Introductory material (continued 3)

¹⁰ See London and Edinburgh Philosophical Magazine for December 1834. This experiment coincides with the theory regarding the internal heat of the earth, promulgated by a member of the French Institute (Mons. Cordier,) in a memoir presented to that association about six years since, in which he gives a detail of numerous observations and experiments on which he founded his theory, now fully confirmed by the more decisive experiment in England.

There are also problems concerning our climate which well deserve solution. The acknowledged difference between the eastern and western coasts of climates, has been attributed, with a great show of reason, to the prevalence of the westerly winds; and of the fact of their greater prevalence there, is the most satisfactory general evidence—but it is discreditable that the amount of the difference should not be as well ascertained as the fact itself. The average difference can be ascertained only by repeated and accurate observations.

It has also been asserted that the temperature of the Mississippi Valley is higher than that of the Atlantic coast. Mr. Jefferson long ago advanced this opinion, and it was adopted by Volney; but there is strong reason to believe that the direct contrary is the fact. It is, however, high time that this question should be settled by a series of thermometrical observations, and a comparison of facts derived from the vegetable world.

We have, Mr. President, been three years in existence, and as yet have done little. Let us bestir ourselves in the cause of science and of our country; and endeavor, under some disadvantages, to give Virginia the same rank in science and literature that she has always maintained in her devotion to civil liberty and political integrity. Though borne along with the rest of the world, by the great current of philosophy of which I have been speaking, we should not fold our arms in listless apathy, but diligently ply our oars, lest we should be left further behind by those in advance of us, and be overtaken by those now in our rear.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LETTERS FROM NEW ENGLAND—NO. 5.

BY A VIRGINIAN.

Scholars in Virginia are not generally aware, that the classical Greek pronunciation is thought to exist still in Greece; and that (connecting this fact with the close resemblance of the ancient, to some of the modern dialects as written) that rich and elegant language is no longer to be regarded as dead. Thus confidently think two intelligent and accomplished natives of Greece, now in Connecticut, who are reputed (no doubt deservedly) to be thorough masters of both the ancient and the modern tongue. In a gratifying interview with one of them (Mr. Perdicaris at New Haven), being curious to hear Homer in his native melody, I prevailed on Mr. P. to read me a few lines of the Illiad. They were by no means musical to my ear—vitiated, doubtless, by the faulty pronunciation to which I had been accustomed, and destitute of those associated ideas, which conduce so largely to the beauty of poetry. He sounds oi dipthong, like e; d like TH soft; g like a mere aspiration, as our h. The word poluphloisboio ([Greek: poluphloisboio]) so expressively sonorous to our ears when pronounced with the full, swelling roll of the dipthong, he would attenuate into poluphleesbeeo—to me much more like the whistling of the wind through a key-hole, than the hoarse, multitudinous roar of an agitated ocean. I spare you, here, a speculation that is passing in my mind, as to how far this diversity between different ears, proves the notion of the sound's echoing to the sense to be merely fanciful; and as to the influence of previous association upon our relish of poetical, and of other beauty—how much, for example, of the native Greek's rapture at Homer, is owing to love of country, and how much of an American's ecstacies to classical enthusiasm, the pride of learning, or the influence of names. Yes, I spare you—partly, because I have not much that is new to say upon the subject; and partly because, if I had, it would be wholly out of season.

By special invitation, I attended a lecture (one of a series) delivered by Mr. Perdicaris, upon the literary and political history of modern Greece. It was marked by a rich yet chaste imagination, a generous glow of patriotic enthusiasm, and the eloquence which they naturally inspire. You may feel a curiosity, as I did, to know somewhat of the outer man of a modern Greek. Mr. P. is about the middle height, or five feet nine; shoulders broad, and a stout frame; black hair, disposed to curl; large black whiskers, flanking a broad oval face, the complexion whereof is a darkish olive—as dark, at least, as Mr. Webster's. Having been eleven years in this country, he speaks our language fluently and intelligibly: indeed, as is usual with those who learn a foreign tongue from books, and from enlightened native speakers, his English is remarkably pure. A few rhetorical and grammatical faults there were—for instance, "he left Athens" was curtailed (a la Yankee) to "he left." This is a New England-ism not confined to the vulgar: neither is the phrase "he conducted well," for "he conducts himself well;" nor "considerable of a place," for "a considerable place." We hear Yankees of respectable literary pretensions, too, saying shall, where the English idiom certainly requires will; as, "shall you visit Boston during your tour?"¹—and clipping the infinitive mood, in a way equally contrary to the good customs of the realm—thus—"I have not written yet, but to-day I intend to." But I am chasing game that is hardly worth the powder.

¹ If I mistake not, I have heard Mr. Webster himself use shall in this manner. It is an innovation, sustained by no eminent authority or precedent in England; and is confined, in America, to the north side of the Potomac, if not to the east of the Hudson. With that still grosser affectation, "the house is being built," "a war is being waged," it should be promptly arrested, before it shall have become inseparably mingled in the "well of English undefiled." By the way, this latter refinement prevails more in the south than in the north.

I owe to Mr. P. another intellectual treat: the inspection of an Illiad, edited by Mr. Felton, Professor of Greek at Harvard. Of all the editions that I have examined, this is by far the best adapted to schools; and the most likely to gratify the taste, or to aid the study, of a retired scholar. The character is a fac simile of Porson's M.S. Greek—surpassingly neat, simple, and distinct. The text seems to be given with exemplary fidelity. And it is interspersed with Flaxman's Illustrations; engraved cuts, of all the principal scenes: which, though mere hints of incidents, and too meager outlines of persons, greatly heighten the interest of the work. But its crowning merits, are the Editor's English Preface and Notes. I read the former, and most of the latter—much more, I dare say, than is usually deemed needful for a reviewer. They do Mr. F.'s learning, judgment, taste, feeling, and eloquence, very high honor. He does not make much ado about the trivialities of dialect, quantity, and various readings, like the cumbersome annotators upon the classicks, criticised in the Spectator; nor does he, like "piddling Tibbald," 'celebrate himself for achieving the restoration of a comma,'² or the correction of an accent. But beauties are pointed out and commented on, with a critical taste and elegance, calculated to make the learner's task a luxury; while difficulties are cleared up with a fulness that leaves little need for oral instruction. The edition is in one volume; and I hope soon to see it supersede the clumsy affair of the too learned Samuel Clarke, which now has such fast foot-hold in our schools.

² Johnson's Preface to Shakspeare.

You perhaps think it odd, that I have said nothing of the judicial systems of New England; and ascribe it either to my acting on Young Rapid's maxim—"sink the shop, Dad!"—or to my being cloyed with courts at home, and so, loathing them amid the countless attractions of my journey. Neither, neither—be assured. 'Though last, not least'—they have formed a leading subject of my inquiries: and to judge speculatively, as well as from what is told me of their practical operation (which I have had no opportunity to witness) they have some points worth considering, if not imitating.

The judiciary power of Rhode Island is vested in a supreme court, consisting of a chief and two associate justices; and a court of common pleas (composed of five judges) for each of the five counties. All the judges are appointed annually by the legislature. This feature alone suffices to stamp the whole system with insignificance: for what skill in jurisprudence—what independence of popular excitements and party influences—could be expected from judges whom the breath of a party leader can make and unmake, at each year's end? When to this we add, that the chief justice of the supreme court receives a salary of $650, and each associate $550, we need not wonder that no decision of the Rhode Island bench is ever quoted in other states. The governor's salary is $400; the lieutenant governor's, $200. But if, in scantiness of territory and a corresponding scantiness of means, this state is ordained by nature to be the San Marino of America, yet it is purely her own fault if, by the precarious tenure of her judicial offices, she reduces one of the most important departments of mind to the same diminutive scale, and goes far to make herself morally and intellectually also, the insignificant miniature of a commonwealth.

In Connecticut, justice is administered in causes of small amount by county courts, whose judges are chosen annually: and in larger causes, by superior courts. The latter are held semi-annually in each county by one of five judges, who also form the supreme court. They hold office during good behavior, or until seventy years of age: and have both law and chancery jurisdiction. The supreme court sits once a year in each county. I do not know what actual loss of valuable services Connecticut has suffered, by her rule which drives judges from the bench just at the juncture when their faculties are in many instances the most happily ripe for its functions: but, that she has lost and will lose, no one can doubt who remembers, that thirteen of the best years of Mansfield's judicial life, and fourteen or fifteen of Wythe's and Pendleton's, were after the age of seventy; and that such a rule would have deprived the United States' judiciary, ten years ago, of its present gigantic Coryphæus—confessedly one of the purest and most powerful minds that ever filled any judgment seat. But what heightened or adequate terms of censure can be found for the New York rule, which displaces every judge at sixty? A rule which prematurely discarded Spencer and Lansing; and which, for more than ten years, has made Kent employ the full vigor and maturity of his intellect in writing abstract treatises, and selling chamber opinions, instead of going on as he had begun, to build up for his state a system of jurisprudence hardly inferior to that which Mansfield reared for England?

In Massachusetts, are some very striking peculiarities. The supreme court, consisting of four judges, sits once a year in each county, to decide questions of law, in the last resort. Some one of these judges, besides, holds annually a Nisi Prius term in each county, to try appeals from an inferior grade called "courts of common pleas," original suits in chancery, and upon the bonds of executors and administrators. The appeals to them from the common pleas, are as to both law and fact: a jury being empanneled, witnesses examined, &c., as if it were an original proceeding. The latter courts are held twice a year in each county, by some one of four judges; who hold office (like those of the supreme court) during good behavior. They have cognizance of all causes, except what I shall designate as vested elsewhere.

Presentments and indictments for all offences, are found only in the common pleas; where, also, they are tried—except in capital cases. These, after the indictment is found, are certified and removed from the common pleas to the supreme court; at whose bar the culprit is tried by a jury: a special term being held on purpose, in any county where the judges are notified that a prisoner awaits trial for life or death. En passant—though eight crimes are, by the laws of Massachusetts, punishable with death, only twenty-six persons in the whole state have been capitally convicted, in thirty years! The number of trials (I do not exactly remember it) bears an immense disproportion to the number of convictions: so immense, as to prove that either an undue severity in the laws, or the unreasonable and too common lenity of juries, aided by the overwhelming superiority of defending advocates—or (what is most probable) all three causes together—have well nigh made those laws a dead letter. Prosecutions are conducted by district attorneys, of whom there are four in the state; each prosecuting within his allotted district. In the supreme court, however, the attorney general is counsel for the commonwealth.

Chancery, or equitable relief, is rarely sought in the Massachusetts courts. Indeed it was unknown, until, within a comparatively recent period, two or three statutes empowered the supreme court to administer it, in a very few specified cases—mortgages, trusts, accounts between partners and co-executors, waste, nuisance, and two or three others: omitting the fruitful subjects of fraud, accident, dower, et cetera—and especially the sweeping power to relieve wherever there is no remedy at law—subjects which, by the multiplication of cases, have made our chancery, like that of England, the dormitory if not the grave of justice. And even as to the few specified subjects of jurisdiction, those statutes rigidly restrict the relief to cases in which there is not a plain and complete remedy at law. Before these enactments (and since, too, in cases without their scope,) the rigor of the law was mitigated only by the sense of justice in juries; and by sundry expedients—curious enough, to Virginian eyes—which seem to have left few wrongs unremedied. For instance—if I am unjustly cast in a trial at law, by accident or surprise, or for want of testimony which I did not know of till the term was over; not a bill of injunction, but a petition to the judge in vacation, within a limited time, will procure me a new trial. If my debtor fraudulently dispose of his property; instead of a bill in chancery to ferret out the fraud, I may have, along with my execution (if I have obtained judgment) a summons to the colluding purchaser as garnishee, to disclose orally on oath, in open court, what effects he has, of the debtor.

Roads are laid off by a board of commissioners, established for that purpose in each county; and invested with judicial powers, in controversies on the subject.

The probat of wills, the granting of administrations, the appointment of guardians, and the supervision of the accounts and conduct of guardians, executors, and administrators, are confided to an officer, called the Judge of Probat, appointed in each county for those purposes only; and holding his court monthly, in several convenient places of the county, to hear motions and decide disputes on those subjects. His records and proceedings are kept by a distinct clerk, called the Register of Probat; and an appeal lies from his decisions immediately to the supreme court. We, in Virginia, sorely need some tribunal like this; specially charged with the interests of widows and orphans.

Equally worthy to be copied, is the Massachusetts mode of constituting juries. Lists of all persons qualified to serve, are kept by the town-clerks; from which, just before a court, the town quota of jurors is drawn by lot: and no one is compellable to serve oftener than once in three years. They are paid for their service. Against juries thus formed, I heard no complaints, of partiality, corruption, or undue ignorance. They receive a compensation, which at least defrays their reasonable expenses; and if there be still some burthen, it is borne equally by all, and recurs at such long intervals, as to be absolutely unfelt. How different is our plan, of sending out the sheriff just before a trial, to gather in the sweepings of the court-yard! Suitors and witnesses, attending perhaps for the tenth time, in hopes of having their causes determined—strangers from other counties, nay, travellers from other states—tipplers from the tavern porch—the nearest merchants, mechanics, and farmers, torn suddenly and capriciously from their employments—such is the medley, produced by a system as oppressive to most of the jurors themselves, as it is subversive of the important ends for which they are empanneled. One is really tempted to believe, that in adhering so pertinaciously to a system so obviously defective and so easily remedied, our statesmen have been governed by a fixed design to bring jury-trial itself into disrepute.

Wiser in another respect also than we, these "Bay folk" have no courts (except for cases of twenty dollars or less) held by men who have not themselves studied the science they are to expound: no parallel to our county courts—those crack tribunals of some great men, whose admiration arises either from the want of intimate knowledge—they having ranged generally in a higher sphere—or from their enjoying over that bench an influence, flattering to their vanity, and blinding to their judgments. How long will the public attention sleep—how long will the hand of reform be palsied—when will an attempt be made to cure the unfitness of these courts for the weighty, multifarious, and difficult functions entrusted to them?—the ludicrous, if it were a less mischievous, uncertainty of their decisions, owing to their ignorance of any fixed rules by which to decide?—the delays, so fatal to justice, that attend their unsteady ministration?—the ruinous accumulation of costs, besides harassment and loss of time in dancing attendance upon them through years of litigation?

The Massachusetts and Connecticut plan, of an itinerant supreme court, cannot be commended to imitation. The common arguments, of bringing justice home to the people, and enabling suitors to see in person to their causes, are not pertinent, where the whole case is contained in the record; where no witnesses are to be summoned or examined—no counsel to be instructed in the cause. Then, the loss of time in travelling, and the want of so extensive a library and so able a bar, as would be formed if the court sat always in one place, must essentially impair the correctness of its decisions, and lower the superiority of its intellect.

The common-law of England is made the basis of Massachusetts law, not, as in Virginia, by a legislative declaration that it shall be so, but by adjudications of the courts, recognizing and adopting it as such. By a still bolder stretch, the courts have acknowledged as generally binding, English statutes made in amendment of the common-law—not only before, but since the foundation of the colony: nay, the terms of the decision do not exclude English statutes subsequent to the American revolution. This comprehensive grafting of a foreign code upon the domestic, not by professed and authorised law-givers, but by mere judges, is perhaps one of the most remarkable instances of judicial legislation, any where to be found: and must have arisen from a licentious spirit of construction, which, when it acts upon written laws, may naturally be expected to make them mean almost any thing that the interpreters choose.³ The admirers of an unwritten law, reposited in the breasts of judges and to be sought only in precedents and decisions, may vaunt, if they will, its happy elasticity, dilating and contracting to fit every conceivable emergency: but I doubt if (among other evils) it does not nurture habits of latitudinous interpretation, destined to be well nigh fatal to one of the great boasts of modern times—written forms of government. Minds accustomed always to make the law adapt itself to the particular occasion; to regard that as law, which the immediate case requires; naturally fritter away constitutions with as little ceremony, as children demolish or alter their sand houses and dirt pies.

³ Hardly less startling an exercise of legislative power by the judiciary, was in the abolition of slavery. The Bill of Rights prefixed to the constitution of Massachusetts, adopted in 1780, asserts, as most of our state constitutions do—substantially copying the Declaration of Independence—"that all men are born free and equal, and have certain natural and unalienable rights;" namely, the right of enjoying their lives and liberties, &c. On this, some masters spontaneously yielded freedom to their slaves; others, on its being demanded of them. In 1781, a master who refused, was sued by his slave for a trespass, assault and battery, and false imprisonment; and pleaded, that the plaintiff, being his slave, had no right to sue him. The court held, that slavery was contrary to the first article of the Bill of Rights; and that therefore the plea was bad, and the plaintiff was free. This decision virtually abolished slavery in Massachusetts, without any legislative act for doing so. Some other suits were brought; but in most cases, masters yielded at once. There were then not quite five thousand slaves in the state. Abolition was similarly effected in New Hampshire. It was by legislation in New York, where there were twenty-one thousand slaves, in a whole population of three hundred and forty thousand.

The chief court of Massachusetts has tasked the readers of law-books, as heavily as our's has done. Its decisions fill twenty-seven or twenty-eight octavo volumes—about our number. The supreme court of New York has issued more than thirty; the supreme court at Washington eighteen or twenty; Pennsylvania, Connecticut, South Carolina—but I forbear the appalling list. Every good law library, however, should have at least the five sets first named; and they are as yet but just begun. If the monstrous increase be not checked, what purse can buy, what head can read (much less remember,) nay what room can hold them, a century hence? Already, indeed, we are grievously over-tasked: for besides the thousands of tomes, English and American, now accumulated,⁴ it is impossible to keep pace with the daily accessions, poured forth from a hundred manufactories of legal oracles. Some powerful condenser, or another Caliph Omar, is our only hope. The oppressive bulkiness of law-reports is owing partly to the reporters; but more, to the judges—who, apparently more intent on the display of learning and ingenuity, than upon adjusting the rights of the parties, often swell the simple and clear page or two, which the case requires, into a rambling and voluminous disquisition of twenty pages. Nay, not content with one such disquisition in each case, each judge presents his own; and the reporter spreads them all at length in his next volume. I wish that both judges and reporters could be obliged to study, as models of lucid brevity, Yelverton's Reports, and the still more admirable decisions of Chief Justice Tindal, of the English Common-Pleas⁵—who frequently compresses into half a page or less, what our American judges would wire-draw into half a dozen pages.

⁴ "Immenso aliarum super alias acervatarum legum cumulo."

⁵ In the late "English Common-Law Reports."

Lawyers are very numerous in Massachusetts—somewhere about seven hundred; of whom one hundred and sixty or one hundred and eighty are in Boston. Their intercourse appears to be marked by the same fraternal spirit, which strews the toilsome path of the profession in the south with so many sweets and flowers. Admission to the bar is procured, not by examination, but by leave of court, on recommendation of those who are already practising there; provided the candidate have studied five years in some lawyer's office; or have so studied three years, and be a graduate of some college. He has, besides, to pay for admission into the supreme court, a fee of thirty dollars, and for the common-pleas, twenty dollars; to be expended towards a joint library, for the use of the bar in each county. These libraries are sometimes large, and well selected. The emoluments of practice, except to the very leaders of the profession, seem far inferior to those of practisers occupying correspondent grades of talent and fame in Virginia: indeed, I doubt whether any but Mr. Webster receives an amount comparable to the incomes of several there, whom I could name. Yet the life of a lawyer is probably more pleasant in Massachusetts. From the pre-requisites to admission, you may infer that well-stored minds abound more with the fraternity: at least it was so, till our university, and our several excellent law-schools, began to give a clearer and more expanded ken to the mental optics of our young lawyers. Then, in society at large—certainly in the towns and villages—there is more literature afloat in Massachusetts: amusements are of a more rational cast. Where we have a horse-race, a barbecue, a whist-party, or a pool at back-gammon, our Yankee brethren have a meeting of some lyceum, or other society for mutual improvement, at which a lecture is given or a debate held, upon some interesting subject, of economy or morals: or an unceremonious evening visit is dedicated to conversation, in which politics engross no unreasonable share. The newspapers—even the most violent political ones—at once attest and foster the prevalent taste for general knowledge, by devoting a considerable part of their sheets to literary and useful matter: unlike the two giants of the press in Virginia, that can hardly ever spare a column, and never a page, from the embittering—aye, the brutalizing—themes of party strife, to topics which might exalt, enlighten, purify, innocently amuse, and humanize the public mind. There is less locomotion in the practice of a Massachusetts lawyer: he rarely attends more than two counties; for the most part, only one. This, if he loves domestic life, is a great point for him. And in the ordering of a New England home-stead, there is a quiet, smooth despatch—a neatness—a happy fitting of means to ends—a nicety of contrivances for comfort—an economy of trouble in every thing—all calculated doubly to endear it to a home-loving man. When to all this we add, that though the prime necessaries of life are cheaper with us, those elegancies and luxuries which as the world goes have become necessaries, are so much more accessible in New England, as to make a smaller income yield a larger store of comfort; it will not seem wonderful, that the balance of enjoyment is on the Massachusetts lawyer's side. I take for granted, you see, that he is not insensible to intellectual pleasures; and that they conduce the most of all to happiness.

This is probably the last time you will hear from me before we meet; as my tour is drawing near its close. The six weeks it has occupied, have been crowded with more mind-stirring incident, than any six months of my previous life. Vivid indeed is the contrast, between the plodding, eventless tenor of the preceding eight years, and the exciting, the feverish interest of these six weeks. Yet they have afforded scarcely a describable adventure; nothing, at all calculated to make an auditor's eyes stretch wide, or his hair stand on end. In truth, the interest is explicable in great part by the simple case of a plough-horse, turned loose to kick up his heels for an hour. He enjoys the recreation (if his spirit is not broken by excessive work,) five fold more than a daily roamer of the pasture could do. Judge how the sport has kept my faculties aroused, by the fact, that though habitually a great sleeper, requiring seven or eight hours in the twenty-four, my sleep, since leaving Virginia, would hardly average five hours. Even while on foot—walking from twenty to thirty miles a day—my nightly allowance was sometimes less than five, never more than six hours.

Let me commend to tourists, foot-travelling—if they wish to see a country thoroughly: I do not mean its rivers and mountains, cities, forests, and churches, but its MEN and WOMEN. These "constitute a State." Whoever would see them in their truest, every-day garb—of dress and manners—upon occasions and amid scenes, where refined disguises are laid aside, and life appears with the least sophistication possible in our state of society; should walk among them without equipage and in very plain clothes; call in at their houses—partake of their meals—nay, find some excuse for tarrying a day or two at one place—enter their schools, and their public meetings—see them at their work—and hold "various talk" with them. In two or three weeks thus employed, he will obtain a deeper insight into their customs, character and institutions, than from months spent in whirling along the highways, and attending formal dinner parties. Unless he is a hardened pedestrian, he should take care to begin by short journies, of only eight, ten, or fifteen miles a day; and not till after five or six days, stretch away at thirty miles daily. Otherwise he may cripple himself, so as greatly to mar the pleasure of his jaunt. I speak from sore experience on this point.

Though I have been obliged to concede to the Yankees, a superiority in some respects over ourselves, you will not suspect me of having over-colored my limnings, or of having wantonly—much less ill-naturedly—disparaged our good old commonwealth. Without wishing to lower the generally just and salutary, (though sometimes amusing) pride her children feel at the bare mention of her honored name, I have aimed to draw their attention to some traits of Yankee life and character, which we may advantageously copy—nay, the want of which is the main cause of our lagging march in the numberless improvements, that distinguish this age, and appear so fruitful of blessings to mankind. My aim too has been, to disabuse them of a few of the prejudices, which ignorance and misrepresentation have fostered against our Northern brethren. Let any one who thinks I have exaggerated their excellencies, only come among them, and see for himself; bringing to the scrutiny a candid mind, prepared to allow for unavoidable differences.—Indeed our people ought to travel northward oftener. It would be a good thing, if exploring parties were frequently sent hither, (as to a moral terra incognita,) to observe and report the particulars deserving of our imitation. Our independent planters, and shrewd, notable housewives, could not make such an excursion, without carrying home a hundred notions, for which they and their neighbors would be the richer and better all their days. Nor might they profit less, by sending their statesmen and law-givers, to take lessons in civil polity. There are admirable things of every magnitude; from TOWNSHIP GOVERNMENTS, COMMON SCHOOLS, and COURTS OF PROBAT, down to closed doors, splayed and rumfordized fire-places,⁶ seasoned wood,⁷ and cold light-bread.⁸ Some things, too, they would see, to be shunned: I need only name excessive banking,—enormously multiplied corporations, for manufacturing, and other purposes—and, what strikes yet more fatally at the foundation of popular government, the caucus system. But the strongest reason for a more frequent intercourse, is the liberalizing of mind that would result; the unlearning of our long cherished prejudices, from seeing the Yankees at home—that place, where human character may always be the most accurately judged. They too, have some (though fewer and less bitter,) reciprocal prejudices, to be cured by a more intimate acquaintance. No mind but must see the unspeakable importance of weeding away these mutual and groundless dislikes. The perpetuity of our union—and the liberty, the peace, the happiness of its members—in a great degree depend upon the accomplishment of that expurgation. There cannot be a simpler recipe. The North and the South need only know each other better, to love each other more.

⁶ When the sides of a fire-place are slanting, instead of being square with the back, they are said to be splayed. When the back leans forward at top, approaching the inner side of the arch or front top, so as to make the flue only six or eight inches wide, it is said to be Rumford-ized, If my readers pardon me for being thus elementary, I will presume further upon it, and add, that the latter term comes from Count Rumford, who invented that improvement. The sides of a New England fire-place often slope at an angle of 120 or 130 degrees with the back; so as to make the width behind, not more than half the width in front. The wood is usually sawed, to fit the hinder part of the fire-place.

⁷ The wood is cut 12, sometimes 15 or 18 months, before it is burned. If cut in the summer, it is suffered to lie out for a few months, and then put away till the second winter, in the wood-house; a constant and close appendage to every dwelling. Southrons have no idea, though Yankees have experimental knowledge, of the saving and comfort there is in using this, instead of green wood—how vastly further any given quantity of the former will go, in producing heat. It has been satisfactorily shewn, that in a cord of green wood, there are about 140 or 150 gallons of water; all of which must be changed to steam—that is, evaporated—before the particles of the wood in which it is lodged can burn: and in doing this, just so much heat is expended, which would otherwise be employed in warming the room. The time spent in this process, makes our people fancy that green wood actually burns longer than dry: and because a dozen billets of green, when the water is entirely evaporated, give out more heat than four dry ones, they think that hotter fires can be made of green wood!

⁸ The bread should not be eaten till it is cured, or stale; i.e., at least twenty-four hours old; and it is good, for several days more. The superior wholesomeness of cured bread is explained by the fact, that on coming out of the oven, it has an over-proportion of carbonic acid gas—well known to be poisonous when unmixed; but by lying in the open air, the bread parts with most of this noxious gas, and imbibes instead of it, oxygen gas—the wholesome, vital principle in the atmosphere.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE WALTZ AND THE GALLOPADE.

MR. WHITE,—Although a short time only has passed since I wrote you a long letter, partly to fulfil a promise made before your Messenger began to perform his most welcome peregrinations, yet the spirit moveth me irresistibly to address you again. The immediate cause of this second tax upon your patience being so soon levied, is the perusal of an article published some time ago in that spirited paper, the "Constitutional Whig" of your city,—wherein, to my great gratification, its talented editor has lashed in well merited style, that outrage upon the yet unsophisticated manners and customs of our country, seen, I believe, for the first time in the city of Washington last winter, as if in mockery of the character and memory of its illustrious founder. I mean the "Fancy Ball," as it is styled by those who have undertaken to describe it; although with all due deference to their superior taste and knowledge, I would venture to suggest "the frantic hurlyburly" as a more appropriate term. I do this from having some reason to believe, that a more deplorable caricature of what was designed to be represented, was never perpetrated by the would-be fashionables in any country—either in or out of Christendom. This foreign and apish intruder has not yet, thank heaven, gained such footing among us, as altogether to preclude the hope of extirpating it from the land, if a few such pens as that wielded by the editor of the Whig, could be exerted for so laudable a purpose; and therefore it is that I venture to cry—"to the rescue," in the hope that several others will obey the call. Let it once be deemed "the fashion" to have "Fancy Balls," and even the greatest clodhoppers among us are sufficiently acquainted with the despotism of this tyrant, to know that his behests will bid defiance alike to reason, ridicule, and reproof—to good sense, good manners, and good principles.

I am much gratified, Mr. Editor, at another circumstance brought to my notice incidentally by this article in the "Whig." It is, that our language, copious as it certainly is, does not yet afford terms of its own to express several of the foreign fooleries and attempts to corrupt our yet simple, unaffected character, described as a part of this extraordinary exhibition, "the Fancy Ball;" such, for example, as the waltz and the gallopade. For the benefit of those who may wish to know the literal meaning of these outlandish terms, without the means of gratifying such wish, I beg leave to offer the fruit of my researches—aided, as I confess myself to have been, by far better scholars than I am.

The first term—"waltz," is evidently of German extraction, being plainly derived from the verb "walzen" which, with the adjunct "sich," means to roll, welter, or wallow oneself; and with the prefix "das" becomes the participle rolling, weltering, wallowing; from which selfish process the transition is quite easy, to roll, or welter, or wallow another. In either case the predominant idea is, that the term describes some action natural to an animal of the order Belluæ; for our English correlative terms are never applied to human beings, but by way of derision or contempt expressed in figurative language. Quere: how does it accord with human pride and vanity—how far is it reconcileable to the lowest aspirations that we are ever willing to acknowledge ourselves capable of feeling, to be ambitious of imitating either hogs, horses, or monkies in our actions?

If there could be any doubt in regard to the derivation of the first term "waltz," or the object of the practice of waltzing, the etymology of the second term "gallopade," must settle the question beyond farther controversy; and must prove that an imitation of certain belluine gambols and gesticulations most be the grand desideratum in adopting these exotic fashions. "Gallopade" is manifestly from the French word "galloper," and that again from the Greek "kalpazein" to gallop like a horse. From all this it seems perfectly clear, that this latter dance at least, (if it may be so called,) in order to honor its Greek Etymon, should be performed on all fours; since for a biped successfully to imitate any action of a quadruped, in which all its limbs are used, the biped must make its arms, if it has any, execute the function of legs. The quadruped resemblance then, which seems to be the thing coveted, would be brought as near to perfection as the nature of the case could possibly admit. Add to this, it is the best imaginable expedient for working off that dissatisfaction at the ways of Providence which these gallopading or galloping gentry appear to feel, at perceiving that all the genera of the Belluæ order, (unless, perhaps, the Kangaroo may be excepted,) have been so much more liberally dealt with, as to be provided with one more pair of legs than they have. It may however be well questioned, how far it is good policy (to say no worse of it,) to encourage this downward tendency, since the natural proclivity of our species to indulge brute appetites and passions is generally allowed to be already much greater than becomes us who claim to be the only rational part of God's visible creation. Heaven knows that we even now approximate far too closely to the lower order of animals in many of our propensities and practices, not to take any particular pains, nor to use any extraordinary exertions to render this approximation still more striking. If we can not prevail upon ourselves to cherish higher aspirations, to act in a manner more worthy of our exalted station among living and sentient beings, let us at least strive hard not to retrograde.

So much, Mr. Editor, for the degradation of these foreign fooleries. But their demoralizing tendencies are matters of much higher concern—of infinitely deeper interest. Let me endeavor to point them out. The perfection of the "waltz" consists in exhibiting to the gaze of a numerous company of both sexes, the female form in every variety of position and attitude into which activity of body and suppleness of limb can throw it—short of what all would exclaim against as absolutely indecent, continually however verging to that point. No modest woman ever beheld it for the first time, without the burning blush of shame and confusion. As to the horse galloping dance, I know not what allurement that may in time be capable of producing, since it is not yet sufficiently domesticated to be well understood, nor very skilfully executed—to say nothing of the very reasonable doubts yet entertained by many nice calculators on such intricate subjects, whether such a thing be possible as either an alluring or graceful gallop performed by horse, man, or woman. But that which I have said of the "waltz," none can deny, however some may be disposed to palliate it, by alleging that all its numerous postures and gyrations are still practised under that powerful sense of decorum which the ladies of our country, (God bless them,) who venture to indulge in it, have not yet been able entirely to subdue. But the anxious question is,—can this always last? Can a sense of decorum or of any thing else continue under the constant operation of causes tending powerfully, nay, inevitably, to annihilate it? There is nothing so great that time cannot destroy—nothing so small that it may not increase to an almost inconceivable magnitude. Thus it is, comparatively speaking, with our best principles—our most approved manners. Injuries too slight at first to be regarded or feared, accumulate by unperceived or neglected degrees, until at last they grow past remedy, and all is lost that was worthy of preservation. Can our beloved wives and daughters—beloved, because still uncontaminated by foreign corruptions—can they suffer themselves to be continually whirled about in all the giddy, exciting mazes of the licentious waltz, like so many French or Italian Opera girls, without impairing or losing all self-respect—all that most lovely and endearing modesty for which they have ever been so justly celebrated, so highly prized? Can not polished manners, easy carriage, graceful deportment, be taught at less sacrifice, less risk, than by calling in for the purpose these deleterious foreign auxiliaries? Surely—most surely they may; for all, I think, will admit, that no more admirable and perfect examples of these qualities can, or probably ever will be found, than among the ladies of what may be called the old school, many of whom to our own great happiness, are yet spared to teach their daughters, among numerous useful lessons, that neither waltzing nor horse-like-galloping is at all necessary to gain for them all the esteem, regard, and devoted love which they can possibly deem essential to their happiness in the present life. Thoughtless as too many of our young men are, and desirous as they may often be to choose waltzing and gallopading young ladies for partners in a dance, most rarely do they yet commit the egregious folly of seeking them as partners for life. However giddy, rash, and improvident some of them may be in other respects, they are too well aware that a fondness for these indecorous displays of the person—these ridiculous, antic gambols, will do any thing rather than fit their practitioners for the various, complicated, and arduous duties of the married state—through not one of which can either a waltz or a gallopade carry them with the least credit to themselves or benefit to their families. Better—far better would it be for these daughters to live and die utterly ignorant of what dancing is, than to be qualified to participate in its pleasures, at the hazard of soiling, in the slightest degree, that spotless purity of feelings and character, which we men rank (and long, very long may we have a right to do so,) as the richest, the most precious by far of all our moral possessions. Deprive us of these, and we shall be poor—miserably poor indeed! Rather let our beloved girls be subject forever to the ridicule and contempt of all the infatuated votaries of these modern and foreign¹ corruptions, both of our manners and principles, than to be longer exposed to their deeply pernicious influence.

¹ That your readers may know what our English friends think of waltzing and gallopading, I take the liberty to add the following extract from an article in the New Monthly Magazine, "on the Revolutions of the 19th century." Here it is—

"Look at our balls: In 1800, modest woman danced modestly; and let the conversation which passed between two partners, standing as far distant from each other as people ordinarily do in a drawing room, be what it might, it could do no harm in the way of example. Within this century it has become the fashion for a delicate girl, who would, as Fielding's 'Huncamunca' says—'shudder at the gross idea' of man's advance, to permit herself, and be permitted by her mother—aye, or her husband, to flourish about a room to a wriggling German air, with a strange man's arm round her waist, and her delicate hand upon his brawny shoulder. This thing is called—a waltz: there is another of the same character, called—a gallopade, where the same operations are performed, and in which, instead of turning the woman about until she gets giddy, the fellow makes no more ado, but claps her up in his paws, and hurries right on end from one corner of the room to another."

Thus speaks one of the most popular periodicals in England of these foreign abominations; and it is for Virginia parents and heads of families to say, whether they shall be naturalized among us, or banished from our society as a moral pestilence.

I am no enemy, sir, to dancing; for I believe it to be not only an exhilirating, healthful, and joyous amusement, but also entirely innocent, when not carried to excess: quite as innocent as any other imaginable thing that can properly be called amusement, in which the two sexes participate together. But at every hazard of incurring the ridicule and scorn of our American exquisites, I denounce waltzing and gallopading, because, from my inmost soul, I dread any thing and every thing that threatens, in the slightest degree, to change, for the worse, the character of the Virginia lady; for upon that character I most conscientiously believe, the happiness both of ourselves and our children—aye, and of our children's children, vitally depends. I cling to it therefore as our best, our last hope, to guard us against all corrupting innovations. Those upon which I have ventured to address you, will probably be deemed very trivial matters, I dare say, by thousands; but many of our ladies, I trust, whose opinions have still much influence in all our social circles; many who will acknowledge me for their true, devoted friend, although quite too old to be their beau, will decide, that I have not ascribed too much power to these exotic fashions. Like all other corrupting influences, they have gradually insinuated themselves into favor; their approach has not been so sudden and violent as to excite alarm. Of this fact, there is no stronger evidence, than that which is furnished by the history of the waltz itself, which, trifling as it may seem, will and must have a powerfully demoralizing effect, especially when followed up by its congenial ally, Masquerades,—of which the fancy-ball-folly is the certain precursor. Mark the prediction, sir, for I know it will be laughed to scorn by all the fashionables of the present day, although I ask only two years for its fulfilment, but expect it much sooner.

When the waltz first made its appearance in this country, it was exhibited only on the public stage, and even there met with almost universal reprobation, except from a few reckless profligates, whose sole object in life is mere sensual indulgence. None so much as surmised that such a dance could ever be introduced into private society. At last, a few adventurous foreigners succeeded in introducing it into private parties: but, for a considerable time, they themselves were the only performers. It was long before our country-women could so far forget the early lessons of decorum, self respect, and modesty, taught them by their mothers, as to make that public display and spectacle of their persons, which must unavoidably be made, in waltzing at all, if executed as the fashion required. But these most natural and laudable feelings, which caused them to revolt at such an innovation, such an outrage against all their preconceived notions of propriety, have gradually yielded to the almost resistless force of example "in high places," until the waltz has not only domiciliated itself permanently in nearly all our towns and cities, but has enlisted in its defence many bold country advocates. The few ladies, (comparatively speaking,) among us, who yet have firmness and moral courage enough, to resist what they deem a very pernicious example, cannot, I fear, long maintain their most laudable opposition, against such a host of assailants. Even you, Mr. Editor, (if you will pardon my freedom in making the remark,) seem a little inclined—judging by some late comments of your's upon waltzing—to submit to the practice without further resistance.

Having made up my mind, Mr. Editor, to meet as I can, for this attack upon foreign fashions, the sneers and scoffs of all our American exquisites, should any condescend to notice me—a class of bipeds (by the way,) who bear the same sort of resemblance to their European prototypes, that the buffoon does to the head performer in a company of tumblers and rope dancers—I shall say nothing to deprecate their displeasure. But I must still beg leave to assign a few of my chief reasons for addressing you on this occasion, lest that numerous and highly respectable portion of your readers, whose good opinion I am anxious to retain, may mistake my motives. Without some satisfactory explanation, some of them might even be tempted to exclaim at me, as old Edie Ochiltree did at the Antiquary—"Lordsake! he's gaun gyte!"—"he has run crazy, to venture upon taking by the horns this mad creature, Fashion, as if his feeble arm could at all check the wild headlong course of such an animal." To prevent such comments, if possible, I will urge in my own justification, should any be necessary, that I have done this deed, because I deem it an essential part of every aged person's obligations to his fellow men, as long as life lasts, to oppose either orally or in print, for the benefit of the youth of our country, every innovation, be it what it may, which threatens to affect them injuriously. Whether they will listen to him or not, depends upon themselves; his duty in this behalf will have been fulfilled. I have done it too, because I believe, that the most feeble laborer with honest intentions, in a good cause, may accomplish some good which will amply compensate him for his efforts. I have done it, because apparent trifles are rarely noticed in books, although many of these trifles have a most powerful and deleterious influence, not only on our principles of action, but over our manners and conduct. And lastly, I have done it, because I believe, without the most remote possibility of this conviction ever being changed, that the happiness of the present, as well as of every future generation, depends upon preserving unsullied the purity of the female character. The matrons of our country are the first, the most watchful, the best guardians of our children, where they themselves have been virtuously educated. They form the manners and character of these children: they sow the seeds of all their good qualities: they first discover and cherish with boundless affection and solicitude, the earliest dawnings of each amiable disposition; and never relax while life lasts, their anxious efforts to fit them both for their present and future state of existence. How momentous then! how vitally important it is! that, when the mothers depart hence to another and a happier world, their surviving daughters should be qualified to take their places, with equal capacity to fulfil all their duties. But this, alas, cannot possibly be, without the most zealous, unremitting and assiduous care, to guard them, as we would the most inestimable of our possessions, against all demoralizing influences whatever. Corrupt the source, and what will be the effect of its streams? Poison the fountain, and who can drink of its waters without death—death, both in a figurative and literal sense? An atom of dust in itself is unworthy of notice; but in reference to the great planet we inhabit, it is a constituent and essential part. A drop of water alone, is apparently valueless; yet the mighty ocean itself is composed of individual drops, without which its bed would be an arid desert.

The application of these general remarks to our subject, is too manifest, I hope, to be mistaken. Let nothing, therefore, however trivial it may appear on a cursory view, be deemed unworthy of serious attention, which either directly or indirectly, can injuriously affect the yet distinctive, still unsullied character of our justly and dearly beloved country-women.

Having thus thought and felt, as long as I have been at all capable of serious reflection, it is quite too late to change: I am consequently prepared to submit unmoved to whatever sentence may be pronounced against this second communication, from your friend, and constant reader,

OLIVER OLDSCHOOL.

[The following amusing incident, is related in the lively manner for which its author is much celebrated. The moral predicated upon the bashfulness of his visiter, seems however disproportionably serious. There are few cases of such extreme mauvaise honte in the present day, when an excess of modest assurance (by some denominated impudence,) is rather to be complained of.]

From the New York Mirror.

A BASHFUL GENTLEMAN.

BY M. M. NOAH.

Modesty, diffidence, and a proper humility, are jewels in the cap of merit; but downright bashfulness, your real mauvaise honte is terrible, and is a distinct mark of ill-breeding, or rather of no breeding at all. Your dashing impudent fops, who say a thousand silly things to the ladies, and flutter around them like butterflies, are yet more endurable than your bashful fellow who sneaks into a corner, terrified to catch a look, or exchange a word with a pretty woman.

Such an identical person paid me a visit on one of the cold days last week, and broke in upon me with a thousand bows and apologies, while busily engaged with pen in hand, thinking of a whig candidate for president, who would not run the risk of being knocked on the head by our friends the moment his name was announced.

"Sit down, sir, if you please; make no more apologies; sit down and tell me your business." "Well, sir, I'm come for a curious business, quite an intrusion, I'm sure, but so it is; necessity knows no ceremony. Some time ago I read in your paper a description of the miseries of an old bachelor, and it was so to the life—so true, and so exactly my condition, that I have made bold to call on you for advice; for misery, they say, loves company, and one wretched bachelor may be able to counsel another—thus it is.—" "Stop, stop, my friend; before you proceed, let me correct an error in which you have, no doubt, inadvertently fallen. Though I may be able from memory to describe the misery of single wretchedness, I had not the courage constantly to face it. You must not be deceived, I am no longer a bachelor; do you want the proofs, look there; that black-eyed, ruddy cheeked fellow on the carpet, employed in cutting out ships and houses from old newspapers, is my oldest; he designs himself to be an editor, for he contends that nothing is easier; it is only, he says, cutting out slips from one paper and putting them into another. That little one who struts about in a paper cocked-hat and wooden sword, with which, ever and anon, he pokes at my ribs, while deeply engaged in considering how the nation is to be saved, is my second hopeful; he is a Jackson man; all children, sir, are Jackson men; he goes for a soldier if there be wars. That little golden-haired urchin, with a melting blue eye, who is sure to ask me for candy, while I am describing, in bitter terms, the tyranny of the Albany regency, is my youngest; and there, with a basket of stockings near her, sits my better half; there is the sparkling fire, and here are my slippers: does all this look like the miseries of a bachelor?" "Well, I beg your pardon, sir, for believing that you were as wretched as I am; but still when you hear my story you may possibly advise me what is best to be done." "Go on, sir." "Well, sir, thus it is: My father realized a handsome property by his industry, which he left to me; but such were his rigid notions of the necessity of constant occupation to prevent idleness and other evils, that my time was employed, after I had left school, which was at an early age, from sunrise to bed-time. It was an incessant round of occupation—labor, keeping books, and making out bills. Behold me now, at the age of twenty-three, with a good constitution, correct principles, and a handsome income. I have lost my parents—am alone in the world. I wish to marry, but really, sir, to my shame I confess it, I have no acquaintance among young ladies. I do not know any. My secluded manner of living has prevented my cultivating their acquaintance; and if by accident I am thrown into their society, my tongue is literally tied. I do not know how to address them—I am not conversant with the topics which are usually discussed. In short, sir, I wish to advertise for a wife, and not knowing how to draw up such an advertisement, I came to beg that favor at your hands."

"So, so," said I to myself, "here's a little modesty tumbled into decay—'Coelebs in search of a wife.'" He was a good-looking young fellow, and had a quick eye, which led me very much to doubt his reserved, retired and abashed condition before the ladies.

"Have you, sir, considered the risk in taking a wife in this strange way? How very liable you may be to gross imposition? What lady of delicacy or reputation would venture to contract an alliance so very solemn and obligatory, through the channel of a newspaper advertisement?" "Very probably, sir; but a poor honest girl might be struck with it; a clever, well-educated daughter, ill-treated by a fiery step-mother, might, in despair, change her condition for a better one; nay, a spirited girl might admire the novelty, and boldly make the experiment." "Well, sir, and how are you to conduct the negotiation with your native bashfulness? You have no superannuated grandmother or old maiden aunt to arrange preliminaries." "That's very true; but, sir, necessity will give me confidence, and despair afford me courage."

I wrote the advertisement for him, which he thankfully and carefully placed in his pocket-book, and bade us good morning. "Poor devil," said I, "here's a condition—here's a novelty—here's a rara avis! a fellow of twenty-three, with a good character and income, and not sufficient impudence to ask for a wife. I know lots of young ladies who would have sufficient charity to break him of his bashfulness in a few lessons."

However, his case is not a novel one. It shows the necessity of parents accustoming their sons in early life to cultivate the society of respectable females. They should be encouraged in any disposition they may manifest for good female society, although they may incur the charge of being either a beau or a dandy. Boys should go to dancing-school, not only because it teaches them grace, but it accustoms them in early life to the society of women. They dance with those girls, whom, in later periods, they may admire and respect as ladies. The lives of children should be checkered with innocent amusements—study and labor require such relief; and they should not be brought up in close confinement, in a doggerel way which unfits them for society when they are men; nor be driven to the dire necessity of advertising for a wife, and taking the risk of such a desperate adventure.

From the Knickerbocker.