EVERY DEPARTMENT OF LITERATURE (continued 9)

"I will—I do," I replied, much affected.

The remainder of our walk was passed almost in silence; and when Heywood left me, which he did immediately upon our return to town, he pressed my hand to his heart, and sobbed, "God bless you."

The next day upon my inquiring for him, I found he had left town early that morning, saying that it was uncertain when he should return. This I regretted extremely; for although disappointed in my first attempt, I was not without hopes I might still succeed in bringing him back to the paths of virtue and of honor, from which he had so unfortunately strayed. I determined at all events to remain where I was until I had again seen him, and make another appeal to his friendship and his pride. Days and weeks passed however, and he came not. It was now the latter part of the month of May; the weather was delightful. I got tired of the solitude of my chamber, and walked out to enjoy the balminess of the air and the freshness of nature, as yet unscorched by the ardent beams of the summer sun. I took the road that led to Drayton's, and when I reached his gate, paused, as I had many a time before, to admire a noble oak that formed one of the gate posts. This splendid tree was at its base full five feet through, and its trunk shot up a height of forty feet before it gave out a branch. Thence its boughs spread out to an immense distance, forming a canopy over the road, beyond the opposite side of which they extended, and mingled with those of the trees growing there. It looked like a patriarch of the primeval forest, and seemed destined to stand while all around might decay. I sauntered along a mile or two, until I reached a favorite and secluded spot, well known to me when I was a boy, and which remained unchanged, while all else was changed or changing. There I seated myself on a moss covered rock, under the shade of a thick leaved birch, and while the bright waters rippled at my feet, passed in review before my mind some of the scenes of a busy and adventurous life. About an hour had elapsed in this pleasing melancholy of reverie, when I became conscious that a change had taken place in the weather. The refreshing breeze had died away, and the air become close and sultry, with that heavy suffocating feeling I had observed in high southern latitudes, as the invariable precursor of the coming hurricane. I made what haste I could to reach my home, which was full three miles distant, by the shortest path I could choose. I reached the upper part of Drayton's enclosure, where there was an open field on either side, and paused as well from fatigue, as a desire to ascertain whether I could probably outstrip the approaching storm, or should be compelled much against my inclination to seek for shelter at Drayton's abode.

As I looked up, I perceived that the heavens were embossed with dark clouds that hung heavily in the atmosphere, scarcely moving their stations, or varying their forms, so completely stilled was the breeze—not a leaf trembled on the slenderest twig. Presently, on the extreme verge of the horizon to my right, a small, jagged cloud arose, that rested as it were a moment on the summits of the trees, and then darted high up the sky and emitted a brilliant flash of lightning, accompanied by a quick, sharp crash of thunder—as if this had been a signal summons, from all quarters of the heavens, seemingly by voluntary impulse, the hitherto inert vapors rushed with eagle speed to the spot, like mailed warriors to the battle field; concentrating, and condensing their huge forms into one, vast, deep, substantial looking body of impervious gloom, heaving to and fro with a mighty sound, like unto the rush of liberated waters that have broken down their rocky barrier. As I gazed in horror on this awful sight, there gradually descended from the centre, mass on mass of clouds, as if enormous folds of blackest velvet had been lowered down, narrowing in their descent until they almost formed a point: and then amid the lightning's incessant flashes, and the music of its own appalling roar, that drowned the loudest thunder; and the groans of the forest, as its mightiest trees were uprooted, or twisted from their stems, as a child would break a straw; the tornado marched on its appointed path of desolation. No words, at least none I can command, avail to describe its horrid majesty, its incalculable power. It was as if the very demon of destruction had clothed himself in robes of hellish grandeur, and came in the pride of his unimaginable strength, to strew with ruins the world's fair orb, and revel amidst his fiendish sport. I have in the course of my journey through life, encountered many a peril, and looked on many a sight that might strike the coward with despair, and blanch the cheek of the bravest. The appalling cry of fire has broken upon my ear, when my bark was rolling in the midst of the wide spread ocean, and the apparent choice was to leap into the wave, or perish by the flames. I have been with a crew, when the match was held by a resolute hand that would in an instant have hurled us in the air, rather than become the prey of the remorseless pirate. The storm upon the sea, the hurricane on land, and the terrors of battle upon both, I have beheld; but never did there weigh upon my heart such a feeling of unmixed dread, such a consciousness of utter helplessness, as now—still, I was not entirely deprived of my presence of mind—I was aware that the force of the tornado, although it might be extended to many miles, would probably be confined within narrow boundaries; and if I could ascertain its course, I might place myself beyond its influence. At this moment, however, it was difficult to conjecture to what point its fury would be directed: for as I have said, it was a perfect calm; the winds seemed to be enclosed within the lurid bosom of that horrible prodigy. Its approach was certainly in a line towards myself, but how soon it might swerve from that route, I could not tell; so that I dare not trust to flight. While I stood thus hesitating how to act, a horseman passed me at full speed. My attention had been so fully absorbed, and so deafening was the voice of the cloud, that I had not heard his approach, and barely caught a sufficient glimpse of the face to recognise it as that of Willis, and that it was overspread with an ashy paleness. He had not passed me a hundred yards, when as if by magic a strong wind burst from the north west, encountered the tornado, and turning it from the direction it had hitherto pursued, drove it obliquely in front of Drayton's house at about a quarter of a mile from it, and immediately towards the gate and the oak, I have spoken of. It now moved with immense velocity from me, and feeling that all personal danger was past, I could observe its appearance and effects with greater accuracy. The interior of the lower part was illuminated by flames, I may call them, of lightning; for so incessant and continuous were the flashes, that they appeared as one; and I could distinguish in the centre, large limbs of trees, and trees themselves suspended, tossed, and whirled about like feathers. Its wake was defined by the upturned ground, as if many ploughshares linked together had passed over it. Whatever lay in its track was instantaneously destroyed. It drove full upon the giant oak, and the forest Titan on whom many a storm had harmlessly broken, whose noble head was scarcely bowed in recognition of the furious gale, was wrenched, and severed from its trunk, and dashed upon the ground; that trembled as it received the enormous weight, as if an earthquake shook it. The destroyer passed on, and I stood watching it, until its noise was lost upon my ear, and its form had faded from my sight. Slowly then I bent my steps forward, mentally returning thanks to a gracious providence, for my escape from so imminent and appalling a danger. Suddenly, the recollection of Willis rose upon me, and a strong presentiment that he must have been overtaken by the cloud pressed upon my mind, and filled it with horror. The presentiment was destined to be realized. I quickened my steps, and as I approached the gate, I found the road so much impeded by the broken boughs and scattered fences hurled about in every direction, that I was compelled to make a considerable circuit in Drayton's field, to enable me to overcome the various obstacles that obstructed my passage. As I saw no trace of Willis, I began to hope he might have escaped, although it seemed scarcely possible; at all events, I thought it would be but proper for me to step to the house, a distance of some five hundred yards, and see if he had arrived in safety. I had, it is true, no respect for him, and perhaps his death could scarcely be deemed a calamity; but he was one of the great family of man, and what right had I to sit in judgment on my fellow creatures?

I found Drayton at home, standing at the front door, surveying the ravages committed on his estate. He greeted me, and commenced a harangue on the terrible phenomenon he had witnessed, which I cut short by inquiring if Mr. Willis was within—"within! No he had not seen him for several days." As briefly as I could, I then informed him of Willis' passing me on the road, of the obvious danger he had incurred, and requested he would accompany me with some of the servants, with axes and other implements, that might be necessary in prosecuting our search. He hastened to comply with the request, and we soon set forward with some dozen assistants. We commenced our disagreeable undertaking, at the gate on the lower side of the prostrate oak, which lay obliquely across the road, endeavoring every now and then, to peep through the confused mass of tangled and shattered boughs that lay in heaps about us. Presently, one of the negroes uttered an exclamation, and pointing with both hands, cried out that he saw a man under the tree. We immediately gathered around him, and looking in the direction indicated, could perceive not only the object he had discovered, but also the prostrate body of a horse. There was now little doubt that Willis had here met his wretched fate.

The sun, which had come forth, was about an hour high, but we had great difficulties to overcome before we could reach the spot, where the body lay. One of the men was despatched to the house for further assistance, and we soon had all the efficient laborers of the estate at work; while the boys and women, whom curiosity brought there, were employed in holding torches, for the evening shades had fallen, before we got half through with our labor. At length, we succeeded in freeing Willis's body from the superincumbent load that pressed upon it. Life was totally extinct; his death had doubtless been instantaneous, for his bones were broken in many places, and the scull driven in, until its sides almost met. We hastily constructed a hand-barrow on which we laid the mangled remains, and were about to move off, when one of the boys came running to us from the wood on the opposite side to the gate, and with terror in his looks, informed us there was another man lying dead there. We hastened to the spot, which there was little difficulty in reaching, for the individual lay just on the skirt of the prostrate trees, and had probably been struck down by an upper bough as it fell. His face was towards the ground, and his hands outstretched. The back of the head had received a severe wound. We gently turned the body over. My heart sunk within me and a faintness came over my senses, as the light of the blazing torches revealed to my view the pallid face of Heywood. I soon recovered, however, and stood and gazed upon the features of the corpse, those features that I had so often seen lit up with intelligence, now rigid in death. Those eyes, whose piercing beams once reached the very hearts of men, and gazed upon their secret motives, had lost their "speculation," and those lips whose surpassing eloquence once filled his hearers with deep delight, ruling them with a master spell; now rousing apathy into action, now stilling passion in its wildest mood; were hushed in eternal silence. Before us was the motionless form of clay, the immortal spirit had ascended to its God. Both the bodies were removed to the house. The remainder of that night, I sat by the corpse of Heywood. The next day, I procured a plain coffin, and taking with me a couple of assistants, proceeded to the place where I had reposed after my walk on the preceding afternoon. At the foot of the birch tree we dug his grave, and heaped the earth upon the coffin to the level of the plain, and over it we spread the verdant turf: and there, in his "narrow and obscure bed," sleeps the misguided son of genius; while a splendid mausoleum marks the spot where the bones of Willis lie, and a marble slab records his thousand virtues.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

The study of poetry has been to me its own exceeding great reward: it has soothed my afflictions; it has refined and multiplied my enjoyments; it has given me (or at least strengthened in me) the habit of wishing to discover the good and the beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me—Coleridge.

STANZAS.

It is the Fall! the season now, Of rustling airs—of fading flowers; And Nature with a saddened brow, Sits brooding o'er her leafless bowers. Yet Autumn's reign was aye to me A season of felicity! I'm standing in a dark recess Of a vast, dim, primeval wood, And on me is the consciousness That springs from such a solitude. No sounds are nigh save those I love— No scene my heart's content to move. A streamlet, gushing from above Goes dancing past me wild and free, As the fond boy is said to rove, Commission'd by Love's Deity. But he in cities gaily flaunts, While this seeks only nature's haunts. And as it tracks the forest's maze, Through greensward alleys wand'ring wide, Affects not Folly's treach'rous ways, Nor looks to Fashion for its guide. How lulling to my sense its song,— As thus it sweeps its course along! The winds are also stirring now, In murm'ring tones, yon stately pine, Whose giant branches tend to throw A deeper shadow o'er this shrine— This nobler shrine than priest or king Is wont to use for worshipping. But lo! 'tis sunset—and the dew Is settling fast on herb and tree; Darkness will soon be shrouding too Each object in obscurity. My steps again I therefore turn, To mix with man, and inly mourn!

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For the Southern Literary Messenger.

SONNET.

There is a splendour in these southern skies, Ofttimes at sunset, which I've nowhere seen, Wide as my range about the world hath been, Save on Italian shores; and there the dyes Have less of magic in them!—Who that tries, (Artist or Bard,) to paint such glowing hues As, in the west, mine eye this moment views, But must confess how passing far it lies Beyond his utmost skill?—High o'er my head A blue intense fades into purplish gray; And this anon to richer tints gives way, Of yellow—orange—then of deepening red, Until at length, in his all gorgeous bed, Proudly sinks down the monarch of our day.

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ORIGINAL LITERARY NOTICES.

POEMS BY A COLLEGIAN, Charlottesville, Va. Published by C. P. McKennie. Printed by D. Deans & Co. 1833.

A neat and unpretending volume of poems, with the above title, was issued last year from the Charlottesville press. As a Virginia production altogether, and the first fruits of poetical genius, emanating from the University of Virginia, the collection deserves honorable mention in the pages of the Southern Literary Messenger.

Criticism might be disarmed of some of its wonted severity, when it is known that all the poems contained in this volume, were written by the author between the ages of sixteen and nineteen. This fact, however, only increases our favorable opinion of his talents, and induces us to estimate still higher his natural powers of mind.

We propose, instead of an analysis of the volume before us, and a regular review of its contents, to extract specimens of the POETRY, which struck us as displaying that fire of genius so necessary to constitute a true POET. Our readers we are sure will agree with us in the favorable opinion we have expressed, after they have perused these specimens.

One of the best and most spirited of the poems, is the Address to Constantinople on its anticipated fall, written on receiving intelligence that the Russian army was on its march to that capital in 1829. We give the two first stanzas.

"Thy plumes are ruffled now, proud bird! O'er land and ocean, forest, solitude, The echo of thy last, sad shriek is heard!— The glance of majesty Is quailing now from thy fierce eye, And the deep wailing of thy scattered brood Is dying to a murmur. Sadly dark Is thy soiled plumage, and thy gilded crest Has fallen—so often fall the loftiest and the best. Hark! To the tread of the devouring foe!— But ere thou art laid low, Shall not one last avenging blow Be struck? Rouse thee, proud bird! Thy voice of triumph 'mid the nations, yet May swell from mosque and minaret— May with the bravest and the first be heard! Stamboul! proud city of the East! Sister of Rome!—old mistress of a world— Wilt thou from thy high state be hurled? Shall not thy sinewy arm be strung With its accustomed power?—at least Gird on thy mail, and let thy dirge, If thou must die, upon the battle's verge, Amid the shock of arms, be sung!"

The energy of the language and the appropriateness of the figures, appear to us worthy of high praise.

We have several beautiful descriptions of calm and quiet scenery. What follows, contrasts admirably with the lines we have just quoted.

"I look upon the stars sometimes—I love To watch their twinkling in the azure ground Of Heaven's o'er-arching canopy, where move Ten thousand worlds—which, starting with a bound— Plough with fiery track, the unseen waves Of fathomless immensity; to see, Age after age, that sky hung o'er the graves Of buried nations, as a tapestry— A funeral canopy when dyed with gloom; That sky, which, robed in majesty, looked bright Upon Columbus, when he sought the tomb Of all his hopes, or strove to snatch from night, And claim the birthright of a world. 'Tis when I view the stars, bright handmaids of the moon— Who walks among them as a virgin queen— That, with those stars to riot, seem a boon From Heaven; I love to see that moon's pure beams— Like lightning shot upon the watery waste, Which like a mine of living diamonds gleams— Each sparkling but an instant—as in haste To hide its liquid lustre in the wave— A jeweled bathing place—a starlit home— Fit—ay, beautifully fit to lave The light of worlds in upper air which roam."

There is much of that highly romantic and poetical imagery in this, which must please every reader of taste. A stanza of similar style is in the lines to page 32.

"And when the stars were breathing out Their holy light to earth, And diamonding the glad blue sky For the young moon's queenly birth, I've gazed upon some lovely one, And thought that it might be A glorious home in the afterworld, In which to live with thee."

And this at page 82.

"The air is like a tideless sea Of pure and silvery light, And the waters glance transparently, Illumed by the queen of night. The crested waves as they dash on high, And dissolve in pearly beads, Appear as a carpet spread gaudily, Where the giant sea-god treads."

There is much, too, in the following lines, which comes over the senses "like the sweet south."

"Evening is stealing with her nectared breath, Slowly and calmly down to kiss each flower That pouteth in rich beauty from beneath Its emerald colored guardians—the bright leaves— ('Tis strange what solace brings that magic hour To every heart that hopes, or loves, or grieves— It is the fitting time for fervent prayer, Which rises holily on kindred air— For then the air is holy—'tis the time For love—the only time to gaze and die Beneath the lustre of a diamond eye; Yet strange to tell, it is the hour for crime!) In golden majesty the glorious sun, With light too pure for eye to gaze upon, Is sinking slowly in the gorgeous west— A monarch going proudly to his rest.— He's gone, and mellow twilight creeps along As gently as the cadence of a song,— Twilight, to whom each poet in his day, Hath breathed melodious and impassioned lay, While o'er his soul thy witchery was stealing, As sweetly as the whispered tones of feeling. Evening—'tis then the o'er fraught heart doth pour Its wealth of pious incense at the shrine Of deity—the spirit then may soar Into those regions where the angels twine Wreaths for the glorious of our earthly race;— 'Tis then that we can see, and feel, and trace His glory in the realms of starry space!"

We were pleased with the lines to ——, commencing thus:

"Memory! Memory!—'tis like the talisman We read of in the page of Eastern story, That magi used the inmost soul to scan Of friends or foes; or oft mayhap to call From his bright crystal, gold, or diamond hall, Some brother in his supernatural glory— The talisman of feeling, that doth bring Back on the heart the deeds of other days, With all their dark or glorious coloring— The wizard of the soul, whose wand can raise The disembodied spirits of the dead Palpable as it were to touch;—impress The face of such as long ago have fled Into their state of holy blessedness, Upon the mind."

The poem, with which the volume opens, "To My Country," contains many brilliant passages;—and throughout the work, the reader will linger at almost every page to dwell upon something which must please his fancy. Indeed the extracts that we intended to have made have so multiplied upon our hands, that we have not now space to give place to them all. We trust, however, that what we have given will suffice not only to show that our own opinions are correct, but to bring the public, and especially the Virginia public, better acquainted with the author and his work. In a future number we may adorn the columns of the Messenger with further extracts from the POEMS BY A COLLEGIAN.

In the preface, the author states that his motive for preserving his poems in their present form, was his desire "to leave among those who have taken an interest in his welfare, and with whom he has been in habits of daily intercourse, a slight memorial of himself, ere more important duties urge their claims to consideration." We know that his Alma Mater will always be proud of such a son, and that his friends, with him, under her instruction will long cherish the "memorial." A favorable opinion of it will, however, not be confined to them alone. A discerning public will see and appreciate its excellence.

MY NATIVE LAND, AND OTHER POEMS. By Frederick Speece. Philadelphia: Printed for Augustine Leftwich, Lynchburg, Virginia. 1832.

Having been obligingly furnished with a copy of these poems, we take pleasure in introducing them to the notice of the public. We are somewhat surprised to learn that although published two years since in Lynchburg, they have attracted no notice in that quarter, either of applause or censure. It is perhaps, more agreeable to an author, that his works should come under the lash of satire, than that they should pass altogether without observation. The chilling neglect of the public however, furnishes no stronger proof of a writer's demerit, than do the too frequent carpings of illiberal criticism. Some of the greatest poets have been doomed whilst living, to indigence and obscurity, and owe all their honors to posthumous fame; and it is asserted of Homer especially, that seven cities claimed the honor of his birth, not one of which perhaps would have furnished a morsel to save him from starving.

We design not to raise extravagant expectations respecting Mr. Speece's poems—nor can we hazard the conjecture that the praise of future times will compensate him for contemporary injustice. We do not hesitate however, to recommend his work as incomparably superior to much of that glittering trash which passes under the name of poetry. There is a vein of good sense,—of just and honest feeling—of tender melancholy—and sometimes of rich imagination—which runs through his volume, and which cannot fail to delight such readers as have any soul for poetical composition. His versification for the most part, is sweet and melodious—though occasionally there is a little inattention to syllabick quantity, which produces rather an unpleasant effect upon the ear. There are other faults too—but they are inconsiderable when compared with the many redeeming beauties which shine through the volume. The poem of "My Native Land," in its general tone and harmony of verse, brings to recollection Goldsmith's Deserted Village—and the "Sketches," which are also descriptive of the pleasures of juvenile life and the picturesque scenery of his native hills—contain many fine passages. In the "Juvenalis Redivivus"—the author has pointed the arrows of satire against men and manners with no little severity—so much so, that he has found it necessary in his preface to acknowledge that time had softened much of the harsh coloring which he had thrown into his pictures. Many of his minor pieces abound in beautiful thoughts, expressed in smooth and flowing numbers—and upon the whole we think if Mr. Speece had been sufficiently encouraged in early life to persevere in the delightful but unprofitable task of poetical authorship—he might have reached a highly respectable rank. The following passage from "My Native Land," will probably remind the reader of Cowper's touching address to his mother's picture.

"My mother! Melancholy was the morn That found me orphaned, and almost forlorn. My friend! My guide! Oh, could not mercy save Her for her child, or lay me in her grave! Why cheer my drooping and unsheltered head, When to the skies her gentle spirit fled? Why bid me live, since riper years must pay Their long arrears to that lamented day? I had a mother, tender, kind and true, Her virtues many and her failings few; With warm solicitude and watchful eye, She taught me what to follow, what to fly; And warned me disappointment and distress In life must be my portion, more or less; That fierce disease would often banish health; Pride point the insolence of power and wealth; Folly and vice allure; pretended friends Abuse my confidence for private ends; And fears and sorrows, hovering round my head, Pursue me to my last and narrow bed. Yet would she say, in Virtue's path was found A balm to heal the bosom's deepest wound: Winged my young thoughts to better worlds above, There to repose my confidence and love. Her fond affection never would deceive, But these were things I could not then believe. Yet though her warnings vanished from my mind, Her precepts left a faithful trace behind;— In memory's careful records still remain, And long experience proves they were not vain."

The same poem concludes in the following lines—being a farewell tribute to the place of his nativity.

"Adieu! Perhaps forever! Should it be,— 'Land of my Fathers! I will think of thee,' Long as its motions last, and vital heat, Within my heart, thy lovely name shall beat.— Tho' rude thy piny hills, a thankless soil, Whence scanty products meet the tiller's toil, Tho' thy wild scenery, and thy fickle clime, Exhibit little beauteous or sublime;— And timid Superstition's witching tales, And Gothic ignorance linger in thy vales; The charms that could my infant love engage, Have fixed the feelings of maturer age. So strongly linked to joys and sorrows past— I loved thee first—loved long—will love thee last. Whether, where Beauty taught me first to feel, And mutual passion fixed the sacred seal On treasures, Heaven reserved for me alone, A friend, a bosom dearer than my own, On Staunton's banks my wandering feet shall rest, Or in some Eden of the rosy West, In Alabama's ever verdant clime, Or where the wild Missouri rolls sublime; Or, 'mid the Bedford hills, whose limpid streams, Pay scanty tribute to the mighty James.— Land of my birth! and where my fathers sleep, Oft shall remembrance turn to thee and weep, And though my steps be doomed to wander far, Affection tremble to her Polar Star, Till the last throb shall lay this bosom low, Where Memory and Affection cease to glow."

We select a passage at random from the satiric poem, as a fair specimen of the author's style and manner.

"There was a time, our good old fathers say, (Perhaps it was so in their better day,) When coats and gowns were patch'd without disgrace, And men wore hats that cover'd all the face; When ragged virtue was not kick'd aside, Nor worth and equipage identified, Nor taste and genius by possession squared, Nor merit sold, like riband, by the yard. Temperance and charity were then esteem'd, And men and women were just what they seem'd. Labor and health with vigor strung their arms, Themselves less cultivated than their farms. No smart young master, impudent and vain, Play'd with his cue, or silver-headed cane, Forsook his grammar ere he learn'd the rules, To pilfer pins, or rifle reticules; Nor beardless hero boasted laurels won, From maids deceived, or jilted, or undone. The rosy girls, content with native bloom, Sought not the flowing robe and waving plume; Nor wish'd to gain the empire of a heart, Where half the victory was achieved by art. No wanton fashion taught with lace to deck, The shorten'd waist, and lengthen down the neck. No everlasting clack of slanderous tongues, Raised sad solicitude for female lungs; Nor had the sex divided all their cares, To sorting silks and mangling characters."

If Mr. Speece were at this time a younger man than we presume him to be, we should take the liberty of pointing out some of his defects—but various allusions in some of his minor pieces, authorise the inference that his affections are now almost alienated from the once charming society of the muses. Domestic sorrow seems to have had no inconsiderable share in producing this result. His "Apology to A. L. Esq."—is full of the poet's as well as the father's anguish at the sudden death of a favorite son sixteen years old. We give the whole to the reader.

"The generous friend may justly claim The offspring of my musing, But to excite the Muse's flame No more obeys my choosing. Life's warmest hopes, its light and pride, Fail'd with my darling when he died. My harp, that once in rapture rung, Full-toned to joy and gladness, Lies all unheeded and unstrung Beneath the cloud of sadness; Vain were the task, the effort vain, To wake its thrilling notes again. Once skill'd to wreath poetic flowers Around the brow of Beauty, My hand has now forgot its powers, Nor heeds that gentle duty; Fled is their bloom; the task were vain, To wreath those wither'd flowers again. The heart that feels the mortal stroke, The bosom anguish-riven, Sinks hopeless as the blasted oak From the fierce bolt of Heaven: The oak no genial season feels; The wounded bosom never heals. Youth may regain its honors reft, And bloom again in gladness; Age, when bereaved, has little left But ever-during sadness; And gathering years and grief dissever Hope from the heart that bleeds forever."

A VISIT TO TEXAS: Being the journal of a traveller through those parts most interesting to American settlers. With descriptions of scenery, habits, &c. &c. New York: Goodrich & Wiley. 1834.

The proximity of Texas to the United States,—the facilities of intercourse between the two countries—and the migratory habits of our citizens,—are sufficient to invest with more than ordinary interest every thing which relates to that part of Spanish America. The volume before us, is an unpretending and agreeable narrative, and is calculated we think to do good, by pointing out the mischiefs and inconveniences of emigration to the Mexican republic, and especially by calling the public attention to the many ingenious frauds which are practised by land companies and speculators. The author was a purchaser of twenty thousand acres from the Galveston Bay and Texas Land Company through their agents at New York, and full of golden dreams about this new Eldorado of the south west, he embarked in person at New Orleans, in order to take possession of his splendid principality. His disappointment and vexation may be easily imagined at finding himself on his arrival totally deceived on the subject of his title! It was not worth the parchment on which it was written, and after all his fruitless expense, anxiety and hardship, he did not enjoy even the melancholy satisfaction on his return to New York of obtaining from the trustees their sympathy, much less remuneration. Our traveller might indeed have acquired "a quarter of a league of unappropriated land, on condition of professing the Roman Catholic religion, becoming a citizen of the Republic of Mexico, and residing on the soil for six years, receiving his title from the government;"—but he was too conscientious and honorable to submit to such requirements. The truth is, that whilst there is much in the climate and soil of Texas to allure the settler, there are also numerous objections which ought to discourage the rash experiment of emigration. Our own country, particularly in its new states and territories—holds out sufficient inducements to such as find it either convenient or necessary to change their abodes; and there are no superior advantages in a residence on the Brassos or Colorado to compensate for the sacrifices of friends and connexions,—free government and the rights of conscience. It seems to us therefore to be little short of fatuity, especially in the present unsettled state of the miscalled Republic of Mexico, for a citizen of the United States to abandon for a settlement in that quarter his native land, unless indeed, he be a violator of its laws and a refugee from punishment.

In truth, it appears that this desperate class of men constitute no inconsiderable portion of the population of Texas;—and our author relates that on one occasion he sat at the same table with no less than four murderers who had fled from justice. True, there is a large portion of the country extremely beautiful and fertile, and the labors of the planter and herdsman are richly rewarded;—but these advantages are greatly counterbalanced by the insecurity of the government and laws—the intolerance of religious bigotry—and the absence of most of the elements which constitute a virtuous and happy community. Minor evils and inconveniences are also felt. The spacious plains and luxuriant prairies—though they furnish abundance of food for horses and cattle, are scantily supplied with wood, and altogether destitute of stone;—and the usual incidents of southern latitudes,—bilious fever,—poisonous reptiles and insects, and alligators of enormous size, serve to fill up the revolting picture.

We have no fears therefore, notwithstanding the enchanting coloring which even the temperate feelings and chastened imagination of our author have thrown around a Texas landscape—that there are many persons of sober minds, when they shall have balanced the good with the evil, will be much enamoured with the thought of a permanent "visit" to that region. The book, therefore, may be recommended as a tolerably certain antidote to any lurking desire for a ramble across the Sabine,—and if perchance the spirit of migration shall have become too obstinate for cure,—it may still have the effect of confining the wanderer's steps within the limits of our own republic.

There are many things in our author's narrative both curious and amusing—and not among the least so, is the account he gives of that intractable animal, the mustang, or wild horse of the country. With one of that strange species he was necessarily obliged to cultivate an intimate acquaintance, having no other means of transportation between different parts of the country. The manner in which they are reduced to subjection, and the untameable perverseness of their nature, are thus related:

The first thing to be attended to, was the purchase of a horse; and this was easily effected. The small horses of the country, called mustangs, introduced by the Spaniards, and now numerous in the more northern prairies, run wild in droves over these parts of Texas, and are easily taken and rendered serviceable by the inhabitants. When caught, it would be a problem to a stranger to confine them, where there is neither tree nor rock to be found: but the Mexicans put on a halter, knot it at the end, dig a hole about ten inches deep, put in the knot, and press the earth down upon it. The pull being sideways is at a disadvantage, and the horse is unable to draw it out. They are driven to market, purchased for three or four dollars, branded, hobbled, turned out again, and entirely abandoned to themselves until they are needed. Whenever a vessel arrives, some of the inhabitants send into the woods and cane brakes for such a number as they suppose may be wanted by the passengers; and this I found had already been done in anticipation of the wants of those who came in the sloop Majesty. In the log stable belonging to Mr. Austin, at whose house I lodged, I saw a number of them, with all the wild look which might be expected from their habits of life. They are small, generally about 13 hands high, well formed, rather for strength, and of different colors. I saw others in several other stables; and at length made choice of a white one; and having paid for him a doubloon and four dollars, (a handsome advance on his original cost,) stuffed a pair of saddle bags with a few articles of food as well as clothes, and was soon ready for my journey.

As the brands on horses afford the only evidence of their identity, and the property of their owners, the rules observed in respect to them are very strict.

These horses are very useful in the country, and may perhaps become at some future time a valuable article of export, as they are innumerable, and cost only the trouble of catching. This is done with a strong noosed cord, made of twisted strips of raw hide, and called a lazo, which is the Spanish word for a band or bond. It has been often described, as well as the manner of throwing it, as it is in common use for catching animals, and sometimes for choking men, in different parts of America inhabited by the descendants of the Spanish and Portuguese. A man on horseback, with a rope of this kind coiled in his left hand, and one end of it fastened to the horse, whirls the noosed end in the air over his head as he approaches the animal he intends to seize: and, on finding an opportunity, throws it over its head or horns, and checks his horse. The noose is instantly drawn tight, and the poor creature is thrown violently down, without the power of moving, and generally deprived of breath. They are sometimes badly injured, and even killed, by bring dashed to the ground; but generally escape with a severe practical lesson on the nature of this rude instrument of civilization, which they afterwards hold in great respect all their lives, yielding immediately whenever they feel it again upon their necks.

The mustangs often carry to their graves evidence of the violent means adopted by the Mexicans in breaking them to the bridle. Many of them are foundered, or otherwise diseased. A horse which has been lazoed is blindfolded, mounted by a rider armed with the heavy and barbarous spurs of the country, after having their terrible lever bits put into his mouth, a moderate pull upon which might break his jaw, and if he runs is pricked to his speed, till he falls down with exhaustion. He is then turned in the opposite direction, and cruelly spurred again. If he is found able to run back to the point from which he started, he is thought to have bottom enough to make a valuable horse: otherwise he is turned off as good for little or nothing. The process is a brutal one; and the agony inflicted by the bits is extreme: as blood flows freely from the mouth which is often greatly swollen; and the animal yields to mere force.

In the morning we mounted our horses and proceeded to the river, where the ferry boat, a large scow, was lying near the shore. I dismounted, and taking the bridle in my hand, attempted to lead my horse in after me. Most fortunately I was looking at him, and was better prepared than I was sensible of being, to make one of those sudden instinctive motions, which sometimes prove essential to our safety. Had I been turning the other way, or a little less active, I should probably have lost my life, or at least have been seriously injured: for instead of following me into the boat, as an honest horse should, and as I had expected him to do, he fixed his eyes upon me with a malicious expression, and sprung at me like lightning, clearing the ground entirely, and making a leap of about eight feet. I jumped aside, and barely in time to avoid his feet, with which it seemed to me he designed to beat me down. I do not know that I ever had experienced such feelings as this occurrence excited in me. It betrayed a degree of spite mingled with craft which I had never seen in an animal of his species; and laid the axe at the root of all that confidence and attachment which a traveller loves to exercise towards his horse. I have been thus particular in mentioning this little occurrence, because the wit of the country appears to be largely invested in the horses; and this was the beginning of my white mustang.

Some other particulars of our traveller's own rebellious steed may also be extracted. He was not indeed "a Tartar of the Ukraine breed"—but he was as wild, mischievous and wicked an animal as ever pranked.

It was our intention to proceed to Bingham's that day: for one of my companions, who had travelled the road a short time before, had calculated that his house would afford us a very comfortable lodging after a good day's ride. We rose therefore to proceed on our journey. But I had a chapter or two more to read on the character of mustangs before I was destined to leave the place. I had never been informed of one particular propensity which they have, that is, to draw back and pull violently when approached in front, and therefore walked up to my white horse rather hastily to untie and mount him. He sprang back and pulled for a moment so hard upon the sapling to which I had fastened him, that it came up by the roots; and after a few leaps and kicks, which freed him from my saddle bags, and broke the bridle, he made off towards the middle of the prairie at full speed, with his head and tail both raised, and in a state of exultation which formed quite a contrast to my own feelings.

My companions threw off their valises, mounted immediately, and gave chase to the pestilent runaway, which, after a short gallop, had halted, and with the most provoking coolness began to eat grass from the prairie. As they approached him, however, he flew off again as fast as his legs would carry him; and thus he led them to a great distance, on a chase apparently hopeless. I watched them till I was tired, coursing over the prairie here and there, now on this side, now on that, at such a distance that they looked no bigger than cats, and anon further diminished to mere mice. My white mustang led them up and down, round and crosswise, as if he delighted in worrying them, occasionally stopping, as coolly as before, to crop the grass, and then off in a new direction, like a wild creature as he was. This chase lasted without intermission for four hours, at the end of which they succeeded in driving the little white animal towards the house. Mr. Bailey, seeing him approaching, despatched a messenger to a neighboring farm for assistance; and a man soon came hurrying down on horseback, provided with a lazo: a rope with a noose at the end as before described. He joined in the pursuit with the spirit and skill of one practised in such employment, and soon got within about eight or ten feet of my horse, when, with a dexterous fling, he suddenly threw the noose over his head. Having the beast now completely in his power, he was prepared to choke him into submission; and the noose was on the point of closing its grasp round his neck. But here the intelligence and experience of the mustang stepped in with customary promptitude: for as soon as he felt the rope round his neck, he stopped stone still, and yielded as submissively as a lamb. Like an accomplished rogue at last fairly in the gripe of justice, he seemed in haste to submit, plead guilty and repent, in order to secure as much leniency as possible; and in a few moments I was again on the back of this little flying brute, jogging on as quietly as if he had never rebelled in his life. There was a great deal of farce in all this: but we had been put to too much inconvenience by the perverse trick to enjoy the joke: for our loss of time, we foresaw, would put it out of our power to perform all our intended day's journey.

It was nearly dark when we reached Hall's: a habitation of which I had heard, but at which we had not originally intended to stop, as it was only thirteen miles from Bailey's. I here found that horses in Texas are always turned out loose to feed, even if a traveller stops but for the night, which would have ensured another chase, with perhaps even more unfavorable results than that I had witnessed, but for an expedient which was recommended to us. This was to "hobble them" after the fashion of the country: which consists in tying together their fore legs with a short cord, and not one fore and one hind leg together, as we do at the north. This operation instantly changes the movements of a horse, as he is obliged to make every step a fair leap: and it excited the greatest merriment in me, when I saw the horses of my companions practising a gait so different from common, under a mode of constraint which I had never witnessed before. Fully satisfied that such confinement would be sufficient even for my white mustang, I began to tie his legs together, which to my surprise he submitted to with the utmost cheerfulness, without raising his head, for he had already began to graze on the fine grass. Although so recently accustomed to run at large in the Brazos forests, he had evidently been familiar with the hobble: for as if he perfectly concurred in my opinion as to the propriety of his being bound, whenever he wanted to move he carefully raised both fore feet together, so as not to interfere with my task, and made a gentle spring to a knot of fresh feed. Surely, thought I, I have got a steed sagacious enough to figure in one of Æsop's Fables.

Our traveller had not proceeded far on his journey, before his vexatious mustang refused to eat, and gave signs of great weariness and exhaustion. Unable however to supply himself with another, he resolved after an interval of rest to pursue his way.

We took our departure accordingly; and I had much difficulty in getting my horse out of the town. In a short time, however, he began to cheer up, and gradually quickened his pace until his strength and spirits were quite restored, and he travelled remarkably well. However strange it may seem, there was every appearance that the whole affair had been a mere trick of the wily brute; and my opinion was confirmed by several inhabitants to whom I afterwards recounted the story. They told me that the sagacity and duplicity of the mustang is well known among them, and that he is capable of almost any thing, which ingenuity or malice can invent. So ungrateful a return for all my kindness and care, under such vexatious circumstances, and aggravated by such persevering imposture, added to my previous dislike of the animal which had been guilty of it.

One would be almost tempted to think that these provoking yet sagacious quadrupeds were regular descendants from the race celebrated by Swift, and which that eccentric satirist endowed with superior intelligence to men.

From our author's account, Texas would undoubtedly furnish its full quota of contributions to a cabinet of natural history. The feathered tribes luxuriate there, especially on the coast, in great abundance and variety. The wild fowl congregate in prodigious flocks, and the ornithologist might find almost every order, genera and species in creation. The tenants of the forest are not less numerous,—there being an ample supply of wolves, bears, panthers, wild cats, wild hogs, foxes, rackoons and squirrels. The waters too, furnish their finny, testaceous and crustaceous treasures,—the red fish, buffalo, cat, drum, pearch, oysters, crabs, &c. Nor is there any want of those amphibious annoyances, crocodiles and alligators—and to crown the whole, there is an anomalous species called the alligator-garr,—consisting not of the fanciful compound of half horse and half alligator—but of the actual and bona fide admixture of one moiety of fish, and the other of alligator. We must not forget either in enumerating the zoological curiosities of that region, one which we do not recollect to have seen described by naturalists. We give the words of the author.

One of the prettiest little animals I ever saw, is the "horned frog;" which, notwithstanding its name, is far from being amphibious, as it is found on the prairies at a distance from water. Indeed it bears little or no resemblance to a frog, appearing more like a lizard, with rather a long and graceful form, a tail, and legs of nearly equal length, so that it runs swiftly and never leaps. I had often occasion to notice them, both here and on other prairies. They run with such agility, that although they do not take alarm until you have approached very near them, they dart off, and generally disappear immediately. One might often mistake them for quails, while in motion. They are of a yellowish color, mottled, and have horns about half an inch long, projecting from the front of the head. Several were caught and kept for some time in a barrel at Anahuac, and though it could not be perceived that they ate any of the various kinds of food which were offered them, they lived and continued active for a considerable time.

That formidable reptile the rattlesnake, is also found in the grassy prairies of Texas. Our traveller killed one of the "largest and noblest" of that venemous family—it being five or six feet long and about six inches in circumference. It was provided however with only eight rattles, whereas others which had been killed a few days previously of hardly half the size, were furnished with as many as thirteen;—from which the author takes occasion to contest the common opinion that the number of rattles is an indication of the reptile's age. We have heard the same fact asserted, and the same conclusion drawn from it by others, whose opportunities for careful and actual observation were undoubted.

Notwithstanding the many and formidable objections to a permanent residence in Texas,—there are beauties in its scenery, which, despite of its unvarying monotony—must fill the beholder with delight. We give a description of one of the few fine estates in regular cultivation.

We were received with great hospitality by Mr. McNeil and his family, in which we found every disposition to welcome us. They set before us the best products of the soil, which is indeed a land flowing with milk and honey, in a more unqualified sense of the expression than any I had ever seen. Our exercise had sharpened our appetites; and we were soon cheered with the sight of an excellent and plentiful meal: for our hosts, without making a single allusion to the subject, had immediately given directions, on our first arrival, that our wants should be provided for, and we soon sat down to a well timed repast. It consisted chiefly of venison and a fine turkey, and was accompanied with excellent coffee. The daughter of our host was a very intelligent and well educated young lady, and had recently returned from the Northern States, where she had just completed her education.

After eating, we took a view of the charming scene around us. The house in which we were, constructed of logs, and on the plan common to the country dwellings of farmers in Texas, is well sheltered from the sun and the winds by the wood, in the verge of which it is situated: and when the beautiful China trees around it shall have attained a greater size, the spot will be rendered still more agreeable. The mansion fronts upon the estate: a fine, open prairie, over which the eye ranges with pleasure, no wild or barren spot occurring to interrupt the universal aspect of fertility and beauty, and no swelling of the surface being perceptible, which might in any degree interfere with the clearest view of every part. The only interruption is caused by clusters of trees of different forms and sizes, scattered at distant intervals here and there. These clumps and groves, apparently possessing all the neatness and beauty which could have been given them if planted by the hand of man, and tended by his greatest care, added the charm of variety to the eye, while they promised thick and convenient shelter from sun and storm to man or beast. Without such variety and such a refuge, the aspect of the prairie, with all its verdure, would have been monotonous to the sight, and disheartening to the traveller. It would be almost impossible for a person who has never seen them, to imagine the appearances of these groves. Although they are wholly the work of nature, they often present all the beauty of art: for the trees are of nearly equal size, and grow near together, without underwood, and present outlines perfectly well defined, and often surprisingly regular. Some appear to form exact circles or ovals, while others are nearly square or oblong. It is no uncommon thing to see a continued line, running perfectly straight, for a mile or more in length, with scarcely a single tree projecting beyond it: so that I found it difficult to divest myself of the impression, that much of the land had been lately cleared, and that these were but the remains of the forest.

Those groves are called islands, from the striking resemblance they present to small tracts of land surrounded by water. Nothing can be more natural than the comparison. The prairie assumes the uniform appearance of a lake, both in surface and color; and in the remoter parts the hue melts into that of distant water; and it requires no very great effort of the imagination, especially in certain states of the weather and changes of the light, to fancy that such is the nature of the scene.

The landscape was bounded on the right by a long and distant line of woodland, which concealed and yet betrayed the course of the river San Bernard, and about three miles off, and on the left by a similar limit, which formed the "bottoms" of the Brazos. Between these the prairie extended its broad, unbroken level before us about ten miles, beyond which we saw the Gulf of Mexico, reaching off to the horizon.

I stood long contemplating this charming picture, which, as I before remarked, is entirely overlooked from the door of our hospitable friend; and what greatly added to its interest, was a vast number of cattle feeding in all parts of his wide domain. How different a sight was here presented, from any of the rural scenes with which my eyes had ever before been familiar! How different was all the system of the farmer from that prevailing in those regions of my own country which I had lately visited! I was one moment struck with surprise at the vast extent of land under the care of a single proprietor, and the few human hands required to perform the necessary labor; and the next I was filled with admiration at the various advantages afforded by a mild and benignant climate, a soil of extreme fertility, and a surface best appropriate to its use, when subjected to a system of culture to which it is best adapted. The cotton field and garden, with their two hundred acres, lay on the one hand, effectually secured against all encroachment with the most substantial fence I had ever seen, which stretched off a mile on one line; and around and beyond it lay the almost boundless prairie, variegated with its numerous islands, spotted with a scattered herd of six hundred cattle, all belonging to our host. The breed is larger than those common in the north, with longer and straiter limbs, broader horns and smoother coats. They all appeared well fed, active and vigorous, and spend their lives through winter and summer in the open air. The only attention bestowed upon them, is merely to mark them when young in such a manner that if they stray they may be distinguished from the cattle of any other proprietor. Of course no housing is necessary in such a climate, and no provision of food for them is to be made, in a country where there is perpetual green. They feed during the winter in the bottoms, and as yet do not require salt, for some reason unaccountable to me. One might expect that cattle left thus to herd together in such immense droves, without the care or control of man during their lives, would contract habits of timidity or of fierceness; but I was assured that they are in one respect more manageable than the tame cattle I have seen: for a horseman can always readily separate such as he chooses from a herd, by riding after them one at a time, though this is a task of great difficulty with our northern cattle, even where they have roads and fences to restrain them.

We shall conclude by extracting another portion of the work, which in the simple and unpretending language of the author, presents a picture of such striking beauty, that the eye of a poet might almost mistake it for Elysium.

I had never been at all prepared for the indescribable beauty of a Texas prairie at this season of the year, which I now could not avoid admiring, even under such unpleasant circumstances. The wild flowers had greatly multiplied, so that they were often spread around us in the utmost profusion, and in wonderful variety. Some of those which are most cultivated in oar northern gardens were here in full bloom and perfection, intermingled with many which I had never before seen, of different forms and colors. I should despair of giving my reader any adequate idea of the scenes which were thus so richly adorned, and through which we often passed for acres in extent, breaking for ourselves the only path perceptible on the whole prairie. Among the flowers were the largest and most delicate I had ever seen, with others the most gaudy. Among them were conspicuous different species about six inches in diameter, presenting concentric zones of the brightest yellow, red and blue, in striking contrasts. In more than one instance these fields of flowers were not only so gay and luxuriant as to seem like a vast garden richly stocked with the finest plants and abandoned to a congenial soil, but extensive almost beyond limitation: for it was sometimes difficult to discover whether they stopped short of the horizon. It was singular also that patches were here and there overspread by mimosas, which, as our horses passed through them, drew up their leaves and dropped their branches whenever they were brushed by their feet, thus making a withered trace on the surface, which was but gradually obliterated as these timid plants regained their courage, raised their stems again and expanded their withered leaves. The plants whose sensitiveness had thus been overcome, were rendered distinguishable to the eye from others, by the exposure they made of the lower side of their leaves when they folded them up: that side being of a much lighter hue than the upper. There was a phenomenon connected with this striking appearance, which I was at the time unable to account for, and could hardly credit. That was, the shrinking of the delicate plants a little in advance of us, before we had quite reached them. A friend who had witnessed the same thing, accounted for it by supposing that they received a shock through the long horizontal roots which connect them together.

One of the first flowers which appears to deck the prairie in the spring, is the prairie rose, which in blossom and fragrance, resembles some of our rich red roses, though the shrub is quite different. As for others, I know not what a botanist might make of them: but I am certain that many of them would be exceedingly admired in our own country, as rich and new; and as to the scenes over which they were spread, it is impossible to describe or to imagine their beauty and attraction. After looking on the rich and ever varying display, I felt a high degree of pleasure and admiration, so that I thought I could almost give my mustang his liberty, throw myself on the ground and spend the whole season among them. Occasionally too a light breath of wind would rise, and blow the mingled perfumes into my face, giving an enjoyment no less pure and refined, and most difficult to express.

VIRGINIA HISTORICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY.

We select the following from the "The Western Monthly Magazine," a very neat and ably conducted periodical, published at Cincinnati. We are gratified at the favorable notice taken of the first labors of the Historical and Philosophical Society;—a society which, of all others ever established among us, ought to stir up every Virginian who possesses a particle of state pride. Why, in the name of every thing that is dear to us, do we not unite our efforts to establish something like a literary and scientific character for the Old Dominion. Is there not something, besides politics, worth living for? We shall devote some pages of our future numbers to the interests of this excellent institution.

COLLECTIONS of the Virginia Historical and Philosophical Society; to which is prefixed an Address spoken before the Society, &c. by Jonathan P. Cushing, A.M., President of Hampden Sidney College. vol. i. Richmond, T. W. White, 1833.

The Society from whose labors this pamphlet has been produced, was originated in the winter of 1831; but owing to the fatal epidemic which prevailed in that country, in common with other parts of the United States, and other adverse causes, effected but little during the two first years of its existence. The interesting publication now before us, however, affords an earnest that the rich hoard of ancient lore, treasured in the public archives, or private records, of the ancient dominion, will not be suffered to lie concealed any longer from the public eye.

We hail the establishment of this Society, at the head of which we perceive the name of the venerable Chief Justice of the United States, as an event highly auspicious to the literature of our country. Notwithstanding all that has been published, the older states of the Union abound in fragments of traditionary history, of the most interesting and valuable character, many of which will soon be lost to posterity, unless they shall be rescued from oblivion by the efforts of zealous and learned associations. Virginia especially, is rich in the materials of history. From the day when the intrepid Smith first wandered in search of adventure, along the wooded shores of the Chesapeak, and when the gentle Pocahontas gave to the world an example of female heroism and affection, more touching than any thing recorded upon the pages of romance, down to the present era, her annals have been filled with events of thrilling interest, and high importance. Long before the revolution, her scholars and statesmen were known to fame, and her soldiers were distinguished in the colonial wars. Mistress of the wide expanse of the unknown west, her sons began early to explore the wilderness, and to lay the foundation of a new empire in this enticing region. From that state came the pioneers who subdued the enemy, in the forests of Kentucky, and to whom America owes a large debt of gratitude. The war for independence, was not fought by our gallant forefathers upon the shores of the Atlantic only. While our armies were contending there, the British had turned loose the savage hordes of the west upon the frontiers, and the backwoodsmen were successfully repelling the incursions of the barbarian, while Washington was employed in fighting their regular armies. When we recal those events, when we recollect the services of Virginia, in defending the western settlements, and her magnanimity in yielding up to the general government the broad lands of this Great Valley, the larger portion of which were her own by right and by possession, it will be seen that there is no state to whom the inhabitants of this region owe so much, and none whose history is so nearly connected with our own. We witness, therefore, with no small degree of gratification, an attempt to place on record the existing reminiscences of the patriotic and hardy deeds of the noble generation which preceded our own. And we hope it will be successful. Abounding as Virginia does, in all the elements of greatness, there is no reason why she should not perpetuate the fame of her own sons. Containing within her limits so many men of genius, education, and comparative leisure, she has at command the most ample means of collecting and preserving every bright relic which has been scattered along her career, by the hand of time.

The first article in the pamphlet before us, is the address of President Cushing, of Hampden Sidney College, in which he sets forth the objects of the Society, and presses them earnestly upon the attention of the members. They are such as are usually embraced in the plans of similar institutions, including not only historical and biographical details, but facts in relation to the natural history and actual condition of the state.

The next article is a "memoir of Indian wars, and other occurrences, by the late Colonel Stuart, of Greenbrier"—a paper which sheds considerable light upon the events which transpired upon the western portion of Virginia, during the thirty years succeeding the year 1749. The writer participated in the eventful scenes of that interesting period, and was not only a soldier, but a man of strong mind, who has recorded his recollections in a clear and easy style. The following anecdote is quite characteristic:

About the year 1749, a person who was a citizen of the county of Frederick, and subject to paroxysms of lunacy, when influenced by such fits, usually made excursions into the wilderness, and in his rambles westwardly, fell in on the waters of Greenbrier river. At that time, the country on the western waters was but little known to the English inhabitants of the then colonies of America, being claimed by the French, who had commenced settlements on the Ohio and its waters, west of the Alleghany mountains. The lunatic being surprised to find waters running a different course from any he had before known, returned with the intelligence of his discovery, which did abound with game. This soon excited the enterprise of others. Two men from New England, of the name of Jacob Marlin and Stephen Sewell, took up a residence upon Greenbrier river; but soon disagreeing in sentiment, a quarrel occasioned their separation, and Sewell, for the sake of peace, quit their cabin and made his abode in a large hollow tree. In this situation they were found by the late General Andrew Lewis, in the year 1751. Mr. Lewis was appointed agent for a company of grantees, who obtained from the governor and council of Virginia, an order for one hundred thousand acres of land lying on the waters of Greenbrier river,—and did, this year, proceed to make surveys to complete the quantity of said granted lands; and finding Marlin and Sewell living in the neighborhood of each other, inquired what could induce them to live separate in a wilderness so distant from the habitations of any other human beings. They informed him that difference of opinion had occasioned their separation, and that they had since enjoyed more tranquillity and a better understanding; for Sewell said, that each morning when they arose and Marlin came out of the great house and he from his hollow tree, they saluted each other, saying—good morning Mr. Marlin, and good morning Mr. Sewell, so that a good understanding then existed between them; but it did not last long, for Sewell removed about forty miles further west, to a creek that still bears his name. There the Indians found him and killed him.

Colonel Stuart gives a very detailed account of the campaign of General Lewis in 1774, which resulted in the battle at Point Pleasant. That battle was, in fact, the beginning of the revolutionary war; for it is well known that the Indians were induced by the British to commence hostilities, for the purpose of confounding and terrifying the American people. It was thought that an Indian war would prevent a combination of the colonies for opposing the measures of parliament, and would turn their thoughts from resistance to the government, by engaging them in the defence of their homes. The Shawanese, a fierce, warlike, and numerous tribe, were employed on this occasion, and they were a tribe not to be despised—for by them, with their allies, have the most conspicuous battles in the West been fought. It was chiefly the Shawanese that cut off the British army under Braddock in 1755, and defeated Major Grant and his highlanders at Fort Pitt in 1758. It was they who defeated an army composed of the flower of Kentucky at Blue Licks—who vanquished Harmer and St. Clair, who were beaten by Wayne, and conquered by Harrison.

The army sent against these formidable savages by Governor Dunmore, was composed of Virginia volunteers, led by General Andrew Lewis, a gentleman of whose military abilities General Washington entertained so high an opinion, that when the chief command of the revolutionary armies were tendered to himself, he recommended that it should be given to General Lewis. He was the companion of Washington in the fatal campaign under Braddock, and was a captain in the detachment which fought at Little Meadows in 1752. He commanded a company of Virginians, attached to Major Grant's regiment of Highlanders in 1758, and on the eve of the battle in which the latter was so signally defeated, was ordered to the rear, with his men, in order that he might not share the honor of the expected victory. There he stood with his brave Virginians, impatiently listening to the reports of the musquetry, at a distance of more than a mile from the battle ground—until the Europeans were defeated, when, without waiting for orders, he rushed to the scene of slaughter, and by his coolness and skill, turned the scale of victory, drove back the savages, and saved the regulars from massacre. "When he was advancing," says the narrative before us, "he met a Scotch Highlander under speedy flight, and inquiring of him how the battle was going, he said 'they were a' beaten, and he had seen Donald McDonald up to his hunkers in mud, and a' the skeen af his heed.' Grant made his escape from the field of battle with a party of seven or eight soldiers, and wandered all night in the woods," but surrendered himself to the enemy in the morning, while the Virginians marched home in triumph. This was the same Colonel Grant who figured in the British Parliament in 1775, when he had the impudence to say, he knew the Americans well—he had often acted in the same service with them, and from that knowledge would venture to predict, that they would never dare to face an English army, being destitute of every requisite to constitute good soldiers.

We regret that we have not room to make further extracts from this narrative. We shall have attained our object, however, if the remarks we have made, shall be the means of attracting attention to this interesting era in our history.

The last article in this pamphlet is a very curious document, being an exact copy of the "Record of Grace Sherwood's Trial for Witchcraft, in 1705, in Princess Ann County, Virginia." On another occasion we shall present an account of this singular procedure to our readers.

THE LITERARY JOURNAL.

M. M. Robinson, Esq. editor of the Compiler, has issued the first or specimen number of a new periodical to be published weekly in this city, with the title of the "LITERARY JOURNAL." Its contents will consist of selections from the mass of contemporary literature, American and foreign. We should rejoice in Mr. Robinson's success, even if his paper was likely to conflict with the interests of the "Messenger." In truth however, the two periodicals ought to flourish together, and be mutually beneficial. Whilst the "Journal" will be filled exclusively with selected matter, the "Messenger" will chiefly, though not entirely, consist of original articles. The former will improve the taste and enrich the mind of the reader, by culling from inexhaustible sources whatever may contribute to his gratification and amusement; whilst the latter will furnish the means of exercising the talents of our own writers—of imbodying our own conceptions, and reducing to practical use, the knowledge which we acquire. Whilst in order to write well, much reading is absolutely necessary, so all the reading in the world will avail but little, unless the free and familiar use of the pen is also obtained. We certainly never shall become a literary people unless we learn to use the treasures we accumulate from books; no more than the theory of military tactics will ever make an accomplished soldier in his closet—or the study of jurisprudence constitute a lawyer of one who never appears at the bar.

The first number of the "Journal" is filled with reviews of foreign publications, and other articles, which appear to have been judiciously selected. We take the liberty of making one suggestion however, and that is, that the source from which each article is derived ought to be designated. If the name of the writer cannot be given, that of the Quarterly or Monthly from which it is extracted, ought by all means to be furnished. It would moreover be doubtless gratifying to the reader to understand whether he is indebted to an American or British author for the pleasure he receives.

Mr. Robinson will, it is hoped, be successful in his enterprise.

EXTRACT FROM LACON.

Nothing is so difficult as the apparent ease of a clear and flowing style: those graces which from their presumed facility encourage all to attempt an imitation of them, are usually the most inimitable.

EDITORIAL DEPARTMENT.

The two preceding numbers of the "Messenger" having been, as far as we can learn, favorably received by its patrons, we have endeavored in this to keep pace with expectation, by presenting a rich variety of original matter, and a few interesting selections. Among the most important duties of those who have any concern in the management of such a work—it is not the least to be watchful of an enlightened public opinion—to profit by the suggestions of others, and even to receive with patience well-intended rebuke. It is precisely in this latter spirit that we have noticed in the letters of one or two correspondents, as well as in the public prints, some animadversions upon the editorial remarks in the last number. We have been censured, and perhaps justly, for bestowing too much praise on the contributions of our friends. However great the error, it was at least honestly, if not prudently committed.

It was believed that a little commendation was not only justly due, but might stir up generous minds to increase their efforts in behalf of an infant and laudable enterprise. We should always prefer erring on the side of indiscriminate praise, rather than undeserved censure. The true path, indeed, is to avoid both extremes,—but it is much easier to prescribe good counsel than always to follow it. We have been admonished too by a very sensible and judicious correspondent, in whose judgment we entertain great confidence, that we have imposed inconvenient and impolitic restrictions upon the writers for the "Messenger," by limiting the subject matter of their contributions. We are told that we have circumscribed too much the field of their labors, by objecting to such materials as are drawn from foreign character and manners,—and we are gently reminded of an apparent inconsistency, between our professed attachment to domestic subjects, and the admission into our columns of copious extracts from an English novel. We are moreover informed from the same intelligent source, that our denunciation of all such fictions as are founded upon fairy mythology, is not very reasonable,—inasmuch as these may imbody the conceptions of imagination and genius—and may serve to illustrate and display Virginia talent and literature.

Now, with due deference to these various suggestions, which we know to originate in perfect good will—it is proper in the first place to remark, that we do not perceive any inconsistency between our objection to "the trammels of foreign reading"—and the admission into our pages of good selections from foreign publications. The "Messenger" is designed chiefly to encourage the practice of literary composition among our own writers of both sexes,—and of literary composition there are great varieties,—some founded on fact and personal observation, and some which are moulded exclusively out of the creations of fancy. A writer who will give us facts or sketches of the character and manners, or scenery of a foreign country, derived either from his own observation or authentic sources, will render an acceptable service;—but, in a pure tale of fiction, or in descriptive narrative, founded for the most part upon the mere inventions of genius—why is it necessary or proper to slight the familiar materials which every where surround us, and resort to those hackneyed and frequently distorted pictures of transatlantic manners, of which we can only form just conceptions through the secondary medium of books? If we must have foreign tales for our amusement and instruction, had we not better take them from those who copy from life, and are more likely to present faithful and finished sketches! Let foreign writers, therefore, give us pictures of their own,—and such, as we like we will publish; but let our own adventurers in the paths of literature, prefer rather to stand upon ground with which they are acquainted. Let them weave their garlands with flowers plucked from our native wilds, or our own cultivated gardens, and not rely, as too many do rely, upon exotic ornaments wherewith to embellish their pages. It is true that a strict observance of any such rule as this is not to be expected and is perhaps not practicable—and we are perfectly aware, that illustrious examples may be found in our own, as well as in other countries, of a departure from its letter if not from its spirit. These examples for the most part, however, will be found on examination, to rest on peculiar circumstances. The genius of a Scott, may soar amidst the grandeur of Alpine scenery,—or may depict the curious superstitions and simple manners of the Shetland Islanders;—but minds like his,—of such incomparable vigor and fertility, are neither bound by the confines of space or time. They have a kind of exclusive privilege to transcend ordinary rules,—and those who would plead their example, ought at least to shew something like extraordinary merit to entitle them to the same exemption. If we look to our own country, it is well understood, that Mr. Cooper owes his reputation as a writer of fiction principally to those fine romances, which are founded upon native character and scenery—and that, if that reputation has suffered at all, it is in consequence of his desertion of a field so wide and magnificent, for the beaten and monotonous track of European character and customs. Mr. Irving is undoubtedly most indebted for his literary fame to such of his productions as are purely American; and it is probable that in the future estimate which will be formed of his powers and genius, his Bracebridge Hall, and the Tales of the Alhambra, will hold no comparison in the scale of merit with his Knickerbocker, or Salmagundi. But why amplify our illustrations? We will present no absolute rule on the subject,—but rather choose to throw out these opinions and suggestions to our readers and contributors, as matter for their consideration.

In respect to the Legends of Fairy land,—which give such illimitable scope to the fancy—and operate so feebly, if at all, in imparting either rational amusement or instruction,—we confess that our opinions are more decided and our objections more insurmountable. We think that the day has past when such kind of reading will either be relished or endured. In this age of comparative mental sobriety,—aliment like that, is not likely to satisfy the intellectual appetite; no more than the spectre tales of the last century would suit the rational and regulated taste of the present time. This opinion it is not necessary to enforce by a train of reasoning. We think that a large majority of our readers will concur in the sentiment.

We are also informed from more than one quarter, that we awarded too liberal and dangerous a compliment in our last number, to one article especially, to wit—the "Recollections of Chotank;"—that we have thereby, without intending it, given a sanction to vices which were once fashionable, but now no longer so: that we have offended against the laws of that chaste empress, TEMPERANCE,—who sits enthroned in so many hearts, and who will not countenance the slightest inuendo against her sovereignty; and that we have actually been guilty of the sin of commending a paper, which contained enticing references to the social excesses and abuses of ancient hospitality. To all this we reply, that we spoke of the "Recollections of Chotank" as a literary composition,—and that we had no more design, in the tribute which we paid to its merit, to recommend the vices of "gambling and drinking," than we believe the author himself had, when he sat down to sketch his reminiscences of by-gone days. We hope that the most fastidious will be content with this disclaimer.

It is impossible that the "Messenger" can always please each one of its readers. Its contents must be necessarily varied—and it will often happen, that an article which will dissatisfy one person, will be particularly acceptable to another. So it is on the stage, at the forum, and in the pulpit. Some will loath that very part of the performance, the argument or doctrine, which will inspire others with delight. As we cannot possibly please all, we must endeavor to satisfy the greater number, and in so doing we may probably please ourselves. There is one thing of which our readers and patrons may rest assured, that we shall never knowingly countenance any thing either false in taste, or wrong in morals;—and we hold—that purity in both, is necessary to the dignity and value of literature.

We have been gently reprimanded by some of our friends for not confining ourselves exclusively to original matter, whilst others have thought, that a few more good selections would add to the value of our pages. Such is the "incurable diversity of human opinion." Our own view of the subject is so much better expressed by a distinguished writer, than we can do it—that we shall give below in the "Extracts from the letters of our correspondents," a full quotation from his letter.

But what shall we say of the contents of the present number?—shall we say nothing, least peradventure we may say too much? Must we be altogether silent, in order that our patrons may judge for themselves, unbiassed by our own humble opinion? We cannot in conscience be so uncivil as not to return the kindness of our friends, with the simple expression of our thanks; and if perchance we should so far suffer our good feelings to master our judgment, as to bestow praise where none is due, we feel confident that the superior discernment, and more enlightened taste of our readers, will correct the error.

Let us therefore take a rapid survey of the feast which we have spread. Perhaps our bill of fare may tempt curiosity and whet the appetite.

The article entitled "Sketches of the History and Present Condition of Tripoli," will be read and admired, not only for the style, but the really valuable and interesting information it contains. The source from which it comes may be fully relied on.

The domestic grievances of "Belinda" are we hope not without remedy. Time and strict regimen may perhaps restore her dyspeptic consort to a more equable frame. His humors have at least had the effect of supplying us with a good article.

The "Reporter's Story, or the Importance of a Syllable," is by a practised writer,—whose pen is humorous, caustic and brilliant, as occasion requires. We should be glad to secure his constant assistance.

The "Cottage in the Glen," is by a lady not unknown as a writer. There are few who will not admire the simplicity and beauty of her narrative; and to such as are of a serious or religious cast of mind it will be particularly interesting. We hope that the authoress will often favor us with the productions of her pen.

The "Alleghany Levels," is by a gentleman of scientific acquirements and classical taste. It is with peculiar pleasure that we insert in the "Messenger" such articles as his and "The Cyclopean Towers in Augusta County, Virginia." They develope some of those rare curiosities and remarkable features in the scenery of our state, which have hitherto been undescribed. The latter article is by one who possesses a cultivated taste for the beautiful in art and nature.

The story of "My Classmates," will be read when it is known to proceed from the author of "An Extract from a Novel," which was inserted in the last number of the Messenger. The space which the story occupies will be its greatest recommendation; it is one of thrilling interest, and told in powerful language.

We know not how all our readers will relish "Cupid's Sport," but there are some passages in it which Yorick himself would not have been ashamed to write, even with "the high claims and terrifying exactions" of the widow Wadman's eyes to inspire him.

"Pinkney's Eloquence," it will be seen is from the pen of "Nugator." His pieces need no commendation from us; we are charmed with every thing about them except the signature.

The "Leaf from the Journal of a Young American Tourist," we noticed in our last number. It is a graphic sketch, from the port-folio of an accomplished young traveller.

The "Dandy Chastised," will be relished by all who desire to see that anomolous species lampooned out of countenance.

The selections in the present number are accompanied by prefatory remarks. "The Letters from New England," the first of which is inserted, though originally published in the Fredericksburg Arena, have been revised and corrected by their author expressly for the "Messenger." They deserve a more enduring record than the columns of a newspaper.

The suggestion has been made to us by one entitled to respect, that in the present condition of the public taste, too much space has been allotted in our columns to the productions of the Muse. We humbly hope that our friend is mistaken in this opinion. Nothing would grieve us more than the conviction that, among southern readers generally, there was not felt a lively concern and growing interest in the successful cultivation of that charming branch of literature; and indeed if this were the proper place, we think we could easily demonstrate that poetry exercises a most potent, diffusive and abiding influence upon the interests and happiness of society. Our present number will be found to contain some precious gems, which fully establish the claims of southern genius to high capabilities in the tuneful art. We forbear however to discriminate, confident that the taste of our readers will readily discern all that feeble language could express.

EXTRACTS FROM THE LETTERS OF CORRESPONDENTS.

FROM PENNSYLVANIA.

Philadelphia, Nov. 4, 1834.

"I thank you truly for your obliging attention in sending to me the two numbers of your 'SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER,' which I have read with much satisfaction. I look with a deep interest and pleasure upon every effort to raise up the literary character of our country; to lay the foundations of a pure and sound taste, and to stimulate our native genius to develop and strengthen its powers. In the encouragement of these attempts, we should all act and feel as the citizens of the American republic, disregarding sectional divisions, and undisturbed by questions of state rights and constitutional scruples and constructions. Here we should be a consolidated people, and whether the candidate for fame be a native of the north or south, the east or west, we should claim him as our own, belonging to all alike. When I hear of the establishment of a seminary of learning; of a scientific or literary publication; of an invention in the arts; in short, of any thing which sheds abroad the light of American genius and power, its particular location is, with me, quite a secondary consideration, scarcely, indeed, considered at all. It is enough for me that I can say to the supercilious European, this is American.

"With these sentiments, you may be assured that I wish success to your endeavor to rouse the spirit of the South in the cause of literature; to draw its intellectual energies from the everlasting and monotonous discussion of politics, which has run the same round of topics and arguments for forty years, and to allure her favored sons and daughters to the kinder and brighter fields of science and letters. If you shall be able to continue as you have begun, your subscribers will be amply remunerated for their patronage, and your contributors may be proud to see their lucubrations on your pages. It is well that you do not confine yourself to original compositions, but mix them with judicious and interesting selections from works of established reputation. Repeated experience has shewn that an editor cannot depend much upon the voluntary contributions of our own writers, however friendly to his design, who are too much occupied with their own concerns and the serious business of life, to be relied on as the support of such an enterprise as yours.... We have not yet a class or body of authors by profession; writing is the occupation of hours snatched from business, or the amusement of the few who have leisure for indulgence."

FROM THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA.

"I look with much anxiety to your Launch, (which I wish had been the title of your work)—the first of any promise in Virginia, heartily desiring it God-speed—yet fearing that you may meet with some inaptitude or distaste to mere literary contribution from the educated of our citizens. This, however, cannot last long; you may feel it at the outset, but it will soon end; for I doubt not that the Messenger, as one of its best effects, will draw into literary exercise the talents which now lie fallow throughout the community, or which have long extravasated in politics and professions. The mind of Virginia is unquestionably a quarry from which much that is precious may be extracted; and you may and I hope will be able to expose its strata to the light, as the huntsman of the Andes exposed to the eye of the world, at the foot of the yielding shrub which he had seized upon for support, how rich and vast was the treasure which an unexamined surface had concealed."

FROM SOUTHERN VIRGINIA.

"Be assured no effort on my part will be wanting to extend the circulation of the Messenger, and nothing would give me more unfeigned pleasure than being instrumental in the promotion of so laudable an enterprise. Your periodical is truly a pioneer in the cause of southern literature; and reasoning from the general character of the southern people, no other conclusion can be legitimately drawn, than a highly enlarged, extensive and honorable patronage. That this may be the case, permit me to add an ardent hope to my unqualified belief. We have been too long tributary to the north; it is time, high time, to awake from our lethargy—to rise in the majesty of our intellectual strength, put on the panoply of talents and genius, and strike for the 'prize of our high calling' in literature. If the object of your labors be attained, of which there can be no reasonable doubt, posterity will be more grateful to you than to thousands of the political exquisites of the day, whose memory will last just so long as their ephemeral productions."