Gambar halaman
PDF
ePub

2

432802

Ара 4673

PHILADELPHIA PORT FOLIO: A WEEKLY JOURNAL

latter had been for about 60 years unused to war, and particularly united in bonds of the strictest amity with these very whites, while the alternative subjected them to compulsion, and to the invasion, from behind, of their ferocious red neighbours, can any one be surprised at the readiness with which the intriguing Mohawks made a merit of assuming the authority, or at the compliance of the unfortunate emigrants? To confirm the idea that the character in which the latter stood was not that of humiliation, but of respect and peaceful authority, we quote the following passage from an Indian writer of another tribe. Hendrick Aupaunent held the rank of Chief among the Mohegans; and, in conceding superiority to the Delawares, must be considered as impartialwaiving, as he does, the claims of his own nation: He was an individual well known to, and confidentially employed by, President Washington; and we have attestations to his character from the late Col. Pickering. His words are as follows*——

"The Delawares, whom we call Wenaumeeu, are our Grandfathers, according to the ancient covenant of their and our ancestors, to which we adhere without any deviation in these near 200 years past; to which nation the Five Nations and British, after finding themselves incapable of completing a union of all who has one colour, have committed the whole business. For this nation had the greatest influence with the Southern, Western and Northern nations."

The picture, from the brash of our countryman, West, an engraving of which is before us, presents the peculiar style of attitude and countenance of this unfortunate tribe with such peculiar accuracy, that a gentleman well known as an eminent naturalist, when taken to see the copy now in the Academy of the Fine Arts, declared that he could at any time have recognised the figures as belonging to the Delawares, from their resemblance to those members of the tribe with whom he had sojourned on the Arkansas. He described their air and features as peculiarly noble; and added that they actually preserve to the present day, the style of painting the face as represented in the picture. This, of course, our engraving cannot adequately represent. Aged individuals have stated, that the figure represented as discharging the duties of historian or secretary, and concentrating his attention, as he holds a large fan before his face, is a very good likeness of the celebrated Teedyuscung. Others, and these are by no means few, profess to recognise the likenesses of several of our own ancestors in the patriarchal group towards the right of the picture. The figure holding the sheet of parchment represents, we know not with what correctness, the Secretary, Thomas Story. The others probably filled up from the painter's acquaintance, bear strong resemblance to the respective families of Shippen, West, Logan, and Morris. Towards the inidst of the picture, and near his Indian friend, appears the man

Qui leges et jura dabat, parvaque suorum
Et pater et judex idem regnabat in aula.

Memoir, Correspondence and Miscellanies, from the Papers of Thomas Jefferson. Edited by Thomas Jefferson Randolph. Charlottesville. 4 vols. 8vo.

Of this work we have procured a copy with some difficulty, having neglected to subscribe for it. The agents in Philadelphia received exactly the number subscribed for, and understand that the whole edition has been taken up. The death of a subscriber enabled us to obtain possession of his copy-and Messrs. Littell & Brother request us to state that persons who

Hendrick Auparent's Narrative.p.26.

Auparent's Narrat
VRABELI

desire to have the work would do well to send their names to them, as in distributing the copies, something may happen to cause a surplus. Orders will be supplied, in the order in which they are received.

We have not had time to read much of the work, but select two interesting passages, and shall hereafter give further notices of it.

MR. JEFFERSON'S OPINION OF THE CAUSE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.

"The King was now become a passive machine in the hands of the National Assembly, and had he been left to himself, he would have willingly acquiesced in whatever they should devise as best for the nation. A wise constitution would have been formed, hereditary in his line, himself placed at its head, with powers so large, as to enable him to do all the good of his station, and so limited, as to restrain him from its abuse. This he would have faithfully administered, and more than this, I do not believe, he ever wished. But he had a Queen of absolute sway over his weak mind, and timid virtue, and of a character, the reverse of his in all points. This angel, as gaudily painted in the rhapsodies of Burke, with some smartness of fancy, but no sound sense, was proud, disdainful of restraint, indignant at all obstacles to her will, eager in the pursuit of pleasure, and firm enough to hold to her desires, or perish in their wreck. Her inordinate gambling and dissipations, with those of the Count d'Artois, and others of her clique, had been a sensible item in the exhaustion of the treasury, which called into action the reforming hand of the nation; and her opposition to it, her inflexible perverseness, and dauntless spirit, led her self to the guillotine, drew the King on with her, and plunged the world into crimes and calamities which will forever stain the pages of modern history. I have ever believed, that had there been no Queen, there would have been no revolution. No force would have been provoked, nor exercised. The King would have gone hand in hand with the wisdom of his sounder counsellors, who, guided by the increased lights of the age, wished only, with the same space, to advance the principles of their social constitution. The deed which closed the mortal course of these sovereigns, I shall neither approve nor condemn. I am not prepared to say, that the first magistrate of a nation cannot commit treason against his country, or is unamenable to its punishment; nor yet, that where there is no written law, no regulated tribunal, there is not a law in our hearts, and a power in our hands, given for righteous employment in maintaining right, and redressing wrong. Of those who judged the King, many thought him wilfully criminal; many, that his existence would keep the nation in perpetual conflict with the horde of Kings, who would war against a regeneration which might come home to themselves, and that it were better that one should die than all. I should not have voted with this portion of the legislature. I should have shut up the Queen in a convent, putting harm out of her power, and placed the King in his station, investing him with limited powers, which, I verily believe, he would have honestly exercised, according to the measure of his understanding. In this way no void would have been created, courting the usurpation of a military adventurer, nor occasion given for those enormities which demoralised the nations of the world, and destroyed, and is yet to destroy, millions and millions of its inhabitants. There are three epochs in history, signalized by the total extinction of national morality. The first was of the successors of Alexander, not omitting himself: The next, the successors of the first Caesar: The third, our own age. This was begun by the partition of Poland, followed by that of the treaty of Pilnitz; next the conflagration of Copenhagen; then the enormities

of Bonaparte, partitioning the earth at his will, and devastating it with fire and sword; now the conspiracy of Kings, the successors of Bonaparte, blasphemingly calling themselves the Holy Alliance, and treading in the footsteps of their incarcerated leader; not yet, indeed, usurping the government of other nations, avowedly and in detail, but controlling by their armies the forms in which they will permit them to be governed; and reserving, in petto, the order and extent of the usurpations further meditated."

was

IMPORTANT DINNER AT MR. JEFFERSON'S.

"The Aristocracy was cemented by a common principle of preserving the ancient regime, or whatever should be nearest to it. Making this their polar star, they moved in phalanx, gave preponderance on every question to the minorities of the Patriots, and always to those who advocated the least change. The features of the new constitution were thus assuming a fearful aspect, and great alarm was produced among the honest Patriots by these dissentions in their ranks. In this uneasy state of things, I received one day a note from the Marquis de la Fayette, informing me, that he should bring a party of six or eight friends, to ask a dinner of me the next day. I assured him of their welcome. When they arrived, they were La Fayette himself, Duport, Barnave, Alexander la Meth, Blacon, Mounier, Maubourg, and Dagout. These were leading Patriots, of honest but differing opinions, sensible of the necessity of effecting a coalition by mutual sacrifices, knowing each other, and not afraid, therefore, to unbosom themselves mutually. This last a material principle in the selection, With this view, the Marquis had invited the conference, and had fixed the time and place inadvertently, as to the embarrassment under which it might place me. The cloth being removed, and wine set on the table, after the American manner, the Marquis introduced the objects of the conference, by summarily reminding them of the state of things in the Assembly, the course which the principles of the Constitution were taking, and the inevitable result, unless checked by more concord among the Patriots themselves. He observed, that although he also had his opinion, he was ready to sacrifice it to that of his brethren of the same cause; but that a common opinion must now be formed, or the Aristocracy would carry every thing, and that, whatever they should now agree on, he, at the head of the National force, would maintain. The discussions, began at the hour of four, and were continued till ten o'clock in the evening; during which time, I was a silent witness to a coolness and candour of argument, unusual in the conflicts of political opinion; to a logical reasoning, and chaste eloquence, disfigured by no gaudy tinsel of rhetoric or declamation, and truly worthy of being placed in parallel with the finest dialogues of antiquity, as handed to us by Xenophon, by Plato and Cicero. The result was, that the King should have a suspensive veto on the laws, that the legislature should be composed of a single body only, and that to be chosen by the people. This Concordate decided the fate of the constitution. The Patriots all rallied to the principles thus settled, carried every question agreeably to them, and reduced the Aristocracy to insignificance and impotence.

"But duties of exculpation were now incumbent on me. I waited on count Montmorin the next morning, and explained to him, with truth and candour, how it had happened that my house

had been made the scene of conferences of such a character. He told me, he already knew every thing which had passed, that so far from taking umbrage at the use made of my house, on that occasion, he earnestly wished I would habitually assist at such conferences, being sure I should be useful in moderating the warmer spirits, and promoting a wholesome and practicable reformation only. I told him, I knew too well the duties I owed to

the King, to the nation, and to my own country, to take any part in councils concerning their internal government, and that I should persevere, with care, in the character of a neutral and passive spectator, with wishes only, and very sincere ones, that those measures might prevail which would be for the greatest good of the nation. I have no doubt, indeed, that this conference was previously known and approved by this honest minister, who was in conference and communication with the Patriots, and wished for a reasonable reform of the constitution."

TOM PAINE.

Extracts from the Notes of an Observer. WHEN Tom Paine escaped from the dungeons of the Committee of Public Safety in Paris, he came to this city (New York,) and put up at the city hotel. One morning, about nine o'clock, a person came into my store, and said that Paine was standing on the steps at the entrance of the hotel. As I lived next street, and being curious to see him, I, with two gentlemen who happened to be in the store at the time, went round the corner to have a look at him; but before we got there he had stepped in. At that moment I happened to observe S***** L****n the painter enter the hotel. As I knew Sam and he were compatriots through the whole of the American Revolution, I presumed he was going to see his old friend, and proposed to my companions to go in likewise, saying, that as I was acquainted with Mr. L****n, he would introduce us. They, however, declined to go, so I went alone.

er.

"Is Mr. Paine at home?" said I to the wait

"Yes."-"In his own room?"-" Yes.""Can I see him?"-" Follow me ;" and I was ushered into a spacious room, where the table was set for breakfast. One gentleman was writing at the table, another reading the newspapers at the farther end of the room, and a lengthy, lank, coarse-looking figure was standI saw a reseming with his back to the fire. blance to a portrait I had seen in the "Rights

of Man." I knew it was Paine.

While following the waiter, presuming Paine was alone, I prepared a speech to introduce myself to a plain Republican solus; but when I thus found myself, in the presence of others, with the great author of "Common Sense," I was at a loss for a moment; at last I recovered my self-possession, and said,

"Gentlemen, is Mr. Paine in this room?" He stepped towards me, and answered, "My name is Paine." I held out my hand, and when I had hold of his, says I, "Mr. Paine, and you gentlemen, will excuse my abrupt entry. I came out of mere curiosity to see the man whose writings have made so much noise in the world." Paine answered, "I am very glad your curiosity is so easily satisfied." Then, without a word more, I rejoined, "Good morning;" and walking out, shut the door behind me.

I heard them all burst out into a loud laugh. Thinks I, they may laugh that win-I have seen Paine, and, all things considered, have made a good retreat.

The gentlemen called the waiter, and inquired who I was; and he told them. They reported the matter in the coffee-house, and among their acquaintances, and as the story travelled, it was enriched with all manner of garnishing. One of them was, that I had told Paine he was a d-d rascal, and had it not been for his books I would never have left my native country. Are not people, who invent additions to truth, liars?"

At that time I was precentor in the Scotch Presbyterian Church in Cedar Street, of which the famous Dr. John Mason was then minister. The Kirk Session caught the alarm, an extra meeting was called, and I was suspended from office for some months on account of having visited Tom Paine.

When Paine had afterwards fallen into disrepute, and was shunned by the more respectable of his friends on account of his drunken habits, he boarded in the house of one William C****, a farrier. This C**** and I being acquainted, I had free access to his house, and frequently called to converse with Tom Paine. One evening he related the following anecdote.

During the slaughtery of Robespierre, when every Republican that the monster could get in his power was beheaded, Paine was cast into prison, and his name was on a list with nineteen who were ordered for execution next morning. It was customary for the clerk of the tribunal to go round the cells at night, and put a cross with chalk on the back of the door of such of the prisoners as were ordained for the scaffold in the morning. When the executioner came with his guard to remove the victims, wherever a chalking was found, the inmate of the cell was taken forth and executed.

In these horrible shambles there was a long gallery, having a row of cells on each side. The passage was secured at each end, but the doors of the cells were left open, and sometimes the prisoners stepped into the rooms of one another for company. It happened, on the night preceding the day appointed for the doom of Paine, that he had gone into his neighbour's cell, leaving his door open with its back to the wall. Just then the chalker came past, and being probably drunk, crossed the inside of his cell door.

Next morning, when the guard came with an order to bring out the twenty victims, and finding only nineteen chalks, Paine being in bed and his door shut, they took a prisoner from the farther end of the gallery, and thus made up the requisite number.

About forty-eight hours after this atrocious deed, Robespierre was overthrown, and his own head chopped off, so that Paine was set at liberty, and made the best of his way to New

York.

I asked him what he thought of his almost miraculous escape. He said the FATES had ordained he was not then to die. Says I" Mr. Paine, I'll tell you what;-I think you know you have written and spoken much against what we call the religion of the Bible; you have highly extolled the perfectibility of human reason when left to its own guidance, unshackled by priestcraft and superstition. The God in whom you live, nove, and have your being, has spared your life that you might give to the world a living comment on your doctrines. You now show what human nature is when left to itself. Here you sit, in an obscure and comfortless dwelling, stifled with snuff and stupified with brandy;-you, who were once the companion of Washington, of Jay, and of Hamilton. Every good man has deserted you; and even Deists, that have any regard for decency, cross the streets to avoid you."

He was then the most disgusting human being that could any where be met with. Intemperance had bloated his countenance beyond description. A few of his disciples, who stuck to him through good report and through bad report, to hide him from the abhorrence of mankind, had him conveyed to New Rochelle, where they supplied him with brandy till it burned up his liver. But this man, beastly as he was in appearance, and dreadful in principle, still retained something of humanity within the depravity of his heart, like the gem in the head of the odious toad. The man who suffered death in his stead left a widow, with two young children, in poor circumstances. Paine brought them all with him to New York, supplied them while he lived, and left them the most part of his property when he died. The widow and children lived in apartments in the city by themselves. I saw them often, but never saw Paine in their company; and I am well assured, and believe, that his conduct towards them was disinterested and honourable. G. T.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

LOVE'S REPROACH; A RUSTIC PLAINT.

BY JAMES KENNEY, ESQ.

DEAR Tom, my brave free-hearted lad,
Where'er you go, God bless you!
You'd better speak than wish you had,
If love for me distress you.
To me, they say, your thoughts incline,
And possibly they may so:
Then, once for all, to quiet mine,
Tom, if you love me, say so.
On that sound heart and manly frame
Sits lightly sport or labour,
Good-humour'd, frank, and still the same,
To parent, friend, or neighbour :

4

Then why postpone your love to own

For me from day to day so, And let me whisper still alone, "Tom, if you love me, say so?" How oft when I was sick, or sad With some remember'd folly, The sight of you has made me glad,— And then most melancholy!

Ah! why will thoughts of one so good Upon my spirit prey so?

[ocr errors]

By you it should be understood-
"Tom, if you love me, say so.'
Last Monday, at the cricket-match,
No rival stood before you;
In harvest-time, for quick despatch
The farmers all adore you;

And evermore your praise they sing,
Though one thing you delay so,
And I sleep nightly murmuring,
"Tom, if you love me, say so.
Whate'er of ours you chance to seek,
Almost before your breathe it,
I bring with blushes on my cheek,
And all my soul goes with it.
Why thank me, then, with voice so low,
And, faltering, turn away so?
When next you come, before you go
Tom, if you love me, say so.
When Jasper Wild, beside the brook,
Resentful round us lower'd,

1 oft recall that lion-lock

[ocr errors]

That quell'd the savage coward. Bold words and free you utter'd then : Would they could find their way so, When these moist eyes so plainly mean, "Tom, if you love me, say so.' My friends, 'tis true, are well to do, And yours are poor and friendless; Ah, no! for they are rich in you,

Their happiness is endless.

You never let them shed a tear,

Save that on you they weigh so; There's one might bring you better cheer: Tom, if you love me, say so.

My uncle's legacy is all

For you, Tom, when you choose it:
In better hands it cannot fall,
Or better train'd to use it.
I'll wait for years; but let me not

Nor woo'd nor plighted stay so:
Since wealth and worth make even lot,
Tom, if you love me, say so.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]
[blocks in formation]

bursting of the earth, just below the village of New Madrid, arrested this mighty stream in its course, and caused a reflux of its waves, by which, in a little time, a great number of boats were swept by the ascending current into the mouth of the Bayou, carried out and left upon the dry land, when the accumulating waters of the river had again cleared their current. There were a great number of severe shocks. but two series of concussions were particularly terrible, far more so than the rest. They remark, that the shocks were clearly distinguishable into two classes; those in which the motion was horizontal, and those in which it was perpendicular. The latter were attended by the explosions and the terrible mixture of noises that preceded and accompanied the earthquakes in a louder degree, but were by no means so desolating and destructive as the

NOTICE OF EARTHQUAKES ON THE other. When they were felt, the houses crum

[ocr errors]

MISSISSIPPI.

BY MR. FLINT.

FROM all the accounts corrected one by another, and compared with the very imperfect narratives that were published, says Mr. Flint, I infer that the shock of these earthquakes, in the immediate vicinity of the centre of their course, must have equalled, in their terrible heavings of the earth, any thing of the kind that has been recorded. I do not believe that the public have ever yet had any adequate idea of the violence of the concussions. We are accustomed to measure this,

by the buildings overturned, and the mortality that results. Here the country was thinly settled. The houses fortunately were frail and of logs, the most difficult to overturn that could be constructed. Yet, as it was, whole tracts were plunged into the bed of the river, The grave-yard, at New Madrid, with all its sleeping tenants, was precipitated into the bed of the stream.

Most of the houses were thrown

down. Large lakes, of twenty miles in extent. were made in an hour; other lakes were drained. The whole country to the mouth of the Ohio, in one direction, and to the St. Francis in the other, including a front of three hundred miles, was convulsed to such a degree, as to create lakes and islands, the number of which is not yet known, to cover a tract of many miles in extent near the little Prairie, with water three or four feet deep; and, when the water disappeared, a stratum of sand, of the same thickness, was left in its place. The trees split in the midst, lashed one with another, and are still visible over great tracts of country, inclining in every direction, and at every angle to the earth and to the horizon.

They described the undulations of the earth as resembling waves, increasing in elevation as they advanced; and, when they had attained a certain fearful height, the earth would burst, and vast volumes of water and sand and pitcoal were discharged, as high as the tops of the trees. I have seen a hundred of these chasms, which remained fearfully deep, although in a very tender alluvial soil, and after a lapse of seven years. Whole districts were covered with white sand, so as to become uninhabitable.

The water at first covered the whole country, particularly at the Little Prairie; and it must have been indeed a scene of horror, in these deep forests, and in the gloom of the darkest night, and by wading in the water to the middle to flee from these concussions, which were occurring every few hours, with a noise equally terrible to the beasts and birds as to men. The birds themselves lost all power and disposition to fly, and retreated to the bosoms of men, their fellow-sufferers in this scene of convulsion. A few persons sunk in these chasms, and were providentially extricated. One person died of fright; one perished miserably on an island, which retained its original level, in the midst of a wide lake created by the earthquake. The hat and clothes of this man were found. A number perished, who sunk with their boats in the river. A

bled, the trees waved together, the ground sunk, and all the destructive phenomena were more conspicuous. In the intervals of the earthquakes there was one evening, and that a brilliant and cloudless one, in which the wesof lightning, and repeated peals of subterranean tern sky was a continued glare of vivid flashes thunder seemed to proceed, as the flashes did, this night, so conspicuous for subterranean from below the horizon. They remark that thunder, was the same period in which the fatal earthquakes at Caraccas occurred, and they seem to suppose these flashes and that event parts of the same scene.

The people, without exception, were unlettered backwoodsmen, of the class least addicted to reasoning. And it is remarkable how ingeniously and conclusively they reasoned from marked, that the chasms in the earth were in apprehension sharpened by fear. They rethey were of an extent to swallow up, not only direction from south-west to north-east, and frequently within intervals of half a mile. men but houses, and these chasms occurred with the chasms, and stationed themselves They felled the tallest trees at right angles upon the felled trees. By this invention all were saved; for the chasms occurred more than once under these trees.

EVENING TIME.

BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ.
Zech. xiv. 7.
I.

Ar evening time let there be light:
Life's little day draws near its close;
Around me fall the shades of night,
The night of death, the grave's repose-
To crown my joys to end my woes,
At evening time let there be light.

11.

At evening time let there be light:
Stormy and dark hath been my day;
Yet rose the morn divinely bright,
Dews, birds, and blossoms cheered the way:
O for one sweet, one parting ray!
At evening time let there be light.

III.

At evening time there shall be light;
For God hath spoken;-it must be:
Fear, doubt, and anguish take their flight,
His glory now is risen on me;
Mine eyes shall his salvation see:
'Tis evening time, and there is light!

THE SONG OF NIGHT.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

With all my gifts:-for every flower sweet
I COME to thee, O Earth!
dew,

In bell, and urn, and chalice, to renew
The glory of its birth.

Not one which glimmering lies
Far amidst folding hills or forest leaves,
But through its veins of beauty, so receives
A spirit of fresh dyes.
I come with every star:

Making thy streams, that on their noonday
track

Gave but the moss, the reed, the lily back,
Minors of Worlds afar.

I come with Peace; I shed

Sleep through thy wood walks o'er the honey-
bee,

The lark's triumphant voice, the fawn's young
glee,
The hyacinth's meek head.

On my own heart I lay

The weary babe, and sealing with a breath
Its eyes of love, send fairy dreams, beneath
The shadowing lids to play.

I come with mightier things!
Who calls me silent?-I have many tones-
The dark skies thrill with low mysterious

moans

Borne on my sweeping wings.

I waft them not alone

From the deep organ of the forest shades,
Or buried streams, unheard amidst their glades,
Till the bright day is done.

But in the human breast

A thousand still small voices I awake,
Strong in their sweetness from the soul to
shake

The mantle of its rest.

I bring them from the past:

From true hearts broken, gentle spirits torn, From crushed affections, which tho long o'erborne,

Make their tone heard at last.

they were decidedly pleasing; and melancho- cluded all possibility of his recovery. My mo-
ly, rather than gloom, appeared to me to be ther was thus left with myself and a younger
their habitual cast. I always piqued myself brother,with no means of subsistence except
on being a good judge of physiognomy; and, the scanty earnings afforded by making fish-
as I walked up and down the deck of the Al-ing-nets, and selling shells and weeds to those
phonse, I repeated so often to myself, "That whom curiosity and leisure brought to the
man has a history," that, at last, during all the beach. One of her little customers, who was
dull monotonous voyage, I came to have but daughter to the captain of a small merchant
one pervading wish, which gradually obtained vessel, offered to obtain a situation, as cabin
complete empire over me, to hear his story,boy, for either of us, in her father's ship,-a
from himself. I cannot describe to you the proposition my mother acceded to the more
burning intensity of my curiosity on this sub-gladly, as she had taken home the half-starved
ject. Day after day, night after night, I re- orphan of one of the men who perished, or
peated, almost with feverish longing, "Oh were taken, the night my father died. My
that I could hear Walter Errick's story!" I brother and I performed the voyages alternate-
do really think that, at that time, I would have ly, and experienced the greatest kindness from
consented to lose an arm or a leg, if the loss the captain, who frequently assisted my mo-
could have ensured the gratification of my ther and little Mary, the orphan girl, with
wish. Time passed, and the desire increased small but useful presents during his short stay
in proportion as the likelihood of satisfying it on land. It was during the third voyage my
diminished. A thousand times. I was on the younger brother, James, had made, that I be-
point of addressing him, of telling him the in- gan to think of the orphan Mary as a wife.
terest he had inspired; but the cold gravity, Beautiful and gentle she was; and to live with
the insouciance of his melancholy, always re- her and not love her was impossible. We used
strained me: his was not a sorrow of the to ramble over the beach together during the
heart, which could be relieved by unbosoming bright summer evenings, and sit side by side
himself to a compassionate friend; it was a watching the waves rippling to the shore, or
cloud over the soul, a dark veil thrown over looking for the ships in the distance, and
life. Oh that I could discover how and when
his natural feelings by some event of his past guessing their destinations and the feelings of
those within them. At length the time drew
it took place!
near when James was to return, and I should
take his place, and bid farewell to Mary for a
while. The day, the hour came. 1 felt her
last kiss on my lips, her warm bright tears on
my cheek; and the boat that brought me to
the vessel, rowed away again with her and
James and others, and became a speck in the
distance.

I bring them from the tomb;
O'er the sad couch of late repentant love,
They pass-though low as murmurs of a dove, lying in a stupor for some time, he roused him-
Like trumpets through the gloom.

I come with all my train:
Who calls me lonely?-Hosts around me tread,
The intensely bright, the beautiful, the dread
Phantoms of heart and brain!

Looks from departed eyes,
These are my lightnings!-filled with anguish
vain

Or tenderness too piercing to sustain
They smite with agonies.

O, that with soft control

Shut the dim violet, hush the woodland song,
I am th' Avenging One!-the armed, the
strong

The Searcher of the soul!

I, that shower dewy light
Through slumbering leaves, bring storms!—
the tempest-birth

Of Memory, Thought, Remorse:-be holy,
Earth!

I am the solemn Night!

[blocks in formation]

My wish was at last gratified. Walter Errick caught a fever when we were crossing the Line, and my profession, as a clergyman, obliged me to sit by him, and offer the consolations which our holy religion affords to the penitent sinner. For some days he was delirious, and during that time he seemed happier than 1 had ever seen him: he talked of the scenes of his childhood, fancied himself on the shore of the Isle of Wight, and would take my hand and gaze fondly into my face, murmuring some namě in a low faint voice, or sometimes without speaking at all. One night, after self and asked for something to drink: after a few moments' pause, he inquired how long it was probable he should live? The surgeon replied, that at present there was no certainty of his death,-that he might and in all probability would, recover. "Nonsense!" said he; "I am dying: I feel it-I know it: it is the plague the plague of the body and the soul." We thought he was relapsing into delirium, when, suddenly seizing my arm, he exclaimed, "I have a great wish to say something to you, Sir, before I go. You have brought on this fever: you have watched me -suspected me,-I know you have: for above a fortnight before I took to my bed, I could not hear your foot on the deck, (and, oh, how well I knew your step from the others!) without feeling my heart beat as if it would have burst; and when you looked at me so long and so earnestly as you used to do, the veins in my forehead swelled and throbbed, and my head grew giddy. Sir, I could not sleep for that look; and now you shall hear all,-why I did it, and how it happened that no one but you ever guessed what I had done." At that moment I confess I felt almost in the state the wretched man had himself described: every nerve in my body thrilled, and the drops stood on my brow. I did not speak, however; and, after some time, he continued.

"It was two years before I again saw the Isle of Wight, and my landing was an ominous one. The well known signal was hoisted, and I could see a white handkerchief fluttering in reply above the roof of our cottage. The boat put off from shore, and my heart told me, before my eye could distinguish, that my brother James was the one who pulled so stoutly, and kept his glance so fixed on the deck of our vessel. I got a pocket telescope, and looked out. to see his bright and blessed countenance a few minutes sooner: and there he was, handsomer than ever; his sun-burnt face lit with gladness, his white smiling teeth gleaming in the sun, and the fresh breeze waving his ringleted hair. I never felt so fond or so proud of him: I kept repeating, in a tone of triumph, to those near me, 'There's James,-that's my brother James,-do you see James?' never heeding or seeing their total indifference to the rapture which swelled my heart. Mary too, dear Mary! I could see faintly on the shore the outline of a figure I felt must be hers. I watched impatiently the light boat shooting over the waters, which lay as clear and smooth as glass: suddenly there was a momentary confusion; some one stood up, leant forward, and the boat upset, plunging all into the sea. For one single instant I stood paralyzed, with my eyes fixed on the splashing glancing waters, as the sunshine played over the spot where fourteen wretches were struggling for life: another moment and I had leapt into the ocean, and was swimming with all the energy of love and despair to the place where the boat had sunk. As I swam from the vessel, I heard the captain shout out orders to lower a "I was born in a little fishing hut, at the boat: we had but one left,-the rest had taken back of the Isle of Wight. I believe my father part of the cargo to land. I knew, and rehad originally been a farmer; but distresses membered as I swam along, that this was too had come upon him, and, under the ostensible small to hold all the sufferers; and though I trade of a fisherman, he connected himself could see boats in all directions putting off with a gang of smugglers, who carried on suc- from the land, yet the time that must elapse cessful plunder in that part of the island. I before they could reach the spot rendered their used always to accompany him on his expedi- being of service very uncertain. At length I tions, and was with him the night he was shot swam into the centre of the eddying waves: by the King's officers:-he fell from the boat hands were extended, and faint efforts were in which he was standing, into the sea; after made to grasp me, by men already exhausted the struggle was over, two men looked for his with rowing: but they were strangers; and, in body and brought it home: we then discover- that moment of excitement, I shook them off ed that the wound was of little consequence, as I would have done a troublesome animal. I but the time he had been in the water pre-gazed,-I panted,-the dreadful thought struck

me that I might be too late: I shrieked out, 'James! A faint voice called me by my name: a splash-an arm raised for a moment above the head, showed me where my brother had been. He rose again-I struggled forward -a dying wretch caught my arm-I shook him off-I even struck his extended arm as it was again listlessly stretched forth to lay hold of me:-I reached my brother; he rose once more with closed eyes-I caught him by the hair, and wept and howled in the agony of my excessive joy. I saw the boat from the merchant vessel nearing us: I called, I shouted; I felt my limbs failing with fatigue and emotion, and every now and then one of the strugglers round us went down with a faint bubbling groan. I thought again of the size of the boat, and shuddered; it would not, at the most, hold more than eight:-useless, indeed, was my fear! The boat neared-took us in-I looked up to heaven in gratitude, and round upon the waste of waters:-there were but two living souls of the fourteen!

"Death alone can erase the memory of that evening from my mind: there is but one other scene in my life which I can recall with equal intensity; and that!-Oh James, my merryhearted, handsome, affectionate brother," and the sick man clasped his hands, and shook with a passion of grief. He mastered it, and continued more calmly, "That evening we were all at home together, Mary, and my mother, and James, and I; and how they wept over me, and hung upon me, and blessed me! I told them good news too, that the vessel wanted repairing, and that the delay necessary would give us yet a little while together, before James would be obliged to leave us: and they told me-what? that the brother I had saved, and Mary, my Mary, were to be married directly; that they had only waited for my return to be present during the ceremony, and that now nothing remained but to fix the day. I hardly remember how I felt, or what I said; but I know that my eyes were ri veted upon Mary like those of a person walking in his sleep, and that Mary laughed and blushed, and looked down; and then came and kissed my cheek, and hid her head on my bosom, and blessed me for having brought home HER James from the wild and treacherous sea. 1 recollect too, feeling bewildered, and gazing round me; and that the fire seemed to burn dimmer, and my mother's face to grow paler, and that I felt suffocated, and trembled all over. However, I shook James by the hand, and promised to be there on the wedding day and give the bride away. And when they had all gone to bed, I went out, and sat down on the beach, and looked across the sea to the place where the boat had sunk in the morning: and I thought over all that had happened that day,-iny joy at coming home, my agony of fear when I saw James drowning at a distance and no help near; and then I thought of Mary, and the choking pain rose in my throat, and I knelt in the cold moonlight on the sands and prayed a dreadful and a fervent prayer to God, that I might never live to see them man and wife! Yes, I wished, I prayed that they might be happy, but that I might be a cold corpse; and more than once I thought of plunging in the sea, and so ending my life: but I remembered the morning and the sinking wretches, and the cold grasp on my arm,—

and I could not do it.

"At daybreak I went home, and I heard every thing settled for the wedding; and Mary looked quite happy, and confided to me all her little plans for the future; and how she had gradually guessed that James loved her; and how they used to walk along my favourite walks, talking of me, and wondering when I should come back, and what I would think of it; and the agony that filled her soul when the boat disappeared, and her gratitude when at last, she saw me coming to shore with James. And then she talked again of him, and told me all his merry jokes, and her anxiety when he was out fishing at night; and every

She lived!-she loved me for my care!-
My grief was at an end;

I was a lonely being once,
But now I have a friend!

word she spoke went through and through my heart. Two or three days passed, and their wedding drew near. Every morning I wandered out, that I might see Mary as little as possible before she was James's wife; and every night I went out to fish. Sometimes he came with me, and sometimes I went alone. The last night we went out together, and Mary carried the lantern and the heavy boatcloak down to the beach, and kissed my bro- Addressed to a Friend who complained of being ther and bade him good-bye till sunrise; and then she stooped down and kissed me, as I was unfastening the boat-chain, and said, in her low gentle tone, 'Bring him home safe, Walter.'"

(To be concluded.)

THE NEGLECTED CHILD. BY THOMAS H. BAYLY, ESQ.

I.

I NEVER was a favourite

My mother never smiled On me, with half the tenderness That blessed her fairer child: I've seen her kiss my sister's cheek, While fondled on her knee; I've turned away to hide my tears,There was no kiss for me!

II.

And yet I strove to please, with all
My little store of sense;

I strove to please, and infancy
Can rarely give offence:
But when my artless efforts met
A cold, ungentle check,

I did not dare to throw myself,
In tears, upon her neck.

III.

How blessed are the beautiful!
Love watches o'er their birth;
Oh beauty! in my nursery

I learned to know thy worth;-
For even there, I often felt

Forsaken and forlorn;

And wished-for others wished it tooI never had been born!

IV.

I'm sure I was affectionate,-
But in my sister's face,
There was a look of love that claimed
A smile, or an embrace.
But when I raised my lip, to meet

The pressure children prize,
None knew the feelings of my heart,-
They spoke not in my eyes.

V.

But oh! that heart too keenly felt The anguish of neglect;

I saw my sister's lovely form

With gems and roses decked; I did not covet them; but oft, When wantonly reproved, I envied her the privilege Of being so beloved.

VI.

But soon a time of triumph came-
A time of sorrow too,-
For sickness, o'er my sister's form
Her venom'd mantle threw :-
The features, once so beautiful,

Now wore the hue of death;
And former friends shrank fearfully
From her infectious breath.

VII.

'Twas then, unwearied, day and night
I watched beside her bed,
And fearlessly upon my breast
I pillowed her poor head.

A REMONSTRANCE.

alone in the World.

BY ALARIC A. WATTS.

I.

Он say not thou art all alone,
Upon this wide, cold-hearted earth;
Sigh not o'er joys for ever flown,
The vacant chair,-the silent hearth:
Why should the world's unholy mirth
Upon thy quiet dreams intrude,
To scare those shapes of heavenly birth,
That people oft thy solitude!

II.

Though many a fervent hope of youth
Hath passed, and scarcely left a trace;—
Though earth-born love, its tears and truth,
No longer in thy heart have place;
Nor time, nor grief, can e'er efface

The brighter hopes that now are thine,--
The fadeless love,-all pitying grace,
That makes thy darkest hours divine!

III.

Not all alone;-for thou canst hold
Communion sweet with saint and sage,
And gather gems, of price untold,

From many a pure, untravelled page :-
Youth's dreams, the golden lights of age,

The poet's lore,-are still thine own; Then, while such themes thy thoughts engage, Oh, how canst thou be all alone!

IV.

Not all alone; the lark's rich note,

As mounting up to heaven, she sings; The thousand silvery sounds that float Above-below-on morning's wings; The softer murmurs twilight brings,

The cricket's chirp, cicala's glee; All earth-that lyre of myriad stringsIs jubilant with life for thee!

V.

Not all alone;-the whispering trees, The rippling brook, the starry sky,Have each peculiar harmonies,

To soothe, subdue, and sanctify:The low, sweet breath of evening's sigh, For thee hath oft a friendly tone, To lift thy grateful thoughts on high,To say-thou art not all alone!

VI.

Not all alone;-a watchful eye,

That notes the wandering sparrow's fall; A saving hand is ever nigh,

A gracious Power attends thy call: When sadness holds thy heart in thrall, Is oft his tenderest mercy shown; Seek then the balm vouchsafed to all, And thou canst never be ALONE!

ON THE LAND CRABS OF JAMAICA. BY ALEXANDER BARCLAY, ESQ. CRABS abound in the eastern part of Jamaica, at all seasons, but are considered to be best in the months the names of which contain the letter R. They are most plentiful in May, the season at which they deposit their eggs, or run as the Negroes express it, and when the earth is literally covered with them. At this season it is impossible to keep them out of the houses, or even out of the bed-rooms, where, at one time scratching with their large claws, and at another rattling across the floor, they

« SebelumnyaLanjutkan »