
 call of a single living creature, and far from those 
 dear friends who are wont to alleviate our sor- 
 rows. But we should always remember that there 
 is a divine Shepherd who " never slumbers or 
 sleeps;" who always delivers in his own good 
 time, and renders the means, which others would 
 deem destructive, instrumental in raising us from 
 our depression. He carries us through various 
 dangers, and, after he has exhausted all our stock 
 of resources, he places us on the pinnacle of de- 
 struction, only to manifest his power in saving 
 us, and compel us to ascribe all the praise to 
 that Supreme Hand which has led us safely in- 
 despite of ourselves. 
 
 Persuaded that his enemies must have aban-
 
 83 
 
 doned their search, he came to a broad, stumpy 
 tree, whose branches appeared to have been 
 long broken off by age ; and from the moss and 
 vegetation which lined the side, he concluded to 
 find at the top the safety and repose he was in 
 quest of. To ascend it was but the work of a 
 moment, for the perforations in the bark, and the 
 vine branches around the tree, enabled our hero 
 to gain a secure footing. Here, with nothing 
 in sight but the stars, and surrounded by 
 the green curtains of leaves afforded by the 
 neighbouring trees, he threw himself upon a nar* 
 row mossy cavity, carved alone by the chisel of 
 time ; and here he felt that he could sleep se- 
 curely from the apprehension of either Indians or 
 wild beasts. The whole forest was now alive 
 with the howl of its various animals. Some- 
 times they were heard distinctly approaching the 
 tree, and bellowing at the bottom as if desirous 
 of their victim : at others, they would congre- 
 gate in herds, and cause the woods to tremble 
 under the awfulness of the sound: once he heard 
 something apparently mounting to his asylum 
 then the sound died away, and he thought he lis- 
 tened to the echo of human footsteps. But re- 
 membering again the preservations of the past
 
 84 
 
 day, and the almighty Being to whom he must 
 have been indebted, he sunk into a sweet and 
 undisturbed repose. How long he slept he was 
 unconscious; but the first sensation he expe- 
 rienced was that of falling; and waking gra- 
 dually from slumber, he found himself sliding 
 through a deep aperture, from which he found it 
 impossible to emerge. For the moment, he 
 apprehended that he was labouring under a hor- 
 rible dream, and made every exertion to shake 
 off the oppressive phantom; but, still feeling 
 himself sinking lower and lower, he concluded 
 that he was falling through the cavity of the hol- 
 low trunk ; but whether he should alight upon a 
 den of adders, or wild beasts, was the next ques- 
 tion that wakened his alarm. His heart almost 
 sunk within him, when his foot encountered some- 
 thing like an animal, apparently asleep, and little 
 expecting the approach of a human visiter at so 
 unseasonable an hour. He vainly endeavoured 
 to scale the hollow rampart which had become 
 smooth, no doubt, by the continual passage of 
 some animal through it. It was impossible to 
 remain where he was, but descend he must, were 
 his life dependent on the issue. It must have 
 been verging towards morning he could not have
 
 85 
 
 slept more than two or three hours ; and what- 
 ever dangers he was to meet, were to be grap- 
 pled with in solitary darkness. He thought of 
 the Indians who had hunted him through the 
 day ; but that was trifling, compared with his pre- 
 sent situation. He had then the light of heaven, 
 and his own liberty to protect him ; but now he 
 was a manacled prisoner, and liable to fall into 
 the very jaws of death, which were probably 
 opening to receive him. He wished himself a 
 thousand times back again in the forest ; and 
 would have preferred being enslaved by the In- 
 dians, than doomed to the horrors of so ago- 
 nizing a death. Having reached the ground, he 
 felt several animals moving about him; and, 
 examining them with his hands, he was con- 
 vinced that they were young cubs, and that he 
 must have fallen into a bear's den. His next 
 anxiety was to ascertain whether the old bear 
 was there ; for, in that case, his destruction was 
 unavoidable. 
 
 Groping about the place, he discovered to his 
 joy that the parent bear was absent, and was, no 
 doubt, prowling abroad for sustenance through 
 the regions of the forest. Renewed courage
 
 at) 
 
 animated his heart ; for there was one ray of hope 
 to dispel the darkness which preyed upon his 
 spirits. The bear in descending her den always 
 enters in a retrograde position, being always fear- 
 ful of a surprise ; and in that case, is better capa- 
 ble of retreating from the danger. It was on 
 this pivot of safety that the hopes of our soldier 
 rested; for, unless his anticipations were re- 
 alized, there was no other alternative than 
 to perish. Hope is the last principle that for- 
 sakes the human heart. There is no condition, 
 however miserable, that has not a solace : there 
 is no moral wound, however deadly, but has its 
 medicine to heal it. There can be no stronger 
 proof of a Providence, than the fact that the 
 mind is always cheered in the darkest of its ca- 
 lamities, by the expectation of deliverance : it 
 for ever awaits another morrow's sun, more bril- 
 liant than the present ; and views the clouds of 
 the present hour vanishing in the bright heaven 
 of approaching enjoyment. Who can otherwise 
 than feel grateful to Heaven which places us in a 
 world where even adversity is made the medium 
 of preparing us for a better, and which reconciles 
 us to sorrow by feasting us with rainbow visions 
 of hope.
 
 87 
 
 ' Cherish hope ! and though life by affliction be shaded ; 
 
 Still his ray shall shine lovely and gild the scene o'er, 
 
 Like the dew-drop that glistens the leaves when they're 
 
 faded, 
 As bright and as clear, as they glisten'd before." 
 
 Our soldier awaited the return of the bear, 
 with his eyes directed to the stars, which bril- 
 liantly sparkled upon him from the narrow mouth 
 of his cavern, which seemed to him an impassa- 
 ble gulph. An hour, at farthest, he knew must 
 decide his fate ; but he was now convinced that 
 He who preserved him from the Indians was as 
 capable of rescuing him from the paw of the 
 bear ; and in Him he supremely relied for deliver- 
 ance from his prison. While intently regarding 
 the entrance of his sepulchre, he heard around the 
 tree the growling of the bear, and, at the same 
 instant, her endeavours to climb the tree. He 
 was soon conscious of her gaining the top, and 
 entering the cavity, by the sudden intermission of 
 light from above : now his fears began to return, 
 his heart beat with unusual violence, as he 
 heard her slowly descending, and even preparing, 
 perhaps, to sacrifice him to her hunger. But the 
 hour had come when that Being, who had 
 permitted him to fall into danger, interposed his
 
 88 
 
 arm in the suspension of his sufferings. Feeling 
 himself endowed with super-human courage, he 
 watched his opportunity, when Bruin came within 
 a reaching distance, to grasp her by the hinder 
 legs, and in this situation he was rapidly drawn 
 Up by the terrified bear from his dismal dungeon. 
 When arriving at the top, the unfortunate animal 
 sprung from it with all her might, and being 
 merely stunned by the fall, gave our soldier suffi- 
 cient time to escape from his dangers, and en- 
 joy with his family, whom he shortly found, the 
 gratulations of his " Providential Release."
 
 IK13IAN 
 
 Know ye the Indian warrior race ? 
 How the light form springs in strength of grace i 
 Like the pine on their native mountain side, 
 That will not bow in its death-like pride. SANDS. 
 
 IF eloquence be the communication of our 
 sentiments and feelings to the minds and sensi- 
 bilities of others, then that which is least fettered 
 by art, and is most congenial with the simplicity 
 of nature, produces the most powerful and last- 
 ing impression. It is for this reason that the 
 most celebrated orators seldom excite any other 
 sensation than a transient admiration of their 
 abilities, while the hearers go away with their 
 judgments uninformed, and their hearts unim- 
 pressed by the opinions which they have heard 
 advanced. There are numerous instances, 01 
 the contrary, of individuals who, without pre- 
 vious culture, or devotion of their talents, cui? 
 rise at a moment's warning, and address a large 
 
 No. IX. I
 
 90 
 
 auditory with energy and effect ; who can sway 
 the ruling passions of the multitude by the magic 
 influence of their eloquence ; who can make the 
 guilty tremble under the darkness of their frown, 
 and fire to the noblest and holiest deeds, by the 
 winning smiles of persuasion. This is really 
 the eloquence of nature, which is seldom ac- 
 quired by study ; for there is something too stiff 
 and laboured in the pupilage of art, which 
 finds no access to the affections, being altogether 
 confined to externals, and too much occupied 
 with rules to converse freely in the glowing 
 language that flows irresistibly from the heart. 
 Though discipline may correct false habits, and 
 eradicate erroneous principles which we have 
 carelessly imbibed, it can never impart to the 
 mind the power of true eloquence, which must, 
 always germinate from the treasures of the in- 
 tellect, and must principally depend On two im- 
 portant faculties intelligence and sensibility. By 
 intelligence is to be understood, the power of 
 clearly comprehending and unfolding the various 
 topics within the sphere of our inquiry : and by 
 sensibility, that impassioned tone of the feelings 
 which always inspires our words, when we 
 would evidence our sincerity, and manifest how
 
 & 
 
 deeply we arc concerned in the truth of what 
 we declare. In this sense every one may 
 be eloquent who possesses a clear and compre- 
 hensive mind, and feels strongly and tenderly the 
 sentiments he describes. It is for this reason 
 that no one can be so whose ideas flow not 
 lucidly and freely; and who is not warmly 
 affected by the grandeur of his subject. They 
 who think deeply, and powerfully, and who are 
 most easily moved to tears, are always the 
 most effective speakers ; and they are those who 
 always carry the sway in the pulpit, the senate, 
 and the bar. Although reason and good sense 
 often exercise authority over the decision of the 
 judgment, yet it is their co-operation with the 
 affections that renders the victory complete, and 
 binds the hearer in willing chains. An eloquent 
 public speaker cannot be more fitly represented 
 than by the sun. Were light the only effect pro- 
 duced by this luminary, the physical world would 
 freeze up and perish : but it also imparts the in- 
 fluence of heat, which animates and matures 
 animal and vegetable life, and enables the objects 
 thus enlightened to feel sensible of its effects. 
 So intellectual light requires the aid of sensibility 
 to call its dormant powers into operation, and
 
 9:2 
 
 impart that vital unction and fire, which can 
 only enstamp its influence upon the soul. It is 
 on this account that savages have been distin- 
 guished for remarkable traits of eloquence, 
 although they have never studied it as a science, 
 being inspired solely by the ebullitions of the 
 moment, and the importance of the subject alone. 
 We must remember that circumstances of little 
 moment to us, strike them by their novelty 
 with far greater force ; and the violent passions 
 which excite them give a tone to their ideas 
 which would otherwise be lost. Without a co- 
 pious language, and unable to illustrate their 
 thoughts by those innumerable aids afforded by 
 civilization, they are compelled to make use of 
 those bold, natural symbols which meet their eye, 
 and which cannot but awaken the interest of 
 the speaker. Whenever a mind is observed 
 among them of more than ordinary strength, 
 and with an imagination more than usually en- 
 kindled, it boldly depends on the strength of its 
 own resources, examines and compares the topics 
 within the range of its observation with eagle- 
 eyed precision, and gives vent to its convictions 
 in the loftiest and most energetic strains of which 
 its powers and feelings are susceptible. They
 
 ft 
 
 who have listened to the speeches of some ot 
 our American Indians can form some conception 
 of what natural intelligence and sensibility can 
 effect, even when unassisted by the rules of art 
 They who have suffered most, and are still 
 bleeding under the wounds of sorrow, are 
 always the most impressive and eloquent; and 
 when to this is joined a comprehensive mind, 
 capable of examining and analyzing conse- 
 quences, the individual rises to the highest grade 
 of the art. It is because our American Indians 
 have endured so many unredressed wrongs, 
 and have felt themselves outcasts from their 
 own ancient domicile, that they can never see 
 the face of a white man, or think of their former 
 privileges, without being aroused to the highest 
 indignation, and feeling all their faculties and 
 passions on fire. Who can wonder, then, if the 
 most highly gifted of their nation give vent to 
 the torrent of their enthusiasm, and astonish 
 and melt the hearts of those to whom they 
 communicate their wrongs ? Having been, in a 
 great measure, wanderers for many ages past, 
 and exposed to the incursions of so many foes, 
 they have been endowed by the God of nature 
 with singular tact and cunning, by which they
 
 often ward oft' the threatened danger, and si- 
 lence and defeat the machinations of their ene- 
 mies. Keen in stratagem, and prompt in re- 
 partee, they have often occasioned considerable 
 amusement in their councils ; and extorted con- 
 fessions from their adversaries of their superior 
 address and talents. 
 
 Through the politeness of a learned President 
 of one of our western colleges, I am enabled to 
 illustrate these remarks, by an instance of Indian 
 eloquence, distinguished by all the playfulness of 
 wit, and the bitterness of sarcasm. The Rev. 
 Joshua Badger, an aged man still living in Ohio, 
 was a missionary, about twenty years ago, among 
 the Wyandot Indians j and, during that time, 
 took considerable pains in rescuing from oblivion 
 numerous traditionary facts in reference to that 
 tribe. Among those deserving of a first rank in 
 his catalogue, the following circumstance is not 
 unworthy of preservation. 
 
 About two centuries ago, the Senecas made 
 destructive inroads upon the Wyandots, around 
 Sandusky, and expelled them from their territory. 
 The latter, with their fleet of canoes, moved
 
 95 
 
 along the north side of Lake Erie, towards Long 
 Point, and there concealed themselves, intend- 
 ing, no doubt, to settle in that region. Having 
 sent out spies to ascertain whether the Senecas 
 were disposed to molest them, they discovered 
 that the enemy was secretly fitting out for a 
 water expedition, to start from Buffalo creek, 
 and preparing to fall upon them unawares, and 
 sacrifice them on the altar of their revenge. 
 Having been informed, by their scouts, of the de- 
 signs which were in agitation, the Wyandots 
 made preparations to meet them. The move- 
 ments of the Senecas were closely watched ; sen- 
 tinels were on the alert to communicate every 
 intelligence ; the women and children were con- 
 veyed to a place of safety, and the warriors al- 
 ready felt themselves engaged in battle, and oc- 
 cupied the interval of expectation in mock en- 
 counters with one another. 
 
 Elated by the sure prospect of success, and 
 already counting the spoils and scalps of their 
 enemies, the Senecas advanced intrepidly for- 
 xvard, hardly supposing it necessary to study cau- 
 tion with those who they presumed little dreamed 
 of their approach. The sun was about setting
 
 90 
 
 oil the lake ; and the golden floods of light whick 
 he poured upon the calm waters and heavens, 
 seemed to lead them on to a glorious victory. 
 They already heard the band of their departed 
 warriors urging them to bloodshed, and whisper- 
 ing in their ears the triumphs of their success. 
 "When that sun shall rise again," exclaimed 
 their indignant chieftain, " Wyandot shall be no 
 more ; he shall no more raise his hatchet to bury 
 it in my tribe he shall have gone out in dark- 
 ness, like that great light which is even now hid- 
 den from my sight." As soon as the Senecas 
 had advanced to a favourable position, where 
 they might hurl upon their enemies the thunder- 
 bolt of ruin, unexpected showers of arrows as- 
 sailed them from all quarters : hundreds of them 
 fell lifeless into the lake, while their mighty chief, 
 towering as the sons of Anak, was numbered 
 with the dead, and precipitated into the waters 
 below. What could be done? It was manifest 
 that the Great Spirit was the friend of the Wy- 
 andots, and that the wrongs which they had re- 
 ceived from the Senecas, were only to be indem- 
 nified by their blood. The vanquished submit- 
 ted to the Wyandots, consented to bury the 
 hatchet, brighten the chain of friendship, and
 
 H? 
 
 associate as brethren on the friendliest and most 
 intimate terms. 
 
 To these propositions the Wyandots acceded. 
 The Senecas then proposed that they should all 
 unite in partaking of a feast, to be mingled with 
 songs of joy usual on such occasions, as demon' 
 strative of the mutual friendship subsisting be- 
 tween them. Accordingly, upon the appointed 
 day, both nations feasted with great glee upon 
 the venison and game which had been abundantly 
 provided ; and smoked and exchanged the calu- 
 met of peace in ratification of the treaty. The 
 latter is always preserved to be lighted up in 
 councils, whenever any thing occurs relative to 
 the ally, and each member then smokes it to re- 
 mind the other of his covenant. Belts of wam- 
 pum and other warlike valuables were also given 
 and received. The principal belt was white, with 
 two black streaks down the sides, and black 
 spots on each end, by which both nations were 
 denoted. Having a white streak in the middle, 
 it was said to signify that the road between them 
 was cleared of all incumbrances ; and that every 
 hindrance was now removed to make way for 
 perfect harmony. They then drank Cussene 
 
 No. X.l
 
 with many singular invocations, calling on the 
 name of Ye-Ho-Wah ! Waving large fans of 
 eagles' tails, and keeping time with the rattling 
 of a hollow gourd, they spent much time in 
 dancing, and singing their national war songs. 
 The Senecas then recounted the praises of their 
 ancestors, whom they commended in the loudest 
 strains for their martial achievements and valour. 
 They were a nation of warriors, they said, cele- 
 brated in song from time immemorial being 
 thunderbolts in war, but in peace, lambs. They 
 were like the summer storm, that causes the har- 
 vest to bow under its stroke : and again, they 
 were compared to the lightning of heaven, that 
 consumes whatever comes in its way. They also 
 celebrated the virtues of the Wyandots, repre- 
 senting them only as extraordinary hunters, 
 famed far and wide for taking various sorts of 
 game, and particularly the Beaver : but while 
 they highly extolled them for their skill in hunting 
 this animal, they cuttingly described them as no 
 warriors, being merely distinguished for their en- 
 dowments in the chase. The Wyandots bore 
 the insult with considerable patience. They felt 
 the injustice of the alligation, and, resolving not 
 ta be outdone by the boldness of their allies.
 
 99 
 
 meditated upon a reply: the blood boiled in 
 their veins, and they longed to give vent to their 
 indignation. 
 
 After the Seneca warriors had finished their 
 speech at the expense of the unfortunate Wyan- 
 dots, a dead silence of several minutes succeed- 
 ed. But it was evident, from the features of the 
 latter, that a violent storm was gathering. At 
 length, a very aged arid infirm Wyandot, appa- 
 rently more than five-score years, arose. A few 
 scattered hairs of silver lighted up his dark fore- 
 head, the fire of valour was still burning on his 
 cheek, but it was almost extinguished by the 
 frosts of age : his eye was still enkindled by the 
 glory of former days, but its unnatural twinkling 
 gave evidence of its speedy extinction. His hol- 
 low voice, when he spoke, resembled the dying 
 murmurs of the storm, when it faintly sweeps 
 over the lake ; and like the withered oak on his 
 own mountains, whose verdant boughs had long 
 since decayed, he fearlessly stood up to face 
 the blast. Rising, like the last of his race, from 
 the verge of the tomb, in vindication of his 
 tribe, he was gazed at by every eye ; for there 
 was something celestial in his aspect that com-
 
 100 
 
 manded admiration and respect. Who can re- 
 frain from honouring the presence of venerable 
 age? When its lips are the gates of wisdom, 
 and its brow the depository of virtue, it claims 
 the homage of princes, and the incense of the 
 best affections of the heart. It is the living mo- 
 nument that records the preservation of the Di- 
 vine hand! It is the ancient temple of the 
 Holy Spirit, which is falling into ruins for a while : 
 and they who can look coldly upon this monument 
 of heaven, without being instructed in a Provi- 
 dence they who can watch this temple of divine 
 grace falling to ruins, and shed no tears over 
 their own mortality, are bereft of sensibilities as 
 sublime in their nature as they are honourable 
 and ennobling to their possessors. 
 
 Having heard his nation satirised, the aged 
 warrior said that he felt as if he would sing one 
 more song at a feast, which was probably the 
 last which he should ever attend. He requested 
 some of the young men to conduct him to a tree, 
 with his war-club in his hand, which was imme- 
 diately complied with. All eyes were fastened 
 on him. He commenced smiting the tree with
 
 101 
 
 his war-club in true Indian style, and thus re- 
 hearsed his sentiments. 
 
 " Brother Senecas ! Not many years ago, the 
 Great Spirit caused you to spring from a large 
 mountain, at the head of the Gerundewagh lake. 
 There you received your birth, and offered up 
 your prayers. You assembled there perpetually 
 in council, to hold your long talks, and you de- 
 stroyed a monstrous serpent which had coiled 
 around your nation, threatening to destroy it; 
 but the Great Spirit empowered you to come off 
 conquerors. Then you flourished powerful and 
 numerous as the waves of yonder mighty lake, 
 until all the land was covered by the darkness of 
 your shadow. Your voice was thunder to the 
 ears of all the Indians your eye was lightning, 
 consuming all within its glance ; and your hand 
 grasped all that came within its reach, until it 
 became so full that it overflowed. There was 
 no battle in which your warwhoop was not the 
 loudest ; and when your victorious songs did not 
 fall upon the ear. Brother Senecas! you are 
 truly a noble race of warriors, and the whole 
 world cannot resist your sway. But remember, 
 brothers, you are no hunters. The Great Spirit
 
 102 
 
 ' ' 
 
 has only made you great and mighty in battle, 
 but has not given you the power of ferreting out 
 the panther to his den, or stripping the bear and 
 the deer of their skins : you cannot follow the 
 steps of the crafty beaver, nor triumph, by your 
 sagacity, over his means of escape. No; the 
 Great Father has withheld from you this privi- 
 lege, and you ought therefore to be content. 
 
 Brother Senecas ! We have also come from 
 a far country, and have extended our settlement 
 along the southern shore of Lake Erie even to 
 Sandusky bay. We have been driven like wild 
 beasts from the forests that once shaded us, and 
 the game that nurtured our families; and even 
 here we have been driven to paths which our 
 fathers never knew, and to wigwams which ouri 
 children have erected. Brothers, we confess 
 that the Great Spirit never destined us for war~ 
 riors, else we should have never left our former 
 home; but we are gratefully contented with the 
 simplicity of our habits, and enjoy no better pas- 
 time than the exercise of the chase. Why should 
 we murmur if the Great Father has designed us 
 to become great hunters, and make us skilful in 
 the chase? Why should we repine at our lot?
 
 103 
 
 We are, it is true, renowned hunters ot the bea- 
 ver : you were right in saying so. It is our occu- 
 pation and our glory, why should you complain 
 of our allotment ? 
 
 But brothers, we have not come here to boast 
 of our skill as hunters, but to prove it to your 
 satisfaction. We have been engaged a long 
 time in discovering and destroying a whole co- 
 lony of beavers, who attacked our habitations, 
 and threatened to extirpate our whole tribe by 
 their insidious stratagems. At first they were 
 too many and powerful ; but we attacked them 
 resolutely until we were compelled to seek a tem- 
 porary flight, and regain time for a new assault. 
 We were not idle we ascertained that the bea- 
 vers were preparing to come down upon us, and 
 we laid quietly, ready in our coverts. One even- 
 ing, while the lake was reflecting the smile of the 
 Great Spirit, we heard the footsteps of the bea- 
 vers cautiously entering our thickets. We flew 
 upon them like brave hunters experienced in all 
 their wiles, and with the velocity of a thunderbolt, 
 we surprised we tomahawked we drowned 
 them in the lake. In the midst of the carnage, 
 the old king beaver made his appearance. His
 
 104 
 
 size and strength were prodigious; his ex- 
 ertions and rage were like an impeded cataract. 
 But he fell under the weight of our arrows, and 
 thanks to the Great Spirit, all the other beavers 
 who escaped the carnage acknowledged them- 
 selves fairly beaten. Thus, brothers, you per- 
 ceive that we are no warriors, but only good 
 hunters of the beaver ; and that we have been 
 indebted for our safety to the latter endowment 
 alone. You must feel too the force of the con- 
 fession of our Seneca brothers, that they are no 
 hunters, but merely distinguished warriors. I 
 have done." 
 
 The sarcasm of the old Wyandot was severely 
 felt by the Senecas, who hung down their heads, 
 said nothing more of their warlike deeds, but 
 confessed the skill of the Wyandots in hunting 
 the beaver. 

 
 DEFAMATION OF CHARACTER. 
 
 I see, the jewel best enamell'd 
 
 Will lose his beauty ; and though gold bides gold still, 
 
 That others touch, yet often touching will 
 
 Wear gold ; and no man, that hath a name, 
 
 But falsehood and corruption doth it shame. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 SAY what we will, there is no wound so 
 deadly as that which calumny inflicts : there is 
 no curse more bitter than that which rests upon 
 the defamer of innocence. Other evils we may 
 avoid. We may guard against the assaults of 
 the mid-night assassin who steals into our cham- 
 ber; defy the blackest revenge of the enemy ; and 
 even escape the breath of the most contagious 
 disorder: but who can fly from a "pestilence 
 that walketh in darkness," or avoid falling into a 
 gulf, whose mouth is hidden with poisonous 
 flowers ? Go where we may, the voice of detrac- 
 tion will reach us. It will disturb the peaceful 
 
 No. X 2
 
 106 
 
 privacy of our solitude : it will ring after us in a 
 crowded city, in the hisses of a thousand tongues. 
 The purest and most illustrious that ever lived, 
 have felt the persecutions of this insatiate archer, 
 and no mortal breathing can escape its malevo- 
 lent frown. The truth is, the principle of envy, 
 which excites all to tower beyond the condition 
 of their neighbours, renders them blind to their 
 own, but eagle-eyed to the faults and infirmities 
 of others. In proportion to the strength of this 
 principle will be the degree of inveteracy in- 
 dulged. The jaundiced eye will clothe every 
 thing it sees in the same gloomy complexion ; 
 and the envious mind will rather dwell upon the 
 darkest, than the brightest qualities of mind. 
 What matters it to such an one, that another is 
 more abundantly blest, and more conspicuously 
 shares the bounties of Heaven ? His selfishness 
 is stung by the reflection, that whatever the one 
 has gained is lost to himself; and jealous of his own 
 inferiority, he would madly annihilate every bless- 
 ing but his own, and almost blot the sun from its 
 sphere, because it shines brighter upon his 
 neighbour's habitation. Such minds as this may 
 be said to have been created rather from gra- 
 nite than from human clay: the sting of wasps
 
 107 
 
 is upon their lips ; the venom of adders rankles 
 in their hearts ; and the malice of tigers actuates 
 their conduct. It is by such scorpions as these, 
 that men of feeling and sensibility are most 
 keenly stung. Their sentiments are too delicate 
 to abide the fury of the storm ; and they weakly 
 fall, like unprotected vines, before the slanderer's 
 assaults. But " does an eagle stoop at a wren ? 
 Is the skin of a leopard pierced with the diminu- 
 tive proboscis of a gnat ? and shall a man, con- 
 scious of infirmity, yet unconscious of premedi- 
 tated wrong, permit a moth to rob him of his 
 birth-right ; or the wing of a caterpillar, to whom 
 the leaf of a plant is an empire, to screen him 
 from the splendour of a summer's day? He 
 who permits a calumniator to conquer his mind, 
 deserves to be conquered." 
 
 Defamation of character may be traced to 
 either of the following sources : namely, inven- 
 tion, malice, idleness and loquacity. 
 
 They who can invent a lie to injure another's 
 fame, are the basest and most execrable of 
 wretches. But it is the only resort, where no- 
 thing can be found as a subject of reproach, and
 
 where nothing else can mortify and depress the 
 proscribed object. Carrying their teeth, like the 
 trout, upon their tongue, they will trample upon 
 innocence, and sacrifice even heaven itself to 
 the baseness of their revenge. It was the opi- 
 nion of Pythagoras, that the minds of slanderers 
 were serpents, in a pre-existent state, and would 
 in all probability become scorpions after death : 
 but would he not have given double virulence to 
 inventors of falsehood, and have plunged in a 
 more fearful punishment those who could so 
 wantonly and wickedly defame the characters of 
 their fellow-men? It is by infernals, like these, 
 that the best of men are so virulently attacked ; 
 that crimes are laid to their charge, of which 
 they never dreamed, and that occasion is given to 
 the enemies of religion to triumph in their vil- 
 lany. But let them go to the fountain whence the 
 stream of detraction flowed let them raise the 
 veil which unmasks the perfidy, the baseness, 
 and the perjury which gave being to the lie : let 
 them frequent the noxious tea-table, the gossip- 
 ing parties, and the idle card-room, where the 
 atmosphere of detraction is engendered and 
 breathed, and they will discover their mistake. 
 But the misfortune is, that even though the false*
 
 109 
 
 hood is discovered, the rankling effects still fol- 
 low the individual. Suspicion of crime will ever 
 live in the minds of many, whose prejudices 
 and distorted views can never be convinced ; and 
 the finger of shame will still dare to point at in- 
 nocence, until disgusted, and irritated into crime, 
 it finds only in the grave the repose it desired. 
 
 When malice is the motive for detraction, it 
 cares not respecting the means of crushing its 
 victim. I have known many a spotless character 
 traduced, because it could not live in the con- 
 suming fire of another's hatred. The individual 
 either stands in the way of the other's prefer- 
 ment, is guilty of more intellect and discern- 
 ment, disgusts by his misfortunes, or dares to 
 defend himself from the attacks levelled upon 
 his person. Many are indignant " when genius 
 thinks it politic to magnify itself: and yet they 
 ought to be silent and reverential ; for the more 
 genius enlarges its capacity, the more gentle, the 
 more amiable, the more modest it becomes ; as 
 deep oceans are more pacific than shallow ones." 
 There are some whose malice it is an honour to 
 incur. As they have no reputation to lose, their de- 
 traction is our best encomium, their esteem, the
 
 110 
 
 bitterest reproach upon our characters. Who 
 would not rather imitate the silence of the lion, 
 at hearing the braying of a mule, than force such 
 reptiles into notice by the severity of our re- 
 proofs? Hatred is the element in which they 
 breathe; and they could not exist in the quiet 
 waters of peace, without agitating and filling 
 them with mire. Why should we be indignant if 
 the toad spits upon us his venom, and the serpent 
 hisses upon us its enmity? And shall we suffer 
 our minds to be disconcerted, because we are at- 
 tacked by the clamours of the malicious ? If 
 the law cannot defend us, let us live our re- 
 proaches down by virtuous and exemplary con- 
 duct, and trust that our epitaph will be written by 
 the hands of the virtuous and discriminating. 
 
 But defamation of character most generally 
 proceeds from indolence or loquacity. Those 
 engaged in no concerns of their own, are al- 
 ways sure to be engrossed in those of others ; and 
 they are naturally led to add to their suspicions 
 the unfavourable rumours which they have heard. 
 Habits thus expensively acquired, excite them 
 to dwell upon whatever is offensive and unamia- 
 ble, and exaggerate shades of character which
 
 1J1 
 
 they but imperfectly behold. They observe but to 
 detect error they converse but to elicit faults 
 they mingle with society only to revile its frailties. 
 Whatever they describe they magnify whatever 
 they esteem they venerate whatever they dis- 
 like, they speak of with the bitterest abhorrence. 
 
 Loquacity as frequently ministers to a ca- 
 lumnious temper. It is in the tide of conversa- 
 tion, when heart meets heart, that the fame of 
 absent friends is apt to be assailed, and when 
 every idle report concerning them is treasured 
 up and circulated with avidity. Then the du- 
 bious shrug and the cruel insinuation speak far 
 louder than language, and array the unhappy 
 object in the blackest of colours. Oh, what 
 abominable slanders are propagated in the 
 thoughtlessness of conversation, which, in the 
 moments of reflection, we are heartily ashamed 
 of and despise ! In hours of secret communion 
 with ourselves, we feel that those we censure 
 are undeserving of our reproaches. "We find 
 in them" with Pilate, " no fault at all ;" and were 
 it not for the surmises of report, and the shame of 
 retracting what we have said, we would affec- 
 tionately take our condemned friends by the
 
 112 
 
 hand. Christians have also to learn, that " to 
 speak evil of no man," is as imperative a duty as 
 " to love their neighbour." Alas ! that their pro- 
 fessions and practice so frequently disagree ; and 
 that instead of sowing the seeds of love on the 
 soil of the heart, they sometimes prefer to en- 
 graft it with thorns ! Many a noble soul has 
 sunk under the frown of these calumnious triflers ; 
 and many a tear has fallen, and many a heart has 
 been broken, that will one day ascribe its ruin to 
 an ungovernable tongue. 
 
 " Calumny 
 
 Is a light breeze, a gentle zephyr which 
 Comes on in whispers, sweetly, mildly, scarce 
 Perceptible. At first a still small voice 
 Glides softly o'er the ground, till by degrees 
 Spreading around, it wins a crafty entrance 
 Into the ears of men, and fills the brain 
 With pride and wild amazement. 
 
 Then at length, 
 
 Finding a passage by the tongue, its force 
 Increases ; though but gradually : and now, 
 Flitting from place to place, it sweeps along, 
 Like to the tempest, and the thunder storm 
 That desolates the forest, and congeals 
 The soul of man with horrer. Yet ere long 
 It rushes headlong, bursts, and spreads around 
 Redoubled fury : then, in one loud roar
 
 H3 
 
 Heaveu's own artillery wakes the giant power 
 Of fearful earthquake, and in wild dismay 
 Rides the tumultuous whirlwind. 
 
 So it is 
 
 With calumny's sad victim vilified 
 And spurn'd, and smarting 'neath the public lash. 
 Fate drives him on to ruin." 
 
 But is it indeed to be always thus ? Is purity 
 to be continually endangered ; and are the efforts 
 of virtue unattended by reward? Surely not. 
 " As the Alps are the sources of the Rhine, the 
 Rhone, and the Po ; and though those mountains 
 are for the most part clad in eternal sterility, 
 they make of Italy and France two most de- 
 lightful gardens." Thus, mental persecution, 
 though it frowns upon its victims, endows their 
 minds with firmness to resist, and dispositions to 
 benefit from the threatened calamity. In the 
 language of the eloquent Bucke, " They resem- 
 ble the cocoa-nut of Ceylon. They gain strength 
 from neglect, and fecundity from exposure. 
 By obstacles, vigorous minds are stimulated, not 
 conquered. And as botanists, by administering 
 certain compositions to the roots of flowers, 
 teach snow drops to wear the colour of Ethiops : 
 pinks to clothe themselves in green : and tulips 
 
 No. X. 3
 
 H4 
 
 to assume the tincture of green; the mind r 
 pregnant with exalted precepts, makes fortune at 
 length take the forms and the consequences best 
 suited to its will." To the philosophic mind, for- 
 tified by Christian hope, defamation of charac- 
 ter, though a painful evil, is not a permanent 
 calamity. An inward sense of innocence shields 
 the heart from fear, and bids it cast its hopes 
 upon a superintending Providence. Frequently, 
 in this world, justice has interfered in asserting 
 the claims of injured innocence, and lighting up 
 smiles on that countenance which had borne the 
 curse of Cain upon its brow. 
 
 I knew a man who, conscious of his own in- 
 tegrity, suffered under the heaviest wrongs which 
 the tongue of defamation can inflict. His ap- 
 peals to Heaven were disbelieved, and testimony 
 but served to augment the weight of suspicion 
 against him. He heard the dungeon of public 
 sentiment closing upon him, and the hammer 
 of justice preparing to rivet his chains. But 
 the Guardian of innocence dispelled the gather- 
 ing tempest by the unfolding of a single event. 
 Society recalled him to her confidence and es- 
 teem he embraced his family with the tear*
 
 of grateful delight; and he lives to commemo- 
 rate with his friends the protection of an over- 
 ruling Power. This circumstance is a token 
 to the injured bosom, of that approaching day, 
 when every wrong shall be recompensed, and 
 the ways of Providence clearly unfolded. Silence 
 your complaints, ye persecuted sufferers ! the hour 
 of your triumph dawns : your harp shall one day 
 resound with the melodies of victory. Heaven 
 shall acknowledge you among her honourable 
 sons the voice of the detractor shall no more 
 mar your peace where all around is felicity and 
 glory. 
 
 " In quiet hope and patient faith, spring's needful conflicts 
 
 bear, 
 Then green shall be thy summer leaf, in skies more bright 
 
 and fair ; 
 
 And fruitage of immortal worth, in autumn's later days, 
 Shall on thy bending boughs be hung, to speak thy 
 
 Maker's praise."
 
 THE RIVAL, L.OVERS. 
 
 O, had I known that woman's love 
 Had been so hard, so ill to win, 
 
 I had lock'd my heart in a case of gold, 
 And pinn'd it with a silver pin. HOGG. 
 
 IN the state of Pennsylvania, near the village 
 of Huntingdon, there is a wild tract of country, 
 consisting of rocks, valleys, and mountainous 
 passes, and extending several miles between im- 
 mense . barriers of limestone, which terrify while 
 they attract the observation of the traveller. A 
 narrow pathway of road intersects this dreary re- 
 gion, and winds, in a singular serpentine manner, 
 among frightful projections, and overhanging 
 forest trees, wherever the naturfe of the country 
 will admit of a passage. There are also, for 
 some leagues around, numerous tall cliffs, 
 of various shapes and sizes, which, from their 
 striking appearance and solemnity, have been 
 long known by the name of the Pulpit rocks. In
 
 117 
 
 many parts of the road, less encumbered with 
 brush and other forest obstacles, the eye can gaze 
 upon its windings through the valley but in every 
 few steps the whole is lost sight of by a sudden 
 bend, which appears to branch off in a precisely 
 opposite direction. About the centre of this so- 
 litude stands the trunk of an aged tree, gigantic 
 in figure and height; and having two scathed 
 branches reaching like arms on either side, it 
 presents the appearance of a huge giant, lording 
 it over the domains of his dark and barren em- 
 pire. As one approaches this forest monument, 
 the path becomes so crooked and devious that it 
 sometimes appears to cause the traveller to re- 
 cede ; and at others, to make surprising advances 
 in his journey. Now, the withered trunk is im- 
 mediately on his right hand then, it alters its 
 posture to the left, and now it seemingly moves 
 nearer to greet his approach. Another change 
 of position will bring it in the rear, and then 
 again it will be seen in full view in front, until it 
 becomes hidden for a while by the impediments of 
 the road. A blanket has been wrapped round 
 the top, by some droll hand, to represent a head; 
 and so phosphoric are the decayed trunk and 
 limb,'?, that, of a dark night, the whole appears
 
 118 
 
 like a fiery apparition, ready to fall upon those 
 who have the temerity to pass it. Few persons 
 have the hardihood to venture upon so comfort- 
 less a region, after night has set in; and since 
 many strange stories have been told of this 
 tree, many consider it an evidence of resolution 
 to visit it in the day-time, although nothing is 
 seen or heard but the usual sights and noises of 
 nature. 
 
 But love, it is said, can conquer all difficulties; 
 and, with a beloved object in view, can fight its 
 way through goblins and giants to arrive at the 
 object of its desires. Be that 'as it may, fear is 
 often a powerful drawback to the success of the 
 inclinations ; and they who set out the most va- 
 liantly in the attainment of victory, have been 
 known to surrender at discretion whenever the 
 terrors of the battle commenced. 
 
 Not far from the place before mentioned, lived 
 a bonny old farmer, whose only wealth consisted 
 in three hundred acres of the richest land, and a 
 charming daughter, who, it is said, was the 
 finest fruit which had ever been raised on hi* 
 farm. AH that the old widower cared about was.
 
 the cultivation of his grounds, and the prepara- 
 tion of his produce for market ; and Miss Jemi- 
 ma had all the management of the in-door con- 
 cerns, even to the polishing the brass rods upon * 
 the stairs. In truth, she was an excellent house- 
 keeper, and was not brought up merely to dress, 
 flirt about, and spend the hard-earned gains 
 of her father. But Jemima was handsome, and 
 she knew it ; and, as is the case with young la- 
 dies whom nature so endows, was by no means 
 determined to spend her days in the bonds of sin- 
 gle life, when she might become the happy wife 
 of an affectionate husband. She had determined 
 to give her hand to no one but a soldier, as she 
 had loved, from her childhood, to read of military 
 achievements ; and her little heart never fluttered 
 more than when she came in contact with a suit 
 of regimentals. Now she had grown to woman's 
 estate, her head ran upon nothing else than the 
 
 sound of the drum and the fife ; and she often 
 
 * 
 woke from a dream, in which she was binding up 
 
 her husband's wounds, and listening to the shouts 
 of victory in some splendid triumph which he 
 had achieved. As there is no accounting for 
 tastes, so there is no remedy but submission when 
 the ruling passion is supreme ; and Miss Jemima
 
 12U 
 
 had read too much of the military character, in 
 novels, to listen to the warnings and counsels of 
 her father. There was a young farmer, by the 
 " name of Peters, that had long solicited her hand. 
 He really loved her ; but he was too plain and 
 unsophisticated for our young heroine, who 
 dreamed of nothing else but being lady to a ge- 
 neral. 'Peters visited at her father's house al- 
 most every night : he knew that jier parent se- 
 cretly desired the match ; for Peters was a fore- 
 handed man was rather handsome and agreea- 
 ble, and of all men in the world was most likely 
 to make Miss Jemima happy. But " those whom 
 you are to have, you will have," thought the rosy- 
 faced damsel ; and if I am destined to be the 
 wife of an officer, why should I marry Harry 
 Peters ? As the inclinations generally direct to 
 the course of conduct we pursue, so we are 
 weakly apt to suppose that to be our destiny 
 which is only the result of our wishes, and which 
 is solely brought about by our own agency. 
 It so happened, that she became acquainted 
 with two gay, young officers, who were tra- 
 velling on to join their garrison at the south. 
 One of them became remarkably smitten by the 
 charms of her person and m ind, and actually
 
 made her a promise of marriage ; proposing, thai 
 in case of her father's refusal, she should elope 
 with him immediately to the army. 
 
 Nothing was more abhorrent to the farmer's 
 feelings, than to marry his daughter to a soldier ; 
 and he accordingly expostulated with her on 
 the subject, representing him to be a home- 
 less wanderer, and incapable of respectably 
 supporting her. But the mind can seldom en- 
 dure to be crossed in its favourite pursuit ; and 
 more particularly so in love than in any other 
 passion ; and the thwarted child always regards 
 opposition as rebellion against his happiness, and 
 like the resisted flame, his affection will always 
 burn the brighter, in proportion to the violence 
 that checks it. How seldom is a parent's pure 
 motive regarded ! How little do we consider, 
 that they who oppose our wishes are the dear 
 beings who gave us existence, and whose life 
 is wrapped up in rendering their offspring happy ! 
 It is only when filial tears are streaming upon a 
 parent's sod, that we feel the burning love which 
 dictated their opposition ; and although they were 
 mistaken as to the consequences of our conduct, 
 
 No.
 
 122 
 
 we love and reverence the hearts which were so 
 alive to our welfare. 
 
 The faithful Peters became alarmed; since 
 he thought that he had real occasion to appre- 
 hend the loss of his Jemima. But gifted with 
 an uncommon degree of natural shrewdness, he 
 suspected that there was something wrong about 
 the soldier; for he had remarked a guilty sort of 
 reserve in his visits to the house, and an undue 
 familiarity with Jemima, to which his short ac- 
 quaintance was little entitled. Although he sin- 
 cerely loved her, he felt that he could freely re- 
 sign her to an honourable man of her choice ; 
 but he could not bear the thought of seeing her 
 united to one of dissimilar dispositions and 
 views, who should win her affections by unworthy 
 means, and insure her a miserable life. Ho was 
 almost persuaded too, that Jemima loved him ; for 
 they had been long acquainted, and she had even 
 hinted as much ; but he ascribed her conduct to 
 romantic notions she had imbibed, believing, that 
 convinced of her mistake, she would prefer him 
 to any other man. While musing on the subject 
 one evening, near her father's garden, he over- 
 heard the officer making the proposals pre-
 
 viously referred to ; and he immediately commu- 
 nicated them to the farmer. Exasperated to the 
 highest pitch, they determined to punish the per- 
 fidious soldier, and do it in such a way as would 
 effectually cure Jemima of her passion. They 
 were of opinion, that if she could be persuaded 
 of the cowardice of the officer, and that her at- 
 tachment was only the chimera of a heated ima- 
 gination, she would despise her own folly ; and 
 that, could she at the same time feel assured of 
 the worth of her real lover, she would confess at 
 once his superiority to the other. Throughout 
 the day, the farmer and Peters were apparently 
 very busy; and the next morning the officer 
 came to demand the consent of the former to 
 a marriage with his daughter. The farmer af- 
 fected considerable surprise ; but after mature 
 deliberation replied, that he had no objection to 
 consign his daughter's hand to that of a really 
 brave soldier ; and that if he were truly such as 
 his profession denoted, he would willingly give 
 his consent to their union. " Name your price, 
 sir !" exclaimed the eager champion of Mars, 
 " What feat of valour shall I perform to entitle me 
 to your confidence ? Shall I challenge the Go- 
 vernor of your state, or shall I bring you the
 
 124 
 
 scalps of fifty Indians, as a proof of my intre- 
 pidity ? Your charming daughter is worth every 
 sacrifice : and were my life at stake, I would 
 not be backward in presenting it !" " You are a 
 brave champion, no doubt, my worthy friend," 
 returned the farmer ; " but I care not a snap for 
 the Governor, and less than that for every scalp 
 you might bring me : I have an enemy of more 
 redoubtable courage than these ; and if you can 
 but conquer him, rdoubt not of my willing- 
 ness to serve you." " Your words shall be com- 
 mands," replied the soldier hastily; " Speak ! let 
 me know my errand !" " You must know, then, 
 heroic sir," resumed the other, " that our neigh- 
 bourhood is haunted by a magician, or something 
 of that nature, who inhabits a hollow tree in the 
 precincts of yonder forest. After dark it is more 
 than worth our lives, and a span of horses, to 
 pass that place in safety. Sometimes, the appari- 
 tion is like a body of fire, and reaches out to grasp 
 us in his clutches. At others, he assumes the 
 appearance of a venerable old man, to cheat us 
 to approach him. But more frequently he as- 
 sumes the dress and manners of a soldier, and 
 then wo to him that comes within the reach of 
 his gun !" " Mere stuff!" said the officer: " think
 
 125 
 
 you that I fear, my friend, such old woman's 
 tales ? send me not to combat with phantoms, 
 which live only in the brain ; but give me sub- 
 stantial flesh and blood to afford you proof of 
 my valour." " Fear not, but you will have enough 
 of that, young man; for those very phantoms 
 often fight like tigers : so you are apprised of my 
 terms ; and he who will not hazard a battle with 
 the demon of the forest, shall be no son-in-law of 
 mine, I promise you !" The husbandman turned 
 upon his heel, but the applicant of Venus was 
 softened into compliance. " I accept your terms, 
 sir," said the soldier, smiling ; " and since I 
 have the choice of my weapons, and my reward, 
 I rejoice that Jemima is mine." " Hold a while I" 
 said the farmer ; " the demon, if conqueror, shall 
 decide your refusal ; but if you triumph over him, 
 or come away unwounded from the field, you shall 
 realize your wishes in marrying Jemima." " With 
 all my heart," said the undaunted hero : " Name 
 your time and place of my attacking this enemy !" 
 
 It was arranged that our officer should arm 
 himself cap-a-pie on the following night, and be 
 conducted by the farmer to the borders of the 
 enemy's land, where he should receive sufficient
 
 directions to find the object of his attack. Bui 
 it was the determination of our lover to elope with 
 Jemima that very night ; and he merely assented 
 to the farmer's proposals to give an honourable 
 colour to his conduct, and prevent his being re- 
 fused farther access to the house. Though he 
 had consented to meet the farmer at midnight, 
 he considered it a better joke to deprive him of 
 his daughter ; and if he could be so fortunate as 
 to anticipate him a day beforehand, he cared 
 little for combating with disembodied spirits. 
 The road to which he had been directed, he had 
 once travelled in the day-time ; but he had seen 
 nothing about it particularly terrifying, and he 
 was determined to hazard all its dangers, pro- 
 vided he was certain of escaping with his prize. 
 But crafty as he was, he was by no means a 
 match for our Pennsylvanian rustic ; and he had 
 to learn, as will be found in the sequel, what it 
 is to trifle with a brave and honourable rival. 
 
 Jemima had been apprized of all these circum- 
 stances by her anxious lover, and although she 
 was surprised at the recital which had been 
 given him, she declared that she had no doubt 
 it was her father's intention of proving his
 
 127 
 
 sincerity; and she begged him, by all means, 
 to go, were it only to satisfy the whim. They 
 could but elope together, if the officer should 
 fail in his attempt ; and, at all events, it were 
 better to incur a trifling difficulty, than risk the 
 danger and disgrace of flying from her native 
 home. But fearful of losing her, the soldier pre- 
 vailed upon her to lose no time in accompany- 
 ing him that very night, as he was persuaded 
 . that it was a fiction invented by her father to 
 delay and prevent the execution of his wishes. 
 She promised to be in readiness, on the back 
 avenue, precisely at ten o'clock ; where horses 
 were to be stationed for their reception, as she 
 had no doubt that it was all a jest, and that they 
 should soon return back as merrily as they went. 
 It was owing to the powerful solicitations of her 
 seducer that she consented ; and it was not with- 
 out many tears and compunctions of conscience 
 that she resolved upon accompanying him. 
 Abandoned by her reason and delicacy, what a 
 wretched slave is woman ! Thus, the first false 
 step often leads her to the verge of a precipice ; 
 and she, who once trembled at the suspicion of 
 crime, fearlessly plunges into ruin, overcome by 
 the caresses of her deceiver.
 
 128 
 
 At the appointed hour, the horses were both 
 ready saddled in the lane, and Jemima and the sol- 
 dier were mounted and pursuing their way towards 
 the forest. There were two roads which led 
 to the village of Huntingdon ; one of them, pass- 
 ing through the dark mazes of the rocky defile, 
 where stood the well-known tree, the subject of 
 so much conversation ; and the other, winding 
 along the banks of the Juniata river, being se- 
 veral miles farther than the former. He chose 
 the first, not only on account of its brevity, 
 but because he could more easily conceal him- 
 self among the thickets from the danger of a 
 surprise. The stars shone with dazzling bril- 
 liancy above their heads, imparting a richer blue 
 to the celestial vault, and reflecting their light 
 in ten thousand rays on the ripling water, which 
 caused them to lengthen and vibrate in mimic 
 crowns of glory. The gloom of the surrounding 
 landscape was forgotten and shut out by the 
 dark apprehensions of distrust, which will always 
 harass the conscience when confident of doing 
 wrong; and they, who in other circumstances 
 might have admired the sublimity of the grand 
 and silent night, listened only to the quick bounds 
 of their steeds rattling over the uneven ground.
 
 129 
 
 and beginning to plunge into the stillness of the 
 mountain forest. It requires uncommon fortitude 
 to hush down those feelings which incline us to 
 virtue, and warn us to beware of the conse- 
 quences which attend upon guilt. But they 
 who once suffer themselves to be steeled 
 against their remonstrances, are apt to become 
 lulled into a stupor from which they may never 
 wake till they are the slaves of crime. Thus it 
 was with our fugitives : the one was journeying, 
 she knew not whither, under the expectation of 
 returning: the other was determined upon eloping 
 with his victim. "Has father apprised you 
 of the place ?" demanded the damsel, in a low 
 voice. "Yes," said the other in an unmean- 
 ing tone; "but does Jemima think me such a 
 fool, as to be standing sentinel for the dead, 
 when I have more occasion to be afraid of the 
 living? Your father cannot surely expect that 
 I am to be sent on a fool's errand ; and if he does, 
 believe rne, he is confoundedly mistaken : But 
 know, my dove, ; there is more peril in thine eye 
 than twenty of their swords!' and why should I brave 
 shadows who am already possessed of the reward:" 
 ; But surely," said she, " you mean to return to 
 the cottage, for I have not certainly abandoned 
 No. XI. 1
 
 130 
 
 father, and why do you reproach him with such 
 folly?" "I tell you, girl," he replied, " that you are 
 now mine, and that all the powers on earth can- 
 not snatch you from my embrace ! What is your 
 old father to me, Jemima ? have you not vowed 
 to follow your soldier to the grave, and do you re- 
 pent of your promise? Bethink you, my fair 
 one, we are now out of the reach of witnesses, 
 and enemies, and it is out of your power to re- 
 tract!" "But one "cried a deep hollow 
 
 voice, from behind a neighbouring thicket ; but 
 the words were heard only by the maid ; for the 
 other was too deeply occupied by his own pas- 
 sion to attend to any other object. " What is 
 that?" demanded Jemima, with a faint scream, 
 riding nearer to her companion on horseback ; 
 " do my ears deceive me? who spoke ?" " Your- 
 self only, my trembling little vixen," replied the 
 lover ; " the echoes of this place, no doubt, are 
 in love with your own sweet voice ; and they 
 are merely imitating its melodious accents." "I 
 surely heard a voice !" repeated the terrified girl. 
 " You did," returned the officer with a laugh. 
 " but it was certainly your own !" 
 
 They rode on in silence until they came within
 
 131 
 
 the embrace of the overhanging cliffs, and be* 
 gan to enter upon the narrow road which was 
 so deeply involved in their shadow. The pulpit 
 rocks, which were now and then partially visible 
 through the openings, seemed dressed up in every 
 variety of shapes to which the fancy can give 
 birth, sometimes wearing the aspect of castles 
 and terraces ; at others, of huge animals loitering 
 in the forest, and as frequently, of tall giants min- 
 gled together in battle. The stars, which had 
 once shone so brightly, were completely hidden 
 by the mighty trees which lined the sides of the 
 valley ; and the pall of night seemed more fear- 
 fully spread over the dismal regions which they 
 were entering. Now the heart of Jemima began 
 to relent, and she began to feel the impropriety 
 of leaving her father's house, under the protection 
 of a stranger, and encountering the terrific dan- 
 gers to which her person was exposed. She re- 
 membered the past advice of her parent, and the 
 tender faithfulness* of Peters. She concluded that 
 her father's story had been mere pretence ; or, 
 if true, that the soldier had no intention of fulfil- 
 ling his promise, and that now, perhaps, she would 
 be compelled to bid an eternal farewell to her 
 home. She would have given worlds, at the mo-
 
 13.2 
 
 ment, to return : tears rushed into her eyes : 
 but how difficult is it to retrace the forsaken 
 path of virtue ! " Slowly, Jemima !" whispered the 
 other ; "do you see yonder bright figure, with two 
 arms reaching out from its sides, and a scowling 
 head that looks ready to eat up the traveller ? 
 Confound it! it bodes us no good luck; and what 
 if it prove the magician of which your father so 
 faithfully warned me? But never fear, girl, I 
 have a sword and a pair of pistols that will make 
 the monster tremble if he dare to attack us." 
 The soldier counterfeited a laugh ; but it was 
 plain that he felt somewhat cowardly : but how 
 could he now retreat without marring the suc- 
 cess of his scheme ? Jemima's heart almost 
 sunk within her, as she viewed the dismal object, 
 which resembled a fiery giant, at a distance, 
 moving alternately from right to left, and then 
 coming nearer, as if sensible of their approach. 
 The farther they advanced, the vaster and more 
 brilliant it appeared; and its two arms, held out 
 in the stiff attitude of defiance, gave it the 
 aspect of a supernatural being, consuming all 
 that came within its reach. The horses them- 
 selves began to partake of the panic for they 
 .snuffed the air, and faltered in their pace, and?
 
 attempted to wheel about, as if returning. Just as 
 they arrived at a bend of the narrow road, a dark 
 figure was seen flitting across it, and in an in- 
 stant was lost sight of in the mazes of the forest. 
 " Did you see that ?" demanded Jemima of the 
 officer ; " had we not better return, than face the 
 dangers that menace us ? there is no doubt but 
 that enemies are pursuing us, and who knows 
 whether there be not truth in the account which 
 father gave you ?" " I care not now," said the 
 soldier, looking suspiciously round ; " the time is 
 come, Jemima, when you must be mine, or perish 
 in this forest if another's. I have hazarded every 
 thing for you, and no power whatever shall save 
 you from my grasp." " But mine !" exclaim- 
 ed a rough, hollow voice near them ; but from 
 whence, it was impossible to tell. A slight rus- 
 tling was only heard among the thickets ; and in 
 an instant, all was still. The unfortunate girl 
 perceived that she was indeed betrayed by the 
 soldier : but it was too late, she feared, to remedy 
 her imprudence. 
 
 It was one of those calm autumn nights when 
 the wind scarcely breathed over the woods, and 
 only the falling of the withered leaves interrupted
 
 134 
 
 the monotony that prevailed. The sky was not 
 only obscured by floating clouds which defied 
 the penetration of the stars, but it was also bar- 
 red out by the steep masses of limestone which 
 hemmed in the passes of the valley. The steed 
 which Jemima rode refused to obey the guidance 
 of the reins; and unable to manage it, she 
 was thrown unexpectedly from her seat, upon 
 a soft bed of leaves; but she was too much 
 stunned by the fall to cry aloud for help. Her 
 cries, indeed, would have proved of no avail: 
 for our hero was toa much engaged in managing 
 his own animal ; and hearing the other bound- 
 ing furiously back, he concluded that Jemima 
 must have perished, and that it was his duty to 
 take care of himself. He began to think of his 
 past guilt in enticing her from home, and his 
 cruelty in exposing her thus to perish in the 
 forest. But his reflections were absorbed by 
 the terrific monster of fire, which now became 
 so alarming that his horse refused to conduct 
 him farther. He tried to sing some cheerful 
 ditty, and call upon his mistress, but his tongue 
 stuck in his throat : he endeavoured to urge his 
 steed along, but he became fierce and frantic, and 
 winnowed so loud that the very echoes caused
 
 136 
 
 him to startle. He drew his sword, but he was 
 scarce able to hold it : he grasped his pistols, 
 but was ignorant whether they were primed or 
 loaded. His hair almost stood up on end as he 
 approached nearer to the frightful object, and 
 perceived a man beside it, who, from his soldier- 
 like appearance, must, doubtless, be the magician 
 of which the farmer had warned him. He snapped 
 his pistol, but it merely flashed in the pan : he 
 tried to wield his sword, but it fell from his trem- 
 bling hand. There was no escape from the 
 enemy whose weapon was aimed directly at 
 his head ; and, stunned b) the blow, our hero 
 was levelled from his horse. How long he lay 
 there he was unconscious ; but at length he 
 rose up, bruised and dismantled like a brave 
 and vanquished warrior, and looking around, saw 
 nothing but the stump of an old tree shining like 
 fire, from the phosphorus that covered it ; but the 
 magician had gone. He had sufficient strength 
 to mount his nag, which he found quietly grazing 
 in the road ; and after reflecting upon the past 
 as philosophically as possible, and concluding 
 that the blows which he had received were too 
 heavy to be supernatural, he rapidly continued 
 his course, until he joined his regiment at the 
 garrison southward.
 
 136 
 
 Suffice it to say, that Jemima was not carried 
 away by magic hands; for the movements of 
 the lovers had been closely watched, and fol- 
 lowed. She awoke the next morning, and per- 
 ceiving the assiduous Peters and her father in 
 the room, she reflected upon the past as the ef- 
 fects of a horrible dream. She had been tho- 
 roughly cured of her romantic attachment, and 
 always changed the conversation whenever it 
 touched upon that subject. Being soon con- 
 vinced that Peters only could make her happy, 
 she was not long after married to him, and be- 
 came a most exemplary wife. Ignorant, till the 
 day of her death, of the officer's mishap, she 
 never even suspected that Peters rescued her 
 from the forest, and that he was the only magician 
 that haunted the Pulpit Rocks.
 
 IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL, 
 
 The soul on earth is an immortal guest, 
 
 Compell'd to starve at an unreal feast : 
 
 A spark that upward tends by nature's force, 
 
 A .stream diverted from its parent source ; 
 
 A drop dissever'd from the boundless sea, - 
 
 A moment parted from eternity^- 
 
 A pilgrim panting for a rest to come, 
 
 An exile anxious for his native home. H. MOKE. 
 
 DISCONSOLATE by the death of a tender father, 
 my friend was walking alone one evening, buried 
 in deep reflection upon his loss. While gazing 
 upon the bright and silent stars, -who knows, 
 thought he, whether my parent is a resident of 
 one of those pure orbs, and is now looking down 
 from his happiness upon the sorrows of his 
 child ? Or may he not cease to exist ; and may 
 not the mind, which sparkled in him, have ex- 
 pired in darkness like the fate of that meteor 
 which is shooting across the heavens? He 
 watched the coruscation, and regarding it as tho 
 
 No. XL 2
 
 138 
 
 token of his parent's extinction, saw it glimmer- 
 ing and diminishing to a single spark. He con- 
 tinued to gaze upon it, but it still remained 
 fixed; and he began to conclude that perhaps 
 he was deceived by a star. After much con- 
 sideration, he perceived that it had merely set- 
 tled upon the bosom of a planet, and faded 
 away in the light of the latter. Whatever 
 were his doubts, the soothing consolation came 
 over him, that thus it was with his deceased fa- 
 ther that the "star of his being," refined from the 
 dross of mortality, thus " mingled with heaven ;" 
 and that he shone there, " as the brightness of 
 the firmament, and as the stars for ever and ever." 
 He returned home fully impressed by the belief of 
 the soul's immortality ; and, although taught by 
 so trivial an incident, it will follow Mm to that 
 closing hour, when his " mortality shall be swal- 
 lowed up of life." 
 
 Who can be a skeptic to his own immortality? 
 Is the doctrine contrary to reason, or beyond the 
 power of Omnipotence to establish ? Is it more 
 difficult to believe, than ten thousand mysteries 
 around us, to which, though incomprehensible, 
 we subscribe our faith ? Do we place implicit
 
 139 
 
 confidence in the revolution of myriads of worlds 
 upon nothing about innumerable suns, each inex- 
 pressibly larger and more glorious than our own ? 
 Are we convinced of the inexplicable union of 
 mind with matter, and the mysterious and over- 
 powering consequences which result from the 
 combination ? Are we persuaded that there is a 
 Supreme Being, infinitely perfect, without begin- 
 ning, or termination omnipotent, omniscient, 
 and omnipresent ? Shall then our own immortality, 
 which is, to these truths, as a taper compared with 
 the sun, stagg.er our faith ? Is it not a hope, ac- 
 cordant with reason, with our notions of the Di- 
 vine perfections, with the general analogy of na- 
 ture and philosophy, with the sublimest views 
 and principles of the most intelligent and pious ? 
 Is it not established by a Volume, which purports 
 to have come from Heaven, and is it not so supe- 
 rior to every human discovery, as to convict the 
 mind of its celestial origin ? 
 
 " Still seems it strange, that thou should'st live for ever ? 
 Is it less strange, that thou shouldst live at all ? 
 This is a miracle, and that no more." 
 
 But what is the soul? Some have thought it 
 a light substance in the shape of the body ; but
 
 of a nature so elastic and aerial, as to be insensi- 
 ble of touch ; bearing the same relation to the 
 frame that music does to an instrument, or per- 
 fume to the solid substance of a flower," passing 
 from it at death as vapour from the earth ; and, 
 though intangible and unseen, penetrating, like 
 the electric element, the most solid of bodies. 
 Others suppose that it is a principle, resembling 
 gravitation, or the magnetic fluid operating in- 
 visibly on the senses of the body, and being too 
 minute for the powers of the microscope, con- 
 sequently escaping the organs of vision. Some 
 have viewed the soul as possessing the nature of 
 angels ; and others, as being a portion of the 
 Deity. But what philosopher can analyze its 
 nature ? What anatomist discover its form and 
 habitation ? Like the fluids before mentioned, 
 it baffles our research ; and, though defining, 
 perceiving, and comprehending all, is itself unde- 
 fined, invisible, and unknown. But who would 
 suspect its reality, because it has neither been 
 seen, examined, or comprehended? As well 
 might we doubt the existence of the wind, the in- 
 fluence of gravitation, or the magnetic fluid ; and 
 as well might the blind deny the certainty of 
 sight. The operations of the soul, in like man-
 
 141 
 
 ner, as clearly prove its existence ; and they must 
 be blind, who, subscribing to truths so mysterious 
 in nature, withhold their assent to facts so mani- 
 fest in morals. 
 
 In common with the animal, the soul of 
 man is possessed of the faculty of sensation,- 
 that is, the power of hearing, and perceiving the 
 various objects of sense, and applying them to 
 the wants and comforts of the body. In distinc- 
 tion from the brute, the human senses are used 
 as the instruments of the soul, and are operated 
 on entirely by the influence of mind. It is not 
 the eye that sees ; for this, like any other matter, 
 is incapable of vision ; but it is a living principle 
 which, using the eye, as it often does glasses,, 
 reasons upon the size and properties of objects. 
 It is not the organ of hearing which is sensible of 
 sound, no more than the trumpet which minis- 
 ters to that purpose ; but it is the soul itself that 
 drinks in the richness of music, and derives such 
 speechless pleasure from the skill of the performer. 
 It is not the nerve of feeling that discloses, by a 
 touch,, the proportions of bodies, since a staff 
 may as well suffice as the hand ; but it is the 
 spirit that forms a judgment of external matter.
 
 142 
 
 and ascertains its bounds, qualities, and dimen- 
 sions. Similar observations apply to the rest 
 of the senses, which are merely the agents em* 
 ployed by the soul in manifesting and performing 
 her desires. Hence we infer, that our organs of 
 sense are in no respects ourselves, but are en- 
 tirely controlled by an independent principle. 
 Were the perceptive power and organs exactly 
 alike, it would follow, that were the latter de- 
 stroyed, the ideas of sense would terminate also ; 
 so that they who had lost their sight would cease 
 to have any ideas. But mental perceptions we 
 know are enjoyed by the blind; and in dreams 
 we are sure that the perceptive faculty is often 
 extremely vigilant, while the organs they make 
 use of are entombed in a temporary oblivion. If 
 the power then that operates remains in full force 
 after the suspension of its organs, it is reasona- 
 ble that it will survive the shock of the last 
 enemy ; and as the mental faculty often survives 
 the loss of many of our corporeal members, is it 
 not just as probable that it will survive the wreck 
 of all? 
 
 Contemplate the powers of the understanding! 
 What subject is too vast or feeble for the Intel-
 
 143 
 
 lect to penetrate? With the smallest animal- 
 cute that floats in a drop of water, to the mighti- 
 est planet which is whirled through space, the 
 mental vision is constantly occupied. The plants, 
 minerals, and properties of the earth, have been 
 severally analyzed ; and the history of its animals 
 critically unfolded. The atmosphere has been 
 decomposed the very lightning drawn down 
 from heaven, and all nature taught to subserve 
 the interests of man. Not content with ranging 
 abroad, the soul attempts to ascertain and define 
 the nature of its own powers. Enlightened by 
 the gospel, it subjects to its controul the wills 
 and passions of men, and improves itself and 
 others in knowledge and piety. It can ever tear 
 awaytfhe dark curtain of the grave ; and, entering 
 heaven by faith, listen to the melody of its angefe. 
 Consider too the sublimity of the will ! a faculty 
 empowering us in a moment to resolve upon a 
 course repugnant to the senses, and in many 
 cases, at first sight, utterly impossible : that pro- 
 duces, by a thought, the most astonishing results, 
 promotes the improvement of the intellect, and 
 prepares the soul for the enjoyment of heaven. 
 Witness also the treasures of the memory! a 
 faculty which identifies the present with the past
 
 ages of the world : which unfolds to us, in re j 
 trospect, the remotest action, circumstance, and 
 scene, and gifts the soul with a kind of mortal 
 omniscience, shadowing forth that God who 
 knows the past, the present, and the future. The 
 affections of the heart also reposing on the no- 
 blest and purest of objects, command the asto- 
 nishment of every meditating mind. Whence 
 arises that wish after immortality, which is never 
 satisfied till it rests in the possession of Almighty 
 God? These affections and desires proclaim 
 louder than language, that the soul came from 
 God, and is tending to him again. They seem 
 to be a faint reminiscence of Heaven, and a wish 
 of retasting its once enrapturing joys. " As no- 
 thing in nature is superior to man, so nothing in 
 man is superior to mind. This glances over the 
 universe, as it were, by magic, and plans in mo- 
 ments what the body executes in years. The 
 soul of man truly surpasses every object; and 
 more difficult, was it to form, than even the sun 
 itself. It is no wonder then, that the secrets of 
 its elements baffle the ingenuity and research of 
 the best metaphysicians. From Aristotle, down 
 to Locke and Berkeley, Reid, and Stewart, 
 which of them understood the nature of the soul?*
 
 But what are the most consolatory proofs 
 which establish the immortality of the soul ? 
 The most powerful, undoubtedly, is the testimony 
 of Scripture. From this fountain alone has ema- 
 nated all the moral light which we possess ; and 
 since there never was a time when man was 
 without a revelation, he must have been solely 
 indebted to it for all his religious ideas ; and this 
 is the reason why the immortality of the soul is 
 so decidedly taught by it, while all other argu- 
 ments are but the creatures of conjecture. That 
 nature taught the doctrine, is the grossest ab- 
 surdity; as nature is an effect, and not a cause ; 
 and, whether it be an abstract term for God. 
 or the light which he originally imparted; in 
 either case, the doctrine must have sprung from 
 Jehovah, and not from human, unassisted rea- 
 son. But if by nature is only meant the un- 
 taught intellect, it follows that it is incapable of 
 instructing itself. The immortality of the soul, 
 consequently, was never taught by nature; for 
 nature can teach nothing without instruction from 
 Jehovah. If the soul's immortality was disco- 
 vered by itself, why has it not learned too the 
 nature of its own existence, and the manner of 
 its union with this tabernacle of clay ? Though 
 
 No. XL 3
 
 philosophers have written several thousands of 
 years, why know they still as little of its secrets, 
 and why should a truth, the offspring of human 
 genius, still linger at the portal, when it should 
 have advanced long ago with the sciences up 
 the temple of improvement ? If this truth were 
 discovered, why were not, also, the mysteries 
 of mind? and like discovering the source of 
 some mighty river, why have we not arrived 
 at the source of its existence, and been enabled 
 to drink of those pure fountain streams which 
 are now so hidden from the view ? The scrip- 
 tures alone then have revealed this doctrine; and 
 if maintained by the pagan world, as is currently 
 reported, it must arise from tradition by the 
 dispersion of Noah's sons. That patriarch's fa- 
 mily must have been acquainted with it long 
 after their departure from the ark ; and although 
 numbers of them apostatized from the faith of 
 their ancestor, and became polluted by idolatry; 
 still they never entirely lost sight of many im- 
 portant truths, among which may be ranked the 
 
 immortality of the soul. 
 
 i> . -,,j.'^ .* 
 
 The consent of all nations, civilized and barba- 
 rous, is a powerful proof of the soul's immor-
 
 147 
 
 tality. Composed of nine hundred millions of 
 inhabitants, the Jewish, Pagan, Mahometan, and 
 Christian world, though differing widely on every 
 other subject, concur unanimously in this, that 
 whatever be the shape the Deity assumes, and 
 of whatever materials spirit may be composed, 
 the mind of man is certainly immortal. It was 
 maintained by the Romans, Egyptians, and 
 Greeks, in the hieroglyphics of butterflies, and 
 devices upon gems, statues, and vases. It is 
 confessed by the Persians, who leave part of 
 their graves open for the resurrection of the 
 body: by the Laplanders, who enclose a purse 
 of money in the coffins of the dead :< by the 
 Tartars, and North American Indians, in burying 
 their dead upright, to be prepared for resurrec- 
 tion; and by the Hindoo widow, who consumes 
 herself on the funeral pile to onjoy eternal life 
 with her husband. The same truth is believed 
 by the Hottentots, the Chinese, and the natives 
 of the Pelew islands, all differing, it is true, in the 
 manner of the soul's existence, but essentially 
 uniting in the fact of its immortality. This agree- 
 ment of all nations shows the common origin 
 whence it was derived ; for on what but moral 
 topics exists there such a wide and universal haj>
 
 148 
 
 mony ? It proves that mankind are one and the 
 same family ; and though scattered and divided 
 like the children of a common father, though un- 
 dergoing all the vicissitudes and suiferings of 
 humanity, they are solaced and supported by the 
 same precious hope of meeting and living for 
 ever one united and happy band. 
 
 The progressive tendency of mind towards 
 perfection is one of the strongest arguments 
 which reason can adopt. Every thing attains its 
 highest glory here except the soul of man. Ve- 
 getation rises no higher in the scale of excellence. 
 The fowls of the air still build their nests as they 
 did centuries ago. The -brute creation has al- 
 ways evinced the same sagacity and habits, and at- 
 tained the loftiest powers of which it is susceptible. 
 The human soul, on the contrary, has been dis- 
 tinguished for improvement. Whether we con- 
 sider the rise of man from barbarism to the 
 most polished refinement, from the darkest ig- 
 norance to the profoundest knowledge, from 
 the vilest depravity to the most exemplary piety, 
 he has ever exhibited progress towards perfec- 
 tion. What were Greece and Rome before the 
 days of Romulus and Homer ? What was civil-
 
 149 
 
 ized Europe before the conquesfof Julius Caesar? 
 and what was America previous to Columbus, 
 or even for a less space than one hundred years 
 ago ? The history of mind demonstrates! that 
 its conquests have been advancing. Having 
 moved six thousand years in the road of mental 
 labour, we still feel the poverty of what we know, 
 and are continually pressing forward to the dis- 
 covery of new wonders. Such will ever be the 
 tendency of mind. All the wealth of earth, all 
 the wisdom of ages, and all the discoveries of 
 ^genius, will never cloy the curiosity will never 
 suspend the exertions of the inquisitive soul. It 
 is panting for a state when it shall realize with 
 God an everlasting rest, and the perfection of 
 those faculties which it now feels obstructed ; 
 when, doomed no longer to a transitory being, 
 it shall exist for ever, vigorous and free, with no 
 obstacle to retard the advancement of its powers. 
 
 The immortality of the soul appears further 
 evident, from its frequently rising above the 
 weakness of the body. Instances are recorded, 
 not only of premature genius discovered in chil- 
 dren, but of lofty flights of intellect in the feeble, 
 the diseased, the aged, and the dying. When
 
 150 
 
 the body is sinking under the violence of disor- 
 der, and unable to exert a single faculty or 
 muscle, why, let me ask, is the mind often vigilant, 
 collected, and powerful ? Does it not prove that 
 the soul of man is independent of the body, and 
 outliving the tenement which is mouldering 
 around it ? Cases may be furnished of the mind's 
 apparent decay, but these are instances when 
 the bodily organs are so weakened and impaired 
 that the soul cannot act through them ; and, as 
 a broken instrument, stops the efforts of the per- 
 former; so, the diseased body will suspend, for a 
 season, the operations of the soul. The eye 
 cannot see, the ear hear, or the hand feel, be- 
 cause the vital circulation is impeded in its chan- 
 nel : but the reasoning faculty, independent of 
 this, may be all the while regaling itself in the 
 discoveries of divine wisdom, and urging its 
 flight above the regions of the stars. If then 
 the mind expire with the body, why is it often 
 active when the other is exhausted ? Why towers 
 it frequently above the weakness of the frame, 
 retaining to the very last the full exertion of its 
 powers ? Why does it repeatedly evidence, at 
 the very eve of its departure, brighter scintilla- 
 tions of thought than it ever did in its healthiest
 
 151 
 
 career? It must be, that the mind, undisturbed 
 by the calamity which affects its partner, is be- 
 coming liberated from its bonds, and better capa- 
 ble of exercise. It seems hovering like an angel 
 within the walls of its prison-house; and linger- 
 ing, amid the ruins of its clay-cold tenement, to 
 assure weeping survivors of the truth of its im- 
 mortality. 
 
 The aspiration of the soul after something 
 greater and better than* itself, is a demonstra- 
 tion of its immortality. As all our ideas are 
 the result of information, whence could so 
 sublime a conception as this have germi- 
 nated, unless from a Divine communication 
 previously imparted to the mind ? That the hope 
 of immortality could have been the fruit of the 
 untutored intellect, is a supposition irreconcilea- 
 ble with the laborious training it must submit to, 
 before it comprehends the simplest principles of 
 science. As this anticipation must spring from 
 a divine source, it carries with it its own irresisti- 
 ble evidence. This comports with sound phi- 
 losophy. If man is capable of conceiving a more 
 glorious state than the present, which he is never 
 to realize, is it not an imputation on the wisdom
 
 152 
 
 of the Supreme Being in creating him less perfect 
 than his fancy can imagine, and inspiring him 
 with hopes which were never to be gratified ? If 
 he can picture to himself lovelier scenes, and 
 more delicious enjoyments than this world can 
 yield him, there must be a prototype to produce 
 the image on his mind ; as the shadow pre-sup- 
 poses a substance, and light, the existence of a 
 luminous body. Could a bliss be conceived of 
 in heaven more transporting than its own, there 
 would still be another heaven beyond : and hence 
 we infer, that as the imagination does not realize 
 the perfection which it covets here ; as it looks 
 forward to " a new heaven a new earth," and 
 immortal glory, they must consequently exist, to 
 account for its aspirations, and reconcile the at- 
 tributes of the Divinity. 
 
 " Shall I be left abandon'd in the dust, 
 
 When fate relenting, lets the flow'rs revive ? 
 Shall nature's voice, to man alone unjust, 
 
 Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to live ? 
 Is it for this, fair virtue oft must strive, 
 
 With disappointment, penury, and pain ? 
 No ! heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive, 
 
 And man's majestic beauty bloom again, 
 Bright, through the eternal year of love's triumphant 
 reign."
 
 That mind is immortal, may be further in- 
 ferred, from its frequently surviving the loss of its 
 bodily members. We may be deprived of our 
 limbs, and yet the intellect will continue unim- 
 paired ; and, on the other hand, the body may 
 remain in cloudless vigour, while the intellect IF 
 broken down with infirmity. Cases are on re- 
 cord, of persons, whose spinal marrow had been 
 injured, who not only survived the shock, but pre- 
 served their reason entire. Even the brain, often 
 considered as the thinking faculty, may receive 
 considerable detriment without diminishing in the 
 least the powers of intelligence. It has been 
 totally diseased, and large portions of it have 
 been repeatedly removed, without any mental 
 injury following. The heart also has not only 
 been disordered, but its functions have been so 
 impeded, as almost to endanger vitality; yet 
 the intellectual faculty has still maintained its 
 energy; and so also the blood, supposed by 
 many to be the seat of life, has been almost 
 drained from the arteries, but yet the powers of 
 the soul have still continued unshaken. Does not 
 this establish, beyond a doubt, that mind is inde* 
 pendent of the body ? and, although compelled 
 to use it for the purposes of animal life, is, in no 
 - No. XI. 4
 
 154 
 
 respect, indebted to it for intellectual vigour? 
 To search then for the soul amid the bodily mem- 
 bers, is like seeking the master among his slaves, 
 like finding the musician among the chords 
 swept over by his hand. Must we not conclude, 
 that the mind, which is so unaffected by the loss 
 of its organs, is consequently unliable to dissolu- 
 tion, and must no doubt survive the loss of every 
 corporeal faculty? It is also a well-known fact 
 in physics, that the human body changes its en- 
 tire substance within a very few years, so that 
 every particle it possessed becomes altogether 
 new. " An absorbent system exists in the brain," 
 according to the ingenious Mr. Rennell, " by 
 which, in process of time, that organ with 
 the body undergoes a total change. Now, if the 
 particles of the brain were capable of conscious- 
 ness, consciousness would cease upon their re- 
 moval; and personal identity would be destroyed. 
 Personal identity depends on consciousness ; and, 
 as that consciousness continues, it must be some- 
 thing which does not fluctuate and change ; some- 
 thing extraneous to the brain. The body, like 
 the Paralus of Athens, may, by the deposition of 
 new particles similar to those absorbed, preserve 
 an appearance of identity, when no one particla
 
 remains unaltered. But there is no appearance 
 of consciousness : in consciousness the individu- 
 ality must be real; and this, seeing the brain 
 transmutates, can only be by the existence of an 
 immaterial essence which never changes." From 
 all this it is concluded, that although the body 
 changes, yet the soul itself is always the same indi- 
 vidual being. The memory, volition, understand- 
 ing, and affections, are the same it possessed 
 in childhood ; and amid all the revolutions which 
 the frame has undergone, it is sensible of no 
 change but the change of improvement. Is it 
 not more than probable, that as it outlives the 
 mutations of the body, it will also survive the 
 last change of death, and that it is consequently 
 immaterial, imperishable, and immortal ? 
 
 We shall arrive at similar conclusions, if we 
 contemp'ate the distinctiveness of mind from 
 matter. Lunacy, for instance, owes not its origin 
 to a malformation of the brain, so much as to 
 various moral causes, which rather require a 
 moral than physical treatment; and even where 
 its structure is disturbed, it may be regarded more 
 as the consequence, than the cause of the dis- 
 ease. In the indulgence of the passions, too.
 
 auger precedes the hastened circulation ; sorrow, 
 tears , and joy, the indulgence of laughter. 
 Something superior to the senses must regulate 
 the movements of the body; for some of those 
 may be affected by paralysis, and yet the mind 
 itself may remain unaffected. A few sounds 
 on the tympanum of the ear, or a few written 
 characters on paper, will make a powerful im- 
 pression on one person, which, observed by an- 
 other, would not produce the least effect. That 
 the mind only regards the object, is obvious, when 
 we consider that the eye cannot perceive the 
 loveliest object of creation, the ear cannot at- 
 tend to the voice that accosts it, and the fra- 
 grance of the flower never invites the smell, 
 unless their notice be particularly aroused. For 
 a short time after death, the bodily senses are as 
 entire as before it; and it is plain, that nothing is 
 absent but the living agent which governed them. 
 But where is its habitation ? Every particle of 
 the brain, even the pineal gland, has been de- 
 stroyed by disease, and almost every portion of 
 the body has been amputated and removed ; but 
 yet the seat of the mental faculty has remained 
 undetected. Who then does not infer from the 
 distinctiveness of mind from matter, that the 
 former must for ever survive the latter ?
 
 (57 
 
 To these arguments might be added the dread 
 of annihilation indulged by the soul, its thirst 
 after fame, its consciousness of superiority to 
 matter, its desire after perfection, its incapa- 
 bility of extension, divisibility, or space, the 
 fear of apparitions, experienced by all nations, 
 the rudest as well as the most refined ; and what 
 is of deeper weight than many others, the cases 
 of suspended animation and trance the pheno- 
 menon of dreaming, in which the mind is wakeful 
 and collected, while the powers of the body are 
 enchained in a temporary lethargy. 
 
 The endless duration of the soul is also cor- 
 roborated by the general analogy of nature. 
 As matter is imperishable, shall we not conclude 
 that mind is so also ? Wood may be reduced 
 to ashes, but the ashes remain to fertilize the 
 earth. Vegetation decays, but only to give birth 
 to another race of plants. The chrysalysis 
 bursts its narrow tomb, and soars to renovated 
 existence in a more glorious form. The animal 
 dies, but from its dust spring innumerable herbs, 
 which enliven and sustain other tribes of animals. 
 Even the human frame mingles with the clod of 
 the valley, to impart renewed fertility to its soil.
 
 158 
 
 The willow, which grows upon our friends' graves, 
 may receive part of its nourishment from the 
 bodies beneath it, and evidence the vigour it de- 
 rives in its leaves, branches, and fruit. The bird 
 which feeds upon the latter, and carols over the 
 grave, may be partially indebted for the sweetness 
 of its song to the ashes of our friends. If then 
 not a single particle of matter is lost or annihi- 
 lated in creation, is it possible, arguing from the 
 less to the greater, that God will permit the glo- 
 rious spirit to perish ? Shall the soul be denied 
 a privilege granted to the cold, inanimate dust? 
 Shall matter exist, while " the image of God" is 
 mouldering in the ground? Shall trees, birds, 
 and animals, outlive man by centuries, and shall 
 their civil governor be limited to a few transient 
 years ? Shall the proudest monuments of ar- 
 chitecture and of art survive, and the illustrious 
 minds that planned them be swept away in ruin ? 
 Shall the churches, founded by St. Peter, Timo- 
 thy, and St. Paul, still flourish, and do these re- 
 nowned apostles exist no more to witness the 
 fruits and triumphs of their labours ? No ! " God 
 is the God of Abraham, Isaac, 'and Jacob," 
 though man is long outlived by hosts of birds, 
 animals, and plants. The illustrious dead still
 
 exist St. Peter, Timothy, and St. Paul, are 
 now alive in heaven ; and though their bodies 
 have long ago decayed, they live unto God, cele- 
 brating the conquests of His church, and waiting 
 till all the redeemed of the earth shall have been 
 clothed upon with immortality. 
 
 Who would not rather be an animal or plant, if 
 this mortal life is to terminate our career? If 
 spirit be not immortal, what apology can there 
 be for moral evil? what consolation for sorrow? 
 What reparation for the wrongs endured by 
 thousands ? Are we merely born to view the lus- 
 tre of our own genius, and then to sink forgotten 
 and dishonoured into the grave ? Are we never 
 to embrace again the dear offspring of our 
 bosom, the venerable parents we loved, the 
 companion who was the life of our existence, 
 the friends whose stream of happiness mingled 
 with our own ? Are we never to wake from the 
 dream of life, and experience that bliss which 
 ;t eye hath not seen, ear heard, or hath it entered 
 into the heart of man to conceive ?" Oh God ! 
 Is there no reality in these glorious prospects of 
 heaven ; but does 
 
 Darkness, death, and long despair, 
 Reiffn in eternal silence there ?
 
 It cannot be ! The torch of revelation has dis- 
 pelled the darkness which brooded over the tomb, 
 and lighted up the heart with the hope of im- 
 mortality. " The body returns to the earth as it 
 was, but the spirit, to God that gave it." " For 
 we know that if our earthly house of this taber- 
 nacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, 
 a house not made with hands, eternal in the 
 heavens." 
 
 "The soul, of origin divine, 
 God's glorious image freed from clay, 
 Jn heav'n's eternal sphere shall shine 
 
 A star of day. 
 
 The sun is but a spark of fire, 
 A transient meteor in the sky ; 
 The soul immortal as its sire, 
 
 Shall never die,*
 
 THE FAITHFUL 
 
 The brave young knight that hath no lady love, 
 Is like a lamp unlighted ; his brave deeds 
 And its rich painting do seem then most glorious, 
 When the pure ray gleams through them. SCOTT. 
 
 AT the beginning of the present century, be- 
 fore the funeral fires of war were lighted up in 
 Greece, modern Athens was the most beautiful 
 and flourishing of its towns. It contained about 
 12,000 inhabitants, of whom only a fifth were 
 Turks, and a large number of foreigners, who 
 were drawn together as to a focus, not only by its 
 antiquities and centrality of situation, but from 
 its fine exposure to the sea, and the numerous 
 islands which skirted the neighbouring coast. 
 The few Turks inhabiting it, by their mingling 
 so long with its European society, acquired a 
 suavity and refinement unnatural to their nation, 
 and associated more upon a level with the native 
 Greek inhabitants. The traveller here felt him- 
 self at home, and enjoyed higher privileges and 
 
 No. XII. 1
 
 162 
 
 comforts than many other places afforded : the 
 state of society was more refined : the intellectual 
 powers were more awakened and exercised : the 
 endearments of domestic life were more keenly 
 relished; and the women, being more accustomed 
 to the intercourse of strangers, were less reserved 
 in their manners, and far more intelligent and 
 lovely than in any other parts of Greece. Here 
 stood the proud temple of Theseus, the remains 
 of the parthenon, the tower of the winds adorned 
 by its admirable sculpture, with many other pre- 
 cious relics of classic glory, contributing to ren- 
 der Athens not merely the resort of the antiquary 
 and the scholar, but the illustrious monument of 
 what human genius can achieve. 
 
 But Athens has assumed a far different aspect 
 since the commencement of the war. The torch 
 of the Ottoman has consumed many noble ves- 
 tiges of former grandeur ; and wherever the tra- 
 veller passes, it is through bloody solitudes, and 
 cheerless ruins ; and his eye reposes on many a 
 village and temple levelled to the ground, and 
 the standard of the crescent waving over spots 
 hallowed by the shadow of the cross. Athens 
 has been of late years, with many other
 
 the scene of daring sieges, cruel massacres, and 
 conflagrations ; and its inhabitants have suffered 
 all the horrors of expatriation and slavery. Some 
 have sought refuge from the enemy among the 
 barren solitudes of Salamis ; others have dwelt 
 in mountain caverns, or rude huts constructed in 
 the wilderness, by their own feeble hands, while 
 myriads have fallen victims to the pestilence, the 
 severity of foreign climates, to famine, thirst, and 
 nakedness, and what is worse, to the withering 
 curse of despair.*' But like their own temple of 
 Theseus, which lately received the shock of the 
 thunderbolt without sustaining the least injury ; 
 or like the* forest tree of their own mountains, 
 which proudly waves over the desolation below 
 it, the suffering Greeks have resisted the shock 
 of their oppressors, and they still continue to 
 tower above the storm, which is awfully rolling 
 round their land. The history of individual suf- 
 fering would be the history of that of Greece, as 
 almost every family has shared in the afflictions 
 of the war, and none has been exempted by 
 reason of wealth, influence, or rank. Owing to 
 the indignities and oppression inflicted by the 
 Turks, the Greeks have acquired a ferocity of 
 character unknown to their illustrious predeces-
 
 104 
 
 sors ; and who can wonder, if beholding the rum 
 of their altars, and their homes, and themselves 
 hunted down and degraded like slaves, or beasts 
 of prey; if feeling themselves abandoned like 
 outcasts by the Christian world, and possessed 
 of no other resource but their scimetar, and 
 their God, they have almost regarded every one 
 as an enemy, and been familiar with rapine, de- 
 vastation, and blood ? But as the deepest dark- 
 ness precedes the morning, so the bitterest suf- 
 ferings of this people have ushered in the dawn 
 of their deliverance. Christian nations are 
 awakening to assert their rights ; and a few 
 years, we trust, will amply repay them for all 
 their injuries and wrongs. One case may be 
 mentioned among the rest, which, if it prove 
 the magnanimity and bravery of the Grecian cha- 
 racter, illustrates the brutality and injustice of 
 the Ottomans. 
 
 The sun was going down upon the gulf of 
 jEgina, and clothing, with a soft mantle of light, 
 the distant ruins of Athens, which seemed to the 
 spectator like the present condition of Greece, 
 illuminated in its closing hour by the prospect of 
 deliverance. A few straggling barks were lazily
 
 165 
 
 floating down the unruffled tide ; and some dis- 
 mantled vessels of war were moored near the 
 beach, being either unfit for service, or waiting 
 for the summons of battle. Occasional flocks 
 of crane, and the white stork, with here and 
 there a solitary curlew, were fluttering up and 
 down the shore : swarms of various insects were 
 glittering in the expiring sunbeams; and the dark 
 blue ocean was sweetly slumbering under the still 
 serenity of a breathless sky, which was almost 
 without a cloud. The neighbouring islands of 
 ^Egina and Salamis appeared like fairy couches 
 curtained by the golden clouds of the west, for 
 the repose of the Grecian Gods ; and every ob- 
 ject around wore that rich, magic mellowness for 
 which a classical landscape is so emphatically 
 prized. 
 
 Seemingly forgetful of their country's suffer- 
 ings, a party of young people were assembled 
 upon the seashore, dancing the Romaika to the 
 music of violins and rustic pipes. The circle 
 consisted of young men and girls, who, holding 
 each other by the hand, were following the move- 
 ments of a beautiful Greek maid. At one time 
 she would dart along, drawing her companions
 
 16C 
 
 under their upraised hands; at another, she would 
 conduct them by such intricate windings, as 
 almost to endanger the breaking the chain of 
 hands and the unity of the measure ; but she inva- 
 riably delighted by the gracefulness of her evolu- 
 tions, as well as by the charms of her person and 
 wit. Her light auburn hair was crowned with 
 flowers ; a snow-white veil modestly floated down 
 her face ; and a rich embroidered cestus encir- 
 cled her slender form. Her face was perfectly 
 Grecian, and her full black eyes could not fail to 
 thrill the gazer with unutterable delight. She 
 was the daughter of two aged peasants who re- 
 sided at Athens ; and though she had numerous 
 admirers, none had ever possessed her heart. 
 The horrors of war brooded over the land, and 
 while her parents were alive, she indulged no de- 
 sire to connect herself with any one, who might 
 possibly involve her in misfortune. But how can 
 woman indulge so unnatural a hope ? How can 
 she stifle a passion which nature's God has sanc- 
 tioned and inspired, and refuse the protection of 
 one who is dearer than father or mother? Though 
 the promise may tremble on her lips, it has no 
 resting place in the heart; and she who avowed 
 herself an apostate to the worship of the lovely
 
 167 
 
 goddess, reverently bends before her altar when- 
 ever the all-subduing passion takes possession of 
 her soul. 
 
 At this dance there was a young man, the son 
 of a wealthy Greek merchant of Corinth who 
 had retired, at the commencement of the war, to 
 the romantic cliffs of Lepsina, once Eleusis, about 
 twelve miles from Athens, where, with a wife and 
 three daughters, he was desirous of spending 
 his days. It was the first time Demetrius had 
 ever seen Mosco ; but the impression was as in- 
 delible as if it had been for ever. Her meek be- 
 seeching look, her airy step, the pulsation of 
 her hand, as it faintly beat in his own while 
 led by it in the dance, had made a conquest of 
 his heart, and he longed to become acquainted 
 with her. But they who know the strictness with 
 which Grecian girls are sec'uded by their pa- 
 rents, will be aware of the difficulties of Deme- 
 trius. He followed her home that evening, but 
 had not courage enough to accost her; and so 
 delicate is true affection, that it trembles lest 
 even its honourable advances should be construed 
 into rudeness. Many a night, when ail was still, 
 did he hover around her cottage, playing under
 
 168 
 
 the windows some melodious token of his passion. 
 But he never could arrest her attention except 
 once, when he caught her sweet countenance for 
 an instant through the lattice; but a chiding voice 
 was heard, and she was gone. He returned to his 
 parents and sisters at Lepsina, but his heart still 
 hovered around the Athenian cottage. Nothing 
 can shake off from a man the indulgence of the 
 soft passion but the pursuits of active enterprise; 
 and about this time it was currently reported that 
 a Turkish fleet was seen about the harbour, and 
 preparing to exterminate the remaining strength 
 of Athens. Every Greek capable of bearing arms 
 was immediately enlisted in the ranks ; and De- 
 metrius among the rest was compelled to forget 
 the spoils of love for those of a warlike camp. 
 Many secret landings, it was said, of the enemy 
 were effected ; and many outrages and violences 
 committed upon the inhabitants around the coast; 
 but the Grecian army was small, and unprepared 
 for- the assault, and there was no probability of its 
 escaping the destruction of the assailants. De- 
 metrius was quartered near the seashore, not 
 far from the cottage of Mosco, and had leisure 
 to reflect upon the beloved being whom he was 
 called upon to protect.
 
 169 
 
 Mosco was aware of the passion of Deme- 
 trius, for she was not indifferent to his burning 
 gaze, and the assiduity with which he sought, 
 and watched about the cottage. Woman may 
 seem blind to the attentions of the other sex, but 
 not a single motion escapes her penetrating 
 glance; for there is a kind of magical commu- 
 nication between the lover and the object, which, 
 like the unseen mirror reflecting the faintest ray 
 of light, will render it impossible for the loved one 
 to be insensible to all that passes. There is a 
 sort of contagiousness too about the passion, im- 
 parting to the beloved object a kindred feeling 
 with the lover's ; and no matter how estranged 
 in every other respect, they will harmonize when 
 conscious of a reciprocal flame, as a musical 
 chord is agitated by the vibration of its octave, 
 
 The Athenians were not only liable to the as- 
 saults of the Turkish inhabitants, but they were 
 also exposed to the incursions of their pirates 
 and coasting vessels, whose sole object was plun- 
 der, and the capture of the Grecian women. 
 One dark night, several daring Turks landed be- 
 hind a shadowy promontory, and made the best 
 of their way to Athens. Not a soldier or living 
 
 No. XII.~ 2
 
 170 
 
 creature intercepted their progress, aiid they cau- 
 tiously pursued their way to a neat cottage which 
 stood upon the road. Bursting the door, and 
 rushing into the apartment, they found Mosco 
 with her terrified parents. She shrieked at the 
 sight of the barbarians, who were proceeding to 
 tie her hands, and put the aged couple to death. 
 But a violent rush was heard at the door, and a 
 band of Greek soldiers appeared. The Turks 
 were soon overcome, and the unfortunate family 
 was liberated. But what were the sensations of 
 Demetrius, who was the Captain of the party, 
 as he gazed upon the same dark melting eyes, 
 and listened to the same entrancing voice which 
 had enchained his affections at the dance ? Mosco 
 caught his impassioned look, and a sweet, grate- 
 ful smile played upon her cheek, as delicate as 
 the mountain lily. Her parents thanked him 
 again and again; but how poor were thanks, com- 
 pared with the recompense he had obtained ! His 
 eagle eye had watched over the cottage had 
 detected the movements of the ruffians, and he 
 was determined to fall upon them. Mosco could 
 not but love him; for if love is enkindled by gra- 
 titude, how much livelier does it burn when it is 
 fanned by true attachment ! Every moment De~
 
 17J 
 
 metrius could spare from the army he was with 
 her. The perilous state of the country ren- 
 dered it hazardous for them to ramble abroad ; 
 and except an occasional walk by moonlight 
 around the Parthenon, or along the cool shores 
 of the Ilissus, they seldom ventured from the cot- 
 tage. Mosco's parents highly approved of her 
 choice ; for he was a brave and handsome sol- 
 dier, and capable of making her happy. They 
 agreed to be married on the following week ; but 
 who can calculate upon the reverses of Provi- 
 dence ? Demetrius was encamped upon a vast 
 plain overlooking the sea : hostile fleets were 
 sailing on its bosom, and the Turks of the Morea 
 and other neighbouring towns were arraying 
 themselves for battle. The Acropolis was but 
 feebly garrisoned by a brave detachment of 
 Greeks, and fresh supplies from Attica were mo- 
 mentarily expected. The frequent roar of can- 
 non along the distant shores, filled our lover with 
 the darkest apprehensions, as he knew that fa- 
 vourable winds might hasten on the enemy, who 
 would soon put to flight his delicious dreams of 
 happiness. He thought of the desolate condi- 
 tion of Greece of his father's family at Lep- 
 sina. and more especially of Mosco and her pa*
 
 172 
 
 rents, who, in case of danger, would fall into the 
 hands of the Ottomans. His reflections were 
 disturbed, by immediate orders to stand in readi- 
 ness for an assault, as aft army of Turks was 
 approaching from Livadia. The Greeks were 
 attacked about midnight ; but what could their 
 bravery effect against superiority of force ? Tem- 
 ples shared no better fate than private dwellings : 
 the shrieks of the women, the shouts of the 
 Turkish soldiers, and the thunder of the artillery, 
 filled the soul of Demetrius with horror. He 
 fought as valiantly as Leonidas ; but the hope of 
 saving his betrothed bride excited him to fly, 
 if possible, to the cottage, and shield her from 
 the fury of the storm. At the hazard of his life, 
 he cleared his way through heaps of bodies, and 
 falling ruins, and struck off into the main road ; 
 but a detachment of Turkish cavalry was block- 
 ing up its passes. He concluded that his best 
 plan was to pursue the oblique windings of the 
 shore, and take advantage of a dark forest in 
 tracing his way to the cottage. After many 
 circuitous steps, he arrived at the well known 
 spot, but all was darkness and desolation. He 
 entered the open hall-door, but no light struck 
 his eye every thing was still within : the furni-
 
 173 
 
 ture had been all removed, and the house, it was 
 plain, had been stripped of its inhabitants. He 
 vainly called upon the name of Mosco and her 
 parents, but he was merely answered by the din 
 of war from without, and the hollow sounds of 
 his footsteps as they rung through the empty 
 rooms. Searching through the hall, he stumbled 
 over something like bodies; and, by the faint 
 light of the stars, he perceived that one of them 
 was a woman, and the agonizing suspicion came 
 over him that perhaps it was the body of his 
 Mosco. In wild despair he drew them to the 
 door, and perceived that they were Mosco's pa- 
 rents, who, all mangled and bloody, must have 
 been murdered by the Turks. Satisfied that 
 Mosco was not in the house, he was determined 
 that their bodies should not be thus trampled upon, 
 but should both be committed to an honourable 
 grave. In the midst of his reflections, he heard 
 approaching footsteps from the highway, and 
 safety prompted him to take refuge in an adjoin- 
 ing chamber. The clatter of voices and feet 
 rang through the house, and approached the room 
 where Demetrius was a prisoner. He lay 
 stretched out, feigning himself dead, and even 
 felt the feet of the soldiers kicking him aside, a*
 
 174 
 
 they were searching the room for more plunder, 
 A moment more, and they were gone. He raised 
 gently up, and still hearing steps, he deemed it 
 Prudent to lie still ; but very shortly he was en- 
 veloped in a dense smoke that scarcely allowed 
 him to breathe. He rushed through the column 
 of vapour, and perceived that the cottage was 
 on fire. He escaped wildly from the place, and 
 betook himself to the road that led from the city. 
 The violence of battle had died away ; the 
 morning was just dawning ; and among the half- 
 burnt houses, and tottering walls, it was mournful 
 to view emaciated wretches expiring from their 
 wounds, women pale and haggard, suckling 
 their half-starved infants, or watching some 
 lifeless bodies of which the late carnage had de- 
 prived them. The cries of distress which every 
 where assailed his ears, and the contemplation 
 of the smoking ruins, caused Demetrius to burst 
 into tears. " Oh God," he cried out, " hast thou 
 no pity upon my poor unfortunate country, but 
 wilt thou suffer our wives, our children, and our 
 homes, to fall a prey to the Barbarians ? Yes ! 
 Greece is perishing, and there is none that will 
 save her !" Thus cried the wretched man, as 
 be turned aside from the main road, and laid
 
 175 
 
 himself down in a sheltered grove to rest, alter 
 the exertions of the night. The enemy had 
 abandoned Athens, and only left it sufficient 
 strength to feel sensible of its wretchedness; 
 and except its Greek inhabitants, there were 
 only a few straggling wretches watching behind 
 for plunder. Demetrius could not sleep : the most 
 horrible dreams disturbed him : he thought that 
 he had found Mosco weltering in her blood, arid 
 that he was avenging her death upon her mur- 
 derers. Now he was hurried through frightful 
 chasms, and conflagrations, and battles, and 
 then he beheld his parents and sisters mur- 
 dered in the solitudes of Lepsina. He awoke, 
 and determined to go in quest of his father's fa- 
 mily j but looking around he saw the counte- 
 nances of several fierce Turks, who were holding 
 over him their scimetars, and commanding him, 
 under pain of death, immediately to follow them. 
 They conducted him more than a mile, to a mo- 
 nastic looking building, inhabited, no doubt, by 
 some of the Turkish marauders, who were thriving 
 on the misfortunes of Greece. To recount the 
 sufferings he experienced would be impossible, 
 being doomed to the most servile offices of do- 
 mestic drudgery by day, and the incessant fatigue
 
 by night of guarding the premises against the 
 attacks of his own people. He endured the 
 severest reproaches and cruelties; and kind- 
 ness was promised only on condition of his aban- 
 doning the Greek cause. His only chance of 
 escaping was in the absence of his inhuman mas- 
 ters. Regularly once a week they left the do- 
 mains under the charge of two of their number ; 
 their object being to seize upon whatever booty 
 they could procure, and store it away in their 
 castle. He resolved to make his escape the 
 very next opportunity, and seek an asylum under 
 his father's roof. But he knew not whether he 
 had parents or sisters, since they might have 
 shared the same fate with Mosco and her parents. 
 Captives there must have been in the building 
 he inhabited, for he heard many voices of la- 
 mentation long after he had retired to rest, and 
 he had no doubt but there were Greek women 
 among the number. One day, while busily en- 
 gaged at work in the upper part of the building, 
 he heard a noise behind him, and looking through 
 a narrow lattice, saw a female countenance : but 
 what was his amazement, when he recognised 
 the face of Mosco! He tremblingly accosted 
 her. They looked at one another in speechless
 
 177 
 
 delight; and after learning from her lips the 
 sufferings which she had endured, he hastily 
 told her not to despair, promising that he would 
 deliver her from thraldom, during the very next ab- 
 sence of the Turks. But what an age every mo- 
 ment appeared, till the anticipated period ar- 
 rived ! The following day, he was ordered, on 
 pain of death, to look well to his duty until 
 the return of his masters. He waited a full hour 
 after their departure ; and when all was quiet, he 
 stole into the ammunition room, and arming him- 
 self with every necessary defence, he hastened 
 immediately to the apartment of his mistress. 
 It was the work of a moment to force the door, 
 and in an instant they were descending the steps 
 of the monastery. The Turks little suspected 
 their prisoner's design. They were dreaming 
 of the war, at the entrance of the gate, and 
 altogether unprepared for the vigilant Demetrius. 
 They passed the sleeping sentries, who never lis- 
 tened to their footsteps ; and long before the rest 
 of the party were apprized of their escape, they 
 had considerably advanced towards the plains of 
 Eleusis. 
 
 iYIosco informed Demetrius that the Turks had 
 No. XII. s /
 
 inhumanly butchered her parents, and that she 
 had been brought to the monastery by one of 
 the chiefs, who had persuaded her in vain to be 
 his mistress. They travelled silently onward, 
 fearful of being overheard, being too much oc- 
 cupied by their own safety to attend to any other 
 concern. Having left the plain of Athens far 
 behind, and wound round the hill of Corydalus, 
 they listened to the trampling of horses from 
 the rear. They quickened their pace, and 
 were entering beneath the shadowy cliffs of the 
 seashore, when they saw their Turkish tyrants 
 gaining fast upon them ; but by a dexterous move- 
 ment, the lovers hid themselves into a hollow cleft, 
 dark with mountain oak and pine, and through 
 crevices of the rocks, they perceived them winding 
 down the hill, and moving off by a different road 
 from that which Demetrius meant to take, tt 
 was his intention to go directly to his father's, 
 and place Mosco under the charge of his sisters, 
 as he might be desirous once more of taking an 
 active part in the war. In a short time he arrived 
 at the paternal mansion, which was delightfully 
 situated at the head of the Eleusinean gulf, beyond 
 which was an arid level, relieved only by a few 
 Balarian oaks and Olive trees, and Mount Parne?
 
 179 
 
 m the perspective, adorned by its tbrest of 
 firs. The family received them with every de- 
 monstration of joy. The war had swept past 
 it without the infliction of worse misfortunes 
 than occasional depredations upon its property ; 
 and in the society of Demetrius's sisters and mo- 
 ther, Mosco felt herself at home. 
 
 But Demetrius felt that it was his duty to as- 
 sert the injured cause of his country, and ac- 
 cordingly soon after joined the Grecian army. 
 Having crossed Phocis and Boeotia with 30,000 
 men, Omer Vrioni attacked the city of Corinth, 
 which, after a feeble resistance, surrendered to 
 his arms, leaving him in possession of its for- 
 tresses, and the command of the Argolic plain. 
 Here Demetrius was stationed; and while va- 
 liantly defending the garrison, he was taken 
 prisoner with a number of his own troops ; and 
 as the Turkish forces were destined for Napoli. 
 was sent with the prisoners in a vessel sail- 
 ing to the Dardanelles for a fresh supply of pro- 
 visions for the army. He was now upon the 
 wide ocean ; and as the mountains and spires of 
 Corinth diminished to a single point, he began to 
 feel himself in the power of the Turks, and
 
 180 
 
 awake to the wretchedness of his situation. He 
 could not shed a tear for himself: the afflicted 
 thousands of Greece the condition of his own 
 family, and the orphaned Mosco, called forth all 
 his sympathy; and the thought that he might 
 never see them more drove him almost to despair. 
 After a long and tedious journey, he arrived 
 at Constantinople. Though a miserable slave, 
 he could not but admire the innumerable roofs, 
 balconies, and domes, swelling above each other 
 like amphitheatres ; together with the splendid 
 seraglios, monasteries, and churches, which adorn- 
 ed this noblest of Asiatic cities. But though he 
 found here a thousand objects of admiration, he 
 felt but little interest in the scene, being altogether 
 absorbed in his troubles, and the slavery he was 
 to undergo. Oh, how does the most beautiful 
 object become changed, to the bosom that is 
 overcharged with sorrow ! The medium through 
 which the mind views the object, has been 
 distorted and dim, and how should it other- 
 wise than disregard the most glorious of Hea- 
 ven's gifts ? Blest with the society of his Mosco, 
 and undisturbed by the calamities which preyed 
 upon his country, Demetrius would have enjoyed 
 the scene almost as the effect of enchantment.
 
 181 
 
 and been excited to gaze at those innumerable 
 curiosities which are the pride and the ornament 
 of Turkey. 
 
 The city at this time was uncommonly throng- 
 ed, not only by the vast influx of foreigners, com- 
 bined with the Turkish interest, but by crowds 
 of native Turks, who were drawn together to 
 learn the particulars of the war; and to be- 
 hold and bid upon the Greek captives, who 
 were to be exposed for sale at their markets. 
 An important sale had been several days an- 
 nounced, and Demetrius was among its unfor- 
 tunate victims. He had no doubt of falling 
 into the possession of some remorseless Turk, 
 who, if he did not take his life, would render it 
 a burden. He began to grow weary of his ex- 
 istence ; and since he had lost all worth living 
 for, he became indifferent to every thing. It is 
 cowardly, nay, criminal, to abandon our trust in 
 an overruling Power ; and because we cannot 
 devise means of escape, to despair of deliverance 
 from our trials. But poor human nature requires 
 continual incentives to sustain a long series of 
 troubles ; and without the especial interference
 
 182 
 
 of Heaven, we should often sink under their 
 pressure. 
 
 Though the Greeks were generally successful 
 in their contests with the Turks, they could not 
 escape depredations on the seacoasts, from which 
 frequently many families, and much property 
 were carried away in their vessels. Greek prison- 
 ers were constantly arriving at the various de- 
 pots of Turkey, and particularly at the capital, 
 where slaves are so exceedingly valued. When 
 the expected day arrived, the slave-market was 
 crowded with a multitude of both sexes, sitting 
 in a melancholy posture, and waiting for the ex- 
 amination of the inquisitive purchasers, who 
 were beginning to single out their victims. At 
 these inhuman marts, the unfortunate beings are 
 narrowly inspected ; they to whom Nature has 
 been parsimonious of her charms, are devoted to 
 the meanest and most servile employments: 
 while those to whom she has been most liberal, 
 partake of the highest favours and esteem of their 
 masters; and frequently, by changing their re- 
 ligion, rise to the same privileges and rank. The 
 Grecian women are especial objects of desire ; 
 and those uncommonly beautiful, repeatedly
 
 183 
 
 marry their purchasers ; so that their situ- 
 ation is by no means materially injured. Deme- 
 trius was purchased by a Pasha of high rank ; 
 and while he was waiting to accompany his mas- 
 ter, he heard his name called upon by a fe- 
 male voice, and looking among the crowd, he 
 saw a woman whose face was partly concealed 
 by a veil, but it was too familiar to escape imme- 
 diate recognition, for it was no less than his be- 
 loved Mosco's. But how should she have come 
 there? and where could be his parents and sis- 
 ters? He gazed eagerly about the multitude, 
 but they were not to be seen ; and it was mani- 
 fest that they must have perished like the pa- 
 rents of his Mosco. Demetrius gazed upon her 
 with the madness of despair, but her pensive 
 black eyes had lost their lustre : her cheeks had 
 faded away like a withered lily, and the big tear, 
 as it started from her eyelids, seemed to burn up 
 and wear away her spirits. He rushed to the 
 dear object, and clasped her in his embrace : but 
 she could not speak ; and in a few moments they 
 were parted by an officious Turk, who, having 
 paid an extraordinary price for the fair slave, was 
 about carrying her away. The tears of Mosco, 
 and the resistance of Demetrius, availed them
 
 *s 
 
 Y/ 
 
 
 
 not. He saw her torn from him, to become the 
 property of a Mahometan; but there was no 
 other remedy but to yield. He followed his 
 master, who was too much occupied by his own 
 cares to regard the sufferings of his slave. He 
 watched his beloved girl till she became lost 
 in the crowd, and he saw no more than the waving 
 of her hand. Demetrius possesed a mind of 
 more than ordinary cultivation ; and to this was 
 added a fine figure, by no means devoid of dig- 
 nity and grace. He was accordingly employed 
 by the Turk, in the honourable task of private 
 secretary, and was promised a considerable rank 
 in the army, provided he would abjure his re- 
 ligion. But Demetrius had too much prudence 
 to reject the offer of his proud lord ; and hoping 
 to procure his freedom, with that of his beloved 
 Mosco, he deceived him into a hope of com- 
 pliance, in order to mature plans for the pro- 
 motion of her liberty. He might have frequently 
 escaped; as he enjoyed such unlimited confidence, 
 that he was allowed to ramble through the city, 
 and feast his eyes upon the splendid monuments 
 of Asiatic pride. But though he watched every 
 countenance from the windows and terraces, he 
 never discovered the object of his search ; and

 
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