EVERY DEPARTMENT OF LITERATURE (continued 21)

"Why?—Because you are so perpetually employed—shut up in your own house. I should think you would be wretched!"

"I am so constantly, and necessarily, and, for a greater part of the time, so interestingly employed, that I have no leisure to be unhappy," said Mrs. Lawrence, with a smile.

"Interestingly! Pardon me," said Mrs. North, "but can domestic concerns ever be interesting?"

"How can you ask such a question, my dear Mrs. North?"

"Call me Anna, do—I hate Mrs. North from an intimate friend,—especially one somewhat older than myself," said Mrs. North. "But tell me how you can be interested in what I have thought must be irksome to every one."

"Every affectionate wife, my dear Anna," said Mrs. Lawrence, "must be interested to promote the comfort and prosperity of her husband; every mother, especially every christian mother, must be interested in the care and instruction of her children; and my Lucius is now two years old—capable, therefore, of receiving moral impressions that may endure through eternity;—and every lady should strive to be so much of a lady, as to have her whole household well regulated, and all domestic business well, and reasonably performed."

"O, certainly," said Mrs. North. "Yet every human being needs recreation. You will soon wear yourself out by such unceasing attention to domestic duties."

"By no means. You know that variety of objects and occupations is an antidote to exhaustion; beside, books and my flower-garden are a never failing source of pleasure and relaxation. Indeed, my dear Mrs. North, I wonder how a wife and mother can ever know ennui, or find much time to devote to general society."

"Would I had your resources," said Mrs. North. "But, really, were it not for you, I believe I should die of ennui in this stupid, vulgar place, notwithstanding I have the kindest, and most attentive husband in the world. But he cannot always be with me, of course; and when he is attending to business, you are my only resource. Do you know that for a month past, I have been dreading the approach of this week?"

"On what account?"

"Because I thought that when Mr. Lawrence went to attend court, you would certainly go with him, after having been immured so long. I dreaded it so much, I could not even ask you whether or not you should go."

"I very seldom go anywhere with Mr. Lawrence, to be absent more than one day," said Mrs. Lawrence. "We do not feel quite easy to be from home at the same time."

"And do you ever go without him?" asked Mrs. North.

"Not very often; for when he is with me, home is much the pleasantest place in the world. My friend," she added, with a smile, "you have not yet been a wife long enough to know much about it. Three or four years hence you will find employment enough; and that which, I doubt not, will prove so interesting, that you will not be willing to transfer it to other hands."

"Perhaps so—but, really, I do love society. I do love to drive about a little, and see the world, and the people that are in it. And, by the way, do you know that I go to Boston, with Alpheus, in a fortnight? Business calls him there,—and he says he cannot go without me. I am glad of it, truly. I should not like to ask him to take me with him,—and stay at home, alone, I could not!"

"I am glad you are to have the pleasure of a journey," said Mrs. Lawrence. "And there is no reason why you should not. Mr. North is, of course, at present, your principal care; and you have little else to do, but study to promote his happiness."

The journey to Boston on business was only the precursor of another, in a different direction, for pleasure; for Mr. North, himself, loved to visit different parts of the country; he took pride in the admiration and attention his young wife commanded; and, beside, he could not but perceive that L—— seemed more and more unpleasant to her, after every excursion,—and it was his constant desire to promote the happiness of one so tenderly beloved. Perhaps he took not the most certain way to increase her happiness;—but that was the fault of his head—not his heart!

Mrs. North never teazed, or even asked her husband for any gratification. She was, at once too amiable, and too polite to do either; yet she had a way of her own—and a most graceful and fascinating way it was—of leading him on to propose the very thing she had resolved on,—and then yielding to his plan, with an air of relinquishing some more favored scheme of her own, for the pleasure of gratifying him. Indeed, every thing she did, was done in the most amiable and graceful manner—even to the spending of money, which she did with the air of a princess. And her husband sometimes feared she was a little too profuse; but she dressed with such taste; was so generous, and so much the belle wherever she appeared, that he could not find it in his heart to supply her purse less liberally.

For nearly three months Mr. and Mrs. North were scarcely at L—— for more than a week at a time; and the cold winds and bad roads of November, alone led them to settle quietly at home. On every return to L——, Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence had been duly visited; and now, when the autumnal campaign was fairly over, their society was more needed, more valued than ever. Scarcely twenty-four hours passed, without bringing Mrs. Lawrence the favor of a longer or shorter visit.

"And so, my dear Mrs. Lawrence, you have not been five miles from L——, since my journey to Boston last August?"

"I have not."

"Nor wanted to be, I suppose," said Mrs. North.

"All circumstances considered, I have not," answered Mrs. Lawrence. "It would afford me great pleasure to see various parts of the world,—in the Southern as well as Northern States of the Union,—in Europe as well as America; but as I am situated, by the providence of an all-wise Father, I must content myself with the knowledge of different places, that I can derive from books. And this, if not so satisfactory, is, at least, a cheaper mode of obtaining information, than travelling."

Two things in this answer struck Mrs. North. "A cheaper mode!" Yes—as Mr. Lawrence inherited no fortune, it was necessary for his wife to think of economy. How fortunate for herself that Mr. North's father was a rich man! "Knowledge—travelling to obtain knowledge!" The idea had never before occurred to her mind. She had always travelled solely for pleasure.

Mrs. Lawrence really felt attached to Mrs. North. Her amiable temper and pleasing manners had won her affections, and she wished to do her good. She soon learned that her friend had many false notions: that, in her estimation, wealth was the most valuable distinction; that show was elegance; and that dress and idleness were gentility. She saw, too, that she was nearly, or quite destitute of internal sources of happiness; that all the nobler powers of her mind lay dormant; that she seemed to have no idea of intellectual pleasures. Mrs. Lawrence had no conception of the difficulty of the task she wished to accomplish; she knew not how deep-rooted were the evils she wished to subdue; knew not that they were completely intertwined with her whole mental constitution.

Mrs. Lawrence often heard Mrs. North talk of books; and she directed her to a course of reading, which she thought would at once prove highly interesting and beneficial. But Mrs. North had never really read a book for pleasure, or for intellectual improvement, in her life. She had never been taught by her parents, and had never conceived the idea herself, that the object in the acquisition of knowledge, was to fit her for the discharge of duties to herself and others.

The knowledge she really possessed, was acquired for the express purpose of display—to give her distinction in the circle in which she moved. Of course she had gone about the acquisition of it, not as a pleasure, but as a task that must be accomplished. Mrs. Lawrence had likewise heard her speak of the benevolent societies with which she had been connected in her native place, and she strove to awaken her sympathies for the poor in L——, and excite interest in benevolent enterprises of a higher order. But although Mrs. North would give freely, and, particularly if a subscription paper was handed about, would subscribe liberally, there was evidently no heart in her charities. She could find no pleasure in searching out the destitute and afflicted in her own person. If she heard of one who was sick, she would perhaps send them a sum of money preposterously large, that Mrs. North might be spoken of as a most munificent lady; but she could not have made a basin of broth, to have saved a life. She knew nothing of the system of benefitting the poor at a very trifling expense of time and labor, by making comfortable garments out of old ones that were lying useless, an encumbrance to closets and drawers. It is nearly useless to give such garments to the poor in an unprepared state; seldom have they sufficient ingenuity, or patience, or industry, to turn them to profitable account. Mrs. Lawrence was fully aware of this; and she was remarkable for the ingenuity and dexterity with which she would make a comfortable suit of clothes for a poor child, out of garments that appeared not worth a farthing. She was a blessing to the poor around her; and her husband had in no way to pay the penalty of her charities, as is sometimes, unhappily, the case. Mrs. Lawrence endeavored to interest Mrs. North in this way of doing good; but the attempt was fruitless. How could a lady degrade herself by attending to such occupations! How could the delicate and elegant Mrs. North bend her beautiful person over such work; or soil and deface her fair, round fingers by such menial employments! Equally unavailing were all Mrs. Lawrence's efforts, to interest her friend in the cultivation of flowers, or in any employment or pursuit, by which she could make herself happy in solitude.

The piety of Mrs. North was in perfect accordance with every other point in her character. At a season of revival of religion in her native place, many of her youthful companions becoming deeply interested in the subject, her sympathies were awakened; and she mistook these feelings, as is, alas, too often the case, for renovation of heart.—Beside, "religion walked in her golden slippers;" it was fashionable to be benevolent, and charitable, and attend meetings; and Anna Weston went with others; and with others she publicly and solemnly "avouched the Lord to be her God," and consecrated herself to his service! But one view of her own heart she had never had. She still loved the world, and the things of the world, "the lusts of the eye, and the pride of life," and scarcely felt, or knew that it was wrong. She lived for herself; and she loved herself—supremely; and she was not conscious, much less was Mr. North, that her strongly expressed attachment to her husband, principally arose from the ability he possessed to gratify her in all the selfish desires of her heart.

Mrs. Lawrence could not but perceive that the feelings of Mrs. North were very superficial on the subject of religion; and she knew that the views that resulted in such practice, must be erroneous. As a christian, deeply interested in the honor of Him "who had redeemed her to God by his own blood,"—and anxious that every one of his professed disciples should "walk worthy of their high vocation," she often conversed with Mrs. North on the subject; and by the gentlest and most touching appeals, strove to touch her heart, and awaken and enlighten her conscience. But here, too, she was unsuccessful. Mrs. North would so readily assent to all she said, with "Certainly"—"O, yes, every christian should feel and act thus,"—that Mrs. Lawrence felt that the case was, at present, hopeless. There was no feeling; there was not even thought;—it was a mere assent of the voice.

But an event was now in prospect that seemed to have a great effect on Mrs. North; and which frequently has a vast effect in deciding character. Life is always uncertain,—and, in a moment of reflection, every one is willing to acknowledge it; but when a lady has the prospect of becoming a mother, there is a definite period to which she looks forward, as the one in which she may be called from time into eternity. It is an unthinking woman indeed, who is never serious under such circumstances. Mrs. North was far otherwise. Life was very dear to her; since her marriage it had been a scene of unclouded sunshine. But now there was a dark curtain raised before her, beyond which she trembled to look.

Mrs. Lawrence was one of the most judicious of woman. She cheered and sustained her friend's spirits, not by leading her to forget, or think lightly of her danger, but by teaching her to look at it rationally,—and be in a state of preparation for her hour of trial.—And never had she been so much encouraged, for never had Mrs. North appeared so much as she wished to see her. Her feelings were very tender, and a review of the many blessings she had enjoyed, seemed to fill her with gratitude for the past; and inspire in her some degree of confidence for the future. She professed to hope, that whether she were to live, or to die, all would be well.

At length Mrs. North became the joyful mother of a fine son; and her feelings were in a glow of gratitude. Her heart seemed to expand with love for every one. Her husband—her friend—never had they been half so dear!—With her congratulatory kiss, while the tears of deep tenderness suffused her eyes, Mrs. Lawrence whispered—"Consecrate yourself, dearest Anna, and this precious little immortal, to the service of Him who has been your benefactor and preserver!" With tremulous lips, Mrs. North returned the kiss, and emphatically whispered—"O dear friend, may I never forget the impressions of this hour? May I never forget the deep debt of gratitude I owe to my Father in heaven?"

But, alas, it was not the goodness of Ephraim alone that was "as the morning cloud, and the early dew!" for the greater part of the goodness of the whole human family is of the same transitory and fleeting nature. At the end of six weeks, when Mrs. North left her chamber, she was precisely the Mrs. North of the year before—equally thoughtless, equally negligent of duty. With pain Mrs. Lawrence witnessed all this;—with deep pain she saw indications that the character of a fashionable woman must be supported at the expense of being an unnatural mother.

Physicians, when practising in fashionable houses, have a wonderful faculty of divining what prescriptions will be most agreeable. Mrs. North had a fine constitution; but like many women brought up with false notions, she conceived that firm health and refinement were incompatible with each other. Dr. G——, was very willing to humor her whim, as it was in no way detrimental to his pecuniary interest; and he cheerfully acquiesced in her recovering from her confinement as slowly as she pleased. And when, by her own confession she was well, he put the cap-stone to the favor in which he previously stood with her, by saying, what his shrewd observation told him would just accord with her wishes, namely—that her strength was quite unequal to the task of nursing; her babe must be sent from home;—the Dr. knew just the nurse for it—a fine, healthy, good-natured woman, who would take the best possible care of it, for two dollars a week; and Mrs. North must take a journey, as change of air and scene were indispensable to the perfect restoration of her health.

Mrs. Lawrence was truly grieved when she found this arrangement was made. She had foreseen the probability of it, but she could not be reconciled to the measure. She justly considered maternal feelings among the most sacred that belong to earth; and she knew that nothing more strengthens a mother's love, than the entire dependance of the child on her for comfort and happiness. She was fully convinced, that anything that weakens this tie, that nature has made so strong, must be injurious alike to both parent and offspring. She was musing on the subject when her husband came in.

"You look sad, my dear Ellen. What is the matter?"

"Mrs. North has put the dear little boy out to nurse."

"She is a fashionable woman! Did you not expect it?"

"I feared it—but I blame Dr. G——, for had he not have proposed it, I think Anna would have kept the poor little thing with her. He says, too, that she must journey to confirm her health."

"He knows his patient," said Mr. Lawrence.

"You are severe, my dear husband."

"Do you think so?—but time will show. Meantime I am going to take you a journey."

"Me! where?"

"To Fryburg. Business calls me there next week—I shall be absent from home but few days, and the excursion will do you good. Be it as it may with Mrs. North, change of air and scene are really necessary for you."

"But the children?" said Mrs. Lawrence.

"I have provided for them," said Mr. Lawrence. "Nurse Bevey has promised to come and take care of them during our absence?"

"Well, since you have arranged it all," said Mrs. Lawrence, "do propose to Alpheus that he and Anna accompany us. It may suffice,—and prevent them from taking one of those long journies that I begin to dread."

Mr. and Mrs. North were delighted with the proposal. Preparations were immediately commenced, and at the appointed time, they all set out on their excursion. We shall not travel with them. Suffice it to say, that on the evening of the second day after their departure, they arrived at Mrs. O——'s hotel, in Fryburg. Mr. Lawrence was rather impatient, as the journey might have been performed in much less time. But short stages, and long rests were necessary for Mrs. North—at least she said so—and Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence could not with propriety drive on before them.

On the morning after their arrival, on looking about them, the ladies were both in raptures at the scenery around. They had seen nothing like it before. But we will accompany them to the little Jockey-Cap mountain, which lies not far from a mile from Mrs. O——'s, which they ascended in the afternoon, and hear what they say of it there.

"This little mountain is not difficult of ascent," said Mr. Lawrence, when they had attained its summit—"yet it is rather wearisome, making ones way through the shrub-oaks—so do you, my dear Ellen, and Mrs. North, rest awhile on this table of granite, and amuse yourselves by picking out some of the well-defined garnets that are imbedded in the rock. When you are rested, you may come with us toward the verge of the precipice, and view the scenery around."

In a few minutes the ladies got over their fatigue,—and joined their husbands to enjoy the prospect.

"What is the name of this beautiful sheet of water on our left, Mr. Lawrence?" asked Mrs. North.

"It is called 'Lovell's pond,'" replied Mr. Lawrence. "It was on the margin of this peaceful lake, as it should be called, that Capt. Lovell and his company of militia, met Pangus, the Indian Sachem, at the head of a part of his tribe, prepared for deadly conflict. In Lovell's company was a man named John Chamberlain. His rifle, as well as that of Pangus, had become foul from frequent firing. Standing but a few paces apart, each cleaned his rifle at the pond—and each commenced loading at the same moment,—while each watched the motions of the other with the most intense interest—knowing that he that was first ready to discharge his rifle, would undoubtedly be sole survivor. The rifle of Chamberlain was so much worn, that in being loaded, it primed itself. This circumstance decided the fate of the Indian Chief—he fell."¹

¹ After the "fight" at Lovell's pond, the remains of the Pigwacket tribe of Indians, left the woods and lakes of New Hampshire and Maine, for the broader waters and deeper forests of Canada. In 1777, Chamberlain had become an old grey-headed man,—living alone, and laboring in a saw mill to support himself. He was one evening informed that a young Indian had appeared in the Village, with rifle, wampum belt and tomahawk, having the noble bearing of old Pangus, the Sachem. Chamberlain instantly took the alarm; but old as he was, was not intimidated. Well knowing the Indian character and habits, about the dusk of the evening he put his mill in rapid motion, raised his coat as a "decoy"—and retired to a short distance to watch what might follow. In a short time he witnessed the cautious approach of the savage, who repeatedly advanced and receded, ere he aimed his rifle at the coat. As soon as he had fired, and raised himself to his full height, (which was above six feet) to ascertain the effect of his aim, Chamberlain discharged the same rifle that had taken the life of the Sachem. As the bullet went through his heart, young Pangus sprung some feet in the air, and fell lifeless in the stream below.

"O, the ever wakeful Providence of our Heavenly Father," whispered Mrs. Lawrence.

"The beautiful swell of land, directly in front of us, and clothed with verdure to its summit, is Starkes-hill," said Mr. Lawrence; "that on our right, just back of the village, is Kearsarge mountain."

"And those beyond, piled one upon another, in seemingly endless succession—far—far as the eye can reach," cried Mrs. Lawrence, "are the celebrated white mountains of New-Hampshire. O, how sublime! how grand! how awful! And Mount Washington raises its towering head far above the others, as if to overlook, and guard them all. What majesty is here!—and how elevating to the soul, to view such specimens of our Creator's workmanship!"

"And what is the name of this beautiful stream, that flows between us, and the highlands?" asked Mrs. North.

"This river," replied Mr. North, "still retains its Indian appellation—the Saco!"

"And see," said Mrs. Lawrence, "how it winds around and about, as if reluctant to leave this broad and beautiful intervale, and striving to linger in it to the last possible moment."

"I have been told," said Mr. Lawrence, "that before some short canals were cut, to accelerate the passage of lumber down the stream, that the Saco ran upwards of thirty miles, in this place, in making the actual progress of only six towards the ocean."

"And then the beautiful, quiet village," said Mrs. Lawrence, "lying so securely amid its guardian mountains, with its long, straight street,—and its church and academy spires, pointing to heaven, speaking of spiritual and intellectual improvement. O, this scene is perfect in beauty!—and in grandeur! There the sublime and beautiful are most happily associated. The overpowering awe that steals upon one, while viewing those mighty efforts of creative power, which fills the soul with sensations altogether too big for utterance,—is modified, when the eye falls, and rests on the peaceful village, which speaks of human society, comfort and happiness. It seems as if the inhabitants, brought up with such scenes of beauty and sublimity constantly before them, must be more free from base and ignoble passions, than those who live and die amid scenery of a different character. Every spot on which the eye rests, speaks of the grandeur, the power, the benevolence—and, if I may so express myself, the taste of the Divine Architect. I can conceive of nothing more beautiful—more perfect!—and nothing can have a more elevating effect on the soul of man! I must believe, with Dr. Dwight, that 'he who does not find in the various beautiful, sublime, awful and astonishing objects, presented to us in creation, irresistible and glorious reasons for admiring, adoring, loving and praising his Creator, has no claim to evangelical piety.'"

"You are an enthusiast, Mrs. Lawrence," said Mr. North, smiling.

"Perhaps I am. But nothing, after moral grandeur, touches my heart like the beautiful face of nature. Every flower and tree, and hill and valley that meets my eye, gives me delight,—and speaks to my soul of the glorious Being that made them:—how much more such a picture as is now spread before me!—My dear husband, when our children are old enough to appreciate its beauty, they must be brought to this spot. It cannot fail of having a salutary effect, both on the heart, and mind."

Mr. Lawrence pressed his wife's arm to his side, in token of approbation. His admiration was divided between the scenery before him, and a wife,—capable of deriving such exquisite delight, from so pure a source; and the piety of whose heart, gave a religious cast to every thing around her. He admired the grand and beautiful in nature,—but he admired her moral beauty and purity far more.

Mr. North, too, highly enjoyed the natural magnificence presented to his view; but Mrs. North had felt far greater sensible delight, when, with a well-filled purse, she had visited a repository of rich and fashionable goods, or the shop of her milliner. Yet she tried to be eloquent in praise of the beauties on which they gazed; for admiration of them was certainly at that moment fashionable on the summit of the Jockey-Cap; yet there was no heart in her exclamations of delight; there was no feeling in her expressions of admiration. Her remarks repressed rather than elicited enthusiasm. They were like a body without a soul.

On the third morning after their arrival at Fryburg, Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence prepared to return to L——. The latter was much surprised when she found that Mr. and Mrs. North were not to return with them.

"O, we are going through the notch of the White Mountains," said Mrs. North. "We are told here, that the scenery beyond is infinitely more magnificent than this, and well worth a much longer journey to see."

"I doubt not its magnificence," said Mrs. Lawrence, "and should exceedingly like to view it; yet I much doubt whether any scene, in beauty of combination, can exceed that we have seen from the Jockey-Cap. But the little boy, my dear Anna!—Are you not anxious to see him?"

"O certainly—the little darling!—Yet he is in perfectly good hands, and a week or two can make no difference. He knows, as yet, no mother but nurse."

"Nor will he ever," thought Mr. Lawrence.—Mrs. Lawrence sighed.

"Will you take the trouble, my dear friend," said Mr. North, "to look in occasionally upon nurse, and see that she neglects not her duty?"

"O, do," said Mrs. North; "it will be a great relief to my feelings, to know that your vigilant eye, is now and then upon the dear boy."

A mingled expression of pity and contempt, sat on the features of Mr. Lawrence as he turned away; while Mrs. Lawrence promised to see the little one as often as possible, during the absence of the parents. They soon parted—the one pair for the notch,—the other for home.

"I am truly grieved," said Mrs. Lawrence, when they were fairly on their homeward journey—"I am truly grieved that Alpheus does not return to L—— with us. I had hoped, that on becoming a mother, Anna's character would undergo a change. I hoped she would learn to love home, and domestic scenes. It is to be lamented, that such qualities as she has, qualities that might make a superior woman, should all be lost in the woman of fashion—the votary of pleasure. Fain would I do her good if I could—but I know not how to acquire influence over her mind."

"It is a hopeless case," answered Mr. Lawrence. "Her character has no foundation: It is all superstructure. She never acts from principle. She has no strength of mind. I mean not that she is naturally deficient in intellectual powers; but she is a parvenu, and all her mental efforts, instead of giving and increasing mental vigor, are directed to the one object of making a show, and noise in the world. And as is almost universally the case with those of her class, she overdoes. She is thoroughly selfish; and ere any real improvement can rationally be hoped for, the present edifice must be completely demolished, and a foundation laid, of new views, new motives, and new principles. Poor Alpheus! I pity him. The greatest defect in his character, is that love of show that he inherited from his vulgar father,—and by which he was governed in the selection of a wife. He is so amiable and indulgent in his disposition, that he permits her to lead him as she will. I foresee that she will be his ruin."

Mrs. Lawrence called to see the "deserted baby" as she called him, the next day after her return to L——, and continued to do so, once or twice a week, until the return of his parents, which was delayed for something more than a month. He grew finely,—and before his mother's arrival, was beginning to "ca" and "coo" and smile in the nurse's face. And Mrs. Lawrence felt that it would bring a severe pang to her heart, were the first smile and look of love of an infant of her own, bestowed on an hireling,—however worthy she might be. But Mrs. North had no weakness of this kind; on the contrary, she was delighted with the happiness he manifested in nurse's arms, as it was incontestible proof of her faithful discharge of duty.

Eight years passed away, and in that time the number of Mrs. North's children increased to four; but never was a woman less incommoded by a growing family. Never was there one on whom care sat more lightly. A few months confinement to L—— now and then, was to her the most serious part of the business. Five or six weeks, of as many winters, during this period, had been spent in Boston or New-York; for a whole winter in L——, unless confined to her chamber, Mrs. North declared would kill her outright. And the expense was nothing to be thought of; for Mr. North must go to purchase goods, and attend to other mercantile concerns; and taking her with him made but little difference, as she must be supported somewhere,—and her being with him made not a great difference in the length of his stay. The summers she passed in L—— were rendered tolerable, by the society of those fashionable friends she from time to time invited to her house.

Meantime, however, sagacious people began to whisper, that Mr. North's partner in business, Mr. Mason, (a young man whom he had taken into partnership, that his affairs might not suffer from neglect, during his frequent absenses from home,) was growing rich,—not from dishonest practices, but by attention to business, and economy; while it was shrewdly conjectured that Mr. North lived to the full extent of his income, if not a little beyond it. Some persons of that class who can always foresee what will happen, predicted, that in five years the junior partner would be sole possessor of the stock in trade, if not the real estate of Mr. North.

At the close of the same period Mrs. Lawrence was the mother of five children. She had almost given up the hope of doing Mrs. North any personal good; but she watched over her friend's neglected children, during the long periods of her absence from home, with as much vigilance as was consistent with the faithful discharge of duty to her own. So far from exhausting,—her diligence increased her mental vigor; and her character was constantly improving in dignity, and in every christian grace. Mr. Lawrence had been unremitting in his attention to business,—and his property had gradually and constantly increased. His house contained every thing necessary for comfort, gentility, and intellectual improvement. All was in perfect keeping. Good judgment, and correct taste were manifest in every thing in and about the dwelling, while there was nothing like show or splendor.

"Your husband is now rich, my dear Mrs. Lawrence," said Mrs. North, after one of her visits to New York, "and I wonder you do not change, in some measure, your style of furniture and living. You should have an elegant centre-table in your drawing-room, and damask curtains, like mine, instead of those modest ones that now hang at the windows,—beside some beautiful ornaments for the mantel. And in your library, that you love so well, and which is so nobly stocked with books, you must have some such delightful lounges and chairs as I saw in New York,—that you may be quite at your ease while reading. A few of these things would make your house look delightfully."

"I am quite satisfied with my furniture, my dear Anna," replied Mrs. Lawrence,—"and can enjoy a book as much, and understand it as well, in my old fashioned rocking-chair, as if reclining on the most delightful lounge in the world."

"Undoubtedly you can; but why not pay some attention to fashion and elegance, both about your house and dress? I really wonder at the simplicity of your dress! Your apparel is always very well, certainly, as to material and form,—but it is too plain. I wish you would commission me to get some dresses for you;—you would look like another creature under my hands;—and you can perfectly well afford to consult your taste in these matters."

"Were the property of my husband twice as large as it is," said Mrs. Lawrence, "I could not feel justified in incurring unnecessary expense. We have now five children to educate; and that, of itself, will require a little fortune. And independently of that, I could never be at peace with myself, should I expend in unnecessary ornament, that which would make so many light hearts, and cheerful faces among the poor,—to say nothing of the more noble, more holy object, of ameliorating the condition of the heathen world."

Mrs. North colored slightly as she replied—"I know the tenderness of your conscience; but surely one so remarkably disinterested and benevolent as yourself, may occasionally indulge a little without compunction. Do you not carry your scrupulosity too far?"

"There is little danger of our erring on the side of benevolence," said Mrs. Lawrence. "And if, when we appear for final judgment, it be said to us, 'inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these, ye did it unto me,' we shall hardly regret that we made not a more elegant and splendid appearance, while inhabiting, what will then emphatically appear to us, 'this dim spot, called earth.'"

The following winter Mrs. North accompanied her husband to Boston. They had been absent nearly six weeks, when Mrs. Lawrence was one evening alarmed by the cry of 'fire,' and hastening to the door, she saw the flames bursting from that part of Mr. North's house, in which the nursery was situated. Giving hasty directions to her servants, she flew, with all possible speed, to the spot. Mr. Lawrence, and many others were already there, and had succeeded in rescuing all the children from the blazing chamber, though the third child was burned in a most shocking manner. All the children were immediately consigned to the care of Mrs. Lawrence, who had them instantly conveyed to her own house,—while a man was despatched to call Dr. G—— to the aid of the little sufferer.

Meantime the whole village was collected at Mr. North's house, which, by the most strenuous exertions, was saved from utter destruction, though greatly injured. The fire caught in the nursery, through the carelessness of the nursery-maid, who left the younger children, and a blazing fire, under the care of the elder,—while she joined the other servants in the kitchen, to talk over the gossip of the day.

In a short time, Dr. G—— arrived at the house of Mr. Lawrence, and after examining the suffering child, gave his opinion that he could not long survive the injury he had sustained.

As soon as Mr. Lawrence reached home, he despatched a letter and messenger to apprise Mr. and Mrs. North of the calamity that had befallen them; and in as short a time as possible they arrived at L——, the latter nearly frantic with grief.

When she could bring herself to see the little boy, that a few weeks before, she had left blooming in health and beauty—now a spectacle of horror—she was overwhelmed. Bitter were the reproaches she expended on the negligent nursery-maid: but more bitter still her own self-upbraiding. Repeatedly was she on the point of making a most solemn asseveration that never again, for a day, would she leave her dear, dear children. The moanings of the suffering child, seemed to rend her heart with anguish; and it appeared impossible that she could ever forgive herself.

She now appreciated the value of such a friend as Mrs. Lawrence. Her feelings were such, that she could do nothing for the afflicted boy; could not even remain in the room, while he was under the hands of the surgeon. Mrs. Lawrence was Dr. G——'s constant assistant,—and indeed almost the sole nurse of the child; from the hand of no one else would he willingly receive either food or medicine. Mrs. North looked on Mrs. Lawrence with astonishment; and could not but think, that with all her tenderness, there was a hard spot in her heart, that enabled her to be useful in such a scene of suffering. Mrs. North had no knowledge of that true christian sympathy, firmness, and philosophy, that impels one to relieve, instead of flying from suffering; and she dignified her own weak and selfish indulgence by the name of sensibility.

"O, my dear friend, how can I ever be sufficiently grateful for your kindness? My sensibilities are such, that it shatters my nerves to pieces to witness suffering in any one—how much more in one's own sweet infant! How must the dear boy suffer, were there no one to help him but his poor, sensitive mother! It is really a misfortune to have a heart so feelingly constituted!"

The little boy lingered several weeks in great pain,—and then his liberated spirit took its flight from its decaying tenement. Three months after, Mrs. North became the mother of her fifth child; and as soon as she was able to go out, it was sent from home to nurse, like all its predecessors,—and she started on a journey to visit her parents. This journey was very well—very right; but Mrs. Lawrence feared that the impression made by her recent trouble, was fast fading away; that the rod of affliction would have no correcting influence;—produce no favorable change, either in character or conduct. When preparing to leave home, to have her mourning dresses of the most elegant, fashionable, and becoming kind, engrossed the whole woman, and left no room for any other thought or feeling. How inconceivably obdurate may the heart, even of a mother, be rendered by selfish indulgence!

The fears of Mrs. Lawrence were but too well founded. It was October when Mrs. North returned from her visit to her parents; and a few weeks after Mrs. Lawrence perceived there were great, and unusual preparations making for another journey. But she asked no questions. Her heart sickened; but she despaired of doing good, and was weary of giving unheeded admonitions; weary of attempting to touch a heart incased in the "triple mail" of vanity, selfishness, and love of pleasure.

Without inquiry she soon learned from Mrs. North, that she and Mr. North designed to spend the greater part of the winter in Washington. Mr. North had business as far as Philadelphia; they had both ever been anxious to visit the seat of government, and hear the eloquence of the senate; so good an opportunity might never again occur,—"and, really," Mrs. North added, "I have passed through scenes so heart-rending, so wearing to my constitution, that I need something more than ordinary, to restore me to myself again." She could leave home with an easy heart; for the unfaithful, cruel nursery-maid was dismissed from her service; and she had engaged Mrs. Berry, Mrs. Lawrence's own good nurse, (at very high wages, it was true,) to take care of her children, and superintend her household while she should be absent. At the appointed time they departed.

"Why will you thus grieve, my dear Ellen?" said Mr. Lawrence. "It is utterly useless."

"I know it, Horace, yet how can I help it? O, how completely do the love of pleasure, and the pride of fashion, destroy all the best feelings of the heart!—all the finest sensibilities of our natures!—To see a woman, capable of better things, thus bent on gratifying herself, in despite of every call of duty, and warning of Providence,—and leading an amiable husband to neglect every thing but herself, is dreadful; and yet, it is for the poor neglected children I grieve. What is to become of them? What can be expected of them?—thus continually left to their own guidance."

"Nothing good, of course, Ellen. They are a set of untaught, ungoverned, unmannered little bears; and must continue so, unless they are so fortunate as to lose their mother, or she reform. But you have done, and are still doing, all that a friend can do, under such circumstances. Having, therefore, discharged your duty, be cheerful, and borrow not troubles that properly belong to another."

Mrs. Lawrence received frequent letters from Mrs. North, filled with glowing descriptions of what she was seeing, and hearing, and doing; and wishes that her kind friend were with her to participate in such pleasures—pleasures that would suit even the correct and refined taste of Mrs. Lawrence,—they were so intellectual. She frequently expressed regret that time flew so rapidly, as she dreaded to leave scenes so replete with pleasure. In every letter she would send kisses, or something equally valuable to her dear little ones; but said she felt perfectly easy about them, under the care of good Mrs. Berry; and having the eye of the best of friends frequently upon them.

Mr. and Mrs. North had been absent something more than two months, when Mr. Lawrence received a letter from the former, requesting the loan of a hundred or two of dollars. Mr. North said he had written to Mr. Mason for a remittance; but having a payment to make out, he had not been able to forward it to him. If Mr. Lawrence would oblige him, doubtless Mr. Mason would in a short time be able to reimburse him; if not, Mr. North would do so, immediately on his return to L——.

The very day this letter was received, Mr. Mason called at the office of Mr. Lawrence, to consult with him concerning what was to be done in the present juncture of Mr. North's affairs,—and as a preliminary measure, to secure to himself the store and goods it contained, which would scarcely be sufficient to satisfy his just demands. Mr. North's debts were numerous, and his creditors were becoming clamorous; and although Mr. Mason had written to him, he seemed not to be alarmed, and had given no directions.

Mr. Lawrence was unwilling to have any thing to do in this unhappy business; yet he could not refuse to assist an industrious and honest young man, who was in danger of losing the earnings of several years' close attention to business, should he refuse to lend his assistance as a lawyer. He therefore did what his sense of justice and duty demanded, though he pitied his inconsiderate friend; and he immediately wrote him, informing him of what was done,—and inclosing (which he knew must be a gift) a draft for the money of which Mr. North had requested the loan. He concluded his letter, by urging his friend's instant return to L——, if it were yet possible to give his affairs a favorable turn.

Three days after this, all property that could be found, belonging to Mr. North, was seized by his creditors.

"My dear Horace," said the greatly agitated Mrs. Lawrence, "what will Alpheus and Anna do?—what can they do?"

"They must begin the world again, upon better principles," said Mr. Lawrence. "I hope they will learn wisdom from experience."

"But what can we do for them, my dear husband? You will receive them here when they arrive? Anna will feel so wretchedly!"

"For a day or two, certainly, if you wish it, my love."

"And for no longer? The contrast will be so striking, they will be overwhelmed! We must afford them all the assistance and consolation in our power?"

"Certainly!—but let us assist them in a rational way. They must feel the blow, and its consequences. We could do nothing to prevent it, short of utter ruin to ourselves. And it is necessary they should feel out; for nothing less could prove a cure for their folly. They must taste the bitter fruits of their extravagance. They must learn to live within their income, however small; and practise the self-denial that poverty demands. They must learn to be industrious, and support themselves by their own exertions."

"Poor Alpheus!—poor Anna!" ejaculated Mrs. Lawrence.

"If Alpheus had possessed either common firmness, or common prudence," said Mr. Lawrence, "or would Anna have listened to the admonitions, or followed the example of the best and kindest of friends, your sympathies would never have been thus called upon."

"O, make no comparisons,—it would be unjust," said Mrs. Lawrence. "Anna was never blessed with the instructions of such a father, or the example of such a mother as mine."

"True—and let us hope that this event will only prove a 'blessing in disguise,' to teach her what she would learn in no other way. Let us hope it will be for the best."

"O, may it prove so indeed!" said Mrs. Lawrence. "May the misguided and unfortunate Anna learn, that to be a fashionable woman, is not the way to be either respectable, or useful, or happy."

S. H.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

HINTS TO STUDENTS OF GEOLOGY.

No. II. BY PETER A. BROWNE, ESQ.

The most effectual way to guard against the dangerous tendency of theories is to collect and lay open to examination at one view some of the most celebrated of them, with which mankind have from time to time been furnished. Several of these will be found to be so obscure that astonishment is excited that they were ever dignified with the name of philosophy; others are so entirely inconsistent and at the same time have such equal claims to plausibility that they mutually confute each other; a few are so intimately connected with the truths that the study of geology and astronomy have displayed that it is difficult to escape the hazardous abyss into which they would lead—but the greater part are the effusions of fancy, and resemble more the emanations of a feverish or disordered brain than the cool dictates of reason and common sense. It is confidently believed that the student who will attentively read them all, will be very slow to adopt any one of the number.

The most ancient Indian and Egyptian philosophers agreed in rightly ascribing the creation of the world to an OMNIPOTENT and INFINITE BEING, and it is a curious fact that they represented him as having repeatedly destroyed and reproduced the world and its inhabitants. In "the Institutes of Menu," the sacred volume of the Hindoos, which were written eight hundred and eighty-eight years B.C., are the following verses:

"The Being whose powers are incomprehensible, having created me, (Menu,) and this universe, again became absorbed in the Supreme Spirit, changing the time of energy for the hour of repose."

"When this power awakes, then has this world its full expansion; but when he slumbers with a tranquil spirit, then the whole system fades away."

It is perfectly ascertained that the Greeks borrowed this idea of a former successive destruction and renovation of this world from the Egyptians. Plutarch tells us that it was the theme of one of the hymns of Orpheus; and it is well known that Orpheus, although a Greek poet, gained all his knowledge of astronomy, divinity, music and poetry in Egypt.

This most ancient Pagan theologist believed that all things were created by a Being whom he represents as invisible and incomprehensible, and to whom he has given the appellation of THE COUNSELLOR of LIGHT and SOURCE of LIFE; but he has degraded this sublime idea of the Almighty by supposing that from an egg, the progeny of chance, all mankind have been produced.

The philosopher Leucippus, who was also a Grecian, taught that "the universe was infinite; that it was in part a plenum and in part a vacuum—that the plenum contained innumerable corpuscles or atoms of various figures, which, falling into the vacuum, struck against each other; and hence arose a variety of curvilinear motions, which continued till at length atoms of similar forms met together, and bodies were produced. The primary atoms being specifically of equal weight, and not being able, on account of their multitude, to move in circles, the smaller rose to the exterior parts of the vacuum, whilst the larger (entangling themselves,) formed a spherical shell, which revolved about its centre and which included within it all kinds of bodies. This central mass was gradually increased by a perpetual accession of particles from the surrounding shell, till at last (says Leucippus) the EARTH was formed. In the mean time the spherical shell was continually supplied with new bodies, which, in its revolution, it gathered from without. Of the particles thus collected in the spherical shell, some in their combination formed humid masses, which, by their circular motion, gradually became dry and were at length ignited and became STARS. The SUN was formed in the same manner in the exterior surface of the shell; and the moon in its interior surface. In this manner the universe was formed."—Such a jargon of learned nonsense requires no comment; yet Leucippus had for a time the reputation of possessing superior wisdom!

Epicurus adopted the idea of Leucippus as to the atoms, and imagined that they moved obliquely, and Democritus bestowed on them animation. Gassendi contended for atoms and a void, and Descartes asserted a plenum and a subtle matter, which revolving in vortices was under the direction of an intelligent being.

Hippasus and Heraclitus maintained that the being who was the author of all things was fire.

Many of the ancient philosophers believed this world to be eternal—among these may perhaps be ranked Pythagoras, Aristotle, Socrates and Plato.

Zeno advocated with great zeal the theory of "two principles," spirit and matter, one active and the other passive.

Mahomet maintained that the world was created in two days, and the mountains were afterwards placed upon it; and that during these and two additional days the inhabitants were formed; and in two more the seven heavens were created.

The waters of the deluge are ridiculously represented by him as being poured out of an oven. The Alcoran says that all men were drowned except Noah and his family; and that at an appointed time God said, "O earth swallow up the waters!" "and thou, O heaven, withhold thy rain!" and immediately the waters abated. Is it not surprising that so many thousands should have adopted this theory.

Mr. Thomas Burnet was a man of genius and taste, a learned divine and a philosopher; but he suffered his imagination to take the lead of his judgment. He was the friend and object of admiration of Addison. His work is entitled, "The sacred theory of the earth, containing an account of the origin of the earth and of all the general changes which it hath already undergone or is to undergo till the consummation of all things." He taught that originally the earth was a fluid mass, composed of various materials; that of these the heaviest descended to the centre, and formed a hard and solid body—that the waters took their station round this body—and that all lighter fluids rose above the water, forming first a strata of oily matter and next a strata of air—that the air was then impure, containing great quantities of earthy particles, which gradually subsided and composed a crust of earth and oil—that this crust was the first habitable part of the earth and abode of man and other animals—that the surface was uniform, no mountains nor seas nor other inequalities were to be seen—that in this state it remained about sixteen centuries; by which time the heat of the sun gradually drying the crust, produced cracks or fissures, which gradually penetrating deeper and deeper, finally perforated the entire crust—that in an instant the whole split in pieces and fell into the great abyss of water. This (says Burnet) was the UNIVERSAL DELUGE!—That with these masses of earth were carried vast quantities of air, and the masses dashing violently against each other, accumulated and divided so irregularly, that great cavities filled with air were left between them—that the waters gradually opened passages into these cavities. In proportion as they were filled with water, the surface of the earth began to discover itself in the most elevated places, till at last the waters appeared no where but in those extensive valleys which now contain the ocean—that islands and sea rocks are small fragments, and continents are large masses of this ancient crust.

His theory was attacked and pretty roughly handled by his cotemporaries Erasmus Warren, John Keill and McFlamstead, the astronomer royal.

How Burnet could imagine that man and other land animals could have inhabited an earth which had a plane surface, it is difficult to conceive. If these animals resembled those that at present inhabit this planet, they could not have subsisted without water; and if this element was supplied by rain, and the earth had no inequalities of surface, the whole earth must have been covered by a sea or at least been a swamp. It was perhaps this reflection that generated the idea of Demailet, that man was originally a fish.

Mr. Robinson was a respectable clergyman of the English established church. In 1694 he wrote what he calls an anatomical description of the earth. He contends that matter at first consisted of innumerable particles of divers figures and different qualities; these he obliges to move about in a confused manner until the world was finally created, by the infusion of a vital spirit. He is of opinion that the earth is a great animal; that it has a skin, flesh, blood, &c. He lays it down as incontrovertible, that the centre contains a vast cavity of a multangular figure, containing crude and indigested matter, endued with contrary qualities, and causing much strife and contention. When the airy particles prevail, they cause hurricanes; when the fiery ones are uppermost, earthquakes and volcanoes are the result. The mountain chains he takes to be real ribs, and finally he seriously tells us, that this vast animal is subject to fevers, agues, and other distempers. Yet Robinson had his day, and all his readers did not appear to consider him a lunatic.

Mr. John Woodward was a classical scholar and an eminent physician. He was also a man of much observation; but he was infected with the disease of theory-making.

He agreed in part with Burnet, but refined upon him.

He contended that the waters of the ocean were aided by a supply from the central parts of the earth in effecting the general deluge. He also believed that the whole fabric was dissolved instead of the crust, as taught by Burnet. He said, that in order to assist in this general dissolution, the power of attraction, of cohesion, was suddenly suspended. Every thing being thus dissolved and jumbled in one common mass, a precipitation took place according to the laws of gravitation. Locke pronounced a panegyric upon this theory!

Mr. William Whiston, a celebrated astronomer and learned divine, also gave loose to his fancy in an extraordinary manner.

He was of opinion that the ancient chaos from which this earth originated, was the atmosphere of a comet; that the detail given by Moses is not of the creation of the world, but of its passage from the state of a comet to that of a planet, so as to make it habitable.

In the beginning, (says Mr. Whiston,) "God created the universe," but the earth was then an uninhabitable comet, surrounded by darkness; and hence, he says, we are told that, "darkness covered the face of the deep;" that it was composed of heterogeneous materials, having its centre occupied with a globular hot nucleus of about two thousand leagues in diameter, round which was an extensive mass of thick fluid; that this fluid contained few solid particles, and still less of water or air; that on the first day of the creation, the eccentric orbit of the comet was exchanged for an ellipsis nearly circular, and every thing instantly assumed its proper place. The different materials arranged themselves according to the laws of gravity, and the annual motion of the earth then began. That the centre of the earth is a solid body, still retaining the heat of the former comet; that round this is a heavy fluid and a body of water in concentric circles, upon the latter of which the earth is founded; that after the atmosphere of the earth had been thus freed from the earthy particles of that of the comet, a pure air remained, through which the rays of the sun instantly penetrated, when God said "let there be light." He ascribes to the precipitation with which the earth was formed, the great difference now found in the materials that compose its crust, and the mountains and vallies to the laws of gravity. He maintains that before the deluge the water of the present ocean was dispersed over the earth in small caverns, and that the mountains were at greater distances, and not so large as at present; but that the earth was a thousand times more fertile, and contained a great many more inhabitants, whose lives were ten times longer. All this he is of opinion was effected by the superior heat of the nucleus; but that this heat augmented the passions and destroyed the virtue of man and the sagacity of other animals, and caused the universal sentence of death which was inflicted by the deluge. He says, that that event was occasioned by a change in the inclination of the earth's axis, occasioned by the tail of a comet meeting with the earth, in returning from its perihelium, when "the cataracts of heaven were opened." Newton denied that there was any thing in astronomy wherefrom to presume this change of inclination. But the celebrated Count de Buffon left his predecessors far behind, after premising that the sphere of the sun's attraction is not limited by the orbits of the planets, but extends indefinitely, always decreasing according to the squares of the augmented distances: that the comets which escape our sight in the heavenly regions are, like the planets, subject to the attraction of the sun, and by it their motions are regulated: that all these bodies (the directions of which are so various,) move round the sun, and describe areas proportioned to their periods; the planets in ellipses, more or less circular, and the comets in narrow ellipses of vast extent.—He asserts, that comets run through the system in all directions; but that the inclinations of the planes of their orbits are so very different, that though, like the planets, they are subject to the laws of attraction, they have nothing in common with regard to their progressive or impulsive motions, but appear in this respect to be absolutely independent of each other.

He then conjectures that a comet, falling obliquely into the body of the sun, drove off a part from its surface, and communicated to it a violent impulsive force. This effect he supposes was produced at the time when God is said, by Moses, to have "separated the light from the darkness," by which Buffon understands a real, physical separation; the opaque bodies of the planets being detached from the luminous matter of which he supposed the sun to be composed, and he imagined that the part struck off was one six hundred and fiftieth part of the sun's body.

He informs us that this matter issued from the sun, not in the form of globes, but of liquid torrents of fire; and that a projectile motion having been communicated by the stroke of the comet, the light particles separated from the dense, which, by their mutual attractions, formed globes of different solidities; and that the projectile force being proportioned to the density of the particles, determined the respective distances from the sun to which they would be carried. Our author having thus (at one blow of a comet) created the planets out of the superabundant materials of the sun, and having driven them to the distances of their spheres from that body, was put to a great straight to prevent them from obeying the law of projectiles, in returning whence they issued, and in obliging them to revolve round a common centre. This part of his theory is very lame indeed. He first unphilosophically ascribes this change of direction to an acceleration of velocity; and secondly, the acceleration he very erroneously supposed would take place by the anterior particles attracting and hastening the posterior ones, and by the posterior ones pushing forward or hastening the anterior ones. But appearing to be unsatisfied himself with this explanation, he next makes the shock of the comet remove the sun from its former situation—so that when the planets, according to the law of projectiles, returned to the place from whence they had departed, they did not enter into the sun again, who had thus fortunately stepped out of their way, or Buffon's ingenious creation would have been entirely destroyed.

But to proceed. He supposes that the earth, having acquired its present shape by its motion while in a liquid state, the fire was eventually extinguished by its rapid passage through space, or after having consumed all the combustible matter it contained. Mr. Buffon acknowledges that the constituent parts of the earth's crust are now of very different densities; but he gives no satisfactory explanation for the change which must have taken place, if as he supposed, they were once homogeneous. Nor does he account for the separation of the land from the water. It is true he leaves us to infer that such a separation took place; for he says, that "the motion of the waters is coeval with time." He also says, that the waters occupy the lowest grounds, and that all the mountains have been formed at the bottom of the sea, by means of currents and tides. His primeval world must therefore have had cavities, in which the waters were preserved.

Such is the theory of the Count de Buffon, a gentleman of great ingenuity, taste and erudition; whose works, so long as he confined himself to facts and reasoning, have been universally admired; but whose theories have been as much ridiculed by others as he ridiculed those of Burnet and Whiston. Soon after the publication of this theory, Buffon was summoned before the Faculty of Theology at Paris, and there informed that fourteen propositions in his works were reprehensible and contrary to the creed of the church. One of these, which related to geology, was, "That the waters of the sea were concerned in producing the mountains and valleys of the land." And it is curious to remark that this, which was almost the only correct geological proposition in the whole work, Buffon publicly renounced! Upon this theory of Buffon I would take leave, upon the highest modern authority, further to observe, that "from a long series of observations, made with powerful telescopes, Herschel discovered that the solar light and heat do not emanate from the body or nucleus of the sun, but from certain phosphoric and pyrophoric clouds, which are produced and developed in its atmosphere. That this immense ocean of light is violently agitated over its whole surface, causing those corrugations of its disc which he has so well described,—and which indeed, may be observed through a telescope of moderate powers, by even an unpractised eye. When this superficial structure is broken through and widely separated, we may discern the black veil of subjacent solar clouds, or even the solid dark nucleus of the sun itself. Hence Herschel accounts for the dark spots which are frequently observed on the sun's disc, and for the shelving margins which surround them.—Across these excavations of the phosphoric film, bridges of luminous matter, are seen to stretch, which extending in breadth, finally cause the dark chasm to disappear, and restore to the sun all its original brightness. The area of one of these black spots is often much greater than the whole surface of the terrestrial globe. When the storm subsides in the solar atmosphere, the equilibrium of its clouds replaces the layer of light. It is well known that these spots, first observed by Gallileo, led to the discovery of the sun's motion round its axis, and showed that this motion is accomplished in twenty-five and a half days."

Had Buffon been acquainted with these great excavations of luminous matter, he would probably have ascribed them to a projection of the solar substance giving origin to some new planet or comet, and causing diminution of the sun's heat proportional to the darkened portion of its orb. But Herschel has shown, on the contrary, that the seasons in which the solar spots are most abundant, are characterized not by decreased light and heat to the earth, but apparently by an opposite result. He hence infers, that these spots correspond, and are owing to an increased activity in the vibratory motions, by which the sun excites the ether, diffused through space.

The new improvements in optics, afford a very unexpected means of determining whether it be true, as Herschel imagined, that the solar light does issue from an incandescent solid or fluid. When such a body, raised to a very high temperature, becomes luminous, the rays which fly off in all directions, do not come from the outer surface only, but also proceed, as the rays of heat do, from a multitude of material points placed beneath or within the surface, to a certain depth, extremely small indeed, but actually existing. Now, such of those rays as traverse the envelope of the heated mass obliquely, acquire and preserve a peculiar property, which can be rendered sensible by experiment; they are polarised. But if the same mass, instead of being rendered luminous by its proper temperature, be only covered with an exterior film of flame, which is the source of its light, the rays do not then possess this property.

Science has thus been enabled to submit to this singular test, the light which the sun sends to us. M. Arago, the author of this beautiful experiment, has in fact discovered that the rays of the sun, when transmitted even obliquely, are not polarised.

These results are fatal to the theory of Buffon. Those who belong to his school, if any remain, can no longer contend for the sun as the eternal furnace from which to make ignited spheres; but on the contrary, the nucleus of that luminary may possibly enjoy a habitable planetary temperature.

In 1788 Werner published, by his lectures, his famous theory of the earth. He supposed that at some former period this globe had, for a long time, been covered with water to a greater depth than the original altitude of the highest mountains. That this immense body of water was then tranquil, or nearly so, and contained in solution all the materials of all the rocks of which the present crust of the earth is composed. That in this state, chemical deposites, exhibiting more or less of a crystalline structure, were first gradually made, and invested the nucleus of the earth. That these chemical deposites constitute the primitive rocks, including the granite and trap, and are distinguished by their crystalline form, and by the total absence of organic remains. That during this period, most of the highest mountains were formed; but by a gradual subsidence of the waters the summits of these mountains were left naked, the tranquillity of the waters was disturbed, and currents were consequently produced. That by these currents the naked rocks were worn and partially disintegrated; and the grains or fragments thus produced, were diffused through the mass of water. That the rocks formed at this period would, of course, consist partly of chemical and partly of mechanical deposites. That they would also lie over the primitive rocks, but in consequence of the diminished altitude of the waters, they would appear at a lower level, often resting on the declivities of primitive mountains. That as organic remains make their first appearance in the rocks of this period, it is inferred that the rocky shores which had recently emerged from the great deep, were then passing into a habitable state. That the level of the great ocean continuing to sink, more extensive portions of the earth were left exposed to the increasing violence of the currents, and the solution, which was originally chemical, now became, in a great degree, composed of grains, or comminuted fragments, detached from the older rocks, and that hence the minerals of this period consist of mechanical deposites; that they lie over the two preceding classes and at a lower level, in consequence of the greater subsidence of the waters.

That extensive portions of the globe having now become dry, new species and genera inhabited the waters and dwelt upon the land, while numerous vegetables adorn the shores and other parts of the earth. Hence these rocks abound with organic remains, both animal and vegetable.

Doctor Hutton published his theory about the year 1795; he supposed that all the solid parts which form the crust of the present globe, have proceeded from the disintegration and destruction of former continents, by the gradual action of the atmosphere and water; that the ruins of those ancient continents were transported by water, and deposited at the bottom of ancient seas; and that these heterogeneous materials thus deposited, were consolidated by the action of subterraneous fires; and, by the same agents, were subsequently elevated to form the present continents. That gneiss and other stratified rocks were only softened, elevated, and sometimes variously inclined; while granite and other unstratified minerals were completely fused, and in many cases forced upwards by this powerful agent through the incumbent strata. That as this earth had arisen from the ruins of an anterior world, so that had originated from the ruins of a former one, and so ad infinitum.

Each of the two last theories obtained numerous advocates; and a flame of controversy respecting them was kindled, that for some years blazed throughout Europe with great fury. As usual, both parties claimed the victory; but impartial readers appear to think that while each party may lay some claims to correctness, yet as an entire theory both are in the wrong.

(To be continued.)

A great mind may change its objects, but it cannot relinquish them; it must have something to pursue: Variety is its relaxation, and amusement its repose.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LETTERS FROM A SISTER.

LETTER FOURTH.

Bridge of Boats at Rouen—Ancient Custom—Old Tower and Town Clock—Church of St. Paul—Jugglers and Tumblers.

ROUEN, ——.

Dear Jane:—

"Another letter from Rouen!" you'll exclaim; yes, my dear sister, even so—for papa being well pleased with our accommodations here, and finding the town contains more curiosities than travellers are usually aware of, we have thus prolonged our stay; but to-morrow go we must, as our seats are engaged in the diligence for Paris. Since I wrote you three days ago, we have seen divers other objects worthy of notice, though not so interesting as those I have described to you. To-day we saw the bridge of boats which connects the city with the suburb of Saint Sévere; it rises and falls with the tide, and is divided into compartments that can be easily separated for ships to pass through at any moment. The invention of this bridge is attributed to an Augustin monk. A handsome stone bridge is now building over another part of the Seine.

Every evening at 9 o'clock we hear the tones of a clear sonorous bell, sounding what is termed the "retreat." This is merely the continuation of an ancient custom, practised during the Norman wars, when it was necessary to give a signal for those persons who might be without the city to enter, ere the gates were shut for the night. This bell is also rung on occasions of public ceremonies, festivities, or calamities, and is called the silver bell, because according to tradition, it was made of money raised from taxes. It hangs in the belfry of a curious old gothic tower, whose archway spans one of the chief streets of Rouen, and on the side of which is placed the city clock, resembling the face of a gigantic watch. This afternoon we purpose visiting the botanical garden, and after that taking a farewell drive in the neighborhood of the town; there are many beautiful prospects to be seen from the surrounding hills.

Yesterday Edgar and myself walked to the terrace of St. Paul, a plain and antique little church, built it is said on the ruins of a temple of Adonis. From the terrace you enjoy a fine view; and near it is a mineral spring, the second in Rouen. Here we met with a number of ladies and gentlemen, and were much diverted at the tricks of a fellow who mimicked the peculiarities of different nations; and when about to show off the English, cried out, "Maintenant pour 'Got dam;'" he made the most ridiculous faces you can imagine, and excited great mirth. It was surprising what power of muscle and expression he possessed; one moment his nose appeared turned up, his eyes squinting, and his mouth too small to admit a plum; the next, you'd think he could take in a melon—and his physiognomy would so completely change, that you could scarcely believe it was the same person before you. Sometimes to increase the effect, he put on a huge pair of spectacles and sung a droll song, a companion playing merrily on the violin all the while, and suiting the melody to the performance. After this came a band of tumblers, and three children tawdrily dressed—exhibited sundry feats on the back of a chair, and on the head and shoulders of a man. It was painful to behold the little creatures in such jeopardy; and having contributed our sous for their benefit, we quitted the scene. Adieu.

LEONTINE.

LETTER FIFTH.

Paris—Modes of Living—Rue de la Paix—Place Vendome—Rue Castiglione—Garden of the Tuileries—Louvre—Italian Boulevard—Dress of the Ladies—Soirées—Admiralty—Mademoiselle Mars.

PARIS, ——.

Dear Jane:—

Not a question, I pray you! about the journey from Rouen hither. I can only tell you that we chose the lower route; that the prospects were lovely, and the diligence rolled rapidly along the banks of the Seine; that we stopped only to swallow our meals as quickly as possible, and had not time to examine any thing. We entered Paris by the Porte de Neuilly and Champs Elysées, at dusk, and witnessed the beautiful sight the latter presents, when illuminated by its numerous lamps, which instead of being fixed on posts, were suspended high above our heads from ropes swung across the road. The resemblance of these lamps when lighted, to a range of brilliant stars, occasions the gate by which we entered to be called the "barriére de l'étoile." We found rooms ready for us, papa having written to request Mr. Dorval to engage a suite in the pleasantest quarter of the city.

Here there are four modes of living customary among visiters. First, boarding in a hotel by the day, week, or month: second, boarding at a lodging house by the week, month or year: third, hiring furnished apartments and eating at a restaurateur's, or being supplied thence: fourth, furnishing rooms yourself, and having your own cook. The first of these plans, being the least troublesome, we have preferred. It is, however, more expensive than either of the others. Our hotel is delightfully situated, and commands a view of the Italian Boulevard and of the Rue de la Paix, at the corner of which it stands; the latter, one of the widest and handsomest streets in the metropolis. From our windows we can also see the "Place Vendome," with its superb and stately bronze column, erected by Napoleon, in imitation of that of Trajan at Rome. It is made of the cannons taken by him at the battle of Austerlitz; the principal events of that campaign are represented in a bas-relief, which is carried spirally around the whole shaft, the figure of the Emperor being prominent in each compartment. His statue formerly crowned the summit of the column; but since his downfall it has been removed, and the vacancy is now supplied by a simple banner.¹

¹ The statue of Napoleon has been replaced since the last revolution; the dress is the great coat and three cornered cocked hat in which he is so frequently represented, and he holds in his hand a short telescope, or rather opera glass.

Beyond the Place Vendome is the Rue Castiglione, with its fine shops and arcades; and at the end of this street is the garden of the Tuileries, where we repair before breakfast every morning, to enjoy its shades, and contemplate its statues, flowers and fountains. In flowers it always abounds, for they are planted in pots concealed in the ground, and as soon as one set goes out of season, it is replaced by another in bloom.

From eleven until four o'clock we study the pictures in the magnificent gallery of the Louvre, whose halls are open for the benefit of strangers and students on every day of the week, except Monday. On Sunday they are open to every body, and consequently on Monday require the operations of the broom and brush. The halls appropriated to sculpture are on the ground floor, and the ceilings of several are superbly painted. It was from the window of one of these apartments that Charles the Ninth fired upon his persecuted subjects during the massacre of St. Bartholomews. (August 24, 1572)

Our usual evening resort is the Boulevard, where we listen to music, and observe the motley crowds around us; and when tired, refresh ourselves with ices or lemonade in a café.

Dear me! how tastefully the French ladies dress! What beautiful robes, and hats, and gloves, and shoes and boots they wear! and how well each article corresponds with another. If they have on different colors, they take care that they shall contrast agreeably, and not be an uncouth mixture, displeasing to the eye. In the morning their toilette is remarkably neat and appropriate. You'll probably find them when you call, in a simple gingham dress, with pelerine to suit, and a black silk apron; their hair arranged in puffs, and quite unadorned. Now is this not more rational than to be furbelowed, and curled, and richly clad, as if they were expecting company, instead of being usefully employed? At entertainments and in the public promenades, they display their fine clothes. We have already received and returned the visits of several of the French families to whom we brought letters; but much to our regret, the venerable Count Ségur is out of town, and Baron Hottinguer, his lady and son, are at their country seat. The Minister of the Marine (Mr. Hyde de Neuville) and Madame his spouse, are extremely pleasing and amiable. They still have their regular soirées, notwithstanding the advanced season, and we intend to avail ourselves of their polite invitation to attend them. By the by, I should tell you (what M. Dorval told me,) that in Paris many persons have an appointed evening for receiving their acquaintances, once a week, fortnight, or month, (as suits their convenience,) and on this evening they illuminate their rooms for the reception of their guests. The greater number of these remain only a half hour, and then repair to the opera, or to some other soirée, as such an assembly is termed. It is usual to go to three or four on the same night. There is seldom any refreshment offered, and the amusements are conversation and, écarte—sometimes billiards; and when the soirée is social and small, they even introduce childish plays, such as "Colin, Maillard," "Le Mouchoir," "Tierce," &c. in which elderly people frequently join with all the vivacity of youth.

Monsieur and Madame de Neuville reside in a superb mansion, that was formerly the "Garde meuble," or royal wardrobe. It is now called the "Admiralty," and appropriated to the use of the Minister of the Marine and Colonies. On its roof is a telegraph, and its front is embellished with sculpture, and columns, which support a portico as long as the building itself.

A few nights since we were at the Theatre Francais, and saw Mademoiselle Mars perform the part of the Duchesse de Guise in "Henri Trois." To the astonishment of every body she excels in this character, although it is a difficult one to play, and her first attempt at tragedy. Her talents hitherto, you know, have been devoted to comedy. She is the most lovely and youthful looking woman of her age I ever beheld. What do you think of her being passed fifty, and yet not appearing as old as twenty-five? She is so graceful too! and then her voice is melody itself! But I must cease my encomiums, or I shall not have space to assure you that I am your affectionate sister,

LEONTINE.

LETTER SIXTH.

Palais Royal—King's Library—Hotel de Ville—Mint—Palace of Justice—Holy Chapel—Flower Market.

PARIS, ——.

Dear Jane:—

What a variety of places we have visited since I despatched to you my last letter! Par exemple, the Palais Royal, with its agreeable garden and jets d'eau, surrounded by arcades, under which are splendid shops and cafés, that are dazzling when illuminated at night; the Royal Library, with its vast collection of manuscripts and engravings, and its cabinets of antiquities and medals—the latter considered to be the most complete in the world; the Hotel de Ville, on the Place de Grève, where the guillotine sometimes plies its dreadful work; the Exchange, with its sixty-four corinthian columns, fine hall, and superb imitations of bas-reliefs, so admirably executed, that you can scarcely be convinced they are the effect of the brush instead of the chisel. Add to these several churches and fountains, the Mint, where we witnessed the curious process of coining, and the "Palais de Justice." In this vast structure of antiquity, the judicial courts of Paris hold their sittings. It was founded in the ninth century, and is termed a palace, because it was once the abode of the French monarchs. I remember having read in some history of the magnificent entertainments they gave here, in a grand hall containing statues of their race and a marble table of uncommon size, at which none but princes of the blood were allowed to feast. In 1618 nearly the whole edifice was burnt, and the wonderful table and statues destroyed; it was rebuilt by Desbrosses, the architect of the Luxembourg. Besides the court rooms and many others above them, filled with the judiciary archives of the kingdom, there are long galleries which have on each side rows of petty shops and stalls. Beneath these galleries are the gloomy prisons of the conciergerie, wherein such atrocities were committed during the revolution. Here we saw the dungeons in which Marie Antoinette and the Princess Elizabeth were immured; the cell in which Robespiérre was confined; and that of Louvel, who assassinated the Duke de Berri. We were shown the prison room of the gallant Ney. The cells that inclosed the unfortunate queen and her sister-in-law, are now converted into a small chapel, which communicates by means of an arch, with another of larger dimensions. In the latter, the captives of the conciergerie are permitted to attend mass on the Sabbath. The arch is decorated with medallions of Louis the Sixteenth and the Princess Elizabeth, and a few lines extracted from his will are inscribed on an altar in the smaller chapel. On the wall of this hang three pictures in oil colors; the first represents Marie Antoinette taking leave of her family just before she was brought to the prison; in the second, you behold her standing wrapt in meditation by her miserable cot-bed, after the door is barred upon her; in the third, you see her at confession, preparatory to ascending the scaffold. Melancholy themes, and well suited to the gloom of the place! You approach the Palace of Justice through an enormous iron gate remarkable for its workmanship and guilding. On the left of it stands an ancient building, called the "Holy Chapel," from its having been erected by Saint Louis for the reception of the sacred relics he brought with him from Palestine, whither he went on a crusade, in fulfilment of a vow he had made during a dangerous illness. His oratory is still shewn, and once served as a refuge from popular fury to the present King Charles the Tenth, in the time of the revolution. The painted windows of the chapel are beautiful,—the colors so bright and various. Around the interior, instead of altars and confessionals, are a range of cases, containing archives and records. By the by, among those we saw in the upper galleries of the Palace of Justice, (which communicates with the "Sainte Chapelle,") were the condemnation of Joan of Arc, and that of Jean Châtel, who attempted to stab Henry the Fourth, but failed, and having been seized was put to a dreadful death, according to the mandate which we read. He was stretched on the rack, then drawn on a sledge to the Place de Grève, his flesh torn with hot pincers, and his right hand cut off; finally, his limbs were tied to four wild horses, and thus rent asunder. When dead, his body was burnt, and his ashes scattered to the winds! The dress he wore when he attacked the King, and a rope ladder he used in endeavoring to escape while confined, are carefully preserved in a box, with a scull that was found in the possession of a famous robber, and is said to have served him as a cup, out of which he compelled has victims to drink wine, and then swear allegiance to him. The condemnation of Joan of Arc is replete with superstition and abuse of that poor warrior damsel; she is pronounced a sorceress, a blasphemer, a devil, &c. and numerous other opprobrious epithets are given to her besides. We were likewise shewn the hand writing of Francis the First, Louis the Eleventh, and that of several others of the French monarchs; and to speak the truth, I don't think their penmanship does them much credit.

Returning home, we stopped at the flower market, and were surprised at the beauty and cheapness of the flowers. You may buy them growing in pots, or arranged as boquets. The market is held on the Quay Dessaix, under two rows of trees, in the midst of which a plentiful fountain refreshes the air, and affords water for the plants. Adieu. Ever yours,

LEONTINE.

LETTER SEVENTH.

Church of St. Roch—Pére la Chaise.

PARIS, ——.

Dear Sister:—

Your letter (received within a few hours) gave us all great pleasure, and we are rejoiced to learn that folks and things are going on so well at the Lodge. What a fine time you and Albert have for sentimentalizing! Make the best of it; for you know October is only a few months off, and when it comes you'll perhaps find me at your elbow oftener than you anticipate. I shall have so much to talk about; for believe me, altho' my communications are so long and frequent, a great deal will remain to be told when we reach "sweet home."

Now, let me inform you of the strange sight we have just been witnessing in the Church of St. Roch; a funeral and two weddings solemnizing in the same place and at the same moment! To us it was shocking, and certes if I had been one of the votaries of hymen on the occasion, I should have experienced sad forebodings of evil in the connubial state. Really, it was sometimes difficult to hear the priests who were performing the marriage rites, their voices being drowned in the loud requiem chanted over the dead. The coffin was strewed with white flowers, emblematical of the youth and maidenhood of the deceased.

We have visited Pére la Chaise, and spent nearly a whole day in reading the inscriptions on its numerous and varied monuments,—many of them so magnificent! many so neat and simple! The inscriptions are generally beautiful and touching—they speak to the hearts of all; and the lovely and odoriferous flowers that decorate the tombs, seem to rob the grave of its sadness, and shed their balmy influence o'er the mind of the beholder. Several tombs are also adorned with miniatures inserted in the stone, and portraying the once animated countenances of those who rest beneath them. This romantic burying ground spreads itself over the side of a hill, and from the upper part you have a noble prospect of the city and its environs. In the fourteenth century it was the site of a splendid mansion, built by a wealthy grocer, whose name was Regnaud. Its magnificence being incompatible with his rank, it was soon entitled "Regnaud's Folly." The Jesuits afterwards obtained possession of it, and gave it the name of "Mont Louis," because Louis the Fourteenth when a boy, witnessed from its summit the battle in the Faubourg St. Antoine, between the Frondeurs,² commanded by the Prince of Condé, and the Court Party, under Marshal Turenne. I recollect reading in Voltaire's history of that monarch's reign, that during this bloody skirmish, Mademoiselle d'Orleans (Louis's cousin) sided with the Prince of Condé, and had the cannons of the Bastile pointed against the royal troops. This ruined her forever in the opinion of the king; and Cardinal Mazarin remarked, knowing her desire to marry a crowned head, "ce canon la, vient de tuer son mari"—"that cannon has killed her husband." But I've digressed from my original theme, and hasten to resume it. Pére la Chaise, one of the Jesuits, became confessor to Louis, and had entire control of ecclesiastical affairs. The king was very fond of him, and as a mark of his esteem, presented him with the estate of "Mont Louis," having considerably enlarged and embellished it for his use. On the death of the holy father, it reverted to his brethren, and was called after him. These wily priests projected there the Revocation of the edict of Nantes, and issued thence many a lettre de cachet, decreeing imprisonment to their enemies. They retained possession of the place until the abolishment of their order in 1763, when it was sold for the benefit of their creditors, and had divers owners, until purchased by the Prefect of the Seine, and appropriated to its present purpose in 1804. There are three kinds of graves: first, those termed public, in which the poor are gratuitously buried; but each body can remain only five years, the time supposed to be sufficient for its decomposition. These graves resemble immense ditches, and the coffins are deposited one upon another, and side by side, as close as they can lay. They are wretchedly made, and soon drop to pieces; and therefore it is not uncommon, in burying a corpse, to see the exposed head and limbs of another! Is'nt this horrible? Second, temporary graves, wherein the dead remain undisturbed during ten years, for the sum of fifty francs. At the close of that period, unless the grave be rendered of the third kind, perpetual, by the payment of a larger portion of money, its ghastly tenant is removed. The oldest and most interesting sepulchre is that of Abelard and Héloise; it is formed of the ruins of the paraclete, and covered with antique sculpture and ornaments. It represents a gothic chapel, in the centre of which the bodies of the lovers are represented extended on a bier; the whole is of gray stone. The monument of the Countess Demidoff, a Russian lady, we considered the richest and handsomest in the collection. It is composed of pure white marble highly polished. A part of the cemetery is appropriated to the use of strangers, and a considerable space allowed to the Jews. The gate is always thronged with carriages that have brought either visiters or mourners. On each side of the entrance are stalls, where wreaths and bunches of flowers may be purchased. I must now conclude, and am sure you will dream of church yards and hobgoblins, after reading this letter, from your attached

LEONTINE.

² This party were termed frondeurs or slingers by their opponents, in allusion to the boys who were then in the habit of throwing stones with slings In the street, and who ran away when any one appeared. The Soubriquet, as has frequently happened, was adopted by them as their distinctive appellation.

ORIGINAL LITERARY NOTICES.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

AN ORATION on the Life and Character of Gilbert Motier de Lafayette, delivered at the request of both Houses of the Congress of the United States, before them, in the House of Representatives at Washington, on the 31st of December, 1834, by John Quincy Adams, a Member of the House. Washington: Gales and Seaton. 1835. pp. 94.

EULOGY on La Fayette, delivered in Fanueil Hall, at the request of the Young Men of Boston, September 6, 1834; by Edward Everett. Boston: Nathan Hall & Allen & Tichnor. 1834. pp. 96.

"An Oration in praise of Hercules!!! And who ever thought of blaming Hercules!"

The limits of the old world bounded the labors of Hercules. There nature had planted imperishable landmarks; and on these the gratitude of nations had inscribed, in imperishable characters, the name of their benefactor. What could the breath of man add to his glory?

But the pillars of Hercules have been passed. Beyond this ne plus ultra of the ancient world, the genius of Columbus opened a way to new regions, and extended the sway of his imperial master around the circuit of the earth. A new hero was wanting, whose labors, commensurate with this enlarged theatre, might compass the globe, and convey to the new world the benefits which his illustrious prototype had conferred on the old. Such a hero the bounty of Providence vouchsafed to man. But the spirit has returned to him who gave it; and it is in praise of his memory, that two distinguished orators have been required to task their acknowledged powers.