III.

Days of my age, Ye will shortly be past; Pains of my age, Yet a while ye can last; Joys of my age, In true wisdom delight; Eyes of my age, Be religion your light; Thoughts of my age, Dread ye not the cold sod; Hopes of my age, Be ye fixed on your God.

JOHN MARSHALL.

~1755=1835.~

JOHN MARSHALL, third Chief Justice of the United States, was born in Fauquier County, Virginia. He served as a soldier in the Revolution and then practised law in Richmond. With Charles Cotesworth Pinckney and Elbridge Gerry, he was sent to Paris in 1797 to treat of public affairs; and it was on this occasion that Pinckney made the famous reply to the propositions of Talleyrand, "Millions for defence, not a cent for tribute."

He was chief-justice of the United States for thirty-five years, being appointed in 1800 and holding the position until his death. One of the most celebrated cases over which he presided was the trial of Aaron Burr, 1807, in which William Wirt led the prosecution, and Luther Martin and Burr himself, the defence. His services on the Supreme Bench were not only judicial but patriotic also, as his decisions on points of constitutional law, being broad, clear, strong, and statesman-like, have done much to settle the foundations of our government.

He died in Philadelphia whither he had gone for medical treatment. A handsome statue of him by Story adorns the west grounds of the Capitol at Washington, and his is one of the six colossal bronze figures around the Washington Monument in Richmond. See Life, by Story, and by Magruder.

WORKS.

Life of Washington. Supreme Court Decisions. Writings on Federal Constitution, [selections by Justice Story].

"He was supremely fitted for high judicial station--a solid judgment, great reasoning powers, acute and penetrating mind; . . . attentive, patient, laborious; grave on the bench, social in the intercourse of life; simple in his tastes, and inexorably just."--Thomas Hart Benton, in "Thirty Years' View."

POWER OF THE SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES.

(_From Case of Cohen vs. State of Virginia, given in Magruder's Life of Marshall._[5])

It is authorized to decide all cases of every description arising under the Constitution or laws of the United States. From this general grant of jurisdiction no exception is made of those cases in which a State may be a party. When we consider the situation of the government of the Union and of a State in relation to each other, the nature of our Constitution, the subordination of the State governments to that Constitution, the great purpose for which jurisdiction over all cases arising under the Constitution and laws of the United States is confided to the judicial department, are we at liberty to insert in this general grant an exception of those cases in which a State may be a party? Will the spirit of the Constitution justify this attempt to control its words? We think it will not. We think a case arising under the Constitution or laws, of the United States is cognizable in the courts of the Union, whoever may be the parties to that case. The laws must be executed by individuals acting within the several States. If these individuals may be exposed to penalties, and if the courts of the Union cannot correct the judgments by which these penalties may be enforced, the course of government may be at any time arrested by the will of one of its members. Each member will possess a _veto_ on the will of the whole.

That the United States form, for many and most important purposes, a single nation has not yet been denied. These States are constituent parts of the United States. They are members of one great empire, for some purposes sovereign, for some purposes subordinate. In a government so constituted is it unreasonable that the judicial power should be competent to give efficacy to the constitutional laws of the legislature? That department can decide on the validity of the Constitution or law of a State, if it be repugnant to the Constitution or to a law of the United States. Is it unreasonable that it should also be empowered to decide on the judgment of a State tribunal enforcing such unconstitutional law? Is it so very unreasonable as to furnish a justification for controlling the words of the Constitution? We think not. . . . .

THE DUTIES OF A JUDGE.

Advert, sir, to the duties of a judge. He has to pass between the government and the man whom that government is prosecuting; between the most powerful individual in the community and the poorest and most unpopular. It is of the last importance that, in the exercise of these duties he should observe the utmost fairness. Need I press the necessity of this? Does not every man feel that his own personal security and the security of his property depends on that fairness? The judicial department comes home, in its effects, to every man's fireside; it passes on his property, his reputation, his life, his all. Is it not to the last degree important that he should be rendered perfectly and completely independent, with nothing to influence or control him, but God and his conscience? . . . I have always thought, from my earliest youth until now, that the greatest scourge an angry Heaven ever inflicted upon an ungrateful and sinning people was an ignorant, a corrupt, or a dependent judiciary. Our ancestors thought so; we thought so until very lately; and I trust that the vote of this day will show that we think so still. Will you draw down this curse on Virginia?

FOOTNOTE:

[5] By permission of Houghton, Mifflin, and Company, of Boston, as also the following.

HENRY LEE.

~1756=1818.~

HENRY LEE, "Light-Horse Harry," of the Revolution, and father of General R. E. Lee, was born at Leesylvania, Westmoreland County, Virginia. His father was also named Henry Lee, and his mother was Lucy Grymes, the famous "lowland beauty," who first captured Washington's heart. Her son was a favorite of his, and it is an interesting fact that it was this same Henry Lee who delivered by request of Congress the funeral oration on Washington. In it he used those now well-known words, "First in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen."

He was educated at Princeton, and joined the American army in 1777, with his company, as Captain Lee. He rose successively to be major, colonel, general; and after the war he served in the Continental Congress and in the Virginia Legislature. He was injured in a riot at Baltimore, while trying to defend a friend, and went to Cuba for his health; but he died on his way home, at Cumberland Island on the coast of Georgia, at the home of General Greene's daughter, Mrs. Shaw.

With his first wife, his cousin Matilda Lee, he obtained Stratford House, where R. E. Lee was born; whose mother however, was the second wife, Anne Hill Carter of Shirley.

WORK.

Memoirs of the War in the Southern Department of the United States, edited by his sons, Henry and R. E. Lee.

General Lee's "Memoirs of the War" is a life-like and spirited narrative of events in which he was an actor. The style is plain and clear. His style as an orator is seen in his celebrated Funeral Oration, of which we give the closing sentences.

CAPTURE OF FORT MOTTE BY LEE AND MARION, MAY, 1780.

(_From General Henry Lee's Memoirs of the War._)

This post was the principal depot of the convoys from Charleston to Camden, and sometimes for those destined for Fort Granby and Ninety-Six. A large new mansion house, belonging to Mrs. Motte, situated on a high and commanding hill, had been selected for this establishment. It was surrounded with a deep trench, along the interior margin of which was raised a strong and lofty parapet. To this post had been regularly assigned an adequate garrison of about one hundred and fifty men, which was now accidentally increased by a small detachment of dragoons, which had arrived from Charleston a few hours before the appearance of the American troops, on its way to Camden with despatches for Lord Rawdon. Captain M'Pherson commanded, an officer highly and deservedly respected.

Opposite to Fort Motte, to the north, stood another hill, where Mrs. Motte, having been dismissed from her mansion, resided, in the old farmhouse. On this height Lieutenant-Colonel Lee with his corps took post, while Brigadier Marion occupied the eastern declivity of the ridge on which the fort stood.

The vale which runs between the two hills admitted our safe approach within four hundred yards of the fort. This place was selected by Lee to break ground. Relays of working parties being provided for every four hours, and some of the negroes from the neighbouring plantations being brought, by the influence of Marion, to our assistance, the works advanced with rapidity. Such was their forwardness on the 10th, that it was determined to summon the commandant.

A flag was accordingly despatched to Captain M'Pherson, stating to him with truth our relative situation, and admonishing him to avoid the disagreeable consequences of an arrogant temerity. To this the captain replied, that, disregarding consequences, he should continue to resist to the last moment. The retreat of Rawdon was known in the evening to the besiegers; and in the course of the night a courier arrived from General Greene confirming that event, urging redoubled activity, and communicating his determination to hasten to their support. Urged by these strong considerations, Marion and Lee persevered throughout the night in pressing the completion of their works. On the next day, Rawdon reached the country opposite to Fort Motte; and in the succeeding night encamping on the highest ground in his route, the illumination of his fires gave the joyful annunciation of his approach to the despairing garrison. But the hour was close at hand, when this joy was to be converted into sadness.

The large mansion in the centre of the encircling trench, left but a few yards of the ground within the enemy's works uncovered; burning the house must force their surrender.

Persuaded that our ditch would be within arrow shot before noon of the next day, Marion and Lee determined to adopt this speedy mode of effecting their object. Orders were instantly issued to prepare bows and arrows, with missive combustible matter. This measure was reluctantly adopted; for the destruction of private property was repugnant to the principles which swayed the two commandants, and upon this occasion was peculiarly distressing. The devoted house was a large, pleasant edifice, intended for the summer residence of the respectable owner, whose deceased husband had been a firm patriot, and whose only marriageable daughter was the wife of Major Pinckney, an officer in the South Carolina line, who had fought and bled in his country's cause, and was now a prisoner with the enemy. These considerations powerfully forbade the execution of the proposed measure; but there were others of much cogency, which applied personally to Lieutenant Colonel Lee, and gave a new edge to the bitterness of the scene.

Encamping contiguous to Mrs. Motte's dwelling, this officer had, upon his arrival, been requested in the most pressing terms to make her house his quarters. The invitation was accordingly accepted; and not only the lieutenant colonel, but every officer of his corps, off duty, daily experienced her liberal hospitality, politely proffered and as politely administered. Nor was the attention of this amiable lady confined to that class of war which never fail to attract attention. While her richly spread table presented with taste and fashion all the luxuries of her opulent country, and her sideboard offered without reserve the best wines of Europe--antiquated relics of happier days--her active benevolence found its way to the sick and to the wounded; cherishing with softest kindness infirmity and misfortune, converting despair into hope, and nursing debility into strength. Nevertheless the obligations of duty were imperative; the house must burn; and a respectful communication to the lady of her destined loss must be made. Taking the first opportunity which offered, the next morning, Lieutenant Colonel Lee imparted to Mrs. Motte the intended measure; lamenting the sad necessity, and assuring her of the deep regret which the unavoidable act excited in his and every breast.

With a smile of complacency this exemplary lady listened to the embarrassed officer, and gave instant relief to his agitated feelings, by declaring, that she was gratified with the opportunity of contributing to the good of her country, and that she should view the approaching scene with delight. Shortly after, seeing accidentally the bows and arrows which had been prepared, she sent for the lieutenant colonel, and presenting him with a bow and its apparatus imported from India, she requested his substitution of these, as probably better adapted for the object than those we had provided.

Receiving with silent delight this opportune present, the lieutenant colonel rejoined his troops, now making ready for the concluding scene. The lines were manned, and an additional force stationed at the battery, lest the enemy, perceiving his fate, might determine to risk a desperate assault, as offering the only chance of relief. As soon as the troops reached their several points, a flag was again sent to M'Pherson, for the purpose of inducing him to prevent the conflagration and the slaughter which might ensue, by a second representation of his actual condition.

Doctor Irvine, of the legion cavalry, was charged with the flag, and instructed to communicate faithfully the inevitable destruction impending, and the impracticability of relief, as Lord Rawdon had not yet passed the Santee; with an assurance that longer perseverance in vain resistance, would place the garrison at the mercy of the conqueror; who was not regardless of the policy of preventing waste of time by inflicting exemplary punishment, where resistance was maintained only to produce such waste. The British captain received the flag with his usual politeness, and heard patiently Irvine's explanations; but he remained immovable; repeating his determination of holding out to the last.

It was now about noon, and the rays of the scorching sun had prepared the shingle roof for the projected conflagration. The return of Irvine was immediately followed by the application of the bow and arrows. The first arrow struck and communicated its fire; a second was shot at another quarter of the roof, and a third at a third quarter; this last also took effect, and, like the first, soon kindled a blaze. M'Pherson ordered a party to repair to the loft of the house, and by knocking off the shingles to stop the flames. This was soon perceived, and Captain Finley was directed to open his battery, raking the loft from end to end.

The fire of our six pounder, posted close to one of the gable ends of the house, soon drove the soldiers down; and no other effort to stop the flames being practicable, M'Pherson hung out the white flag. . . . . Powerfully as the present occasion called for punishment, and rightfully as it might have been inflicted, not a drop of blood was shed, nor any part of the enemy's baggage taken. M'Pherson and his officers accompanied their captors to Mrs. Motte's, and partook with them of a sumptuous dinner; soothing in the sweets of social intercourse the ire which the preceding conflict had engendered.

THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY.

(_From the funeral oration, 1800._)

First in war--first in peace--and first in the hearts of his countrymen, he was second to none in the humble and endearing scenes of private life; pious, just, humane, temperate, and sincere; uniform, dignified, and commanding, his example was as edifying to all around him, as were the effects of that example lasting.

To his equals he was condescending, to his inferiors kind, and to the dear objects of his affections exemplarily tender; correct throughout, vice shuddered in his presence, and virtue always felt his fostering hand; the purity of his private character gave effulgence to his public virtues.

His last scene comported with the whole tenor of his life--although in extreme pain, not a sigh, not a groan escaped him; and with undisturbed serenity, he closed his well-spent life. Such was the man America has lost--such was the man for whom our nation mourns.

Methinks I see his august image, and I hear falling from his venerable lips these deep-sinking words:

"Cease, sons of America, lamenting our separation: go on, and confirm by your wisdom the fruits of our joint councils, joint efforts, and common dangers; reverence religion, diffuse knowledge throughout your land, patronize the arts and sciences; let Liberty and Order be inseparable companions. Control party spirit, the bane of free governments; observe good faith to, and cultivate peace with all nations, shut up every avenue to foreign influence, contract rather than extend national connection, rely on yourselves only; be Americans in thought, word and deed;--thus will you give immortality to that union which was the constant object of my terrestrial labors; thus will you preserve undisturbed to the latest posterity the felicity of a people to me most dear, and thus will you supply (if my happiness is now aught to you) the only vacancy in the round of pure bliss high Heaven bestows."

MASON LOCKE WEEMS.

~1760=1825.~

MASON LOCKE WEEMS was born at Dumfries, Virginia, and educated in London as a clergyman. He was for some years rector of Pohick Church, Mt. Vernon parish, of which Washington was an attendant. His health demanding a change of occupation, he became agent for the publishing house of Matthew Carey of Philadelphia, and was very successful, being "equally ready for a stump, a fair, or a pulpit." He played the violin, read, recited, and was humorous and interesting in conversation.

His writings are attractive and often very eloquent and forcible; but we know not how much of his narratives to believe. His "Life of Washington" is the most popular and widely read of the many lives of that great man; to it alone we are indebted for the Hatchet Story.

WORKS.

Life of Washington. Life of Franklin. Life of Marion. Life of Penn. The Philanthropist, [a tract prefaced by an autograph letter from Washington.]

THE HATCHET STORY.

(_From Life of Washington._)

The following anecdote is a case in point; it is too valuable to be lost, and too true to be doubted, for it was communicated to me by the same excellent lady to whom I was indebted for the last, [a relative of the Washington family.]

"When George," she said, "was about six years old, he was made the wealthy master of a _hatchet_! of which, like most little boys, he was immoderately fond, and was constantly going about chopping everything that came in his way. One day, in the garden, where he often amused himself hacking his mother's pea-sticks, he unluckily tried the edge of his hatchet on the body of a beautiful young English cherry-tree, which he barked so terribly that I don't believe the tree ever got the better of it. The next morning the old gentleman finding out what had befallen his tree, which, by the by, was a great favorite, came into the house, and with much warmth asked for the mischievous author, declaring at the same time that he would not have taken five guineas for his tree. Nobody could tell him anything about it. Presently George and his hatchet made their appearance. 'George,' said his father, 'do you know who killed that beautiful little cherry-tree yonder in the garden?' This was a _tough question_, and George staggered under it for a moment; but quickly recovered himself; and looking at his father, with the sweet face of youth brightened with the inexpressible charm of all-conquering truth, he bravely cried out, 'I can't tell a lie, Pa; you know I can't tell a lie; I did cut it with my hatchet.'--'Run to my arms, you dearest boy,' cried his father in transports, 'run to my arms. Glad am I, George, that you ever killed my tree, for you have paid me for it a thousand-fold. Such an act of heroism in my son, is more worth than a thousand trees, though blossomed with silver, and their fruits of purest gold.'"

JOHN DRAYTON.

~1766=1822.~

JOHN DRAYTON, son of William Henry Drayton, was born in South Carolina, educated at Princeton and in England, and became a lawyer. He was governor of South Carolina, 1800-2, and again 1808-10; and he was District Judge of the United States at the time of his death.

WORKS.

Letters written during a tour through the Northern and Eastern States. A View of South Carolina. Memoirs of the Revolution in South Carolina, [prepared mainly from his father's manuscripts].

Governor Drayton's writings are characterized by a desire to express the simple and exact truth. His style carries with it a conviction of his sincerity and of the reliability of his narrative.

A REVOLUTIONARY OBJECT LESSON IN THE CAUSE OF PATRIOTISM, APRIL 1775.

(_From Memoirs of the Revolution._)

With all these occurrences, men's minds had become agitated; and it was deemed proper to bring forth something calculated to arrest the public attention, to throw odium on the British Administration, to put down the Crown officers in the Province, and to invigorate the ardor of the people. And nothing was deemed more likely to effect the same than some public exhibition which might speak to the sight and senses of the multitude.

For this purpose effigies were brought forward, supposed to be by the authority or connivance of the Secret Committee. . . . They represented the Pope, Lord Grenville, Lord North, and the Devil. They were placed on the top of a frame capable of containing one or two persons within it; and the frame was covered over with thick canvas, so that those within could not be distinguished. In the front of the frame on the top, the Pope was seated in a chair of state, in his pontifical dress; and at a distance immediately behind him the Devil was placed in a standing position, holding a barbed dart in his right hand; between the Pope and the Devil, on each side, Lords Grenville and North were stationed. Thus finished the frame and effigies were fixed on four wheels; and early in the morning, this uncommon spectacle was stationed between the Market and St. Michael's Church in Broad-street to the gaze of the citizens.

Many were the surmises respecting it; but at length by its evolutions, it soon began to explain the purposes for which it was constructed. For no sooner did any of the Crown officers, Placemen, Counsellors, or persons known to be disaffected to the common cause, pass by than the Pope immediately bowed with proportioned respect to them, and the Devil at the same moment striking his dart at the head of the Pope convulsed the populace with bursts of laughter. While on the other hand, the immovable effigies of Lords Grenville and North, appearing like attendants on the Pope or criminals, moved the people with sentiments of disgust and contempt against them and the whole British Administration, for the many oppressive acts which they had been instrumental in procuring to be passed through both Houses of Parliament.

In this manner the machine was exposed; after which it was paraded through the town the whole day by the mob; and in the evening, they carried it beyond the town where surrounding it with tar barrels the whole was committed to the flames. Nor did the idea or influence of the thing end here--for boys forsook their customary sports to make models like it, with which having amused themselves, and having roused their youthful spirits into a detestation of oppression, they also committed them to the flames. And many of those very boys supported with their services and blood the rights and liberties of their country.

THE BATTLE OF NOEWEE, BETWEEN THE SOUTH CAROLINIANS AND THE CHEROKEES, 1776.

(_From Memoirs of the Revolution in South Carolina._)

The army now crossed Cannucca Creek, and was proceeding towards Noewee Creek when tracks of the enemy's spies were discovered about half past ten o'clock, A. M., and the army was halted and thrown into close order. It then proceeded on its left towards a narrow valley, bordering on Noewee Creek, and enclosed on each side by lofty mountains, terminated at the extremity by others equally difficult; and commenced entering the same, for the purpose of crossing the Appalachean Ridge, which separated the Middle Settlements from those in the Vallies.

These heights were occupied by twelve hundred Indian Warriors; nor were they discovered, until the advance guard of one hundred men began to mount the height, which terminated the valley. The army having thus completely fallen into the ambuscade of the enemy, they poured in a heavy fire upon its front and flanks; compelling it to recoil, and fall into confusion. Great was the perturbation which then prevailed, the cry being, "_We shall be cut off_;" and while Col. Williamson's attention was imperiously called to rally his men, and charge the enemy, he was at the same time obliged to reinforce the baggage guard, on which the subsistence of the army depended for provisions, in this mountainous wilderness.

In this extremity, Lieutenant-Colonel Hammond caused detachments to file off, for the purpose of gaining the eminences above the Indians, and turning their flanks; while Lieutenant Hampton with twenty men, advanced upon the enemy, passing the main advance guard of one hundred men: who, being panic-struck, were rapidly retreating. Hampton, however, clambered up the ascent, with a manly presence of mind; which much encouraged all his followers: calling out, "_Loaded guns advance--empty guns, fall down and load:_" and being joined by thirty men, he charged desperately on the foe. The Indians now gave way; and a panic passing among them from right to left, the troops rallied and pressed them with such energy, as induced a general flight: and the army was thereby rescued from a total defeat and massacre.

Besides this good fortune, they became possessed of so many packs of deer skins and baggage; that they sold among the individuals of the army, for £1,200 currency; and which sum was equally distributed among the troops. In this engagement, the killed of Williamson's army, were thirteen men, and one Catawba Indian; and the wounded were, thirty-two men, and two Catawbas. Of the enemy, only four were found dead, and their loss would have been more considerable, if many of them had not been mistaken for the friendly Catawbas, who were in front.

WILLIAM WIRT.

~1772=1834.~

WILLIAM WIRT was born at Bladensburg, Maryland, and received an early and excellent education. He removed to Virginia in 1791 and began the practice of law, in which profession he rose to great and singular eminence.

He was elected Chancellor of Virginia in 1801, led the prosecution in the Aaron Burr trial, 1807, and was concerned in several other famous cases. In 1817 he was appointed Attorney-General of the United States and lived in Washington twelve years. In 1826 he delivered before Congress the address on the death of John Adams and of Thomas Jefferson; which occurred on the Fourth of July, of that year, just fifty years after the Declaration of Independence.

His health giving way under his severe labors and distress for the death of his son Robert, he resigned his office. He said, "All, all is vanity and vexation of spirit, except religion, friendship, and literature." He removed to Baltimore and resumed the practice of law. He was a man of fine appearance and charming social graces. It is related that on one occasion he kept a party of friends up all night long, to their utter astonishment, merely by the powers of his delightful conversation. See "Memoirs of Wirt" by Kennedy.

WORKS.

Letters of the British Spy. Rainbow, [essays]. Life of Patrick Henry. Addresses. Old Bachelor, [a series of essays by a group of friends, Wirt, Dabney Carr, George Tucker, and others].

Wirt's style both in writing and speaking has been often and justly praised for its grace, culture, and luxuriance.

His "British Spy" is composed of ten letters supposed to be left at an inn by a spy, giving opinions on various things and an account especially of public men and orators that he has met in his travels in America. These letters are esteemed Wirt's best literary work, although his "Life of Patrick Henry" is perhaps better known on account of its subject.

THE BLIND PREACHER, (JAMES WADDELL[6]).

(_From The British Spy._)

It was one Sunday, as I travelled through the county of Orange, [Virginia], that my eye was caught by a cluster of horses tied near a ruinous, old, wooden house in the forest, not far from the roadside. Having frequently seen such objects before, in travelling through those States, I had no difficulty in understanding that this was a place of religious worship.

Devotion alone should have stopped me, to join in the duties of the congregation; but I must confess that curiosity to hear the preacher of such a wilderness, was not the least of my motives. On entering, I was struck with his preternatural appearance. He was a tall and very spare old man; his head which was covered with a white linen cap, his shrivelled hands, and his voice, were all shaking under the influence of a palsy; and a few moments ascertained to me that he was perfectly blind.

The first emotions that touched my breast were those of mingled pity and veneration. But how soon were all my feelings changed! The lips of Plato were never more worthy of a prognostic swarm of bees, than were the lips of this holy man! It was a day of the administration of the sacrament; and his subject was, of course, the passion of our Saviour. I have heard the subject handled a thousand times; I had thought it exhausted long ago. Little did I suppose that in the wild woods of America, I was to meet with a man whose eloquence would give to this topic a new and more sublime pathos than I had ever before witnessed.

As he descended from the pulpit to distribute the mystic symbols, there was a peculiar, a more than human solemnity in his air and manner, which made my blood run cold, and my whole frame shiver.

He then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Saviour; his trial before Pilate; his ascent up Calvary; his crucifixion; and his death. I knew the whole history; but never until then had I heard the circumstances so selected, so arranged, so colored! It was all new; and I seemed to have heard it for the first time in my life. His enunciation was so deliberate that his voice trembled on every syllable; and every heart in the assembly trembled in unison. His peculiar phrases had the force of description, that the original scene appeared to be at that moment acting before our eyes. We saw the very faces of the Jews; the staring, frightful distortions of malice and rage. We saw the buffet; my soul kindled with a flame of indignation; and my hands were involuntarily and convulsively clinched.

But when he came to touch on the patience, the forgiving meekness of our Saviour; when he drew, to the life, his blessed eyes streaming in tears to heaven; his voice breathing to God a soft and gentle prayer of pardon on his enemies, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do,"--the voice of the preacher, which had all along faltered, grew fainter and fainter, until, his utterance being entirely obstructed by the force of his feelings, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and burst into a loud and irrepressible flood of grief. The effect is inconceivable. The whole house resounded with the mingled groans, and sobs, and shrieks of the congregation.

It was some time before the tumult had subsided, so far as to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging by the usual, but fallacious standard of my own weakness, I began to be very uneasy for the situation of the preacher. For I could not conceive how he would be able to let his audience down from the height to which he had wound them, without impairing the solemnity and dignity of his subject, or perhaps shocking them by the abruptness of the fall. But--no: the descent was as beautiful and sublime as the elevation had been rapid and enthusiastic.

The first sentence, with which he broke the awful silence, was a quotation from Rousseau: "Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ, like a God!"

I despair of giving you any idea of the effect produced by this short sentence, unless you could perfectly conceive the whole manner of the man, as well as the peculiar crisis in the discourse. Never before did I completely understand what Demosthenes meant by laying such stress on delivery. You are to bring before you the venerable figure of the preacher; his blindness, constantly recalling to your recollection old Homer, Ossian, and Milton, and associating with his performance the melancholy grandeur of their geniuses; you are to imagine that you hear his slow, solemn, well-accented enunciation, and his voice of affecting trembling melody; you are to remember the pitch of passion and enthusiasm to which the congregation were raised; and then the few moments of portentous, deathlike silence which reigned throughout the house; the preacher removing his white handkerchief from his aged face, (even yet wet from the recent torrent of his tears), and slowly stretching forth the palsied hand which holds it, begins the sentence, "Socrates died like a philosopher,"--then, pausing, raising his other hand, pressing them both, clasped together, with warmth and energy, to his breast, lifting his "sightless balls" to heaven, and pouring his whole soul into his tremulous voice--"but Jesus Christ--like a God!" If it had indeed and in truth been an angel of light, the effect could scarcely have been more divine.

MR. HENRY AGAINST JOHN HOOK.

(_From Life of Patrick Henry._)

Hook was a Scotchman, a man of wealth, and suspected of being unfriendly to the American cause. During the distresses of the American army, consequent upon the joint invasion of Cornwallis and Phillips in 1781, a Mr. Venable, an army commissary, had taken two of Hook's steers for the use of the troops. The act had not been strictly legal; and on the establishment of peace, Hook, under the advice of Mr. Cowan, a gentleman of some distinction in the law, thought proper to bring an action of trespass against Mr. Venable, in the district court of New London. Mr. Henry appeared for the defendant, and is said to have disported himself in this cause to the infinite enjoyment of his hearers, the unfortunate Hook always excepted. After Mr. Henry became animated in the cause, says a correspondent [Judge Stuart], he appeared to have complete control over the passions of his audience: at one time he excited their indignation against Hook: vengeance was visible in every countenance; again, when he chose to relax and ridicule him, the whole audience was in a roar of laughter. He painted the distresses of the American army, exposed almost naked to the rigour of a winter's sky, and marking the frozen ground over which they marched, with the blood of their unshod feet--"where was the man," he said, "who had an American heart in his bosom, who would not have thrown open his fields, his barns, his cellar, the doors of his house, the portals of his breast, to have received with open arms, the meanest soldier in that little band of patriots? Where is the man? _There_ he stands--but whether the heart of an American beats in his bosom, you, gentlemen, are to judge." He then carried the jury, by the powers of his imagination, to the plains around York, the surrender of which had followed shortly after the act complained of: he depicted the surrender in the most glowing and noble colors of his eloquence--the audience saw before their eyes the humiliation and dejection of the British, as they marched out of their trenches--they saw the triumph which lighted up every patriot face, and heard the shouts of victory, and the cry of "Washington and Liberty!", as it rung and echoed through the American ranks, and was reverberated from the hills and shores of the neighboring river--"but, hark!, what notes of discord are these which disturb the general joy, and silence the acclamations of victory? They are the notes of _John Hook_, hoarsely bawling through the American camp, _beef!_ _beef!_ _beef!_"

The whole audience was convulsed: a particular incident will give a better idea of the effect, than any general description. The clerk of the court, unable to command himself, and unwilling to commit any breach of decorum in his place, rushed out of the court-house, and threw himself on the grass, in the most violent paroxysm of laughter, where he was rolling, when Hook, with very different feelings, came out for relief into the yard also. "Jemmy Steptoe," said he to the clerk, "what the devil ails ye, mon?" Mr. Steptoe was only able to say, that _he could not help it_. "Never mind ye," said Hook, "wait till Billy Cowan gets up: _he'll show_ him the la'." Mr. Cowan, however, was so completely overwhelmed by the torrent which bore upon his client, that when he rose to reply to Mr. Henry, he was scarcely able to make an intelligible or audible remark. The cause was decided almost by acclamation. The jury retired for form's sake, and instantly returned with a verdict for the defendant. Nor did the effect of Mr. Henry's speech stop here. The people were so highly excited by the tory audacity of such a suit, that Hook began to hear around him a cry more terrible than that of _beef_; it was the cry of _tar and feathers_: from the application of which, it is said, that nothing saved him but a precipitate flight and the speed of his horse.

FOOTNOTE:

[6] James Waddell, it is said, was a relative of the celebrated teacher, Dr. Moses Waddell, of Georgia, president of the State University, 1819-29.

JOHN RANDOLPH.

~1773=1833.~

JOHN RANDOLPH of Roanoke, was born at Cawson's, Virginia, being a descendant of Pocahontas in the seventh generation. He lost his father early in life. His beautiful mother, to whom he was devotedly attached, afterwards married St. George Tucker, who happily was a true father to her children and educated John himself. Her death in 1788 was a life-long distress to her gifted son.

He was a prominent actor in all the stirring political life of the times, being in Congress from 1800 until his death, except from 1812 to 1814, and again in 1830 when he was minister to Russia, a position which he resigned, however, in order to return to the excitement of politics at home. He freed his slaves by will on his death, which occurred in Philadelphia as he was preparing to go abroad for his health. Many anecdotes are told of him, and he is one of the most interesting and striking figures in our history. See Benton's account of his duel with Clay; also Life, by Garland, and by Adams.

WORKS.

Letters to a Young Relative. Addresses.

John Randolph is noted for his wit, eloquence, and a power of sarcasm scathing in its intensity which he often employed, thereby making many enemies. "He is indeed original and unique in everything. His language is simple, though polished, brief, though rich, and as direct as the arrow from the Indian bow."--Paulding.

THE REVISION OF THE STATE CONSTITUTION.

(_From a Speech in the Legislature, 1829._)

Doctor Franklin who in shrewdness, especially in all that related to domestic life, was never excelled, used to say that two movings were equal to one fire. And gentlemen, as if they were afraid that this besetting sin of republican governments, this _rerum novarum lubido_ (to use a very homely phrase, but that comes pat to the purpose), this maggot of innovation, would cease to bite, are here gravely making provision that this Constitution, which we should consider as a remedy for all the ills of the body politic, may itself be amended or modified at any future time. Sir, I am against any such provision. I should as soon think of introducing into a marriage contract a provision for divorce, and thus poisoning the greatest blessing of mankind at its very source,--at its fountain-head. He has seen little, and has reflected less, who does not know that "necessity" is the great, powerful, governing principle of affairs here. Sir, I am not going into that question which puzzled Pandemonium,--the question of liberty and necessity,--

"Free will, fixed fate, foreknowledge absolute;"

but I do contend that necessity is one principal instrument of all the good that man enjoys. The happiness of the connubial union itself depends greatly on necessity, and when you touch this you touch the arch, the keystone of the arch, on which the happiness and well-being of society is founded. Look at the relation of master and slave (that opprobrium, in the opinion of some gentlemen, to all civilized society and all free government). Sir, there are few situations in life where friendships so strong and so lasting are formed as in that very relation. The slave knows that he is bound indissolubly to his master, and must, from necessity, remain always under his control. The master knows he is bound to maintain and provide always for his slave so long as he retains him in his possession. And each party accommodates himself to the situation. I have seen the dissolution of many friendships,--such, at least, as they were called; but I have seen that of master and slave endure so long as there remained a drop of blood of the master to which the slave could cleave.

Where is the necessity of this provision in the Constitution? Where is the use of it? Sir, what are we about? Have we not been undoing what the wiser heads--I must be permitted to say so--yes, Sir, what the wiser heads of our ancestors did more than half a century ago? Can any one believe that we, by any amendment of ours, by any of our scribbling on that parchment, by any amulet, by any legerdemain--charm--Abracadabra--of ours can prevent our sons from doing the same thing,--that is, from doing what they please, just as we are doing as we please? It is impossible. Who can bind posterity? When I hear gentlemen talk of making a Constitution for "all time," and introducing provisions into it for "all time," and yet see men here who are older than the Constitution we are about to destroy (I am older myself than the present Constitution: it was established when I was a boy), it reminds me of the truces and the peaces of Europe. They always begin, "In the name of the most holy and undivided Trinity," and go on to declare "there shall be perfect and perpetual peace and unity between the subjects of such and such potentates for all time to come;" and in less than seven years they are at war again.

GEORGE TUCKER.

~1775=1861.~

GEORGE TUCKER, a relative of St. George Tucker, was, like him, born in the Bermudas, and came to Virginia in 1787. He was reared and educated by St. George Tucker, and practiced law in Lynchburg. He served in the State Legislature and in Congress, and in 1825 he was elected professor of Moral Philosophy and Political Economy in the University of Virginia, a position which he filled for twenty years. His novel, "Valley of the Shenandoah," was reprinted in England and translated into German.

[Illustration: ~University of Virginia.~]

WORKS.

Essays in "Old Bachelor" Series. Letters on the Conspiracy of Slaves. Letters on the Roanoke Navigation. Recollections of Eleanor Rosalie Tucker. Essays on Taste, Morals, and Policy. Valley of the Shenandoah. A Voyage to the Moon. Principles of Rent, Wages, &c. Literature of the United States. Life of Thomas Jefferson. Theory of Money and Banks. Essay on Cause and Effect. Association of Ideas. Dangers Threatening the United States. Progress of the United States. Life of Dr. John P. Emmet. History of the United States. Banks or No Banks. Essays Moral and Philosophical. Political Economy.

Prof. Tucker was a voluminous writer and treated many subjects. One or two early works of imagination and fancy gave place later to philosophy and political economy, and his style is eminently that of a thinker.

JEFFERSON'S PREFERENCE FOR COUNTRY LIFE.

(_From Life of Jefferson._)

He tells the Baron that he is savage enough to prefer the woods, the wilds, and the independence of Monticello, to all the brilliant pleasures of the gay metropolis of France. "I shall therefore," he says, "rejoin myself to my native country, with new attachments, and with exaggerated esteem for its advantages; for though there is less wealth there, there is more freedom, more ease, and less misery."

Declarations of this kind often originate in insincerity and affectation; sometimes from the wish to appear superior to those sensual indulgences and light amusements which are to be obtained only in cities, and sometimes from the pride of seeming to despise what is beyond our reach. But the sentiment here expressed by Mr. Jefferson is truly felt by many an American, and we have no reason to doubt it was felt also by him. There is a charm in the life which one has been accustomed to in his youth, no matter what the modes of that life may have been, which always retains its hold on the heart. The Indian who has passed his first years with his tribe, is never reconciled to the habits and restraints of civilized life. And although in more artificial and advanced stages of society, individuals, whether they have been brought up in the town or the country, are not equally irreconcilable to a change from one to the other, it commonly takes some time to overcome their preference for the life they have been accustomed to; and in many instances it is never overcome, but continues to haunt the imagination with pleasing pictures of the past or imaginations of the future, when hope gives assurance that those scenes of former enjoyment may be renewed. That most of our country gentlemen, past the heyday of youth, would soon tire of Paris, and pant after the simple pleasures and exemption from restraint which their own country affords, is little to be wondered at; but it is the more remarkable in Mr. Jefferson, and more clearly illustrates the force of early habit, when it is recollected that he found in the French metropolis that society of men of letters and science which he must often have in vain coveted in his own country, and that here he met with those specimens of music, painting, and architecture, for which he had so lively a relish. But in these comparisons between the life we are leading and that which we have left, or are looking forward to, we must always allow much to the force of the imagination, and there are few men who felt its influence more than Mr. Jefferson. In one of his letters to Mr. Carmichael, he says, "I sometimes think of building a little hermitage at the Natural Bridge, (for it is my property), and of passing there a part of the year at least."

ESTABLISHMENT OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA.

(_From the Same._)

We have seen that the subject of education had long been a favourite object with Mr. Jefferson, partly from his own lively relish for literature and science, and partly because he deemed the diffusion of knowledge among the people essential to the wise administration of a popular government, and even to its stability. He had not long retired from public life, before the subject again engaged his serious attention, and, besides endeavouring to enlist men of influence in behalf of his favourite scheme of dividing the counties of the State into wards, and giving the charge of its elementary schools to these little commonwealths, he also aimed to establish a college, in the neighbourhood of Charlottesville, for teaching the higher branches of knowledge, and which, from its central and healthy situation, might be improved into a university.

He lived to see this object accomplished, and it owed its success principally to his efforts. It engrossed his attention for more than eleven years, in which time he exhibited his wonted judgment and address, in overcoming the numerous obstacles he encountered, and a diligence and perseverance which would have been creditable to the most vigorous period of life. . . . . . .

In getting the university into operation, he seemed to have regained the activity and assiduity of his youth. Everything was looked into, everything was ordered by him. He suggested the remedy for every difficulty, and made the selection in every choice of expedients. Two or three times a week he rode down to the establishment to give orders to the proctor, and to watch the progress of the work still unfinished. Nor were his old habits of hospitality forgotten. His invitations to the professors and their families were frequent, and every Sunday some four or five of the students dined with him. At these times he generally ate by himself in a small recess connected with the dining-room; but, saving at meals, sat and conversed with the company as usual. The number of visiters also to the University was very great, and they seldom failed to call at Monticello, where they often passed the day, and sometimes several days. He was so fully occupied with his duties, as rector of the university, and he found so much pleasure in the occupation, that for a time every cause of care and anxiety, of which he now began to have an increased share, was entirely forgotten; and the sun of his life seemed to be setting with a soft but unclouded radiance.

[Illustration: ~Henry Clay.~]

THIRD PERIOD ... 1800-1850.

HENRY CLAY.

~1777=1852.~

HENRY CLAY was born at "The Slashes," Hanover County, Virginia, whence he got his title, "Mill-Boy of the Slashes." His mother, early left a widow, was poor, and on her second marriage, to Mr. Henry Watkins, removed to Kentucky. Henry Clay became a clerk and then a law-student in Richmond, Va., and in 1797 followed his mother to Kentucky, making his home in Lexington. He rose speedily to eminence as a jury lawyer, and in 1803 entered public life as a member of the State Legislature. In 1806 he entered the United States Senate, and after the war of 1812 he was sent to Belgium as one of the Commissioners to treat of peace with Great Britain.

His share in public life was most important. He was the author of the Missouri Compromise of 1820, of the Tariff Compromise of 1832, of the Bill for Protection and Internal Improvements; his agency in the first two and in the Missouri Compromise of 1850, gaining for him the title of the "Great Pacificator." With Calhoun and Webster, he formed the triad of great statesmen who made illustrious our politics in the first half of the nineteenth century.

He died in Washington City and was buried in Lexington, Kentucky, where an imposing column, surmounted by his statue, marks his tomb. In the Capitol grounds at Richmond there is also a fine monument and statue to his memory. It has been said of him that no man ever had more devoted friends and more bitter enemies. See Benton's account of his duel with Randolph.

His home, "Ashland," on the suburbs of Lexington, is now a part of the University of Kentucky. The old Court House in which so many of his famous speeches were made still stands in Lexington, and is cherished as an honoured reminder of his greatness in the eyes of his admiring compatriots. See under A. H. Stephens, _Sketch in the Senate, 1850_; also, Life, by Prentice, and by Schurz.

WORKS.

Speeches, [of which several collections have been made.]

Henry Clay was perhaps the greatest popular leader and orator that America has produced, although his influence will not be so lasting as that of profounder statesmen. He was a master of the feelings and could sway the multitude before him as one man. "His style of argument was by vivid picture, apt comparison, and forcible illustration, rather than by close reasoning like Webster's, or impregnable logic like that of Calhoun."--John P. McGuire.

TO BE RIGHT ABOVE ALL.

Sir, I would rather be right than be president. (_In 1850, on being told that his views would endanger his nomination for the presidency._)

NO GEOGRAPHICAL LINES IN PATRIOTISM.

I know no North, no South, no East, no West.

MILITARY INSUBORDINATION.

(_From the speech on the Seminole War, delivered 1819._)

I will not trespass much longer upon the time of the committee; but I trust I shall be indulged with some few reflections upon the danger of permitting conduct, [Gen. Jackson's arbitrary court-martial], on which it has been my painful duty to animadvert, to pass without a solemn expression of the disapprobation of this House. Recall to your mind the free nations which have gone before us. Where are they now?

"Gone glimmering through the dream of things that were, A school-boy's tale, the wonder of an hour."

And how have they lost their liberties? If we could transport ourselves back to the ages when Greece and Rome flourished in their greatest prosperity, and, mingling in the throng, should ask a Grecian whether he did not fear that some daring military chieftain, covered with glory, some Philip or Alexander, would one day overthrow the liberties of his country, the confident and indignant Grecian would exclaim, No! no! we have nothing to fear from our heroes; our liberties shall be eternal. If a Roman citizen had been asked whether he did not fear that the conqueror of Gaul might establish a throne upon the ruins of public liberty, he would have instantly repelled the unjust insinuation. Yet Greece fell; Cæsar passed the Rubicon, and the patriotic arm even of Brutus could not preserve the liberties of his devoted country. The celebrated Madame de Staël, in her last and perhaps her best work, has said that in the very year, almost the very month, when the president of the Directory declared that monarchy would never show its frightful head in France, Bonaparte with his grenadiers entered the palace of St. Cloud, and, dispersing with the bayonet the deputies of the people, deliberating on the affairs of the state, laid the foundation of that vast fabric of despotism which overshadowed all Europe.

I hope not to be misunderstood; I am far from intimating that General Jackson cherishes any designs inimical to the liberties of the country. I believe his intentions to be pure and patriotic. I thank God that he would not, but I thank Him still more that he could not if he would, overturn the liberties of the Republic. But precedents, if bad, are fraught with the most dangerous consequences. Man has been described, by some of those who have treated of his nature, as a bundle of habits. The definition is much truer when applied to governments. Precedents are their habits. There is one important difference between the formation of habits by an individual and by government. He contracts it only after frequent repetition. A single instance fixes the habit and determines the direction of governments.

Against the alarming doctrine of unlimited discretion in our military commanders, when applied to prisoners of war, I must enter my protest. It begins upon them; it will end on us. I hope our happy form of government is to be perpetual. But if it is to be preserved, it must be by the practice of virtue, by justice, by moderation, by magnanimity, by greatness of soul, by keeping a watchful and steady eye on the executive; and, above all, by holding to a strict accountability the military branch of the public force. . . . . . . Beware how you give a fatal sanction, in this infant period of our republic, scarcely yet two score years old, to military insubordination. Remember that Greece had her Alexander, Rome her Cæsar, England her Cromwell, France her Bonaparte, and that, if we would escape the rock on which they split, we must avoid their errors.

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.

~1780=1843.~

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY was born in Frederick county, Maryland, and was educated at St. John's College, Annapolis. He became a lawyer, was appointed District Attorney of the District of Columbia, and spent his life in Washington City.

A very handsome monument has been erected to his memory in San Francisco by Mr. James Lick: his song, the "Star-Spangled Banner," will be his enduring monument throughout our country. It was composed during the attack on Fort McHenry in Baltimore Harbor, 1814. Key had gone to the British vessel to get a friend released from imprisonment, in which he succeeded, but he was kept on board the enemy's vessel until after the attack on the fort; and the song commemorates his evening and morning watch for the star-spangled banner on Fort McHenry, and the appearance of the flag in "the morning's first beam" showed that the attack had been successfully resisted. The words were written on an old envelope. (See illustrations in the _Century Magazine_, July, 1894.)

WORKS.

Poems, with a sketch by Chief-Justice Taney.

[Illustration: ~Star-Spangled Banner.~]

[Illustration: Obverse Reverse ~Seal of the United States.~]

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.

Oh! say can you see by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the clouds of the fight O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming! And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; O, say, does that Star-Spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?

On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected now shines on the stream; 'Tis the Star-Spangled banner; O, long may it wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; And the Star-Spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved home and the war's desolation! Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation! Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto--"_In God is our trust_"-- And the Star-Spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON.

~1780=1851.~

[Illustration: ~Scene in Louisiana.~]

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON was born near New Orleans and educated in France where he studied painting under David. While still a young man, his father put him in charge of a country estate in Pennsylvania. Afterwards he engaged in mercantile persuits in Philadelphia, Louisville, New Orleans, and Henderson, Kentucky, but unsuccessfully; for he knew and cared much more about the birds, flowers, and beasts around him than about the kinds and prices of goods that his neighbors needed.

His great literary and artistic work is "The Birds of America," consisting of five volumes of Ornithological Biographies and four volumes of exquisite portraits of birds, life-size, in natural colors, and surrounded by the plants which each one most likes. "Quadrupeds of America" was prepared mainly by his sons and Rev. John Bachman of South Carolina. These works gave him a European reputation. He died at Minniesland, now Audubon Park, New York City.

His style in writing is pure, vivid, and so clear as to place before us the very thing or event described. The accounts of his travels and of the adventures he met with in his search for his birds and animals are very natural and picturesque; and they show also his own fine nature and attractive character.

A biography arranged from his diary by Mrs. Audubon was published in New York, 1868. See also Samuel Smiles' "Brief Biographies." The State Library of North Carolina possesses a set of Audubon's invaluable works, of which there are only eight sets in America.

THE MOCKING-BIRD.

It is where the great magnolia shoots up its majestic trunk, crowned with evergreen leaves, and decorated with a thousand beautiful flowers, that perfume the air around; where the forests and the fields are adorned with blossoms of every hue; where the golden orange ornaments the gardens and groves; where bignonias of various kinds interlace their climbing stems around the white-flowered Stuartia, and, mounting still higher, cover the summits of the lofty trees around, accompanied with innumerable vines, that here and there festoon the dense foliage of the magnificent woods, lending to the vernal breeze a slight portion of the perfume of their clustered flowers; where a genial warmth seldom forsakes the atmosphere; where berries and fruits of all descriptions are met with at every step; in a word, kind reader, it is where Nature seems to have paused, as she passed over the earth, and, opening her stores, to have strewed with unsparing hand the diversified seeds from which have sprung all the beautiful and splendid forms which I should in vain attempt to describe, that the mocking-bird should have fixed his abode, there only that its wondrous song should be heard.

But where is that favored land? It is in that great continent to whose distant shores Europe has sent forth her adventurous sons, to wrest for themselves a habitation from the wild inhabitants of the forest, and to convert the neglected soil into fields of exuberant fertility. It is, reader, in Louisiana that these bounties of nature are in the greatest perfection. It is there that you should listen to the love-song of the mocking-bird, as I at this moment do. See how he flies round his mate, with motions as light as those of the butterfly! His tail is widely expanded, he mounts in the air to a small distance, describes a circle, and, again alighting, approaches his beloved one, his eyes gleaming with delight, for she has already promised to be his and his only. His beautiful wings are gently raised, he bows to his love, and, again bouncing upwards, opens his bill and pours forth his melody, full of exultation at the conquest which he has made.

They are not the soft sounds of the flute or of the hautboy that I hear, but the sweeter notes of Nature's own music. The mellowness of the song, the varied modulations and gradations, the extent of its compass, the great brilliancy of execution, are unrivalled. There is probably no bird in the world that possesses all the musical qualifications of this king of song, who has derived all from Nature's self. Yes, reader, all!

No sooner has he again alighted, and the conjugal contract has been sealed, than, as if his breast was about to be rent with delight, he again pours forth his notes with more softness and richness than before. He now soars higher, glancing around with a vigilant eye to assure himself that none has witnessed his bliss. When these love-scenes, visible only to the ardent lover of nature, are over, he dances through the air, full of animation and delight, and as if to convince his lovely mate that to enrich her hopes he has much more love in store, he that moment begins anew and imitates all the notes which Nature has imparted to the other songsters of the grove.

THE HUMMING-BIRD.

No sooner has the returning sun again introduced the vernal season, and caused millions of plants to expand their leaves and blossoms to his genial beams, than the little Humming-Bird is seen advancing on fairy wings, carefully visiting every opening flower-cup, and, like a curious florist, removing from each the injurious insects that otherwise would ere long cause their beauteous petals to droop and decay. Poised in the air, it is observed peeping cautiously, and with sparkling eyes, into their innermost recesses, while the ethereal motions of its pinions, so rapid and so light, appear to fan and cool the flower, without injuring its fragile texture, and produce a delightful murmuring sound, well adapted for lulling the insects to repose. Then is the moment for the Humming-Bird to secure them. Its long delicate bill enters the cup of the flower, and the protruded double-tubed tongue, delicately sensible, and imbued with a glutinous saliva, touches each insect in succession, and draws it from its lurking place, to be instantly swallowed. All this is done in a moment, and the bird, as it leaves the flower, sips so small a portion of its liquid honey, that the theft, we may suppose, is looked upon with a grateful feeling by the flower, which is thus kindly relieved from the attacks of her destroyers. . . . . . . . Its gorgeous throat in beauty and brilliancy baffles all competition. Now it glows with a fiery hue, and again it is changed to the deepest velvety black. The upper parts of its delicate body are of resplendent changing green; and it throws itself through the air with a swiftness and vivacity hardly conceivable. It moves from one flower to another like a gleam of light, upwards, downwards, to the right, and to the left.

THOMAS HART BENTON.

~1782=1858.~

THOMAS HART BENTON was born in Hillsboro, North Carolina, and was

## partly educated at the State University. He left before graduation,

however, and removed with his widowed mother to Tennessee, where twenty-five miles south of Nashville they made a home, around which a settlement called Bentontown gradually grew up.

He studied law with St. George Tucker, began to practice in Nashville, and was elected to the State Legislature in 1811. In 1815 he removed to St. Louis, and was elected United States Senator in 1820 on the admission of Missouri to the Union. He worked heartily and successfully in the interests of settlers in the West. His title "Old Bullion" was derived from his famous speeches on the currency, during Jackson's administration, and they gained him a European reputation.

He and Calhoun were opposed to each other on almost every question, and they carried on a ferocious warfare in the Senate. He was a Senator for thirty years, 1820-50, and his great work gives an account of men and measures during that very exciting and intensely interesting period, in which he was himself one of the most prominent actors.

A fine statue was erected to him in the park at St. Louis.

WORKS.

Thirty Years' View of the Workings of Our Government. Abridgment of the Debates of Congress. Examination of the Dred Scott Case.

Benton's style as an orator was easy, full, and strong, showing him well acquainted with his subject and confident of his powers.

The "Thirty Years' View" is noted for its excellent arrangement and for a style easy and fluent yet not diffuse. "It is a succession of historical tableaux," of which the following extract presents one of the most famous.

THE DUEL BETWEEN RANDOLPH AND CLAY.

(_From Thirty Years' View._[7])

Saturday, the 8th of April (1826)--the day for the duel--had come, and almost the hour. It was noon, and the meeting was to take place at 4½ o'clock. I had gone to see Mr. Randolph before the hour, and for a purpose; and, besides, it was so far on the way, as he lived half-way to Georgetown, and we had to pass through that place to cross the Potomac into Virginia at the Little Falls Bridge. I had heard nothing from him on the point of not returning the fire since the first communication to that effect, eight days before. I had no reason to doubt the steadiness of his determination, but felt a desire to have fresh assurance of it after so many days' delay, and so near approach of the trying moment. I knew it would not do to ask him the question--any question which would imply a doubt of his word. His sensitive feelings would be hurt and annoyed at it. So I fell upon a scheme to get at the inquiry without seeming to make it. I told him of my visit to Mr. Clay the night before--of the late sitting--the child asleep--the unconscious tranquillity of Mrs. Clay; and added, I could not help reflecting how different all that might be the next night. He understood me perfectly, and immediately said, with a quietude of look and expression which seemed to rebuke an unworthy doubt, _I shall do nothing to disturb the sleep of the child or the repose of the mother_, and went on with his employment . . . . which was, making codicils to his will, all in the way of remembrance to friends. . . . . . . . . . . . I withdrew a little way into the woods, and kept my eyes fixed on Mr. Randolph, who I then knew to be the only one in danger. I saw him receive the fire of Mr. Clay, saw the gravel knocked up in the same place, saw Mr. Randolph raise his pistol--discharge it in the air; heard him say, _I do not fire at you, Mr. Clay_; and immediately advancing and offering his hand. He was met in the same spirit. They met halfway, shook hands, Mr. Randolph saying, jocosely, _You owe me a coat, Mr. Clay_--(the bullet had passed through the skirt of the coat, very near the hip)--to which Mr. Clay promptly and happily replied, _I am glad the debt is no greater_. I had come up and was prompt to proclaim what I had been obliged to keep secret for eight days. The joy of all was extreme at this happy termination of a most critical affair: and we immediately left, with lighter hearts than we brought. . . . . . .

On Monday the parties exchanged cards, and social relations were formally and courteously restored. It was about the last high-toned duel that I have witnessed, and among the highest-toned that I have ever witnessed; and so happily conducted to a fortunate issue--a result due to the noble character of the seconds as well as to the generous and heroic spirit of the principals. Certainly, duelling is bad, and has been put down, but not quite so bad as its substitute--revolvers, bowie-knives, blackguarding, and street-assassinations under the pretext of self-defence.

FOOTNOTE:

[7] By permission of D. Appleton and Company, N. Y.

JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN.

~1782=1850.~

JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN is one of the greatest statesmen that America has produced. He was of Scotch and Irish descent, and was born in Abbeville County, South Carolina. He received his early education from his brother-in-law, the distinguished Dr. Moses Waddell, then attended Yale College, and studied law. Early in life, 1811, he entered the political arena, and remained in it to the day of his death.

As Secretary of War under President Monroe, he re-organized the department on the basis which is still maintained. He was elected Vice-president with Adams in 1824, re-elected with Jackson, 1828, and became United States Senator, 1832, succeeding Robert Y. Hayne who had been chosen governor of South Carolina in the Nullification crisis.

From this time forth until his death, he was in the midst of incessant political toil, strife, and activity, having Webster, Clay, Benton, Hayne, Randolph, Grundy, Hunter, and Cass, for his great companions. Edward Everett said: "Calhoun, Clay, Webster! I name them in alphabetical order. What other precedence can be assigned them? Clay the great leader, Webster the great orator, Calhoun the great thinker."

As a boy he must often have heard his father say, "That government is the best which allows the largest amount of individual liberty compatible with social order."

His most famous political act is his advocacy of Nullification, an explanation and defence of which are found in the extract below. He was a devoted adherent of the Union. (See under _Jefferson Davis_.)

His life seems to have been entirely political; but he was very fond of his home where there was always a cheerful happy household. This home, "Fort Hill," was in the lovely upland region of South Carolina in Oconee County. It became the property of his daughter, Mrs. Thomas G. Clemson, and Mr. Clemson left it at his death to the State, which has now established there an Agricultural and Mechanical College.

Mr. Calhoun died in Washington City, and was buried in St. Philip's Churchyard, Charleston, his grave being marked by a monument. His preeminence in South Carolina during his life has not ceased with his death. His picture is found everywhere and his memory is still living throughout the entire country. See Life, by Jenkins, and by Von Hoist. See under _Stephens_.

WORKS.

Speeches and State Papers (6 vols.) edited by Richard K. Crallé.

[Illustration: Old Presbyterian Church at which Calhoun worshiped JNO C CALHOUN The Calhoun Homestead at Fort Hill Calhouns Grave in St. Phillips Churchyard.]

Calhoun has been called the philosopher of statesmen, and his style accords with this description. "His eloquence was part of his intellectual character. It was plain, strong, terse, condensed, concise; sometimes impassioned, still always severe. Rejecting ornament, not often seeking far for illustration, his power consisted in the plainness of his propositions, in the closeness of his logic, and in the earnestness and energy of his manner."--Daniel Webster.

WAR AND PEACE.

War can make us great; but let it never be forgotten that peace only can make us both great and free.

SYSTEM OF OUR GOVERNMENT.

(_Speech on State Rights and Union, 1834._)

I know of no system, ancient or modern, to be compared with it; and can compare it to nothing but that sublime and beautiful system of which our globe constitutes a part, and to which it bears, in many

## particulars, so striking a resemblance.

DEFENCE OF NULLIFICATION.

(_From a Speech against the Force Bill, after the State of South Carolina had passed the Ordinance of Nullification, 1833._)

A deep constitutional question lies at the bottom of the controversy. The real question at issue is, Has the government a right to impose burdens on the capital and industry of one portion of the country, not with a view to revenue, but to benefit another? and I must be permitted to say that after a long and deep agitation of this controversy, it is with surprise that I perceive so strong a disposition to misrepresent its real character. To correct the impression which those misrepresentations are calculated to make, I will dwell on the point under consideration a few moments longer.

The Federal Government has, by an express provision of the Constitution, the right to lay duties on imports. The state never denied or resisted this right, nor even thought of so doing. The government has, however, not been contented with exercising this power as she had a right to do, but has gone a step beyond it, by laying imposts, not for revenue, but for protection. This the state considers as an unconstitutional exercise of power, highly injurious and oppressive to her and the other staple states, and has accordingly, met it with the most determined resistance. I do not intend to enter, at this time, into the argument as to the unconstitutionality of the protective system. It is not necessary. It is sufficient that the power is nowhere granted; and that, from the journals of the Convention which formed the Constitution, it would seem that it was refused. In support of the journals, I might cite the statement of Luther Martin, which has already been referred to, to show that the Convention, so far from conferring the power on the Federal Government, left to the state the right to impose duties on imports, with the express view of enabling the several states to protect their own manufactures. Notwithstanding this, Congress has assumed, without any warrant from the Constitution, the right of exercising this most important power, and has so exercised it as to impose a ruinous burden on the labor and capital of the state of South Carolina, by which her resources are exhausted, the enjoyments of her citizens curtailed, the means of education contracted, and all her interests essentially and injuriously affected.

We have been sneeringly told that she is a small state; that her population does not exceed half a million of souls; and that more than one half are not of the European race. The facts are so. I know she never can be a great state, and that the only distinction to which she can aspire must be based on the moral and intellectual acquirements of her sons. To the development of these much of her attention has been directed; but this restrictive system, which has so unjustly exacted the proceeds of her labor, to be bestowed on other sections, has so impaired the resources of the state, that, if not speedily arrested, it will dry up the means of education, and with it deprive her of the only source through which she can aspire to distinction. . . . .

The people of the state believe that the Union is a union of states, and not of individuals; that it was formed by the states, and that the citizens of the several states were bound to it through the acts of their several states; that each state ratified the Constitution for itself; and that it was only by such ratification of a state that any obligation was imposed upon the citizens; thus believing, it is the opinion of the people of Carolina, that it belongs to the state which has imposed the obligation to declare, in the last resort, the extent of this obligation, so far as her citizens are concerned; and this upon the plain principles which exist in all analogous cases of compact between sovereign bodies. On this principle, the people of the state, acting in their sovereign capacity in convention, precisely as they adopted their own and the federal Constitution, have declared by the ordinance, that the acts of Congress which imposed duties under the authority to lay imposts, are acts, not for revenue, as intended by the Constitution, but for protection, and therefore null and void.

[Mr. Calhoun's biographer, Mr. Jenkins, adds, "Nullification, it has been said, was 'a little hurricane while it lasted;' but it cooled the air, and 'left a beneficial effect on the atmosphere.' Its influence was decidedly healthful."]

THE WISE CHOICE.

(_From a speech in 1816._)

This country is now in a situation similar to that which one of the most beautiful writers of antiquity ascribes to Hercules in his youth. He represents the hero as retiring into the wilderness to deliberate on the course of life which he ought to choose. Two goddesses approach him; one recommending a life of ease and pleasure; the other, of labor and virtue. The hero adopts the counsel of the latter, and his fame and glory are known to the world. May this country, the youthful Hercules, possessing his form and muscles, be animated by similar sentiments, and follow his example!

OFFICIAL PATRONAGE.

(_Speech in the Senate, 1835._)

Their object is to get and hold office; and their leading political maxim . . . is that, "to the victors belong the spoils of victory!"[8] . . . Can any one, who will duly reflect on these things, venture to say that all is sound, and that our Government is not undergoing a great and fatal change? Let us not deceive ourselves, the very essence of a free government consists in considering _offices as public trusts_, bestowed for the good of the country, and not for the benefit of an individual or a party; and that system of political morals which regards offices in a different light, as _public prizes_ to be won by combatants most skilled in all the arts and corruption of political tactics, and to be used and enjoyed as their proper spoils--strikes a fatal blow at the very vitals of free institutions.

FOOTNOTE:

[8] William L. Marcy of New York, in the Senate, 1831.

NATHANIEL BEVERLEY TUCKER.

~1784=1851.~

BEVERLEY TUCKER, as he is usually known, was the son St. George Tucker and half-brother to John Randolph of Roanoke. He was born at Williamsburg, Virginia, educated at William and Mary College, and studied law. From 1815 to 1830 he lived in Missouri and practiced his profession with great success. He returned to Virginia, and became in 1834 professor of Law in William and Mary College, filling that position until his death. By his public writings and by correspondence with various prominent men, he took a leading part in the political movements of his times.

WORKS.

The Partisan Leader, a Tale of the Future, by William Edward Sydney. George Balcombe, [a novel.] Life of John Randolph, [his half-brother.] Essays, [in Southern Literary Messenger.] Political Science. Principles of Pleading.

Of Judge Tucker's style, his friend, Wm. Gilmore Simms, with whom he long corresponded, says: "I regard him as one of the best prose writers of the United States."

His novel, "The Partisan Leader," made a great sensation. It was published in 1836; the story was laid in 1849, and described prophetically almost the exact course of events in 1861. It was suppressed for political reasons, but was reprinted in 1861 as a "Key to the Disunion Conspiracy." The extract is from the beginning of the book and introduces us at once to several interesting characters amid the wild scenery of our mountains.

THE PARTISAN LEADER, (WRITTEN IN 1836).

[The scene is laid in Virginia, near the close of the year 1849. By a long series of encroachments by the federal government on the rights and powers of the states, our federative system is supposed to be destroyed, and a consolidated government, with the forms of a republic and the powers of a monarchy, to be established on its ruins. . . . . . As a mere political speculation, it is but too probably correct. We trust that a benign Providence will so order events as that it may not prove also a POLITICAL PROPHECY.--Sou. Lit. Messenger, Jan., 1837.]

Toward the latter end of the month of October, 1849, about the hour of noon, a horseman was seen ascending a narrow valley at the Eastern foot of the Blue Ridge. His road nearly followed the course of a small stream, which, issuing from a deep gorge of the mountain, winds its way between lofty hills, and terminates its brief and brawling course in one of the larger tributaries of the Dan. A glance of the eye took in the whole of the little settlement that lined its banks, and measured the resources of its inhabitants. The different tenements were so near to each other as to allow but a small patch of arable land to each. Of manufactures there was no appearance, save only a rude shed at the entrance of the valley, on the door of which the oft-repeated brand of the horseshoe gave token of a smithy. There, too, the rivulet, increased by the innumerable springs which afforded to every habitation the unappreciated, but inappreciable luxury of water, cold, clear, and sparkling, had gathered strength enough to turn a tiny mill. Of trade there could be none. The bleak and rugged barrier, which closed the scene on the west, and the narrow road, fading to a foot-path, gave assurance to the traveller that he had here reached the _ne plus ultra_ of social life in that direction. . . . . At length he heard a sound of voices, and then a shrill whistle, and all was still. Immediately, some half a dozen men, leaping a fence, ranged themselves across the road and faced him. He observed that each, as he touched the ground, laid hold of a rifle that leaned against the enclosure, and this circumstance drew his attention to twenty or more of these formidable weapons, ranged along in the same position. . . . As the traveller drew up his horse, one of the men, speaking in a low and quiet tone, said, "We want a word with you, stranger, before you go any farther."

"As many as you please," replied the other, "for I am tired and hungry, and so is my horse; and I am glad to find some one at last, of whom I may hope to purchase something for both of us to eat."

"_That_ you can have quite handy," said the countryman, "for we have been gathering corn, and were just going to our dinner. If you will only just 'light, sir, one of the boys can feed your horse, and you can take such as we have got to give you."

The invitation was accepted; the horse was taken in charge by a long-legged lad of fifteen, without hat or shoes; and the whole party crossed the fence together.

At the moment a man was seen advancing toward them, who, observing their approach, fell back a few steps, and threw himself on the ground at the foot of a large old apple-tree. Around this were clustered a motley group of men, women, and boys, who opened and made way for the stranger. He advanced, and bowing gracefully took off his forage cap, from beneath which a quantity of soft curling flaxen hair fell over his brow and cheeks. Every eye was now fixed on him, with an expression rather of interest than of mere curiosity. Every countenance was serious and composed, and all wore an air of business, except that a slight titter was heard among the girls, who, hovering behind the backs of their mothers, peeped through the crowd, to get a look at the handsome stranger. . . . .

As the youth approached, the man at the foot of the tree arose, and returned the salutation, which seemed unheeded by the rest. He advanced a step or two and invited the stranger to be seated. This

## action, and the looks turned towards him by the others, showed that he

was in authority of some sort among them. With him, therefore, our traveller concluded that the proposed conference was to be held. . . . . . . . . .

He was at length asked whence he came, and answered, from the neighborhood of Richmond.--From which side of the river?--From the north side.--Did he know anything of Van Courtlandt?--His camp was at Bacon's branch, just above the town.--What force had he?

"I cannot say, certainly," he replied, "but common fame made his numbers about four thousand."

"Is that all, on both sides of the river?" said his interrogator.

"O, no! Col. Loyal's regiment is at Petersburg, and Col. Cole's at Manchester; each about five hundred strong; and there is a piquet on the Bridge Island."

"Did you cross there?"

"I did not."

"Where, then?" he was asked.

"I can hardly tell you," he replied, "it was at a private ford, several miles above Cartersville."

"Was not that mightily out of the way? What made you come so far around?"

"It was safer travelling on that side of the river."

"Then the people on that side of the river are your friends?"

"No. They are not. But, as they are all of a color there, they would let me pass, and ask no questions, as long as I travelled due west. On this side, if you are one man's friend, you are the next man's enemy; and I had no mind to answer questions."

"You seem to answer them now mighty freely."

"That is true. I am like a letter that tells all it knows as soon as it gets to the right hand; but it does not want to be opened before that."

"And how do you know that you have got to the right hand now?"

"Because I know where I am."

"And where are you?"

"Just at the foot of the Devil's-Backbone," replied the youth.

"Were you ever here before?"

"Never in my life."

"How do you know then where you are?" asked the mountaineer.

"Because the right way to avoid questions is to ask none. So I took care to know all about the road, and the country, and the place, before I left home."

"And who told you all about it?"

"Suppose I should tell you," answered the young man, "that Van Courtlandt had a map of the country made, and gave it to me."

"I should say you were a traitor to him, or a spy upon us," was the stern reply.

At the same moment, a startled hum was heard from the crowd, and the press moved and swayed for an instant, as if a sort of spasm had pervaded the whole mass.

"You are a good hand at questioning," said the youth, with a smile, "but without asking a single question, I have found out all I wanted to know."

"And what was that?" asked the other.

"Whether you were friends to the Yorkers and Yankees, or to poor old Virginia."

"And which _are_ we for?" added the laconic mountaineer.

"For _old Virginia forever_," replied the youth. . . . . It was echoed in a shout, . . . . their proud war-cry of "_old Virginia forever_."

DAVID CROCKETT.

~1786=1836.~

This renowned hunter and pioneer, commonly called Davy Crockett, was born in Limestone, Green County, Tennessee. His free and wild youth was spent in hunting. He became a soldier in the war of 1812: he was elected to the Tennessee Legislature in 1821 and 1823, and to Congress in 1829 and 1833. His eccentricity of manners, his lack of education, and his strong common sense and shrewdness made him a marked figure, especially in Washington. In 1835 he went to Texas to aid in the struggle for independence; and in 1836, was massacred by General Santa Anna, with five other prisoners, after the surrender of the Alamo, these six being the only survivors of a band of one hundred and forty Texans. See Life by Edward S. Ellis.

WORKS.

Autobiography. A Tour to the North and Down East. Life of Van Buren, Heir-Apparent to the Government.

Crockett's autobiography was written to correct various mistakes in an unauthorized account of his life and adventures, that was largely circulated. His books are unique in literature as he is in human nature, and they give us an original account of things. As to literary criticism of his works and style, see his own opinion in the extract below.

SPELLING AND GRAMMAR--HIS PROLOGUE.

(_From A Narrative of the Life of David Crockett, of the State of Tennessee. Written by Himself. 1834._)

[Illustration: ~Alamo, San Antonio, Texas.~]

I don't know of anything in my book to be criticised on by honourable men. Is it on my spelling?--that's not my trade. Is it on my grammar?--I hadn't time to learn it, and make no pretensions to it. Is it on the order and arrangement of my book?--I never wrote one before, and never read very many; and, of course, know mighty little about that. Will it be on the authorship of the book?--this I claim, and I'll hang on to it, like a wax plaster. The whole book is my own, and every sentiment and sentence in it. I would not be such a fool, or knave either, as to deny that I have had it hastily run over by a friend or so, and that some little alterations have been made in the spelling and grammar; and I am not so sure that it is not the worse of even that, for I despise this way of spelling contrary to nature. And as for grammar, it's pretty much a thing of nothing at last, after all the fuss that's made about it. In some places, I wouldn't suffer either the spelling, or grammar, or anything else to be touch'd; and therefore it will be found in my own way.

But if anybody complains that I have had it looked over, I can only say to him, her, or them--as the case may be--that while critics were learning grammar, and learning to spell, I, and "Doctor Jackson, L. L. D." were fighting in the wars; and if our books, and messages, and proclamations, and cabinet writings, and so forth, and so on, should need a little looking over, and a little correcting of the spelling and grammar to make them fit for use, it's just nobody's business. Big men have more important matters to attend to than crossing their _t's_ and dotting their _i's_--, and such like small things.

ON A BEAR HUNT.

(_From the Life of David Crockett. Written by Himself. 1834._)

It was mighty dark, and was difficult to see my way or anything else. When I got up the hill, I found I had passed the dogs, and so I turned and went to them. I found, when I got there, they had treed the bear in a large forked poplar, and it was setting in the fork. I could see the lump, but not plain enough to shoot with any certainty, as there was no moonlight; and so I set in to hunting for some dry brush to make me a light; but I could find none.

At last I thought I could shoot by guess, and kill him; so I pointed as near the lump as I could, and fired away. But the bear didn't come; he only clomb up higher, and got out on a limb, which helped me to see him better. I now loaded up again and fired, but this time he didn't move at all. I commenced loading for a third fire, but the first thing I knowed the bear was down among my dogs, and they were fighting all around me. I had my big butcher in my belt, and I had a pair of dressed buckskin breeches on. So I took out my knife, and stood, determined, if he should get hold of me, to defend myself in the best way I could. I stood there for some time, and could now and then see a white dog I had, but the rest of them, and the bear, which were dark coloured, I couldn't see at all, it was so miserable dark. They still fought around me, and sometimes within three feet of me; but, at last, the bear got down into one of the cracks that the earthquake had made in the ground, about four feet deep, and I could tell the biting end of him by the hollering of my dogs. So I took my gun and pushed the muzzle of it about, till I thought I had it against the main part of his body, and fired; but it happened to be only the fleshy part of his foreleg. With this, I jumped out of the crack, and he and the dogs had another hard fight around me, as before. At last, however, they forced him back into the crack again, as he was when I had shot. . .

I made a lounge with my long knife, and fortunately stuck him right through the heart; at which he just sank down, and I crawled out in a hurry. In a little while my dogs all come out too, and seemed satisfied, which was the way they always had of telling me that they had finished him. . . . . . . .

We prepared for resting that night, and I can a-sure the reader I was in need of it. We had laid down by our fire, and about ten o'clock there came a most terrible earthquake, which shook the earth so, that we were rocked about like we had been in a cradle. We were very much alarmed; for though we were accustomed to feel earthquakes, we were now right in the region which had been torn to pieces by them in 1812, and we thought it might take a notion and swallow us up, like the big fish did Jonah.

In the morning we packed up and moved to the harricane, where we made another camp, and turned out that evening and killed a very large bear, which made _eight_ we had now killed in this hunt.

The next morning we entered the harricane again, and in little or no time my dogs were in full cry. We pursued them, and soon came to a thick cane-brake in which they had stopp'd their bear. We got up close to him, as the cane was so thick that we couldn't see more than a few feet. Here I made my friend hold the cane a little open with his gun till I shot the bear, which was a mighty large one. I killed him dead in his tracks. We got him out and butchered him, and in a little time started another and killed him, which now made ten we had killed and we know'd we couldn't pack any more home, as we had only five horses along; therefore we returned to the camp and salted up all our meat, to be ready for a start homeward next morning.

The morning came and we packed our horses with the meat, and had as much as they could possibly carry, and sure enough cut out for home. It was about thirty miles, and we reached home the second day. I . . . had killed in all, up to that time, fifty-eight bears, during the fall and winter.

As soon as the time came for them to quit their houses and come out again in the spring, I took a notion to hunt a little more, and in about one month I had killed forty-seven more, which made one hundred and five bears I had killed in less than one year from that time. . . .

Motto.--Be sure you are right--then go ahead.

RICHARD HENRY WILDE.

~1789=1847.~

RICHARD HENRY WILDE was a native of Ireland but was brought to this country when a child of nine. His father died in 1802 and the widowed mother took up her residence in Augusta, Georgia. He studied law and became a successful practitioner. He was Attorney-General of the State, and served also in the Legislature and in Congress. He spent the years 1834-40 in Europe studying chiefly Italian literature; in his researches he discovered some old documents relating to Dante and a portrait of him painted by Giotto on a wall which had become covered over with whitewash. On his return to America he settled in New Orleans and became professor of Law in the University of Louisiana. He died there of yellow fever.

He began an epic poem, suggested by the life and adventures of his brother, James Wilde, in the Seminole war. But it was never finished: all that remains of it now is the fine lyric, "My Life is Like the Summer Rose." This song was translated by Anthony Barclay into Greek and announced to be a newly discovered ode of Alcaeus. This claim was soon disproved by the scholars, and to Mr. Wilde was given his due meed of poetic authorship. It appears in Stedman's "Library of American Literature," as dedicated to Mrs. White-Beatty, daughter of Gen. John Adair, of Ky., the beautiful "Florida White" of "Casa Bianca," Florida.--See Life, Labors, and Grave of Wilde, by C. C. Jones, Jr.

WORKS.

Conjectures and Researches concerning the Love, Madness, and Imprisonment of Tasso, (containing translations of poems.) Petrarch. Poems, original and translated. Life of Dante, [unfinished.] Hesperia.

MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE.

My life is like the summer rose, That opens to the morning sky, And ere the shades of evening close, Is scattered on the ground to die; Yet on that rose's humble bed The sweetest dews of night are shed As though she wept such waste to see; But none shall weep a tear for me!

My life is like the autumn leaf Which trembles in the moon's pale ray, Its hold is frail, its date is brief, Restless, and soon to pass away; Yet when that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shade, The wind bewail the leafless tree; But none shall breathe a sigh for me!

My life is like the prints which feet Have left on Tampa's desert strand, Soon as the rising tide shall beat Their trace will vanish from the sand; Yet still as grieving to efface All vestige of the human race, On that lone shore loud moans the sea; But none, alas! shall mourn for me!

AUGUSTUS BALDWIN LONGSTREET.

~1790=1870.~

AUGUSTUS BALDWIN LONGSTREET was born in Augusta, Georgia. He became first a lawyer and was elected to the State Legislature in 1821 and judge of the Superior Court in 1822. Later he became a clergyman in the Methodist Church and president of Emory College, Georgia, being afterwards successively president of Centenary College, Louisiana, of the University of Mississippi, and of South Carolina College.

His best-known book, "Georgia Scenes," seems in his later days to have troubled his conscience and he tried to suppress it entirely. But sketches so amusing and so true to life would not be suppressed. See Sketch in Miss Rutherford's American Authors, (Atlanta).

WORKS.

Essays and Articles in various magazines. Letters to Clergymen of the Northern Methodist Church. Letters from Georgia to Massachusetts. Georgia Scenes, Characters, Incidents, in First Half Century of the Republic, by a Native Georgian. Master William Mitten.

NED BRACE AT CHURCH.

(_From Georgia Scenes, first edition, 1835._[9])

[Ned Brace was a real personage, Judge Edmund Bacon, born in Virginia, 1776, lived in Edgefield, South Carolina, and died there in 1826. He was of very social, hospitable nature, a practical joker, and, as Dr. Maxcy called him, "a perfect Garrick" in his conversation. He was a lawyer of great ability, and when very young and a student at Augusta he was appointed to deliver an address of welcome to Washington on his Southern tour. If the following anecdotes are not true, they might well have been, as Judge Longstreet says.]

This being the Sabbath, at the usual hour Ned went to Church, and selected for his morning service one of those Churches in which the pews are free, and in which the hymn is given out and sung by the congregation, a half recitative.

Ned entered the Church, in as fast a walk as he could possibly assume; proceeded about half down the aisle, and popped himself down in his seat as quick as if he had been shot. The more thoughtless of the congregation began to titter, and the graver peeped up slily, but solemnly at him.

The pastor rose, and, before giving out the hymn, observed that _singing_ was a part of the service, in which he thought the whole congregation ought to join. Thus saying, he gave out the first lines of the hymn. As soon as the tune was raised, Ned struck in, with one of the loudest, hoarsest, and most discordant voices that ever annoyed a solemn assembly.

"I would observe," said the preacher, before giving out the next two lines, "that there are some people who have not the gift of singing; such, of course, are not expected to sing."

Ned took the hint and sang no more; but his entrance into church, and his entrance into the hymn, had already dispersed the solemnity of three fifths of the congregation.

As soon as the pastor commenced his sermon, Ned opened his eyes, threw back his head, dropt his under jaw, and surrendered himself to the most intense interest. The preacher was an indifferent one; and by as much as he became dull and insipid, by so much did Ned become absorbed in his discourse. And yet it was impossible for the nicest observer to detect anything in his looks or manner, short of the most solemn devotion. The effect which his conduct had upon the congregation, and their subsequent remarks, must be left to the imagination of the reader. I give but one remark: "Bless that good man who came in the church so quick," said a venerable matron as she left the church door, "how he was affected by the _sarment_."

Ned went to church no more on that day. About four o'clock in the afternoon, while he was standing at the tavern door, a funeral procession passed by, at the foot of which, and singly, walked one of the smallest men I ever saw. As soon as he came opposite the door, Ned stepped out and joined him with great solemnity. The contrast between the two was ludicrously striking, and the little man's looks and uneasiness plainly showed that he felt it. However, he soon became reconciled to it. They proceeded but a little way before Ned inquired of his companion who was dead.

"Mr. Noah Bills," said the little man.

"Nan?" said Ned, raising his hand to his ear in token of deafness, and bending his head to the speaker.

"Mr. Noah Bills," repeated the little man, loud enough to disturb the two couples immediately before him.

"Mrs. Noel's Bill!" said Ned with mortification and astonishment. "Do the white persons pay such respect to niggers in Savannah? _I_ sha'n't do it." So saying, he left the procession.

The little man was at first considerably nettled; but upon being left to his own reflections, he got into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, as did the couple immediately in advance of him, who overheard Ned's remark. The procession now exhibited a most mortifying spectacle--the head of it in mourning and in tears, and the foot of it convulsed with laughter.

A SAGE CONVERSATION.

(_From Georgia Scenes, first edition, 1835._)

[Three old women over their pipes.]

_Mrs. Shad._--The old man likes a joke yet right well, the old man does; but he's a mighty good man, and I think he prays with greater libity, than most any one of his age I most ever seed,--don't you think he does, Mis' Reed?

_Mrs. Reed._--Powerful.

_Mrs. Barney._.--Who did he marry?

_Mrs. Shad._--Why, he married--stop, I'll tell you directly--Why, what does make my old head forget so?

_Mrs. Barney._--Well, it seems to me I don't remember like I used to. Didn't he marry a Ramsbottom?

_Mrs. Reed._--No. Stay, I'll tell you who he married presently. Oh, stay! Why I'll tell you who he married! He married old daddy Johnny Hooer's da'ter, Mournin'.

_Mrs. Shad._--Why, la! messy on me, so he did!

_Mrs. Barney._--Why, did he marry a Hooer?

_Mrs. Shad._--Why, to be sure he did.--You knew Mournin'.

_Mrs. Barney._--Oh, mighty well; but I'd forgot that brother Smith married her. I really thought he married a Ramsbottom.

_Mrs. Reed._--Oh no, bless your soul, honey, he married Mournin'.

_Mrs. Barney._--Well, the law me, I'm clear beat!

_Mrs. Shad._--Oh, it's so, you may be sure it is.

_Mrs. Barney._--Emph, emph, emph, emph! And brother Smith married Mournin' Hooer! Well, I'm clear put out! Seems to me I'm gettin' mighty forgetful somehow.

_Mrs. Shad._--Oh yes, he married Mournin', and I saw her when she joined society.

_Mrs. Barney._--Why, you don't tell me so!

_Mrs. Shad._--Oh, it's the truth. She didn't join till after she was married, and the church took on mightily about his marrying one out of society. But after she joined, they all got satisfied.

_Mrs. Reed._--Why, la! me, the seven stars is 'way over here!

_Mrs. Barney._--Well, let's light our pipes, and take a short smoke, and go to bed. How did you come on raisin' chickens this year, Mis' Shad?

_Mrs. Shad._--La messy, honey! I have had mighty bad luck. I had the prettiest pa'sel you most ever seed, till the varment took to killin' 'em.

_Mrs. Reed and Mrs. Barney._--The varment!!

_Mrs. Shad._--Oh, dear, yes. The hawk catched a powerful sight of them; and then the varment took to 'em, and nat'ly took 'em fore and aft, bodily, till they left most none at all hardly. Sucky counted 'em up t'other day, and there warn't but thirty-nine, she said, countin' in the old speckle hen's chickens that jist come off her nest.

_Mrs. Reed and Mrs. Barney._--Humph--h--h!

_Mrs. Reed._--Well, I've had bad luck, too. Billy's hound-dogs broke up most all my nests.

_Mrs. Barney._--Well, so they did me, Mis' Reed. I always did despise a hound-dog upon the face of yea'th.

_Mrs. Reed._--Oh, they are the bawllinest, squallinest, thievishest things ever was about one; but Billy will have 'em, and I think in my soul his old Troup's the beat of all creaters I ever seed in all my born days a-suckin' o' hen's eggs. He's clean most broke me up entirely.

_Mrs. Shad._--The lackaday!

_Mrs. Reed._--And them that was hatched out, some took to takin' the gaps, and some the pip, and one ailment or other, till they most all died. . . .

_Mrs. Barney._--I reckon they must have eat something didn't agree with them.

_Mrs. Reed._--No, they didn't, for I fed 'em every mornin' with my own hand.

_Mrs. Barney._--Well, it's mighty curious!

A short pause ensued, which was broken by Mrs. Barney with, "And brother Smith married Mournin' Hooer!"

FOOTNOTE:

[9] By special kindness of Mr. Charles Edgeworth Jones, Augusta, Ga.

ROBERT YOUNG HAYNE.

~1791=1839.~

ROBERT YOUNG HAYNE was born in St. Paul's Parish, Colleton District, South Carolina, and was educated in Charleston. He became a lawyer; he served in the war of 1812, and was in the State Legislature from 1814 to 1818. He was Attorney-General of the United States under President Monroe, and in 1823 was elected to the Senate. His most famous speech is that in the debate with Daniel Webster on the Right of Nullification.

South Carolina passed the ordinance of Nullification in November, 1832, elected Mr. Hayne governor, and when President Jackson issued a martial proclamation against her action, she prepared for war. Mr. Clay's Tariff Compromise prevented any outbreak.

Mr. Hayne died in Asheville, North Carolina, yet in the prime of life. See his Life by Paul Hamilton Hayne.

WORKS.

Speeches.

Mr. Hayne was one of the leaders in the stirring times in which he lived; the extract following gives an example of his bold, fearless eloquence, and his power in debate.

STATE SOVEREIGNTY AND LIBERTY.

(_From the Debate with Webster in the Senate, 1830._)

Sir, there have existed, in every age and in every country, two distinct orders of men--the _lovers of freedom_ and the devoted _advocates of power_.

The same great leading principles, modified only by the peculiarities of manners, habits, and institutions, divided parties in the ancient republics, animated the Whigs and Tories of Great Britain, distinguished in our own times the Liberals and Ultras of France, and may be traced even in the bloody struggles of unhappy Spain. Sir, when the gallant Riego, who devoted himself and all that he possessed to the liberties of his country, was dragged to the scaffold, followed by the tears and lamentations of every lover of freedom throughout the world, he perished amid the deafening cries of "Long live the absolute King!" The people whom I represent, Mr. President, are the descendants of those who brought with them to this country, as the most precious of their possessions, "an ardent love of liberty"; and while that shall be preserved, they will always be found manfully struggling against the consolidation of the Government as the worst of evils. . . . . .

The Senator from Massachusetts, in denouncing what he is pleased to call the Carolina doctrine, has attempted to throw ridicule upon the idea that a State has any constitutional remedy, by the exercise of its sovereign authority, against "a gross, palpable, and deliberate violation of the Constitution." He calls it "an idle" or "a ridiculous notion," or something to that effect, and added, that it would make the Union a "mere rope of sand." Now, sir, as the gentleman has not condescended to enter into any examination of the question, and has been satisfied with throwing the weight of his authority into the scale, I do not deem it necessary to do more than to throw into the opposite scale the authority on which South Carolina relies; and there, for the present, I am perfectly willing to leave the controversy. . . . . . . .

. . . The doctrine that it is the right of a State to judge of the violations of the Constitution on the part of the Federal Government, and to protect her citizens from the operations of unconstitutional laws, was held by the enlightened citizens of Boston, who assembled in Faneuil Hall, on the 25th of January, 1809. They state, in that celebrated memorial, that "they looked only to the State Legislature, which was competent to devise relief against the unconstitutional acts of the General Government. That your power (say they) is adequate to that object, is evident from the organization of the confederacy." . . . .

[Illustration: ~University of North Carolina.~]

Thus it will be seen, Mr. President, that the South Carolina doctrine is the Republican doctrine of '98,--that it was promulgated by the fathers of the faith,--that it was maintained by Virginia and Kentucky in the worst of times,--that it constituted the very pivot on which the political revolution of that day turned,--that it embraces the very principles, the triumph of which, at that time, saved the Constitution "at its last gasp," and which New England statesmen were not unwilling to adopt when they believed themselves to be the victims of unconstitutional legislation. Sir, as to the doctrine that the Federal Government is the exclusive judge of the extent as well as the limitations of its power, it seems to me to be utterly perversive of the sovereignty and independence of the States. It makes but little difference, in my estimation, whether Congress or the Supreme Court are invested with this power. If the Federal Government, in all, or any, of its departments, is to prescribe the limits of its own authority, and the States are bound to submit to the decision, and are not to be allowed to examine and decide when the barriers of the Constitution shall be overleaped, this is practically, "a government without limitation of powers." The States are at once reduced to mere petty corporations, and the people are entirely at your mercy. I have but one word more to add. In all the efforts that have been made by South Carolina to resist the unconstitutional laws which Congress has extended over her, she has kept steadily in view the preservation of the Union, by the only means by which she believes it can be long preserved--a firm, manly, and steady resistance against usurpation. . . . Sir, if, acting on these high motives,--if, animated by that ardent love of liberty, which has always been the most prominent trait in the Southern character, we should be hurried beyond the bounds of a cold and calculating prudence; who is there, with one noble and generous sentiment in his bosom, who would not be disposed, in the language of Burke, to exclaim, "You must pardon something to the spirit of liberty"?

SAM HOUSTON.

~1793=1863.~

GENERAL SAM HOUSTON, first President of Texas, was born in Rockbridge County, Virginia, but his widowed mother removed in his childhood to Tennessee and settled near the Cherokee Country. Here he was much with the Indians and was adopted by a chief named Oolooteka, who called him Coloneh (the Rover).

In 1813 he became a soldier in the Creek war and was almost fatally wounded at the battle of Tohopeka, or Horse-shoe Bend, Alabama. In 1818 he decided to study law and went to Nashville, where he became quite successful as a lawyer and soon received political honors, being elected member of Congress in 1823 and governor of Tennessee in 1827.

In 1829 he left Tennessee for the West, spent three years in Arkansas among the Cherokees who had emigrated thither, his old friend Oolooteka being one of them; and in 1832 went to Texas, with which State his after life is connected. He was made Commander-in-Chief of the Texan forces in the struggle for independence against Mexico, and by the battle of San Jacinto, 1836, he put an end to the war, and in the same year he was elected first President of the Republic of Texas. He was elected again in 1841 after Lamar's administration; and when in 1845 Texas became a State in the Union, he entered the United States Senate where he served until 1859. He was governor of Texas from 1859 to 1861 and then retired to private life. He is buried at Huntsville.

He was ever a warm friend to the Indians; he was opposed to secession, and took little interest and no part in the Confederate war, except by allowing his oldest son to enter its service.

His life by Rev. Wm. Carey Crane, President of Baylor University, gives a graphic account of a most interesting and independent character; and it contains also his literary remains, consisting of _State Papers_, _Indian Talks_, _Letters_, and _Speeches_.

CAUSE OF THE TEXAN WAR OF INDEPENDENCE.

(_From a Letter to Santa Anna, 1842._)

The people of Texas were invited to migrate to this country for the purpose of enjoying equal rights and constitutional liberty. They were promised the shield of the Constitution of 1824, adopted by Mexico. Confiding in this pledge, they removed to the country to encounter all the privations of a wilderness, under the alluring promises of free institutions. Other reasons operated also. Citizens of the United States had engaged in the revolution of Mexico, in 1812. They fought gallantly in the achievement of Mexican independence, and many of them survive, and to this day occupy the soil which their privations and valor assisted in achieving. On their removal here, they brought with them no aspirations or projects but such as were loyal to the Constitution of Mexico. They repelled the Indian savages; they encountered every discomfort; they subdued the wilderness, and converted into cultivated fields the idle waste of this now prolific territory. Their courage and enterprise achieved that which the imbecility of your countrymen had either neglected, or left for centuries unaccomplished. Their situation, however, was not disregarded by Mexico, though she did not, as might have been expected, extend to them a protecting and fostering care, but viewed them as objects of cupidity, rapacity, and at last jealousy.

The Texans, enduring the annoyances and oppressions inflicted upon them, remained faithful to the Constitution of Mexico. In 1832, when an attempt was made to destroy that Constitution, and when you, sir, threw yourself forward as its avowed champion, you were sustained with all the fidelity and valor that freemen could contribute. On the avowal of your principles, and in accordance with them, the people put down the serviles of despotism at Anahuac, Velasco, and Nacogdoches. They treated the captives of that struggle with humanity, and sent them to Mexico subject to your orders. They regarded you as the friend of liberty and free institutions; they hailed you as a benefactor of mankind; your name and your actions were lauded, and the manifestations you had given in behalf of the nation were themes of satisfaction and delight to the Texan patriots.

You can well imagine the transition of feeling which ensued on your accession to power. Your subversion of the Constitution of 1824, your establishment of centralism, your conquest of Zacatecas, characterized by every act of violence, cruelty, and rapine, inflicted upon us the profoundest astonishment. We realized all the uncertainty of men awakening to reality from the unconsciousness of delirium. In succession came your orders for the Texans to surrender their private arms. The mask was thrown aside and the monster of despotism displayed in all the habiliments of loathsome detestation.

There was presented to Texans the alternative of tamely crouching to the tyrant's lash, or exalting themselves to the attributes of freemen. They chose the latter. To chastise them for their presumption induced your advance upon Texas, with your boasted veteran army, mustering a force nearly equal to the whole population of this country at that time. You besieged and took the Alamo: but under what circumstances? Not those, surely, which should characterize a general of the nineteenth century. You assailed one hundred and fifty men, destitute of every supply requisite for the defence of that place. Its brave defenders, worn by vigilance and duty beyond the power of human nature to sustain, were at length overwhelmed by a force of nine thousand men, and the place taken. I ask you, sir, what scenes followed? Were they such as should characterize an able general, a magnanimous warrior, and the President of a great nation numbering eight millions of souls? No. Manliness and generosity would sicken at the recital of the scenes incident to your success, and humanity itself would blush to class you among the chivalric spirits of the age of vandalism.[10] This you have been pleased to class as in the "succession of your victories;" and I presume you would next include the massacre at Goliad.

Your triumph there, if such you are pleased to term it, was not the triumph of arms--it was the success of perfidy. Fannin and his brave companions had beaten back and defied your veteran soldiers. Although outnumbered more than seven to one, their valiant, hearty, and indomitable courage, with holy devotion to the cause of freedom, foiled every effort directed by your general to insure his success by arms. He had recourse to a flag of truce; and when the surrender of the little patriot band was secured by the most solemn treaty stipulations, what were the tragic scenes that ensued to Mexican perfidy? The conditions of surrender were submitted to you; and, though you have denied the facts, instead of restoring them to liberty, according to the capitulation, you ordered them to be executed contrary to every pledge given them, contrary to the rules of war, and contrary to every principle of humanity.

BATTLE OF SAN JACINTO.

(_From General Houston's Report to Hon. D. G. Burnet, Provisional President of the Republic of Texas, April 25, 1836._)

I have the honor to inform you that on the evening of the eighteenth instant, after a forced march of fifty-five miles, which was effected in two days and a half, the army arrived opposite Harrisburg. That evening a courier of the enemy was taken, from whom I learned that General Santa Anna, with one division of his choice troops, had marched in the direction of Lynch's Ferry, on the San Jacinto, burning Harrisburg as he passed down. The army was ordered to be in readiness to march early on the next morning. The main body effected a crossing over Buffalo Bayou, below Harrisburg, on the morning of the 19th, having left the baggage, the sick, and a sufficient camp guard in the rear. We continued the march throughout the night, making but one halt in the prairie for a short time, and without refreshment.

At daylight we resumed the line of march, and in a short distance our scouts encountered those of the enemy, and we received information that General Santa Anna was at New Washington, and would that day take up the line of march for Anahuac, crossing at Lynch's Ferry. The Texan army halted within half a mile of the ferry in some timber, and were engaged in slaughtering beeves, when the army of Santa Anna was discovered to be approaching in battle array, having been encamped at Clopper's Point, eight miles below. Disposition was immediately made of our forces, and preparation for his reception. He took a position with his infantry and artillery in the centre, occupying an island of timber, his cavalry covering the left flank.

The artillery, consisting of one double fortified medium brass twelve-pounder, then opened on our encampment. The infantry in column advanced with the design of charging our lines, but were repulsed by a discharge of grape and canister from our artillery, consisting of two six-pounders, [called "The Twin Sisters."] The enemy had occupied a piece of timber within rifle-shot of the left wing of our army, from which an occasional interchange of small arms took place between the troops, until the enemy withdrew to a position on the bank of the San Jacinto, about three-quarters of a mile from our encampment, and commenced fortification. . . . . . .

About nine o'clock on the morning of the 21st, the enemy were reinforced by 500 choice troops, under the command of General Cos, increasing their effective force to upwards of 1,500 men, whilst our aggregate force for the field numbered 783. At half-past three o'clock in the evening, I ordered the officers of the Texan army to parade their respective commands, having in the meantime ordered the bridge on the only road communicating with the Brazos, distant eight miles from our encampment, to be destroyed, thus cutting off all possibility of escape. Our troops paraded with alacrity and spirit, and were anxious for the conflict. Their conscious disparity in numbers seemed only to increase their enthusiasm and confidence, and heightened their anxiety for the conflict. . . . . . .

Col. Sherman, with his regiment, having commenced the action upon our left wing, the whole line, at the centre and on the right, advancing in double-quick time, rung the war-cry, "_Remember the Alamo!_" received the enemy's fire, and advanced within point-blank shot before a piece was fired from our lines. Our line advanced without a halt, until they were in possession of the woodland and the enemy's breastwork, the right wing of Burleson's and the left wing of Millard's taking possession of the breastwork; our Artillery having gallantly charged up within seventy yards of the enemy's cannon, when it was taken by our troops.

The conflict lasted about eighteen minutes from the time of close

## action until we were in possession of the enemy's encampment, taking

one piece of cannon (loaded), four stands of colors, all their camp equipage, stores, and baggage. Our cavalry had charged and routed that of the enemy upon the right, and given pursuit to the fugitives, which did not cease until they arrived at the bridge which I have mentioned before--Captain Karnes, always among the foremost in danger, commanding the pursuers. The conflict in the breastwork lasted but a few moments; many of the troops encountered hand to hand, and not having the advantage of bayonets on our side, our riflemen used their pieces as war-clubs, breaking many of them off at the breech. The rout commenced at half-past four, and the pursuit by the main army continued until twilight. . . .

[In this battle General Houston himself was severely wounded, one ball shattering his ankle. After this, "the battalion of Texan infantry was gallantly charged by a Mexican division of infantry, composed of more than five hundred men. . . . The Commander-in-Chief, observing the peril, dashed between the Texan and Mexican infantry, and exclaimed, 'Come on, my brave fellows, your General leads you.' . . . The order to fire was given by Gen. Houston, . . . a single discharge, a rush through the smoke, cleaving blows of rifles uplifted struck down those whom the bullets had not slain. Only thirty-two of the five hundred Mexicans survived to surrender as prisoners of war. Gen. Houston's wound in the ankle, meanwhile was bleeding profusely. His horse was dying, and with difficulty could stagger over the slain. Still the Commander-in-Chief witnessed every movement of his army, and as it rolled victoriously over the field, saw the tide of battle crowning his brave soldiers with unparalleled success."--See Crane's Life of Sam Houston.]

HOW TO DEAL WITH THE INDIANS.

(_From a speech on the Indian Policy of the Government, in the Senate, January, 1855._)

Sir, if the agent appointed by Mr. Polk, who has been restored by the present Executive--it is a bright spot in his Administration, and I commend him for it--had never been removed, there would have been peace to this day on the borders of Texas; but as soon as the Indian agent who was appointed to succeed him went there, he must forsooth establish a ranche; he must have a farm. The Indians who had been settled there from 1843 up to 1849, had been furnished by the Government of Texas with implements of husbandry, with seeds of every description, and they were cultivating their little farms. They were comfortable and independent. They were living in perfect peace. If you can get Indians located, and place their wives and children within your cognizance, you need never expect aggression from them. It is the Indian who has his wife in security beyond your reach, who, like the felon wolf, goes to a distance to prey on some flock, far removed from his den; or like the eagle, who seeks his prey from the distance, and never from the flocks about his eyrie.

The agent to whom I have referred lost two oxen from his ranche where he kept his cattle. He went to the officer in command of Fort Belknap, got a force from him, and then marched to those Indians, sixty miles from there, and told them they must pay for the oxen. They said, "We know nothing about your oxen; our people are here; here are our women and children; we have not killed them; we have not stolen them; we have enough to eat; we are happy; we have raised corn; we have sold corn; we have corn to sell; we have sold it to your people, and they have paid us for it, and we are happy." The agent and the military gentlemen scared off the Indians from the limits of Texas, and drove them across the Red River to the Wichita Mountains, taking every horse and animal they had to pay for the two oxen. This was done by an accredited agent of the Government, and by an officer who deserved but little credit. Are such things tolerable, and to be tolerated in the present age and condition of our Government?

What was the consequence? Those Indians felt themselves aggrieved. They saw that a new _régime_ had come; they had had the era of peace and plenty, and now they were expelled by a different influence. They felt grateful for the benign effects of the first policy toward them, and that only exasperated them to a greater extent against the second; and they began to make incursions, ready to take vengeance on any white man they might meet in their neighborhood, and slay whoever they might find. They made their forays from the opposite side of the Red River, from the Wichita Mountains, and came like an avalanche upon our unprotected citizens. There is one fact showing how your interference with the Indians within her limits has injured Texas. . . . . .

Well, sir, there is a remedy for all this, and it is very easy to apply it; but how are we circumstanced there? Is it supposed by some that we are deriving great aid from the army, and that the greatest portion of the disposable forces of the United States is in Texas, and protecting it? How can they protect us against the Indians when the cavalry have not horses which can trot faster than active oxen, and the infantry dare not go out in any hostile manner for fear of being shot and scalped! Can they pursue a party who pounce down on a settlement and take property, and reclaim that property? Have they ever done it? Did the old rangers of Texas ever fail to do it, when they were seated on their Texas ponies? They were men of intelligence and adroitness in regard to the Indian character and Indian warfare.

Do you think a man fit for such service who has been educated at West Point Academy, furnished with rich stores of learning; more educated in the science of war than any general who fought through the Revolution, and assisted in achieving our independence? Are you going to take such gentlemen, and suppose that by intuition they will understand the Indian character? Or do you suppose they can track a turkey, or a deer, in the grass of Texas, or could they track an Indian, or would they know whether they were tracking a wagon or a carriage? Not at all, sir.

We wish, in the first place, to have men suited to the circumstances. Give us agents who are capable of following out their instructions, and who understand the Indian character. Give us an army, gentlemen, who understand not only the science of command, but have some notions of extending justice and protection to the Indian, against the aggression of the whites, while they protect the whites against the aggressions from the Indians. Then, and not till then, will you have peace.

How is this to be done? Withdraw your army. Have five hundred cavalry, if you will; but I would rather have two hundred and fifty Texas rangers (such as I could raise), than five hundred of the best cavalry now in the service. . . . . . Cultivate intercourse with the Indians. Show them that you have comforts to exchange for their peltries; bring them around you; domesticate them; familiarize them with civilization. Let them see that you are rational beings, and they will become rational in imitation of you; but take no whiskey there at all, not even for the officers, for fear their generosity would let it out. . . . . . I would have fields around the trading houses. I would encourage the Indians to cultivate them. Let them see how much it adds to their comfort, how it insures to their wives and children abundant subsistence; and then you win the Indian over to civilization; you charm him, and he becomes a civilized man.

FOOTNOTE:

[10] Every one in the Alamo was massacred. The inscription there now is: "Thermopylæ had its messenger of defeat: the Alamo had none."

WILLIAM CAMPBELL PRESTON.

~1794=1860.~

WILLIAM CAMPBELL PRESTON was born in Philadelphia, being one of the Preston family of Virginia who afterwards went to South Carolina. He was educated at South Carolina College, being graduated in 1812, studied law under William Wirt, and later went to Edinburgh, where he had Hugh Swinton Legaré as fellow-student. He travelled in Europe with Washington Irving, and was introduced to Sir Walter Scott.

[Illustration: ~Old Plantation Home.~]

In the practice of law he was very successful, and he made a high reputation as a popular orator, even rivaling, it is said, his uncle, Patrick Henry. His style is abundant, classical, finished. He was in the State Legislature 1828-32, and in the United States Senate 1836-42.

From 1845 to 1851, he was president of his Alma Mater, South Carolina College, and during his office it rose to a high point of efficiency and became the most popular educational institution in the South.

WORKS.

Addresses.

As an example of Mr. Preston's simpler style and a description of the charming social life of Columbia--the spirit of which still lives and graces the capital of South Carolina--the following extract is given. It is from a newspaper article on the death of Mr. Preston's former law-partner, Col M'Cord, and is a noble tribute to him and to his distinguished wife, Mrs. Louisa S. M'Cord.

LITERARY SOCIETY IN COLUMBIA, 1825.

(_Written on the Death of Colonel David J. M'Cord, 1855._)

Many will bring tributes of sorrow, of kindness and affection, and relieve a heaving bosom by uttering words of praise and commendation; for in truth, during many years he has been the charm and delight of the society of Columbia, and of that society, too, when, in the estimation of all who knew it, it was the rarest aggregation of elegant, intellectual, and accomplished people that have ever been found assembled in our village. Thirty years since, amidst the sincere and unostentatious cordiality which characterized it, at a dinner party, for example, at Judge De Saussure's, eight or ten of his favorite associates wanted to do honor to some distinguished stranger--for such were never permitted to pass through the town without a tender of the hospitality of that venerable and elegant gentleman--whose prolonged life exhibited to another generation a pattern of old gentility, combined with a conscientious and effective performance of not only the smaller and more graceful duties of life, which he sweetened and adorned, but also of those graver and higher tasks which the confidence of his state imposed upon his talents and learning. To his elegant board naturally came the best and worthiest of the land. There was found, of equal age with the judge, that very remarkable man, Dr. Thomas Cooper, replete with all sorts of knowledge, a living encyclopædia,--"_Multum ille et terris jactatus et alto_"--good-tempered, joyous, and of a kindly disposition. There was Judge Nott, who brought into the social circle the keen, shrewd, and flashing intellect which distinguished him on the bench. There was Abram Blanding, a man of affairs, very eminent in his profession of the law, and of most interesting conversation. There was Professor Robert Henry, with his elegant, accurate, and classical scholarship. There were Judges Johnston and Harper, whom we all remember, and lament, and admire.

These gentlemen and others were called, in the course of a morning walk of the Chancellor, to meet at dinner, it might be, Mr. Calhoun, or Captain Basil Hall, or Washington Irving; and amongst these was sure to be found David J. M'Cord, with his genial vivacity, his multifarious knowledge, and his inexhaustible store of amusing and apposite anecdotes. He was the life and the pervading spirit of the circle,--in short, a general favorite. He was then in large practice at the bar, and publishing his Reports as State Reporter. His frank and fine manners were rendered the more attractive by an uncommonly beautiful physiognomy, which gave him the appearance of great youth.

M'Cord entered upon his profession in co-partnership with Henry Junius Nott; and when a year or two subsequently, this gentleman, following the bent of his inclination for literature, quitted the profession, Mr. M'Cord formed a connection with W. C. Preston,--thus introducing this gentleman, who had then but just come to Columbia, into practice. The business of the office was extensive, and the connexion continued until their diverging paths of life led them away from the profession. The association was cordial and uninterrupted throughout, whether professional or social; and the latter did not cease until the grave closed upon M'Cord. While in the law, however, although assiduously addicted to the study of it, his heart acknowledged a divided allegiance with literature; which he seemed to compromise at length by addicting himself to cognate studies--of political economy, the jural sciences, and political ethics.

When he left the bar, and retired from the more strenuous pursuits of life, he found occupation and delight in these favorite studies--stimulated and enhanced by the vigorous co-operation and warm sympathy of his highly accomplished wife, who not only participated in the taste for, but shared in the labors of, these studies--and amidst these congenial and participated pursuits the latter years of his life were passed. . . . . As his early life was amidst struggle and bustle--the _fumum strepitumque_ of the public arena--so his latter years were amidst the repose of an elegant and lettered retirement, in his well-cultivated fields and amongst his books. His last moments were solaced by the tender assiduities of his congenial helpmate, of his children, and of his old and long-familiar friends.

JOHN PENDLETON KENNEDY.

~1795=1870.~

JOHN PENDLETON KENNEDY was born in Baltimore, Maryland, and received an excellent early education. He studied law, and was much in public life; he filled a large place in his native city as a man of culture and a public-spirited citizen. He served in the State Assembly and in Congress, and was Secretary of the Navy under President Fillmore when several important expeditions took place, that of Perry to Japan, of Lynch to Africa, of Kane to the North Pole. Kennedy Channel was named in his honor by Dr. Kane.

He made several trips to Europe and while in Paris became well acquainted with Thackeray. "The Virginians" was appearing as a serial, and the printers needed a new chapter. Thackeray said to Kennedy, "I wish you would write one for me."--"Well," said Kennedy, "so I will if you will give me the run of the story." And he really wrote the fourth chapter of Vol. II., describing Warrington's escape and return home through the region about the Cumberland, which he knew well.

He drew up the plan of the Peabody Institute, and was one of the Trustees; to it he bequeathed his library and manuscripts, the latter not to be published till 1900. He aided Poe in his early literary life and was always his friend. He died at Newport, whither he had gone for his health, and was buried in Green Mount Cemetery, Baltimore. See Life by Tuckerman.

WORKS.

Essays in Red Book, [a satirical journal edited by him and Peter Hoffman Cruse]. Swallow Barn, [novel of Virginia life]. Horse-Shoe Robinson, Tale of Tory Ascendancy in South Carolina. Rob of the Bowl, a Legend of St. Inigoes. Annals of Quodlibet, [political satires]. Memoirs of the late William Wirt. Addresses, reports, &c.

Mr. Kennedy's writings were very popular during his life-time and deserve to be so still, for his three novels give graphic and excellent pictures of their times, and are true in their historical details, while his Memoirs of Wirt are quite as interesting. His "Cousin Lucretia's" remedy for chills was actually used by his grandmother, Mrs. Pendleton of Virginia (see Tuckerman's Life of Kennedy); and Horse-Shoe Robinson was a real hero of the Revolution whom Kennedy met in upper South Carolina, 1818.

A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN IN VIRGINIA.

(_From Swallow Barn._)

The master of this lordly domain is Frank Meriwether. He is now in the meridian of life--somewhere about forty-five. Good cheer and an easy temper tell well upon him. The first has given him a comfortable, portly figure, and the latter a contemplative turn of mind, which inclines him to be lazy and philosophical.

He has some right to pride himself on his personal appearance, for he has a handsome face, with a dark blue eye and a fine intellectual brow. His head is growing scant of hair on the crown, which induces him to be somewhat particular in the management of his locks in that locality, and these are assuming a decided silvery hue.

It is pleasant to see him when he is going to ride to the Court House on business occasions. He is then apt to make his appearance in a coat of blue broad-cloth, astonishingly glossy, and with an unusual amount of plaited ruffle strutting through the folds of a Marseilles waistcoat. A worshipful finish is given to this costume by a large straw hat, lined with green silk. There is a magisterial fulness in his garments which betokens condition in the world, and a heavy bunch of seals, suspended by a chain of gold, jingles as he moves, pronouncing him a man of superfluities.

. . . . .

I am told he keeps the peace as if he commanded a garrison, and administers justice like a Cadi.

He has some claim to supremacy in this last department; for during three years he smoked segars in a lawyer's office in Richmond, which enabled him to obtain a bird's-eye view of Blackstone and the Revised Code. Besides this, he was a member of a Law Debating Society, which ate oysters once a week in a cellar; and he wore, in accordance with the usage of the most prominent law-students of that day, six cravats, one over the other, and yellow-topped boots, by which he was recognized as a blood of the metropolis. Having in this way qualified himself to assert and maintain his rights, he came to his estate, upon his arrival at age, a very model of landed gentlemen. Since that time his avocations have had a certain literary tincture; for having settled himself down as a married man, and got rid of his superfluous foppery, he rambled with wonderful assiduity through a wilderness of romances, poems, and dissertations, which are now collected in his library, and, with their battered blue covers, present a lively type of an army of continentals at the close of the war, or a hospital of invalids. These have all at last given way to the newspapers--a miscellaneous study very attractive and engrossing to country gentlemen. This line of study has rendered Meriwether a most perilous antagonist in the matter of legislative proceedings.

A landed proprietor, with a good house and a host of servants, is naturally a hospitable man. A guest is one of his daily wants. A friendly face is a necessary of life, without which the heart is apt to starve, or a luxury without which it grows parsimonious. Men who are isolated from society by distance, feel these wants by an instinct, and are grateful for an opportunity to relieve them. In Meriwether the sentiment goes beyond this. It has, besides, something dialectic in it. His house is open to everybody, as freely almost as an inn. But to see him when he has had the good fortune to pick up an intelligent, educated gentleman, and particularly one who listens well!--a respectable, assentatious stranger!--All the better if he has been in the Legislature, and better still, if in Congress. Such a person caught within the purlieus of Swallow Barn, may set down one week's entertainment as certain--inevitable, and as many more as he likes, the more the merrier. He will know something of the quality of Meriwether's rhetoric before he is gone.

Then again, it is very pleasant to see Frank's kind and considerate bearing towards his servants and dependents. His slaves appreciate this, and hold him in most affectionate reverence, and, therefore, are not only contented, but happy under his dominion.

HIS WIFE.

Whilst Frank Meriwether amuses himself with his quiddities, and floats through life upon the current of his humor, his dame, my excellent cousin Lucretia, takes charge of the household affairs, as one who has a reputation to stake upon her administration. She has made it a perfect science, and great is her fame in the dispensation thereof!

Those who visited Swallow Barn will long remember the morning stir, of which the murmurs arose even unto the chambers, and fell upon the ears of the sleepers; the dry-rubbing of floors, and even the waxing of the same until they were like ice;--and the grinding of coffee-mills;--and the gibber of ducks and chickens and turkeys; and all the multitudinous concert of homely sounds. And then, her breakfasts! I do not wish to be counted extravagant, but a small regiment might march in upon her without disappointment, and I would put them for excellence and variety against anything that ever was served upon platter. Moreover, all things go like clock-work. She rises with the lark, and infuses an early vigor into the whole household. And yet, she is a thin woman to look upon, and a feeble; with a sallow complexion, and a pair of animated black eyes which impart a portion of fire to a countenance otherwise demure from the paths worn across it, in the frequent travel of a low-country ague. But, although her life has been somewhat saddened by such visitations, my cousin is too spirited a woman to give up to them; for she is therapeutical, and considers herself a full match for any reasonable tertian in the world. Indeed, I have sometimes thought that she took more pride in her leechcraft than becomes a Christian woman; she is even a little vain-glorious. For, to say nothing of her skill in compounding simples, she has occasionally brought down upon her head the sober remonstrances of her husband, by her pertinacious faith in the efficacy of certain spells in cases of intermittent. But there is no reasoning against her experience. She can enumerate the cases--"and men may say what they choose about its being contrary to reason, and all that;--it is their way! But seeing is believing--nine scoops of water in the hollow of the hand, from the sycamore spring, for three mornings, before sunrise, and a cup of strong coffee with lemon-juice, will break an ague, try it when you will." In short, as Frank says, "Lucretia will die in that creed."

I am occasionally up early enough to be witness to her morning regimen, which, to my mind, is rather tyrannically enforced against the youngsters of her numerous family, both white and black. She is in the habit of preparing some death-routing decoction for them, in a small pitcher, and administering it to the whole squadron in succession, who severally swallow the dose with a most ineffectual effort at repudiation, and gallop off, with faces all rue and wormwood.

Everything at Swallow Barn, that falls within the superintendence of my cousin Lucretia is a pattern of industry. In fact, I consider her the very priestess of the American system, for, with her, the protection of manufactures is even more a passion than a principle. Every here and there, over the estate, may be seen, rising in humble guise above the shrubbery, the rude chimney of a log cabin, where all the livelong day, the plaintive moaning of the spinning-wheel rises fitfully upon the breeze, like the fancied notes of a hobgoblin, as they are sometimes imitated in the stories with which we frighten children. In these laboratories the negro women are employed in preparing yarn for the loom, from which is produced not only a comfortable supply of winter clothing for the working people, but some excellent carpets for the house.

It is refreshing to behold how affectionately vain our good hostess is of Frank, and what deference she shows to him in all matters, except those that belong to the home department; for there she is confessedly and without appeal, the paramount power. It seems to be a dogma with her, that he is the very "first man in Virginia," an expression which in this region has grown into an emphatic provincialism. Frank, in return, is a devout admirer of her accomplishments, and although he does not pretend to have an ear for music, he is in raptures at her skill on the harpsichord, when she plays at night for the children to dance; and he sometimes sets her to singing "The Twins of Latona," and "Old Towler," and "The Rose-Tree in Full Bearing" (she does not study the modern music), for the entertainment of his company. On these occasions, he stands by the instrument, and nods his head, as if he comprehended the airs.

HOW HORSE-SHOE AND ANDREW CAPTURED FIVE MEN.

(_From Horse-Shoe Robinson, a Tale of the Tory Ascendancy in S. C._[11])

[Mistress Ramsay speaking to Horse-Shoe Robinson:]

"Who should come in this morning, just after my husband had cleverly got away on his horse, but a young cock-a-whoop ensign, that belongs to Ninety-Six, and four great Scotchmen with him, all in red coats; they had been out thieving, I warrant, and were now going home again. And who but they! Here they were, swaggering all about my house--and calling for this--and calling for that--as if they owned the fee-simple of every thing on the plantation. And it made my blood rise, Mr. Horse-Shoe, to see them run out in the yard, and catch up my chickens and ducks, and kill as many as they could string about them--and I not daring to say a word: though I did give them a piece of my mind, too."

"Who is at home with you?" inquired the sergeant eagerly.

"Nobody but my youngest boy, Andrew," answered the dame. "And then, the filthy, toping rioters--" she continued, exalting her voice.

"What arms have you in the house?" asked Robinson, without heeding the dame's rising anger.

"We have a rifle, and a horseman's pistol that belongs to John.--They must call for drink, too, and turn my house, of a Sunday morning, into a tavern."

[Illustration: ~State House, Columbia, S. C.~]

"They took the route towards Ninety-Six, you said, Mistress Ramsay?"

"Yes,--they went straight forward upon the road. But, look you, Mr. Horse-Shoe, you're not thinking of going after them?"

"Isn't there an old field, about a mile from this, on that road?" inquired the sergeant, still intent upon his own thoughts.

"There is," replied the dame; "with the old school-house upon it."

"A lop-sided, rickety log-cabin in the middle of the field. Am I right, good woman?"

"Yes."

"And nobody lives in it? It has no door to it?"

"There ha'n't been anybody in it these seven years."

"I know the place very well," said the sergeant, very thoughtfully; "there is woods just on this side of it."

"That's true," replied the dame; "but what is it you are thinking about, Mr. Robinson?"

"How long before this rain began was it that they quitted this house?"

"Not above fifteen minutes."

"Mistress Ramsay, bring me the rifle and pistol both--and the powder-horn and bullets."

"As you say, Mr. Horse-Shoe," answered the dame, as she turned round to leave the room; "but I am sure I can't suspicion what you mean to do."

In a few moments the woman returned with the weapons, and gave them to the sergeant.

"Where is Andy?" asked Horse-Shoe.

The hostess went to the door and called her son, and, almost immediately afterwards, a sturdy boy of about twelve or fourteen years of age entered the apartment, his clothes dripping with rain. He modestly and shyly seated himself on a chair near the door, with his soaked hat flapping down over a face full of freckles and not less rife with the expression of an open, dauntless hardihood of character.

"How would you like a scrummage, Andy, with them Scotchmen that stole your mother's chickens this morning?" asked Horse-Shoe.

"I'm agreed," replied the boy, "if you will tell me what to do." . . . . . .

Horse-Shoe now loaded the fire-arms, and having slung the pouch across his body, he put the pistol into the hands of the boy; then shouldering his rifle, he and his young ally left the room. Even on this occasion, serious as it might be deemed, the sergeant did not depart without giving some manifestation of that lightheartedness which no difficulties ever seemed to have the power to conquer. He thrust his head back into the room, after he had crossed the threshold, and said with an encouraging laugh, "Andy and me will teach them, Mistress Ramsay, Pat's point of war--we will _surround_ the ragamuffins."

"Now, Andy, my lad," said Horse-Shoe, after he had mounted Captain Peter, "you must get up behind me. . . . ." . . . . By the time that his instructions were fully impressed upon the boy, our adventurous forlorn hope, as it may fitly be called, had arrived at the place which Horse-Shoe Robinson had designated for the commencement of

## active operations. They had a clear view of the old field, and it

afforded them a strong assurance that the enemy was exactly where they wished him to be, when they discovered smoke arising from the chimney of the hovel. Andrew was soon posted behind a tree, and Robinson only tarried a moment to make the boy repeat the signals agreed on, in order to ascertain that he had them correctly in his memory. Being satisfied from this experiment that the intelligence of his young companion might be depended upon, he galloped across the intervening space, and, in a few seconds, abruptly reined up his steed, in the very doorway of the hut. The party within was gathered around a fire at the further end, and, in the corner near the door, were four muskets thrown together against the wall. To spring from his saddle and thrust himself one pace inside of the door, was a movement which the sergeant executed in an instant, shouting at the same time--

"Halt! File off right and left to both sides of the house, and wait orders. I demand the surrender of all here," he said, as he planted himself between the party and their weapons. "I will shoot down the first man who budges a foot."

"Leap to your arms," cried the young officer who commanded the little party inside of the house. "Why do you stand?"

"I don't want to do you or your men any harm, young man," said Robinson, as he brought his rifle to a level, "but, by my father's son, I will not leave one of you to be put upon a muster-roll if you raise a hand at this moment."

Both parties now stood, for a brief space, eyeing each other in fearful suspense, during which there was an expression of doubt and irresolution visible on the countenances of the soldiers, as they surveyed the broad proportions, and met the stern glance of the sergeant, whilst the delay, also, began to raise an apprehension in the mind of Robinson that his stratagem would be discovered.

"Shall I let loose upon them, Captain?" said Andrew Ramsay, now appearing, most unexpectedly to Robinson, at the door of the hut. "Come on, boys!" he shouted, as he turned his face towards the field.

"Keep them outside of the door--stand fast," cried the doughty sergeant, with admirable promptitude, in the new and sudden posture of his affairs caused by this opportune appearance of the boy. "Sir, you see that it's not worth while fighting five to one; and I should be sorry to be the death of any of your brave fellows; so, take my advice, and surrender to the Continental Congress and this scrap of its army which I command."

During this appeal the sergeant was ably seconded by the lad outside, who was calling out first on one name, and then on another, as if in the presence of a troop. The device succeeded, and the officer within, believing the forbearance of Robinson to be real, at length said:--

"Lower your rifle, sir. In the presence of a superior force, taken by surprise, and without arms, it is my duty to save bloodshed. With the promise of fair usage, and the rights of prisoners of war, I surrender this little foraging party under my command."

"I'll make the terms agreeable," replied the sergeant. "Never doubt me, sir. Right hand file, advance, and receive the arms of the prisoners!"

"I'm here, captain," said Andrew, in a conceited tone, as if it were a mere occasion of merriment; and the lad quickly entered the house and secured the weapons, retreating with them some paces from the door.

"Now, sir," said Horse-Shoe to the Ensign, "your sword, and whatever else you mought have about you of the ammunitions of war!"

The officer delivered his sword and a pair of pocket pistols.

As Horse-Shoe received these tokens of victory, he asked, with a lambent smile, and what he intended to be an elegant and condescending composure, "Your name, sir, if I mought take the freedom?"

"Ensign St. Jermyn, of his Majesty's seventy-first regiment of light infantry."

"Ensign, your sarvant," added Horse-Shoe, still preserving this unusual exhibition of politeness. "You have defended your post like an old sodger, although you ha'n't much beard on your chin; but, seeing you have given up, you shall be treated like a man who has done his duty. You will walk out now, and form yourselves in line at the door. I'll engage my men shall do you no harm; they are of a marciful breed."

When the little squad of prisoners submitted to this command, and came to the door, they were stricken with equal astonishment and mortification to find, in place of the detachment of cavalry which they expected to see, nothing but a man, a boy, and a horse. Their first emotions were expressed in curses, which were even succeeded by laughter from one or two of the number. There seemed to be a disposition on the part of some to resist the authority that now controlled them; and sundry glances were exchanged, which indicated a purpose to turn upon their captors. The sergeant no sooner perceived this, than he halted, raised his rifle to his breast, and at the same instant, gave Andrew Ramsay an order to retire a few paces, and to fire one of the captured pieces at the first man who opened his lips.

"By my hand," he said, "if I find any trouble in taking you, all five, safe away from this here house, I will thin your numbers with your own muskets! And that's as good as if I had sworn to it."

"You have my word, sir," said the Ensign. "Lead on."

"By your leave, my pretty gentlemen, you will lead and I'll follow," replied Horse-Shoe. "It may be a new piece of drill to you; but the custom is to give the prisoners the post of honor."

"As you please, sir," answered the Ensign. "Where do you take us to?"

"You will march back by the road you came," said the sergeant.

Finding the conqueror determined to execute summary martial law upon the first who should mutiny, the prisoners submitted, and marched in double file from the hut back towards Ramsay's--Horse-Shoe, with Captain Peter's bridle dangling over his arm, and his gallant young auxiliary Andrew, laden with double the burden of Robinson Crusoe (having all the fire-arms packed upon his shoulders), bringing up the rear. In this order victors and vanquished returned to David Ramsay's.

"Well, I have brought you your ducks and chickens back, mistress," said the sergeant, as he halted the prisoners at the door; "and, what's more, I have brought home a young sodger that's worth his weight in gold."

"Heaven bless my child! my brave boy!" cried the mother, seizing the lad in her arms, and unheeding anything else in the present perturbation of her feelings. "I feared ill would come of it; but Heaven has preserved him. Did he behave handsomely, Mr. Robinson? But I am sure he did."

"A little more venturesome, ma'am, than I wanted him to be," replied Horse-Shoe; "but he did excellent service. These are his prisoners, Mistress Ramsay; I should never have got them if it hadn't been for Andy. In these drumming and fifing times the babies suck in quarrel with their mother's milk. Show me another boy in America that's made more prisoners than there was men to fight them with, that's all!"

FOOTNOTE:

[11] By permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons, N. Y.

HUGH SWINTON LEGARÉ.

~1797=1843.~

HUGH SWINTON LEGARÉ (pronounced Le-gr[=e]e´) was born in Charleston, South Carolina, of Huguenot and Scotch descent. He was educated at South Carolina College which he entered at the age of fourteen, and became an excellent scholar, especially in the languages both ancient and modern. He studied law, and then completed his education in the good old way by a course of travel and study in Europe. His learning is said to have been almost phenomenal: he was one of the founders of the "Southern Review."

On his return from Europe, 1820, he was elected to the State Legislature: 1830, he was made Attorney-General of the State; from 1832 to 1836 he was _chargé d'affaires_ at Brussels; in 1836 he was elected to Congress, and in 1841 appointed Attorney-General of the United States. He died in Boston, whither he had gone to take part in the Bunker Hill Celebration.

Chief-Justice Story said of him: "His argumentation was marked by the closest logic; at the same time he had a _presence_ in speaking which I have never seen excelled." See Life, by Paul Hamilton Hayne.

WORKS.

Essays, Addresses, &c. Journal at Brussels. Memoir and Writings, (edited by his sister, Mrs. Bullen).

COMMERCE AND WEALTH VS. WAR.

(_From a speech in the House, 1837._)

A people well clad and well housed will be sure to provide themselves with all the other comforts of life; and it is the diffusion of these comforts, and the growing taste for them, among all classes of society in Europe, it is the desire of riches, as it is commonly called, that is gradually putting an end to the destructive and bloody game of war, and reserving all the resources hitherto wasted by it, for enterprises of industry and commerce, prosecuted with the fiery spirit which once vented itself in scenes of peril and carnage.

But, sir, the result of all this is that very inequality of wealth, that accumulation of vast masses of it in a few hands, against which we have heard so much said lately, as if it were something inconsistent with the liberties, the happiness, and the moral and intellectual improvement of mankind. Gigantic fortunes are acquired by a few years of prosperous commerce--mechanics and manufacturers rival and surpass the princes of the earth in opulence and splendor. The face of Europe is changed by this active industry, working with such mighty instruments, on so great a scale.

I have travelled in parts of the continent which the spirit of gain, with its usual concomitants, industry and improvement, has invaded since the peace, at an interval of fifteen years, and been struck with the revolution that is going on. There is a singularly beautiful, though rather barren tract of country between Liege and Spa, where, in 1819, my attention had been principally attracted by the striking features of a mountainous region, with here and there a ruin of the feudal past, and here and there a hovel of some poor hind,--the very haunt of the "Wild Boar of Ardennes" in the good old times of the House of Burgundy.

I returned to it in 1835, and saw it covered with mills and factories, begrimed with the smoke and soot of steam-engines; its romantic beauty deformed, its sylvan solitudes disturbed and desecrated by the sounds of active industry, and the busy hum of men. I asked what had brought about so great a change, and found that the author of it,--a man having a more numerous band of retainers and dependents than any baron bold of the fourteenth century, and in every respect more important than many of the sovereign princes on the other side of the Rhine--was an English manufacturer, who had established himself there some twenty years ago, without much capital, and had effected all this by his industry and enterprise.

Such, sir, is the spirit of the age; of course, in this young and wonderfully progressive country, it is more eager and ardent--and therefore occasionally extravagant--than anywhere else. But it is in vain to resist it. Nay, I believe it is worse than vain. It is evidently in the order of nature, and we must take it with all its good and all its evils together.

DEMOSTHENES' COURAGE.

[_From the Essay on Demosthenes._]

The charge of effeminacy and want of courage in battle seems to be considered as better founded. Plutarch admits it fully. His foppery is matter of ridicule to Æschines, who, at the same time, in rather a remarkable passage in his speech on the Crown, gives us some clue to the popular report as to his deficiency in the military virtues of antiquity. "Who," says he "will be there to sympathize with him? Not they who have been trained with him in the same gymnasium? No, by Olympian Jove! for, in his youth, instead of hunting the wild boar and addicting himself to exercises which give strength and activity to the body, he was studying the arts that were one day to make him the scourge of the rich." Those exercises were, in the system of the Greeks, . . . considered as absolutely indispensable to a liberal education. That of Demosthenes was certainly neglected by his guardians, and the probability is that the effeminacy with which he was reproached meant nothing more than that he had not frequented in youth the palestra and the gymnasium, and that his bodily training had been sacrificed to his intellectual.

That he possessed moral courage of the most sublime order is passed all question; but his nerves were weak. If the tradition that is come down to us in regard to his natural defects as an orator is not a gross exaggeration, he had enough to occupy him for years in the correction of them. But what an idea does it suggest to us of the mighty will, the indomitable spirit, the decided and unchangeable vocation, that, in spite of so many impediments, his genius fulfilled its destiny, and attained at last to the supremacy at which it aimed from the first! His was that deep love of ideal beauty, that passionate pursuit of eloquence in the abstract, that insatiable thirst after perfection in art for its own sake, without which no man ever produced a masterpiece of genius. Plutarch, in his usual graphic style, places him before us as if he were an acquaintance,--aloof from the world; immersed in the study of his high calling, with his brow never unbent from care and thought; severely abstemious in the midst of dissoluteness and debauchery; a water-drinker among Greeks; like that other Agonistes, elected and ordained to struggle, to suffer, and to perish for a people unworthy of him:--

"His mighty champion, strong above compare, Whose drink was only from the liquid brook."

Let any one who has considered the state of manners at Athens just at the moment of his appearance upon the stage of public life, imagine what an impression such a phenomenon must have made upon a people so lost in profligacy and sensuality of all sorts. What wonder that the unprincipled though gifted Demades, the very personification of the witty and reckless libertinism of the age, should deride and scoff at this strange man, living as nobody else lived, thinking as nobody else thought; a prophet, crying from his solitude of great troubles at hand; the apostle of the past; the preacher of an impossible restoration; the witness to his contemporaries that their degeneracy was incorrigible and their doom hopeless; and that another seal in the book was broken, and a new era of calamity and downfall opened in the history of nations.

We have said that the character of Demosthenes might be divined from his eloquence; and so the character of his eloquence was a mere emanation of his own. It was the life and soul of the man, the patriot, the statesman. "Its highest attribute of all," says Dionysius, "is the spirit of life--+to pneuma+--that pervades it."

A DUKE'S OPINIONS OF VIRGINIA, NORTH AND SOUTH CAROLINA, AND GEORGIA.

[_From a Review of "Travels of the Duke of Saxe-Weimar" in 1825-6._]

In his journey through Virginia, our traveller visited Mr. Jefferson, with whom, however, he does not appear to have been as much struck as he had been with the late Mr. Adams. The Natural Bridge he pronounces "one of the greatest wonders of nature he ever beheld," albeit he had seen "Vesuvius and the Phlegrean Fields, the Giant's Causeway in Ireland, the Island of Staffa, and the Falls of Niagara." "Finally" (to use a favorite mode of expression of his own), he is amazed at the profusion of militia titles in Virginia, which almost persuaded him that he was at the headquarters of a grand army, and at the aristocratic notions of some of the gentlemen in the same state, who make no secret of their taste for primogeniture laws and hereditary nobility.

He passed through North Carolina too rapidly to do anything like justice to the many remarkable things which that respectable state has to boast of. Accordingly, his observations are principally confined to the inns where he stopped, the roads over which he travelled, and the mere exterior of the towns and villages which the stage-coach traverses in its route. He is of opinion, from what he saw in that region, that "it would be a good speculation to establish a glass manufactory in a country, where there is such a want of glass, and a superabundance of pine-trees and sand." It had almost escaped us, that he here for the first time made the acquaintance of a "great many large vultures, called buzzards, the shooting of which is prohibited, as they feed upon carrion, and contribute in this manner to the salubrity of the country." This "parlous wild-fowl" has the honor to attract the attention of his Highness again in Charleston, where he informs us that its life is, in like manner, protected by law, and where it is called from its resemblance to another bird, the turkey-buzzard. . . . In Columbia, he became acquainted with most of the distinguished inhabitants, of whose very kind attentions to him he speaks in high terms. The following good-natured hint too may not be altogether useless: "At Professor Henry's a very agreeable society assembled at dinner. At that party I observed a singular manner which is practiced; the ladies sit down by themselves at one of the corners of the table. But I broke the old custom, and glided between them; and no one's appetite was injured thereby." . . . .

Nothing . . . can be a stronger exemplification of the difficulties under which a stranger labors, in his efforts to acquire a knowledge of a country new to him, than the perpetual mistakes which our distinguished traveller commits in his brief notices of Georgia. . . . Even the complexion of the people of Georgia displeased him, and, coming from a Court where French was not only the fashionable but the common language of social intercourse, he considers the education of women neglected, because they are not taught that language in situations where they might never have occasion to use it.

MIRABEAU BUONAPARTE LAMAR.

~1798=1859.~

MIRABEAU BUONAPARTE LAMAR, second president of the Republic of Texas, was born in Louisville, Georgia. In 1835 he emigrated to Texas and took part in the struggle for independence against Mexico, being major-general in the army. He was successively Attorney-General in the cabinet of President Houston, Secretary of War, Vice-president, and in 1838 President of the Republic, the second of the four presidents that Texas had before it became a State in the Union.

In 1857-8 he was United States minister to Central America.

WORKS.

Verse Memorials.

Lamar was rather a man of action than of letters; but the following verses speak for him as having true poetic appreciation of beauty and power to express it.

THE DAUGHTER OF MENDOZA.

O lend to me, sweet nightingale, Your music by the fountain, And lend to me your cadences, O rivers of the mountain! That I may sing my gay brunette, A diamond spark in coral set, Gem for a prince's coronet-- The daughter of Mendoza.

How brilliant is the evening star, The evening light how tender,-- The light of both is in her eyes, Their softness and their splendor. But for the lash that shades their light They were too dazzling for the sight, And when she shuts them, all is night,-- The daughter of Mendoza.

O ever bright and beauteous one, Bewildering and beguiling, The lute is in thy silvery tones, The rainbow in thy smiling; And thine is, too, o'er hill and dell, The bounding of the young gazelle, The arrow's flight and ocean's swell-- Sweet daughter of Mendoza!

What though, perchance, we no more meet,-- What though too soon we sever? Thy form will float like emerald light Before my vision ever. For who can see and then forget The glories of my gay brunette-- Thou art too bright a star to set, Sweet daughter of Mendoza!

FRANCIS LISTER HAWKS.

~1798=1866.~

FRANCIS LISTER HAWKS was born at New Berne, North Carolina, and educated at the State University. He became a clergyman of the Episcopal Church in 1827 and was rector of parishes in New York, New Orleans, and Baltimore. He was the first president of the University of Louisiana, and declined three elections to the bishopric. See Life by Rev. N. L. Richardson.

WORKS.

History of North Carolina. History of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States. History of the Protestant Episcopal Church in Maryland. Constitution and Canons of the Episcopal Church. Auricular Confession in the Episcopal Church. Egypt and Its Monuments. Romance of Biography. Cyclopædia of Biography. Perry's Expedition to Japan.

Dr. Hawks was a distinguished pulpit orator as well as an able and untiring writer. His ecclesiastical works are considered a valuable contribution to the history of the church in the United States.

The book from which we quote, "History of North Carolina," was undertaken as a labor of love for his native State, prepared in the intervals of time allowed by "a laborious and responsible profession in a large city: . . . he frankly confesses that he would undergo such toil for no country but North Carolina. She has a claim upon his filial duty. In her bosom his infancy found protection and his childhood was nourished. He here lays his humble offering in her lap."

The story of the Lost Colony of Roanoke has been called "the tragedy of American colonization."

THE FIRST INDIAN BAPTISM IN AMERICA.

(_From History of North Carolina._)

The colony [1587] was probably not without its clergyman, and the faithful Manteo, who was among them, had by this time become in heart an Englishmen. . .

The mother and kindred of Manteo lived on the island of Croatan, and thither, very soon, a visit was made by the faithful Indian and a party of the English, who endeavored, through the instrumentality of the islanders, to establish friendly relations with the inhabitants on the main land; but the effort was in vain. In truth, the greater portion of the Indians around, manifested implacable ill-will, and had already murdered one of the assistants, who had incautiously strayed alone from the settlement on Roanoke island.

On the 13th of August, by direction of Raleigh, given before leaving England, Manteo was baptized, (being probably the first native of this continent who ever received this sacrament at the hands of the English) and was also called Lord of Roanoke and of Dasamonguepeuk, as the reward of his fidelity.

VIRGINIA DARE, THE FIRST ENGLISH CHILD BORN IN AMERICA.

A few days after, another event, not without interest in the little colony, occupied the attention of all; and doubtless in no small degree enlisted the sympathies of the female portion of the adventurers. On the 18th of August, Eleanor, the daughter of Governor White, and wife of Mr. Dare, one of the assistants, gave birth to a daughter, the first child born of English parents upon the soil of the United States. On the Sunday following, in commemoration of her birth-place, she was baptized by the name of VIRGINIA.

THE LOST COLONY OF ROANOKE.

(_From the Same._)

Governor White remained but thirty-six days in North Carolina. . . . Before he left, however, it seems to have been understood that the colony should remove from Roanoke Island and settle on the main land: and as, at his return, he might be at some loss to find them, it was further agreed that in the event of their departure during his absence, they should carve on some post or tree the name of the place whither they had gone; and if in distress they were to carve above it a cross, . . . [This was in 1587.]

It was not till the 20th of March, 1590, that Governor White embarked [at London] in three ships to seek his colony and his children. . . White found the island of Roanoke a desert. As he approached he sounded a signal trumpet, but no answer was heard to disturb the melancholy stillness that brooded over the deserted spot. What had become of the wretched colonists? No man may with certainty say: for all that White found to indicate their fate was a high post bearing on it the letters CRO, and at the former site of their village he found a tree which had been deprived of its bark and bore in well cut characters the word CROATAN. There was some comfort in finding no cross carved above the word, but this was all the comfort the unhappy father and grandfather could find. He of course hastened back to the fleet, determined instantly to go to Croatan, but a combination of unpropitious events defeated his anxious wishes; storms and a deficiency of food forced the vessels to run for the West Indies for the purpose of refitting, wintering and returning; but even in this plan White was disappointed and found himself reluctantly compelled to run for the western islands and thence for England. Thus ended the effort to find the lost colony; they were never heard of. That they went to Croatan, where the natives were friendly, is almost certain; that they became gradually incorporated with them is probable from the testimony of a historian [John Lawson] who lived in North Carolina and wrote [published] in 1714: "The Hatteras Indians who lived on Roanoke Island or much frequented it, tell us," (says he) "that several of their ancestors were white people and could talk in a book, as we do; the truth of which is confirmed by gray eyes being found frequently amongst these Indians and no others."

GEORGE DENISON PRENTICE.

~1802=1870.~

GEORGE DENISON PRENTICE was born in Preston, Connecticut, and was a teacher and lawyer in early life. In 1830 he went to Kentucky, and a year afterward became editor of the Louisville "Journal," which position he held and made illustrious during the remainder of his life. His wit and humor gave him great influence, and his paper, afterwards consolidated with the "Courier" and known as the "Courier-Journal," became a power in politics, commerce, and society. A fine statue of him adorns the Courier-Journal building in Louisville, and his fame is by no means forgotten. "Prenticeana" is a collection of his witty and pungent paragraphs. See Memorial address by his successor, Henry Watterson.

WORKS.

Life of Henry Clay. Poems, edited by John James Piatt. Prenticeana, [with life-sketch.]

Mr. Prentice's best known poem is the "Closing Year," which elocutionists have kept before the public and which has often inspired young poets to sad verses on the passing of time.

THE CLOSING YEAR.

(_From Poems._[12])

'Tis midnight's holy hour--and silence now Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er The still and pulseless world. Hark! on the winds, The bell's deep-notes are swelling. 'Tis the knell Of the departed year.

No funeral train Is sweeping past; yet on the stream and wood, With melancholy light, the moonbeams rest, Like a pale, spotless shroud; the air is stirred, As by a mourner's sigh; and on yon cloud, That floats so still and placidly through heaven, The spirits of the seasons seem to stand-- Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn form, And Winter, with his aged locks--and breathe In mournful cadences, that come abroad Like the far wind harp's wild and touching wail, A melancholy dirge o'er the dead Year, Gone from the earth forever.

'Tis a time For memory and for tears. Within the deep, Still chambers of the heart a spectre dim, Whose tones are like the wizard voice of Time, Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold And solemn finger to the beautiful And holy visions that have passed away And left no shadow of their loveliness On the dead waste of life. That spectre lifts The coffin-lid of hope, and joy, and love, And, bending mournfully above the pale, Sweet forms that slumber there, scatters dead flowers O'er what has passed to nothingness.

The year Has gone, and, with it, many a glorious throng Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow, Its shadow on each heart. In its swift course It waved its scepter o'er the beautiful, And they are not. It laid its pallid hand Upon the strong man, and the haughty form Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim. It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged The bright and joyous, and the tearful wail Of stricken ones is heard, where erst the song And reckless shout resounded. It passed o'er The battle plain, where sword, and spear, and shield Flashed in the light of midday--and the strength Of serried hosts is shivered, and the grass, Green from the soil of carnage, waves above The crushed and mouldering skeleton. It came And faded like a wreath of mist at eve; Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air, It heralded its millions to their home In the dim land of dreams.

Remorseless Time!-- Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe! what power Can stay him in his silent course, or melt His iron heart to pity? On, still on He presses and forever. The proud bird, The condor of the Andes, that can soar Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave The fury of the Northern hurricane And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home, Furls his broad wings at nightfall and sinks down To rest upon his mountain crag--but Time Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness, And night's deep darkness has no chain to bind His rushing pinion. Revolutions sweep O'er earth, like troubled visions o'er the breast Of dreaming sorrow; cities rise and sink, Like bubbles on the water; fiery isles Spring, blazing, from the ocean, and go back To their mysterious caverns; mountains rear To heaven their bald and blackened cliffs, and bow Their tall heads to the plain; new empires rise, Gathering the strength of hoary centuries, And rush down like the Alpine avalanche, Startling the nations; and the very stars, Yon bright and burning blazonry of God, Glitter awhile in their eternal depths, And, like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train, Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass away, To darkle in the trackless void; yet Time, Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career, Dark, stern, all pitiless, and pauses not Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path, To sit and muse, like other conquerors, Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought.

PARAGRAPHS.

(_From Prenticeana._)

A pin has as much head as a good many authors, and a good deal more point.

The Turkish men hold that women have no souls, and prove by their treatment of them that they have none themselves.

A writer in the "American Agriculturist" insists that farmers ought to learn to make better fences. Why not establish a fencing-school for their benefit?

The thumb is a useful member, but, because you have one, you needn't necessarily try to keep your neighbors under it.

The greatest truths are the simplest; the greatest man and women are sometimes so, too.

A New Orleans poet calls the Mississippi the most eloquent of rivers. It ought to be eloquent; it has a dozen mouths.

FOOTNOTE:

[12] By permission of Robert Clarke & Co., Cincinnati.

EDWARD COATE PINKNEY.

~1802=1828.~

EDWARD COATE[13] PINKNEY was the son of the distinguished orator and statesman, William Pinkney, of Maryland, and was born in London while his father was minister to England. After attending the College of Baltimore, he entered the Navy at fourteen years of age and spent much of his time of service in the Mediterranean. On his father's death, 1822, he returned to Baltimore and engaged in the practice of law, at the same time making some reputation by his poems. "A Health" and "Picture Song" are considered his best--their beauty makes us mourn his early death. At the time he was numbered one of the "five greatest poets of the country." On his return from a journey to Mexico, taken for his health, he was elected, in 1826, professor of Belles-lettres in the University of Maryland, formerly called the College of Baltimore.

WORKS.

Poems: Rodolph, a Fragment, and other Poems.

A HEALTH.

I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone; A woman of her gentle sex The seeming paragon; To whom the better elements And kindly stars have given A form so fair, that, like the air, 'Tis less of earth than heaven.

Her every tone is music's own, Like those of morning birds, And something more than melody Dwells ever in her words; The coinage of her heart are they, And from her lips each flows As one may see the burdened bee Forth issue from the rose.

Affections are as thoughts to her, The measures of her hours; Her feelings have the fragrancy, The freshness of young flowers; And lovely passions, changing oft, So fill her, she appears The image of themselves by turns,-- The idol of past years.

Of her bright face, one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; But memory such as mine of her So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers.

I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon-- Her health! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name.

SONG.

We break the glass, whose sacred wine, To some beloved health we drain, Lest future pledges, less divine, Should e'er the hallowed toy profane: And thus I broke a heart that poured Its tide of feelings out for thee, In draughts, by after times deplored, Yet dear to memory.

But still the old empassioned ways And habits of my mind remain, And still unhappy light displays Thine image chambered in my brain; And still it looks as when the hours Went by like flights of living birds, Or that soft chain of spoken flowers And airy gems, thy words.

FOOTNOTE:

[13] Mr. Charles Weathers Bump, Ph. D. (Johns-Hopkins), says this name should be _Coote_, as it so stands in the register of Pinkney's baptism, which he has seen.

[Illustration: ~Tulane University, New Orleans, La.~ Limited space permits us to give view of only one of the buildings of this great institution.]

CHARLES ÉTIENNE ARTHUR GAYARRÉ.

~1805=----.~

CHARLES ÉTIENNE ARTHUR GAYARRÉ, descended from a family which was among the early settlers of Louisiana, was born in New Orleans. He was educated at the College of New Orleans, studied law in Philadelphia, and served in the State Legislature. In 1835, he was elected to the United States Senate, but ill-health prevented his taking the seat, and he spent the eight succeeding years in Europe. He was afterwards Secretary of State of Louisiana, and in the seven years of his service he did much to promote an interest in letters and history, and to establish the State Library on a firm basis.

He sided with his State in secession, and in 1863 recommended the emancipation and arming of the slaves. Since the war, he has spent his time in literary work, and has written both in English and French, gaining a distinguished place especially as a historian.

WORKS.

Histoire de la Louisiane. Romance of the History of Louisiana. Louisiana: Colonial History. Louisiana, as a French Colony. History of the Spanish Dominion in Louisiana. History of Louisiana, to 1861. Phillip II. of Spain. Fernando de Lemos. Aubert Dubayet. School for Politics, [drama]. Dr. Bluff, comedy in 2 Acts. Addresses.

Judge Gayarré has been an able and tireless worker in the history and literature of his native state. His works are admirable, full of life and color, although his style is lacking in terseness and strength. "He has indicated in the first volume of his 'History of Louisiana' what might be done by a gifted fiction-writer with the picturesque legends and traditions therein heaped together in luxuriant confusion. One feels while reading, that the writer has been hampered here and there by the temptation to be a romancer rather than remain a historian, and one does not experience any surprise at this in view of the profusion of startling and strange incidents."--Maurice Thompson.

LOUISIANA IN 1750-1770.

(_From History of Louisiana, French Domination._)

It was in this year, 1751, that two ships, which were transporting two hundred regulars to Louisiana, stopped at Hispaniola. The Jesuits of that island obtained permission to put on board of those ships, and to send to the Jesuits of Louisiana, some sugar canes, and some negroes who were used to the cultivation of this plant. The canes were put under ground, according to the directions given, on the plantation of the reverend fathers, which was immediately above Canal street, on a portion of the space now occupied by the Second Municipality of the city of New Orleans. But it seems that the experiment proved abortive, and it was only in 1796 that the cultivation of the cane, and the manufacturing of sugar, was successfully introduced in Louisiana, and demonstrated to be practicable. It was then that this precious reed was really naturalized in the colony, and began to be a source of ever-growing wealth, [owing to the enterprise of Jean Étienne de Boré].

On board of the same ships, there came sixty girls, who were transported to Louisiana at the expense of the King. It was the last emigration of the kind. These girls were married to such soldiers as had distinguished themselves for their good conduct, and who, in consideration of their marriage, were discharged from service. Concessions of land were made to each happy pair, with one cow and its calf, one cock and five hens, one gun, one axe, and one spade. During the first three years of their settlement, they were to receive rations of provisions, and a small quantity of powder, shot, grains and seeds of all sorts.

Such is the humble origin of many of our most respectable and wealthy families, and well may they be proud of a social position, which is due to the honest industry and hereditary virtues of several generations. Whilst some of patrician extraction, crushed under the weight of vices, or made inert by sloth, or labor-contemning pride, and degenerating from pure gold into vile dross, have been swept away, and have sunk into the dregs and sewers of the commonwealth. Thus in Louisiana, the high and the low, although the country has never suffered from any political or civil convulsions, seem to have, in the course of one century, frequently exchanged with one another their respective positions, much to the philosopher's edification. . .

On the 23rd of September, the intendant Commissary, Michel de la Rouvillière, made a favorable report on the state of agriculture in Louisiana. "The cultivation of the wax tree," says he, "has succeeded admirably. Mr. Dubreuil, alone, has made six thousand pounds of wax. Others have obtained as handsome results, in proportion to their forces; some went to the seashore, where the wax tree grows wild, in order to use it in its natural state. It is the only luminary used here by the inhabitants, and it is exported to other parts of America and to France. We stand in need of tillers of the ground, and of negroes. The colony prospers rapidly from its own impulse, and requires only gentle stimulation. In the last three years, forty-five brick houses were erected in New Orleans, and several fine new plantations were established." . . . .

The administration of the Marquis of Vaudreuil was long and fondly remembered in Louisiana, as an epoch of unusual brilliancy, but which was followed up by corresponding gloom. His administration, if small things may be compared with great ones, was for Louisiana, with regard to splendor, luxury, military display, and expenses of every kind, what the reign of Louis XIV. had been for France. He was a man of patrician birth and high breeding, who liked to live in a manner worthy of his rank. Remarkable for his personal graces and comeliness, for the dignity of his bearing and the fascination of his address, he was fond of pomp, show, and pleasure; surrounded by a host of brilliant officers, of whom he was the idol, he loved to keep up a miniature court, in distant imitation of that of Versailles; and long after he had departed, old people were fond of talking of the exquisitely refined manners, of the magnificent balls, of the splendidly uniformed troops, of the high-born young officers, and of the many other unparalleled things they had seen in the days of the _Great Marquis_.

. . . . . . .

The inventories made of the property of the twelve gentlemen, whom the decree of the Spanish tribunal had convicted of rebellion, afford interesting proofs of the Spartan simplicity which existed in the colony. Thus the furniture of the bed-room of Madam Villeré, who was the wife of one of the most distinguished citizens of Louisiana, and the grand-daughter of De Lachaise, who came to the colony in 1723 as ordaining commissary, was described as consisting of a cypress bedstead, three feet wide by six in length, with a mattress of corn shucks and one of feathers on the top, a bolster of corn shucks, and a coarse cotton counterpane or quilt, manufactured probably by the lady herself, or by her servants; six chairs of cypress wood, with straw bottoms; some candlesticks with common wax, the candles made in the country, &c., &c.

The rest of the house was not more splendidly furnished, and the house itself, as described in the inventory, must have looked very much like one of those modest and unpainted little wood structures which are, to this day, to be seen in many parts of the banks of the river Mississippi, and in the Attakapas and Opelousas parishes. They are the tenements of our small planters who own only a few slaves, and they retain the appellation of _Maisons d'Acadiens, or Acadian houses_.

Villeré's plantation, situated at the German coast, was not large, and the whole of his slaves, of both sexes and of all ages, did not exceed thirty-two. His friends and brother conspirators, who were among the first gentlemen in the land, did not live with more ostentation. All the sequestrated property being sold, it was found that, after having distributed among the widows and other creditors what they were entitled to, and after paying the costs of the trial and inventories, the royal treasury had little or nothing to receive. . . . . .

There were but humble dwellings in Louisiana in 1769, and he who would have judged of their tenants from their outward appearance would have thought that they were occupied by mere peasants, but had he passed their thresholds he would have been amazed at being welcomed with such manners as were habitual in the most polished court of Europe, and entertained by men and women wearing with the utmost ease and grace the elegant and rich costume of the reign of Louis XV. There, the powdered head, the silk and gold flowered coat, the lace and frills, the red-heeled shoe, the steel handled sword, the silver knee buckles, the high and courteous bearing of the gentleman, the hoop petticoat, the brocaded gown, the rich head dress, the stately bow, the slightly rouged cheeks, the artificially graceful deportment, and the aristocratic features of the lady, formed a strange contrast with the roughness of surrounding objects. It struck one with as much astonishment as if diamonds had been found capriciously set by some unknown hand in one of the wild trees of the forest, or it reminded the imagination of those fairy tales in which a princess is found asleep in a solitude, where none but beasts of prey were expected to roam.

THE TREE OF THE DEAD.

(_From History of Louisiana._)

In a lot situated at the corner of Orleans and Dauphine streets, in the city of New Orleans, there is a tree which nobody looks at without curiosity and without wondering how it came there. For a long time it was the only one of its kind known in the state, and from its isolated position it has always been cursed with sterility. It reminds one of the warm climes of Africa or Asia, and wears the aspect of a stranger of distinction driven from his native country. Indeed with its sharp and thin foliage, sighing mournfully under the blast of one of our November northern winds, it looks as sorrowful as an exile. Its enormous trunk is nothing but an agglomeration of knots and bumps, which each passing year seems to have deposited there as a mark of age, and as a protection against the blows of time and of the world.

Inquire for its origin, and every one will tell you that it has stood there from time immemorial. A sort of vague but impressive mystery is attached to it, and it is as superstitiously respected as one of the old oaks of Dodona. Bold would be the axe that would strike the first blow at that foreign patriarch; and if it were prostrated to the ground by a profane hand, what native of the city would not mourn over its fall, and brand the act as an unnatural and criminal deed? So, long live the date-tree of Orleans street--that time-honored descendant of Asiatic ancestors!

In the beginning of 1727, a French vessel of war landed at New Orleans a man of haughty mien, who wore the Turkish dress, and whose whole attendance was a single servant. He was received by the governor with the highest distinction, and was conducted by him to a small but comfortable house with a pretty garden, then existing at the corner of Orleans and Dauphine streets, and which, from the circumstance of its being so distant from other dwellings, might have been called a rural retreat, although situated in the limits of the city. There the stranger, who was understood to be a prisoner of state, lived in the greatest seclusion; and although neither he nor his attendant could be guilty of indiscretion, because none understood their language, and although Governor Périer severely rebuked the slightest inquiry, yet it seemed to be the settled conviction in Louisiana, that the mysterious stranger was a brother of the Sultan, or some great personage of the Ottoman empire, who had fled from the anger of the vicegerent of Mohammed, and who had taken refuge in France.

The Sultan had peremptorily demanded the fugitive, and the French government, thinking it derogatory to its dignity to comply with that request, but at the same time not wishing to expose its friendly relations with the Moslem monarch, and perhaps desiring for political purposes, to keep in hostage the important guest it had in its hands, had recourse to the expedient of answering that he had fled to Louisiana, which was so distant a country, that it might be looked upon as the grave, where, as it was suggested, the fugitive might be suffered to wait in peace for actual death, without danger or offence to the Sultan. Whether this story be true or not is now a manner of so little consequence that it would not repay the trouble of a strict historical investigation.

The year 1727 was drawing to its close, when on a dark stormy night the howling and barking of the numerous dogs in the streets of New Orleans were observed to be fiercer than usual, and some of that class of individuals who pretend to know everything, declared that by the vivid flashes of the lightning, they had seen swiftly and stealthily gliding toward the residence of the _unknown_ a body of men who wore the scowling appearance of malefactors and ministers of blood. There afterwards came also a report that a piratical-looking Turkish vessel had been hovering a few days previous in the bay of Barataria. Be it as it may, on the next morning the house of the stranger was deserted. There were no traces of mortal struggle to be seen; but in the garden the earth had been dug, and _there_ was the unmistakable indication of a recent grave.

Soon, however, all doubts were removed by the finding of an inscription in Arabic characters, engraved on a marble tablet, which was subsequently sent to France. It ran thus: "The justice of heaven is satisfied, and the date-tree shall grow on the traitor's tomb. The sublime Emperor of the faithful, the supporter of the faith, the omnipotent master and Sultan of the world, has redeemed his vow. God is great, and Mohammed is his prophet. Allah!" Some time after this event, a foreign-looking tree was seen to peep out of the spot where a corpse must have been deposited in that stormy night, when the rage of the elements yielded to the pitiless fury of man, and it thus explained in some degree this part of the inscription, "the date-tree shall grow on the traitor's grave."

Who was he, or what had he done, who had provoked such relentless and far-seeking revenge? Ask Nemesis,--or, at that hour when evil spirits are allowed to roam over the earth and magical invocations are made, go and interrogate the tree of the dead.

MATTHEW FONTAINE MAURY.

~1806=1873.~

MATTHEW FONTAINE MAURY, the "Pathfinder of the Sea," was born in Spottsylvania County, Virginia, reared in Tennessee, and entered the Navy in 1825, rising to be lieutenant in 1837. In 1839 he met with an accident which lamed him for life, and he thenceforward spent his time in study and investigation of naval subjects. Under the pen-name of "Harry Bluff," he wrote some essays for the "Southern Literary Messenger," which produced great reforms in the Navy and led to the establishment of the Naval Academy at Annapolis.

In 1842 he was appointed superintendent of the Hydrographical Office, and in 1844, of the National Observatory, at Washington, the latter position including the former. The observations of winds, currents, and storms, which he caused to be made during nine years, are embodied in his "Wind and Current Charts;" and the system thus begun was adopted by all European countries and has proven of immense benefit both to commerce and science.

[Illustration: ~Florida State Agricultural College (Main Building), Lake City, Fla.~]

To him and to Lieutenant John M. Brooke, afterwards Com. Brooke, C. S. N., belongs the credit of deep-sea soundings; and to him we owe the suggestion of the submarine telegraphic cable across the Atlantic. (_See below, letter to Secretary of the Navy._) Cyrus W. Field said, at a dinner given in 1858 to celebrate the first cable message across the Atlantic,--"Maury furnished the brains, England gave the money, and I did the work."

His "Physical Geography of the Sea" has been translated into all the languages of Europe, and caused Humboldt to say that Maury had founded a new science. His researches and scientific labors gained him honors and medals from all scientific societies. His "Navigation" and "Geographies" are in popular use in our schools. His style is irresistibly attractive, being clear, strong, elegant, and indicative of truth in the man behind it.

He entered the Confederate service in 1861, and was employed at first at Richmond and later as naval agent in Europe. When Lee surrendered, he was in the West Indies on his way to put in use against Federal vessels in Southern ports a method of arranging torpedo mines which he had invented.

He then went to Mexico (1865) and took a position in the Cabinet of the Emperor Maximilian; but the revolution there (1866) terminated his relations with that government. After two years in England, he returned to Virginia and in 1868 became professor of Physics in the Virginia Military Institute. At this time the University of Cambridge conferred upon him the degree of LL. D., and the Emperor of the French invited him to Paris as superintendent of the Imperial Observatory.

His life has been written in a most engaging style by his daughter, Mrs. Diana Fontaine Maury Corbin.

WORKS.

Navigation. Scraps from the Lucky Bay, by Harry Bluff. Rebuilding Southern Commerce. Wind and Current Charts. Sailing Directions. Physical Geography of the Sea. Series of Geographies. Physical Survey of Virginia. Resources of West Virginia (with Wm. M. Fontaine). Lanes for Steamers Crossing the Atlantic. Amazon and Atlantic Slopes. Magnetism and the Circulation of the Atmosphere.

THE GULF STREAM.

(_From Sailing Directions._)

It is not necessary to associate with oceanic currents the idea that they must of necessity, as on land, run from a higher to a lower level. So far from this being the case, some currents of the sea actually run up-hill, while others run on a level. The Gulf Stream is of the first class. In a paper read before the National Institute in 1844, I showed why the bottom of the Gulf Stream ought, theoretically, to be an inclined plane, running _upwards_. If the Gulf Stream be 200 fathoms deep in the Florida Pass, and but 100 fathoms off Hatteras, it is evident that the bottom would be lifted 100 fathoms within that distance; and therefore, while the bottom of the Gulf Stream runs up-hill, the top preserves the water-level, or nearly so; for its banks are of sea-water, and being in the ocean, are themselves on a water-level. . .

. . . . . . .

I have also, on a former occasion, pointed out the fact, that, inasmuch as the Gulf Stream is a bed of warm water, lying between banks of cold water--that as warm water is lighter than cold--therefore, the surface of the Gulf Stream ought, theoretically, to be in the shape of a double inclined plane, like the roof a house, down which we may expect to find a shallow surface or roof current, running from the middle towards either edge of the stream.

The fact that this roof-current does exist has been fully established . . . . . . by officers of the navy. Thus, in lowering a boat to try a current, they found that the boat would invariably be drifted towards one side or other of the stream, while the vessel herself was drifted along in the direction of it. . .

This feature of the Gulf Stream throws a gleam of light upon the _locus_ of the Gulf weed, by proving that its place of growth cannot be on this side (west) of that stream. No Gulf weed is ever found west of the axis of the Gulf Stream; and, if we admit the top of the stream to be higher in the middle than at the edges, it would be difficult to imagine how the Gulf weed should cross it, or get from one side of it to the other.

The inference, therefore, would be, that as all the Gulf weed which is seen about this stream is on its eastern declivity, the _locus_ of the weed must be somewhere within or near the borders of the stream, and to the east of the middle. And this idea is strengthened by the report of Captain Scott, a most intelligent ship-master, who informs me that he has seen the Gulf weed growing on the Bahama Banks.

DEEP-SEA SOUNDINGS.

(_From a Letter to the Secretary of the Navy, 1854, given in Mrs. Corbin's Life of Maury._[14])

The U. S. brig "Dolphin," lieutenant commanding O. H. Berryman, was employed last summer upon special services connected with this office. . . . He was directed also to carry along a line of deep-sea soundings from the shores of Newfoundland to those of Ireland. The result is highly interesting upon the question of a submarine telegraph across the Atlantic, and I therefore beg leave to make it the subject of a special report.

This line of deep-sea sounding seems to be DECISIVE of the question as to the practicability of a submarine telegraph between the two continents _in so far as the bottom of the deep sea is concerned_. From Newfoundland to Ireland the distance between the nearest points is about 1600 miles, and the bottom of the sea between the two places is a plateau which seems to have been placed there especially for the purpose of holding the wires of the submarine telegraph, and of keeping them out of harm's way. It is neither too deep nor too shallow; yet it is so deep that the wires but once landed will remain forever beyond the reach of the anchors of vessels, icebergs, and drifts of any kind, and so shallow, that they may be readily lodged upon the bottom. . . . . . .

A wire laid across from either of the above-named places on this side to the north of the Grand Banks, will rest on that beautiful plateau to which I have alluded, and where the waters of the sea appear to be as quiet and as completely at rest as it is at the bottom of a mill-pond. It is proper that the reasons should be stated for the inference that there are no perceptible currents and no abrading agents at work at the bottom of the sea upon this telegraphic plateau. I derive this inference from the study of a physical fact, which I little deemed, when I sought it, had any such bearings.

Lieutenant Berryman brought up, with "Brooke's deep-sea sounding apparatus," specimens of the bottom from this plateau. I sent them to Professor Bailey, at West Point, for examination under his microscope. This he kindly undertook, and that eminent microscopist was quite as much surprised to find, as I was to learn, that all these specimens of deep-sea soundings are filled with microscopic shells. To use his own words, "not a particle of sand or gravel exists in them." These little shells therefore suggest the fact that there are no currents at the bottom of the sea whence they come; that Brooke's lead found them where they were deposited in their burial-place. . . .

Had there been currents at the bottom, they would have swept and abraded and mingled up with these microscopic remains the _débris_ of the bottom of the sea, such as ooze, sand, gravel, and other matter; but not a particle of sand or gravel was found among them. Hence the inference that these depths of the sea are not disturbed by either waves or currents. Consequently, a telegraphic wire once laid there would remain as completely beyond the reach of accident as it would be if buried in air-tight cases.

HEROIC DEATH OF LIEUTENANT HERNDON.

(_From Maury's Report, in Mrs. Corbin's Life of Maury._[15])

U. S. NATIONAL OBSERVATORY, WASHINGTON, D. C., _October 19th, 1857_.

SIR,--On the 12th day of September last, at sea, the U. S. mail steamship "Central America," with the California mails, many of the passengers and crew, and a large amount of treasure on board, foundered in a gale [off Cape Hatteras]. The law requires the vessels of this line to be commanded by officers of the Navy, and Commander William Lewis Herndon had this one. He went down with his ship, leaving a glowing example of devotion to duty, Christian conduct, and true heroism. . . . .

The "Central America," at the time of her loss, was bound from Aspinwall, viâ Havana, to New York. She had on board, as nearly as has been ascertained, about two millions in gold, and 474 passengers, besides a crew, all told, of 101 souls--total, 575.

She touched at Havana on the 7th September last, and put to sea again at nine o'clock on the morning of the 8th. The ship was apparently in good order, the time seemed propitious, and all hands were in fine health and spirits, for the prospects of a safe and speedy passage home were very cheering. The breeze was from the trade winds quarter at N. E.; but at midnight on the 9th it freshened to a gale, which continued to increase till the forenoon of Friday, September 11th, when it blew with great violence. . .

Up to this time the ship behaved admirably; nothing had occurred worthy of note, or in any way calculated to excite suspicions of her prowess, until the forenoon of that day, when it was discovered that she had sprung a leak. The sea was running high: . . . the leak was so large that by 1 P. M. the water had risen high enough to extinguish the fires on one side and stop the engine. . . . Crew and passengers worked manfully, pumping and baling all Friday afternoon and night, and when day dawned upon them the violence of the storm was still increasing. . . . The flag was hoisted union down, that every vessel as she hove in sight might know they were in distress and wanted help. . . . . . . .

Finally, about noon of Saturday the 12th, the gale began to abate and the sky to brighten. . . . At about 2 P. M. the brig "Marine," Captain Burt, of Boston, bound from the West Indies to New York, heard minute-guns, and saw the steamer's signals of distress. She ran down to the sinking ship, and though very much crippled herself by the gale, promised to lay by. . . . The steamer's boats were ordered to be lowered--the "Marine" had none that could live in such a sea. . . . All the women and children were first sent to the brig, and every one arrived there in safety. Each boat made two loads to the brig, carrying in all 100 persons.

By this time night was setting in. The brig had drifted to leeward several miles away from the steamer; and was so crippled that she could not beat up to her again.

Black's (the boatswain) boat alone returned the second time. Her gallant crew had been buffeting with the storm for two days and nights without rest, and with little or no food. The boat itself had been badly stove while alongside with the last load of passengers. She was so much knocked to pieces as to be really unserviceable, nor could she have held another person. Still those brave seamen, inspired by the conduct and true to the trust imposed in them by their Captain, did not hesitate to leave the brig again, and pull back through the dark for miles, across an angry sea, that they might join him in his sinking ship, and take their chances with the rest. . . . . .

As one of the last boats was about to leave the ship, her commander gave his watch to a passenger with the request that it might be delivered to his wife. He wished to charge him with a message for her also, but his utterance was choked. "Tell her----." Unable to proceed, he bent down his head and buried his face in his hands for a moment as if in prayer, for he was a devout man and a Christian.

In that moment, brief as it was, he endured the great agony; but it was over now. . . . He had resolved to go down with his ship. Calm and collected, he rose up from that mighty struggle with renewed vigour, and went with encouraging looks about the duties of the ship as before. . . .

After the boat which bore Mr. Payne--to whom Herndon had entrusted his watch--had shoved off, the Captain went to his state-room and put on his uniform; . . . . . then walking out, he took his stand on the wheel-house, holding on to the iron railing with his left hand. A rocket was sent off, the ship fetched her last lurch, and as she went down he uncovered. . . .

Just before the steamer went down, a row-boat was heard approaching. Herndon hailed her; it was the boatswain's boat, rowed by "hard hands and gentle hearts," returning from on board the brig to report her disabled condition. If she came alongside she would be engulfed with the sinking ship. Herndon ordered her to keep off. She did so, and was saved. This, as far as I have been able to learn, was his last order. Forgetful of self, mindful of others, his life was beautiful to the last, and in his death he has added a new glory to the annals of the sea.

[A handsome monument to his memory stands in the Parade-ground of the Naval School at Annapolis.]

FOOTNOTES:

[14] By permission of Mrs. Corbin.

[15] By permission of Mrs. Corbin.

WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS.

~1806=1870.~

WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS was born and reared in Charleston, South Carolina. His early education was limited; he was for a while clerk in a drug-store and then he studied law. But his decided taste for letters soon induced him to devote his entire time and attention to their cultivation. He wrote rapidly and voluminously, and produced poems, novels, dramas, histories, biographies, book-reviews, editorials,--in short, all kinds of writing. He was editor of various journals at different times, and did all he could to inspire and foster a literary taste in his generation. His style shows the effect of haste and overwork.

[Illustration: ~Woodlands, S. C., Home of W. Gilmore Simms.~]

His novels dealing with Colonial and Revolutionary subjects are his best work. They give us graphic pictures of the struggles that our forefathers in the South had with the wild beasts, swamps, forests, and Indians in Colonial times, and with these and the British in the Revolutionary period. They should be read in connection with our early history, especially the following: _Yemassee_, (_1714, Colonial times_); _Partisan_, _Mellichampe_, and _Katharine Walton_, (_forming the Revolutionary Trilogy_); _Eutaw_; _Scout_; _Forayers_; _Woodcraft_, (_1775-1783_); _Wigwam and Cabin_ (_a collection of short stories_).

Some of his poems are well worth reading, especially the legends of Indian and Colonial life; and the Spirits' songs in "Atalantis" are very dainty and musical.

He was the friend and helper of his younger fellow-workers in literature, among whom were notably Paul Hamilton Hayne and Henry Timrod. At his country home "Woodlands" and in Charleston, he dispensed a generous and delightful hospitality and made welcome his many friends from North, South, and West. The last few years of his life were darkened by distress and poverty, in common with his brethren all over the South; and his heroic struggle against them reminds us of that of Sir Walter Scott, though far more dire and pathetic.

A fine bust of him by Ward adorns the Battery in his native and much-loved city. See Life, by William P. Trent.

WORKS.

NOVELS.

Martin Faber. Book of My Lady. Guy Rivers. Yemassee.

## Partisan.

Mellichampe. Richard Hurdis. Palayo. Carl Werner and other Tales. Border Beagles. Confession, or the Blind Heart. Beauchampe, [sequel to Charlemont]. Helen Halsey. Castle Dismal. Count Julian. Wigwam and Cabin. Katharine Walton. Golden Christmas. Forayers. Maroon, and other Tales. Utah. Woodcraft. Marie de Bernière. Father Abbott. Scout, [first called Kinsmen.] Charlemont. Cassique of Kiawah. Vasconselos, [tale of De Soto.]

POEMS, [2 volumes.]

Atalantis. Grouped Thoughts and Scattered Fancies. Lays of the Palmetto. Southern Passages and Pictures. Areytos: Songs and Ballads of the South.

DRAMAS.

Norman Maurice. Michael Bonham, or Fall of the Alamo.

BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORY, &C.

Life of General Francis Marion. Life of Captain John Smith. Life of Chevalier Bayard. Geography of South Carolina. Reviews in Periodicals [2 vols.]. Life of General Nathanael Greene. History of South Carolina. South Carolina in the Revolution. War Poetry of the South. Seven Dramas of Shakspere.

SONNET.--THE POET'S VISION.

Upon the Poet's soul they flash forever, In evening shades, these glimpses strange and sweet; They fill his heart betimes,--they leave him never, And haunt his steps with sounds of falling feet; He walks beside a mystery night and day; Still wanders where the sacred spring is hidden; Yet, would he take the seal from the forbidden, Then must he work and watch as well as pray! How work? How watch? Beside him--in his way,-- Springs without check the flow'r by whose choice spell,-- More potent than "herb moly,"--he can tell Where the stream rises, and the waters play!-- Ah! spirits call'd avail not! On his eyes, Sealed up with stubborn clay, the darkness lies.

THE DOOM OF OCCONESTOGA.

(_From Yemassee._)

[Occonestoga, the degenerate son of the Yemassee chief Sanutee, has been condemned, for befriending the whites, to a fate worse than death. The _totem_ of his tribe, an arrow branded upon the shoulder, is to be cut and burnt out by the executioner, Malatchie, and he is to be declared accursed from his tribe and from their paradise forever, "a slave of Opitchi-Manneyto," the evil spirit.]

Occonestoga's head sank in despair, as he beheld the unchanging look of stern resolve with which the unbending sire regarded him. For a moment he was unmanned; until a loud shout of derision from the crowd as they beheld the show of his weakness, came to the support of his pride. The Indian shrinks from humiliation, where he would not shrink from death; and, as the shout reached his ears, he shouted back his defiance, raised his head loftily in air, and with the most perfect composure, commenced singing his song of death, the song of many victories.

"Wherefore sings he his death-song?" was the cry from many voices,--"he is not to die!"

"Thou art the slave of Opitchi-Manneyto," cried Malatchie to the captive, "thou shalt sing no lie of thy victories in the ear of Yemassee. The slave of Opitchi-Manneyto has no triumph"--and the words of the song were effectually drowned, if not silenced, in the tremendous clamor which they raised about him. It was then that Malatchie claimed his victim--the doom had been already given, but the ceremony of expatriation and outlawry was yet to follow, and under the direction of the prophet, the various castes and classes of the nation prepared to take a final leave of one who could no longer be known among them. First of all came a band of young marriageable women, who, wheeling in a circle three times about him, sang together a wild apostrophe containing a bitter farewell, which nothing in our language could perfectly embody.

"Go,--thou hast no wife in Yemassee,--thou hast given no lodge to the daughter of Yemassee,--thou hast slain no meat for thy children. Thou hast no name--the women of Yemassee know thee no more. They know thee no more."

And the final sentence was reverberated from the entire assembly, "They know thee no more, they know thee no more."

Then came a number of the ancient men,--the patriarchs of the nation, who surrounded him in circular mazes three several times, singing as they did so a hymn of like import.

"Go--thou sittest not in the council of Yemassee--thou shalt not speak wisdom to the boy that comes. Thou hast no name in Yemassee--the fathers of Yemassee, they know thee no more."

And again the whole assembly cried out, as with one voice, "They know thee no more, they know thee no more."

These were followed by the young warriors, his old associates, who now, in a solemn band, approached him to go through a like performance. His eyes were shut as they came, his blood was chilled in his heart, and the articulated farewell of their wild chant failed seemingly to reach his ear. Nothing but the last sentence he heard--

"Thou that wast a brother, Thou art nothing now, The young warriors of Yemassee, They know thee no more."

And the crowd cried with them, "They know thee no more."

"Is no hatchet sharp for Occonestoga?" moaned forth the suffering savage. But his trials were only then begun. Enoree-Mattee now approached him with the words, with which, as the representative of the good Manneyto, he renounced him,--with which he denied him access to the Indian heaven, and left him a slave and an outcast, a miserable wanderer amid the shadows and the swamps, and liable to all the doom and terrors which come with the service of Opitchi-Manneyto.

"Thou wast the child of Manneyto,"

sung the high priest in a solemn chant, and with a deep-toned voice that thrilled strangely amid the silence of the scene,

"Thou wast the child of Manneyto He gave thee arrows and an eye,-- Thou wast the strong son of Manneyto, He gave thee feathers and a wing,-- Thou wast a young brave of Manneyto, He gave thee scalps and a war-song,-- But he knows thee no more--he knows thee no more."

And the clustering multitude again gave back the last line in wild chorus. The prophet continued his chant:

"That Opitchi-Manneyto!-- He commands thee for his slave-- And the Yemassee must hear him, Hear, and give thee for his slave-- They will take from thee the arrow, The broad arrow of thy people,-- Thou shalt see no blessed valley, Where the plum-groves always bloom-- Thou shalt hear no songs of valour, From the ancient Yemassee-- Father, mother, name, and people, Thou shalt lose with that broad arrow, Thou art lost to the Manneyto,-- He knows thee no more--he knows thee no more."

The despair of hell was in the face of the victim, and he howled forth, in a cry of agony that for a moment silenced the wild chorus of the crowd around, the terrible consciousness in his mind of that privation which the doom entailed upon him. Every feature was convulsed with emotion; and the terrors of Opitchi-Manneyto's dominion seemed already in strong exercise upon the muscles of his heart, when Sanutee, the father, silently approached him, and with a pause of a few moments, stood gazing upon the son from whom he was to be separated eternally-- . . .

. . . . .

In a loud and bitter voice he exclaimed, "Thy father knows thee no more,"--and once more came to the ears of the victim the melancholy chorus of the multitude--"He knows thee no more, he knows thee no more." Sanutee turned quickly away as he had spoken; and as if he suffered more than he was willing to show, the old man rapidly hastened to the little mound where he had been previously sitting, his eyes averted from the further spectacle. Occonestoga, goaded to madness by these several incidents, shrieked forth the bitterest execrations, until Enoree-Mattee, preceding Malatchie, again approached. Having given some directions in an under-tone to the latter, he retired, leaving the executioner alone with his victim. Malatchie, then, while all was silence in the crowd,--a thick silence, in which even respiration seemed to be suspended,--proceeded to his duty; and, lifting the feet of Occonestoga carefully from the ground, he placed a log under them--then addressing him, as he again bared his knife which he stuck in the tree above his head, he sung--

"I take from thee the earth of Yemassee-- I take from thee the water of Yemassee-- I take from thee the arrow of Yemassee-- Thou art no longer a Yemassee-- The Yemassee knows thee no more."

"The Yemassee knows thee no more," cried the multitude, and their universal shout was deafening upon the ear. Occonestoga said no word now--he could offer no resistance to the unnerving hands of Malatchie, who now bared the arm more completely of its covering. But his limbs were convulsed with the spasms of that dreadful terror of the future which was racking and raging in every pulse of his heart. He had full faith in the superstitions of his people. His terrors acknowledged the full horrors of their doom. A despairing agony which no language could describe had possession of his soul.

Meanwhile, the silence of all indicated the general anxiety; and Malatchie prepared to seize the knife and perform the operation, when a confused murmur arose from the crowd around; the mass gave way and parted, and, rushing wildly into the area, came Matiwan, his mother, the long black hair streaming, the features, an astonishing likeness to his own, convulsed like his; and her action that of one reckless of all things in the way of the forward progress she was making to the person of her child. She cried aloud as she came, with a voice that rang like a sudden death-bell through the ring.

"Would you keep a mother from her boy, and he to be lost to her for ever? Shall she have no parting with the young brave she bore in her bosom? Away, keep me not back--I will look upon him, I will love him. He shall have the blessing of Matiwan, though the Yemassee and the Manneyto curse."

The victim heard, and a momentary renovation of mental life, perhaps a renovation of hope, spoke out in the simple exclamation which fell from his lips:

"Oh, Matiwan--oh, mother!"

She rushed towards the spot where she heard his appeal, and thrusting the executioner aside, threw her arms desperately about his neck.

"Touch him not, Matiwan," was the general cry from the crowd; "touch him not, Matiwan,--Manneyto knows him no more."

"But Matiwan knows him--the mother knows her child, though Manneyto denies him. Oh, boy--oh, boy, boy, boy." And she sobbed like an infant on his neck.

"Thou art come, Matiwan--thou art come, but wherefore? To curse, like the father--to curse, like the Manneyto?" mournfully said the captive.

"No, no, no! Not to curse, not to curse. When did mother curse the child she bore? Not to curse, but to bless thee. To bless thee and forgive."

"Tear her away," cried the prophet; "let Opitchi-Manneyto have his slave."

"Tear her away, Malatchie," cried the crowd, now impatient for the execution. Malatchie approached.

"Not yet, not yet," appealed the woman. "Shall not the mother say farewell to the child she shall see no more?" and she waved Malatchie back, and in the next instant drew hastily from the drapery of her dress a small hatchet, which she had there carefully concealed.

"What wouldst thou do, Matiwan?" asked Occonestoga, as his eye caught the glare of the weapon.

"Save thee, my boy--save thee for thy mother, Occonestoga--save thee for the happy valley."

"Wouldst thou slay me, mother, wouldst strike the heart of thy son?" he asked, with a something of reluctance to receive death from the hands of a parent.

"I strike thee but to save thee, my son; since they cannot take the totem from thee after the life is gone. Turn away from me thy head--let me not look upon thine eyes as I strike, lest my hands grow weak and tremble. Turn thine eyes away; I will not lose thee."

His eyes closed, and the fatal instrument, lifted above her head, was now visible in the sight of all. The executioner rushed forward to interpose, but he came too late. The tomahawk was driven deep into the skull, and but a single sentence from his lips preceded the final insensibility of the victim.

"It is good, Matiwan, it is good; thou hast saved me; the death is in my heart." And back he sank as he spoke, while a shriek of mingled joy and horror from the lips of the mother announced the success of her effort to defeat the doom, the most dreadful in the imagination of the Yemassee.

"He is not lost, he is not lost. They may not take the child from his mother. They may not keep him from the valley of Manneyto. He is free--he is free." And she fell back in a deep swoon into the arms of Sanutee, who by this time had approached. She had defrauded Opitchi-Manneyto of his victim, for they may not remove the badge of the nation from any but the living victim.

MARION.

"_The Swamp Fox._"

(_From the Partisan._)