THE
LETTERS
OF THE
BRITISH SPY.
ORlGllTALIY PUBLISHED IN THE VIRGINIA
A.RGUS, IN AUGUST AND SEPTEM¬
BER, 1803.
THE THIRD EDITION.
RICHMOND
TRINTED BY SAMUEL PLEASANTS, Jul?.
1 8 0 5,
COPY RIGHT SECURED.
Mr. Pleasants,
THE manuscript from which
the following letters are extracted, was found in
the bed chamber of a boarding house in a sea
port town of Virginia. The gentleman who had
previously occupied that chamber, is represent¬
ed by the'mistress of the house to have been a
meek and harmless young man, who meddled
very little with the affairs of others and concern¬
ing whom no one appeared sufficiently interested
to make any enquiry. As it seems from the ma¬
nuscript that the name by which he passed was
inot his real name, and as, moreover, she knew
nothing of his residence, so that she was totally
ignorant to whom and whither to direct it, she
considered the manuscript as lawful prize and
i made a. present of it to me. It seems to be a co¬
py of letters written by a young Englishman of
rank during a tour through the United States,
to a member of the British parliament. They
are dated from almost every part of the United
States, contain a great deal of geographical de¬
scription, a delineation of every character of
note among us, some literary disquisitions, with
a great mixture of moral and political observati¬
on. The letters are prettily written. Persons
of every description will find in them a light and
agreeable entertainment ; and to the younger
patt of your readers they may not be uninstruc-
tive. For the present I select a few which were
written from this place, and by way of distincti¬
on, will give them to you under the title of thq
LRU ISH SPY.
THE
LETTERS
OF THE
BRITISH S P T.
LETTER I.
Richmond, September 1.
YOU complain, my dear S , that although
I have been resident in Richmond upwards of
six months, you have heard nothing from me
since my arrival. The truth is, that I have sus¬
pended writing until amore intimate acquaintance
with the people and their country should furnish
me with the materials for a correspondence....
Having now collected those materials, the apolo¬
gy ceases and the correspondence begins. But
first, a word of myself.
I still continue to wear the mask, and most
willingly exchange the attentions which would be
paid to my rank, for the superior and exquisite
pleasure of inspecting this country and this peo¬
ple, without attracting to myself a single eye of
curiosity, or awakening a shade* of suspicion....
Under my assumed name, I gain an admission
close enough to trace, at leisure, every line ofthe
American character j while the plainness,.or ra¬
ther humility of my appearance,my manners and
conversation,putsno one onhis guard, but enables
C 6 )
3m c to take the portrait of nature, as it were, asleep
and naked. Besides there is something of inno.
cent roguery in this masquerade which lam play¬
ing that sorts very well with the sportiveness of
my temper. To sit and decoy the human heart
from behind all its disguises....to watch the ca¬
pricious evolutions of unrestrained nature, frisk-
ing, curyetting and gambolling at her ease, with
the curtain of ceremony drawn up to the very
sky....O ! it is delightful !
You are perhaps surprised at my speaking of
the attentions which wTould be paid in this coun¬
try to my rank. You will suppose that I have
forgotten where I am : no such thing. I remem¬
ber well- enough that I am in Virginia, that state,
which, of all the rest, plumes herself most high¬
ly on the democratic spirit of her principles....
Her political principles are, indeed, democratic
enough in all conscience. Rights and privileges,
xis regulated by the constitution of the state, be¬
long in equal degree to all the citizens ; and Pe¬
ter Pindar's remark is perfectly true of the peo¬
ple of this country, that u every blackguard
scoundrel is a king."* Nevertheless, there ex-
ists in Virginia a species of social rank, from
which no country7 can, I presume, be entirely7 free.
J mean that kind of rank which arises from the
different decrees of wealth and of intellectual re¬
finement. These must introduce a style of liv¬
ing and of conversation, the former of which a
* The reader needs scarcelv to he reminded
th it the writer is a Britton and true to his charac¬
ter.
( 5T )
poor man cannot attain, while an ignorant one
would be incapable of enjo\ing the latter. It
seems to me that from these causes, wherever
they may exist, circles of society, strongly dis¬
criminated, must inevitably result. And one of
these causes exists in full force in Virginia; for,
however they mav vaunt of ' equal liberty in
church and state,' they have but little to boast on
the subject of equal property. Indeed there is
no country, I believe, where property is more un¬
equally distributed than in Virginia. This ine¬
quality struck me with peculiar force in riding
through the lower counties on the Potowmack.
Here and there, a stately aristocratic palace, with
all its appurtenances, strikes the view : While all
around, for many miles, no other buildings are to
be seen but the little smoky huts and log cabins
of poor, laborious, ignorant tenants. And, what
is very ridiculous, these tenants, while they ap¬
proach the great house, cap in hand, with all the
fearful trembling submission of the lowest feudal
vassals, boast in their court yards, with obstrepe¬
rous exultation, that they.live in a land of free¬
men, aland of equal liberty and equal rights....
Whether this debasing sense of inferiority which
I have mentioned, is a remnant of their colonial
character, or whether it be that it is natural for
poverty and impotence to look up, with venerati¬
on, to wealth and power and rank, I cannot de-
ci le. For my own part, however, I have ascrib¬
ed it to the latter cause ; and I have been in a
great degree confirmed in the opinion, by observ¬
ing the attentions which were paid hv the most
genteel people here to ----- , the son of
C s 7
Lord ——. . You know the circumstances.
in which his lordship left Virginia; that so far
from being popular, he carried with hini the deep¬
est execrations of these people. Even now, bis
name is seldom mentioned here but in connecti¬
on with terms of abhorrence or contempt. A-
ware of this, and believing it impossible that —
■ was indebted to his father, for all the pa¬
rade of respect which was shewn to him, I sought
in his own personal accomplishments a solution
of the phenomenon- But I sought in vain....
Without one solitary ray of native genius, with¬
out one adventitious beam of science, without
any of those traits of soft benevolence which are
so universally captivating, I found his mind dark
and benighted, his manners bold, forward and as¬
suming, and his whole character evidently inflated
with the consideration that he was the son of a
Lord. His deportment was so evidently dictated
by this consideration, and he regarded the Vir¬
ginians, so palpably in the humiliating light of
inferior plebians, that I have often wondered how
such a man, and the son too of so very unpopular
a father, escaped from this country without per¬
sonal injury, or at least personal insult. I am
now persuaded, that this impunity, and the great
respect which was paid to him, resulted solely
from his noble descent,and was nothing more than
the tribute which man pays either to imaginary
or real superiority- On this occasion, I stated
my surprise to a young Virginian, who happened
to belongto the democratic party. He, however,
did not choose to admit the statement ; but as¬
serted, that whatever respect had been shown to
( 9 }
-—— proceeded solely from the federalists j.
and that it was an unguarded evolution of their
private attachment to monarchy and its appenda¬
ges. I then stated the subject to a very sensible
gentleman, whom I knew to belong to the fede¬
ral phalanx. Not willing to degrade his party
by admitting that they would prostrate them¬
selves before the empty shadow of nobility, he
alledged that nothing had been manifested to¬
wards young — , beyond the hospitality
which was due,to a genteel stranger ; and that if
there had been an}7 thing of parade on his account,
it was attributable only to the ladies, who had.
merely exercised their wonted privilege of co¬
quetting it with a fine young fellow. But not¬
withstanding all this, it was easy to discern in the
look, the voice and whole manner with wrhich
gentlemen as well as ladies of both parties salut¬
ed and accosted young - , a secret spi¬
rit of respectful diffidence, a species of silent re¬
verential abasement, which, as it could not have
been excited by his personal qualities, must have
been homage to his rank. Judge, then, whether
I have not just reason to apprehend, that on the
annunciation of my real name, the curtain of ce¬
remony would fall, apd nature would cease to
play her pranks before me.
Richmond is built, as you will remember, on
the north side of James river, and at the head of
tide water. There is a manuscript in this state
which relates a curious anecdote concerning the
origin of this town. The land hereabout was
owned by Col. William Byrd....this gentleman^
with the former proprietor of the land at the head
( »o )
of tide water on Appomattox river, was appoint¬
ed, it seems, to run the line between Virginia
and North-Carolina. The operation was a most
tremendous one ; for in the execution of it, they
had to penetrate and pass quite through the great
Dismal Swamp. It would be almost impossible
to give you a just conception of the horrors of
this enterprize. Imagine to yourself an immense
morass, thirty or forty miles in diameter; its
soil u black, deep mire, covered with a stupendous
forest of Juniper and Cypress Trees, whose lux¬
uriant branches, interwoven throughout, intercept
the beams of the sun and te ich day to counter¬
feit the nij.-ht. This forest, which until that
time, perhaps, the human foot had never violated,
had become the secure retreat of ten thousand
beasts of prey. The adventurers, therefore, be¬
side the almost endless labor of falling trees in a
proper direction to form afoot way throughout,
moved amid perpetual terrors, and each night,
had to sleep en militaWe, upon their arms, sur¬
rounded with the deafening, soul-chilling yell
of those hunger-smitten lords of the desert. It
was, one night, as they lav in the midst of scenes
like these, that Hope, that never-failing friend
of man, paid them a consoling visit, and sketched
in brilli mt prospect, the plans of Richmond and
Petersburg *
Richmond occupies a very picturesque and
* So, at least, speaks the manuscript account
which Col. Pm cI has left of this expe^itim, and
wb'-'h b now in thJ hands of some of his de-
Scendunts ; perhaps of the family at Westover.
C " )
most beautiful situation. I have never met with"
Such an assemblage of striking and interesting
objects. The town, dispersed over hills of vari¬
ous shapes....the river descending from west to'
east and obstructed by a multitude of small
islands, clumps of trees and myriads of rocks,
among which it tumbles, foams and roars, consti--
tuting what are called the falls... the same river,
at the lower end of the town, bending at right
angles to the south and winding reluctantly off'
for many miles in that direction, its polished sur¬
face caught here and there bv the eye, but more
generally covered from the view bv trees, among'
which the white sails of approaching and depart¬
ing vessels exhibit a curious and interesting ap¬
pearance : then again, on the opposite side, the
little town of Manchester, built on a hill, which,-
sloping gently to the river, opens the whole town
to the view, interspersed as it is, with vigorous-
and flourishing poplars, and surrounded to a
great distance by green plains and stately woods
....all these objects falling at once under the ei e,,
constitute, by far the most finely varied and most
animated landscape that I have ever seen. A
mountain, like the Blue Ridge, in the western
horizon, and the rich tint with which the hand of
a Pennsylvanian farmer would paint the adjacent
fields, would make this a more enchanting spot
thin even Damascus is described to he. I will
endeavor to procure for vou a perspective view
of Richmond, with the embellishments of fancy
whih I have just mentioned, and you will da
me the honor to give b a place in your pavilion.
Admu for th pres' nt, mv dear S ;..»,M"ay
the perpetual smile of heaven be yours.
( 12 )
tETTER II.
Richmond, September 7,
ALMOST every day, my dear S, , some
flew evidence presents itself in support of the Ab¬
be Raynal's opinion, that this continent was oncer
covered by the ocean, from which it has gradually
emerged. But that this emersion is, even com¬
paratively speaking, of recent date, cannot be ad¬
mitted ; unless the comparison be made with the
creation of the earth ; and even then, in order to
justify the remark, the aera of the creation must,
I fear, be fixed much farther back, than the peri¬
od which has been inferred from the Mosaic ac¬
count.*
* Some error has certainly happened in com¬
puting the aera of the earth's creation from the
five books of Moses. Voltaire informs us, that
certain French philosophers who visited China,
inspected the official register or history of the
eclipses of the sun and moon, which, it seems,
has been continually kept in that country ; that
on calculating them back,* they were all found
correct, and conducted those philosophers to a
period fl will not undertake to speak with cer¬
tainty of the time ; but I think) twenty-three
centuries before the Mosaic aera. It is notori¬
ous, however, that the Chinese plume themselves
on the antiquity of their country ; and in order
to prop this, it would have been just as easy for
the Chinese astronomers to have fabricated and
dressed up the register in question, by posterior
calculations, as for the French astronomers to
have made their retrospective examination of the-
( is }
The following facts are authenticated beyond
any kind of doubt. During the last spring, a
gentleman in the neighborhood of Williamsburg,
about sixty miles below this place, in digging a
accuracy of those eclipses. The same science
precisely was requisite for both purposes ; and
although the improvement of the arts and scien¬
ces in China, was found, by the first Europeans
who went amongst them, to bear no proportion
to the antiquity of the country, yet there is no
reason to doubt that the Chinese mandarins
were at least as competent to the calculation of
an eclipse as the shepherds of Egypt. Indeed,
we are, I believe, expressly told, that the Chinese,
long before they were visited by the people ofEu-
rope, had been in the habit of using a species of
astronomical apparatus ; and of stamping Al¬
manacks from plates or blocks, many hundred
years, even, before printing was discovered in
Europe. I see no great reason, therefore, to re¬
ly with very implicit confidence on the register
of China. Indeed I am very little disposed to
build my faith, as to any historical fact, on evi¬
dence perfectly within the reach of human art
and imposture ; comprehending all writings, in¬
scriptions literary or hieroglyphic, medals, Stc.
which tend, either to flatter our passion for the
marvellous, or to aggrandize the particular nati¬
on in whose bosom they are found. And, there¬
fore, together with the Chinese register, I throw
out of the consideration of this question another
irecord, which goes to the same purpose ; I meaa
( 14 )
ditch on his farm, discovered, about four or five
feet below the surface of the earth, a considera¬
ble portion of the skeleton of a Whale. Several
fragments of the ribs and other parts of the sys-
the Chaldaic manuscript found by Alexander in
the city of Babylon.
The inferences reported by Mr- Brydone, as
having been drawn by Recupero, from the lavas
of Mount JLtna (those stupendous records which
no human art or imposture could possibly have
fabricated) deserve, I think, much more serious
attention. They are subject, indeed, to one of
the preceding objections ; to wit, that the data
from which all the subsequent calculations are
drawn, are inscriptions ; appealing not only to
our passion for the marvellous, but flattering the
vanity of the Sicilians, by establishing the great
age of their mountain, at once their curse and
their blessing. These inscriptions, however, do
not rest merely on their own authority ; they al-
ledge a fa^t which is very strongly countenanced
b) recent and unerring observation. As Bry¬
done may not be in the hands of every person
who may chance to possess and read this baga¬
telle, and as this subject is really curious and in¬
teresting, I beg leave to subjoin those parts of
that traveller's highly entertainingletters, which
relate to it.
w The last lava we crossed, before our arrival
there [Jaci f eule"] is of vast extent. I thought
we nevei should have had clone with it: it cer¬
tainly is not less than six or seven miles broad,
( 15 )
tern, were found ; and all the vertebre regularly
arranged and very little impaired as to their fi¬
gure. The spot on which this skeleton was found,
lies about two miles from the nearest shore of
and appears in many places to be of an enormous
depth.
" When we came near the sea, I was desirous
to see what form it had assumed in meeting with
the water. I went to examine it, and found it
had driven back the waves for upwards of a mile,
and had formed a large, black, high promontory,
where, before, it was deep water. This lava, I
imagined, from its barrenness, for it is, as yet,
covered with a very scanty soil, had run from the
mountain only a few ages ago ; but was surpris¬
ed to be informed by Signior Recupero, the his¬
toriographer of iEtna, that this ver) lava is men¬
tioned by Diodorus Seculus to have burst from
JEtna in the time of the second Punic war, when
Syracuse was besieged by the Romans. A de¬
tachment was sent from Taurominum to the re¬
lief of the besieged. '1 hey were stopped on their
march by this stream of lava, which having reach¬
ed the sea before their arrival at the foot of the
mountain, had cut off their passage, and obliged
them to return by the back of JEtna, upwards of
100 miles about. His authority for this, he tells
me, was taken from inscriptions on Roman mo-
muments found on this lava, and that it was like¬
wise well ascertained by many o-f the old Sicilian
authors. Now as this is about 2000 jears ago,
one would imagine if lavas have a regular pro¬
gress in becoming fertile fields, that this must
C 16 )
James River, and fifty or sixty from the Atlan-
tic Ocean. The whole phenomenon bore the
clearest evidence that the anim d had perished
in its native element ; and as the ocean is the
long ago have become at least arable ; this, how¬
ever, is not the case, and it is, as yet, only cover¬
ed with a very scantv vegetation and incapable of
producing either corn or vines. There are in¬
deed pretty large trees growing in the crevices
whi h are full of a rich earth ; but in all probabi¬
lity, it will be some hundred years yet, before
there is enough 01 it to render this land of any
use to the proprietors.
" It is curious to consider, that the surface of
this black and barren matter, in process of time,
becomes one of the most fertile soils upon earth:
But what must be the time to bring it to it's ut¬
most perfection, when after 2000 years, it is still,
in most places, but a barren rock V Vol. 1. Let-
ler 6.
" Signior Recupero, who obligingly engages
to be our Cicerone, has shewn us some curious
remajns of antiquity; but they have been all so
shaken and shattered by the mountain, that hard¬
ly anything is to be found entire.
u Near to a vault, which is now thirty feet be¬
low ground, and has, probably been a burial place,
there is a draw-well,where there are several stra¬
ta of lavas, with earth to a considerable thickness
aver the surface of each stratum. Recupero has
made use of this as an argument to prove the
great antiquity of the mountain. For if it re¬
quires 2000 years or upwards, to form but a
{ 17 )
sparest f.esort of the Whale, it follows that the
ocean must once have covered the country, at
least as high up as Williamsburg.
Again, in digging several wells lately in this
town, the teeth ol" Sharks were found from sixty
to ninety or an hundred feet below the surface of
the earth. The probability is that these teeth
were deposited by the Shark itself; and as this
"fish is never known to infest very shallow streams,
-the conclusion is' clear that this whale country
has once been buried under several fathoms of
water. At all events, these teeth must be con¬
sidered as ascertaining what was once the sur¬
face of the earth here which surface is very "lit¬
tle higher than that of James River- Now if it
be considered that there has been no perceptible
difference wrought in the figure ©r elevation c£
scanty soil on the surface-of a lava, there must
have been more than that space of time betwixt
each of the eruptions which have formed these
strata. But what shall we say of a pit they sunk
-near to Jam of a great depch. They pierced
through seven distinct lavas, one under the other,
the surfaces of which were parallel, and most of
them covered with a thick bed of rich earth. Now,
says he, the eruption which formed the lowest
of these lavas, if we may be allowed to reason
from analogy, must have flowed from the moun¬
tain at least 14,000 years ago." Vol. 1, Let¬
ter 7. Whereas the computation inferred, but
•without doubt inaccurately, from the Pentateuch,
•makes the earth itself only between 5 and ,6000
years old.
B
( ?8 )
the coast, nor, consequently, in the precipitation
of the interior streams since the earliest record-
eel discovery of Virginia, which was two hun¬
dred years ago, it will follow, that James River
must for many hundreds, perhaps thousands of
years, been running, at least here, with a very ra¬
pid, headlong current ; the friction whereof must
certainly have rendered the channel much deep¬
er than it was at the time of the deposition of
these teeth- The result is clear, that the surface
of the stream, which, even now, after all this fric¬
tion and consequent depression, is so nearly on a
level with the scite of the Shark's teeth, must, o-
riginally, have been much higher. I take this
to be an irrefragable proof, that the land here,
was then, inundated ; and as there is no ground
between this and the Atlantic, higher than that on
which Richmond is built, it seems to me indispu-
tably certain, that the whole of this beautiful
country was once covered with a dreary waste of
water.*
* An elegant and well informed writer on the
theory of the earth, under the signature of " An
Enquirer," whose remarks were suggested by
the perusal of this letter of the British Spy, ob¬
serves that sea shells and other marine substances
are found in every explored part of the w< rid,
" on the loftiest mountains of Europe and the
still loftier Andes of South America." As the
British Spy was not writing a regular and elabo¬
rate treatise on the origin of the earth, he did
not deem it .material to congregate all the facts
which have been seen, and supposed, in relation
( 19 )
To what curious and interesting reflections
does this subject lerd us ! Over this hill on which
I am now sitting and writing at my ease, and
from which I look with delight,on the landscape,
that smiles around me....over this hill and over
this landscape, the billows of the ocean have roll¬
ed in wild and dreadful fury, while the Levia¬
than, the \\ hale and all the monsters of the deep,
have disported themselves aihid the fearful tem¬
pest.
Where was then the shore of the ocean ?
From this place, for eighty miles to the west-
-ward, the ascent of the country is very gradual ;
and even up to the Blue Ridge, marine shells and
other phenomena are found, which demonstrate
that that country too, has been visited by the oce¬
an IIow then has it emerged ? Has it been by
to this subject. Whether the British Spy is to
be considered as an Englishman of rank on a
tour through America, and writing the above let¬
ter in Richmond to his friend in London ; or
whether he is to, be considered as one of our own
citizens, disposed to entertain the people of
Richmond and its vicinity with a light and amu¬
sing speculation on the origin of their country,
in either instance it was both more natural and
more interesting that the speculation should ap¬
pear to have grown out of recent facts discovered
in their own town or neighborhood, and with
which they are all supposed to be conversant,
than 011 distant and controvertible facts, which,
it was not important to the enquiry, whether they
knew or believed, or not.
( ad )
'a. sudden convulsion ? Certainly not. No rrV
serving man, who has ever travelled from the
Blue Ridge to the Atlantic can doubt that this
emersion has been effected by very slow gradati¬
ons. For as you advance to the east, the proofs
■of the former submersion of the eountrv thicken
upon you. On the shores of York river, the
bones of Whales abound ; and I ha v.? been not a
little amused in walking on the sand beach of
that river during the recess of the tide, and look¬
ing up at the high cliff or bank above me, to ob-
'serve strata of sea shells not yet calcined, like
those which lay on the beach under my feet, in*
terspersed with strata of earth (the j )int result
no doubt of sand and putrid vegetables) exhibit¬
ing at once a sample of the rhanner in which the
adjacent soil had been formed, and proof of the
■comparatively recent desertion of the waters.
Upon the whole, every thing here tends to enr-
firm the ingenious theorv of Mr. Buffon ; that
tfne eastern coasts of continents are enlarged by
the perpetual revolution of the earth from west
to east, which has the obvious tendency to con¬
glomerate the loose sands of the sea on the eas¬
tern coast; urhile the tides of the ocean, drawn
f^om east to west, against the revolving earth,
-contribute to aid the process, and hasten the al¬
luvion. But admitting the Abbe Raynafis idea,
that America is a far younger country than ei¬
ther of the other continents, or in other words,
that America has emerged long since their form¬
ation, how did it happen that the material which
compose this continent, were not accumulated
<oa the eastern coast of Asia ?....Was it, that the
( it 5
present rfiOuntains of America, then protuberarf^
ces on the bed of the ocean, intercepted a part of
the passing sands which would otherwise, have*
been washed on the Asiatic shore, and thus be-
'came the rudiments 6f this vast continent ? If so,-
America is under much greater obligations to"
her barren mountains, than she has hitherto sup-*
posed.
1 But while Mr.' Buffonrs theory accounts very"
handsomely lor the enlargernent of the eastern1
coast, itoilers'no kind of reason for any extensi¬
on of the western ; on the contrary, the very-
causes assigned to supply the addition to the
eastern, seem at hrst view, to threaten'a diminu-"
tion of the western coast. Accordingly, Mr.
Buffon, we see, has adopted also the latter idea ;
and in the constant ahluvibn from the western
coast of one continent, has found a perennial
source of materials for the eastern coast 0-f that
v. hich lies behind it. This last idea, however,
by no means quadrates with the hypothesis that
the mountains of America formed the original
stamina of the continent; for on the latter sup-*
position, the mountains themselves would consti¬
tute the western coast ; since'Mr. Buffon's theo-'
ry precludes the idea of any accession in that
quarter. But the mountains do not constitute
the western coast-. On the contrary there, is a
wider extent of country between the great moun¬
tains in North America, and the Pacific or the
Northern oceans, than there is between the same
mountains and the Atlantic ocean. Mr. Buffon's
theory, therefore, however rational as to the eas¬
tern, becomes defective,-as he presses it,, in ffclt£-
( 22 )
tron to the western coast ; unless, to accommo¬
date the theory, we suppose the total abrasion of
some great mountain which originally constitut¬
ed the western limit, and which was itself, the
embryon of this continent. But f6r many rea¬
sons, and particularly the present contiguity to
Asia, at one part, where such a mountain accord¬
ing to the hypothesis, must have run, the idea of
any such limit will be thought rather too extra¬
vagant for adoption. The fact is that Mr. BulTon
has considered his theory rather in its operation
onacontinent already established,than on the birth
or primitive emersion of acontinentfromtheocean.
As to the western part of this continent, I
mean that which lies beyond the Allegany moun¬
tains, if it was not originally gained from the o-
cean, it has received an accumulation of earth
by no means less wonderful. Far beyond the
Ohio, in piercing the earth for water, the stumps
of trees, bearing the most evident impressions of
the axe, and on one of them the rust of consum¬
ed iron, have been discovered between ninety
and an hundred feet below the present surface of
the earth. This is a proof, by the bye, not only
that this immense depth of soil has been accu¬
mulated in that quaiter; but that, that new coitn»
try, as the inhabitants of the Atlantic States call
it, is, indeed, a very ancient one, and that North
America has undergone more revohnions in
point of cii ilization, than have heretofore been
thought of, either by the European or American
Philosophers. 1 hat part of this continent, which
borders on the western ocean being almost en¬
tirely unknown, it is impossible to say whether
( 23 )
it exhibits the same evidence of emersion which
is found here. M'Kenzie, however, the only tra¬
veller who has ever penetrated through this vast
forest, records a curious tradition among some
of the western tribes of Indians ; to wit, that the
world was qnce covered with water. The tradi¬
tion is embellished, as usual, with a number of
very highly poetical fictions. The fact which I
suppose to be couched under it, is the ancient
submersion of that part of the continent; which,
certainly looks much more like a "world, than the
petty territory that was inundated by Deucalion's
flood. If I remember aright, for I cannot imme¬
diately refer to the book, Stith, in his history of
Virginia, has recorded a similar tradition among
the Atlantic tribes of Indians. I have no doubt
that if M'Kenzie had been as well qualified for
scientific research, as he was undoubtedly honest,
firm and persevering, it would have been in his
power to have thrown great lights on this subject
as it relates to the western country.
For my own part, while I believe the present
mountains of America to have constituted the o-
riginal stamina of the continent, I believe, at the
same time, the western as well as the eastern
country to be the effect of alluvion ; produced
too by the same causes ; the rotation of the earth,
and the planetary attraction of the ocean. The
perception of this will be easy and simple, if, in¬
stead of confounding the mind, by a wide view of
the whole continent as it now stands, we carry
back our imaginations to the ti,me of its birth,
and suppose some one of the highest pinnacles of
the Blue Ridge to have just emerged above the
( J
surface of the sea. Now whether the rollings of
the earth to the east give to the ocean, which
floats loosely upon its bosom, an actual counter-
current, to the west,^ which is occasionally, far¬
ther accelerated by the motion of the tides in that
* This idea, which is merely stated hypothetic
cally, is considered, by the Enquirer, as having
been a.position cdisolutely taken by the British
Spy ; and as- the reverse principle, (to wit, that
the motion of the waters is taken from- and cor¬
responds with that of the solid earth,) is so rotH
established, he concludes that it must have been
contested by the British Spy through mere inad¬
vertence. But for my part, I do not perceive
how this hypothetical idea of the British Spy, is,
at all, in collision with the doctrine of the diurnal
or annual revolution of the terraqueous globe
The British Spy could not have been guilty of so
great an absurdity as to intend that the waters of
the ocean.deserted their bed and broke over the
eastern coasts and lofty mountains of opposing
continents in order to maintain their actual coun¬
ter-current to tire west. It must have been clear
to him, that the ocean, keeping its bed, must at¬
tend the motion of the earth, u not only qn its
axis, but in its orbit." But the question hspre is-
not as to the position of the whole ocean as it re¬
lates-to the whole earth the question is merely
as to the locomotion of the particles of the ocean,
among tl emselves* For although the ocean as
well as the solid earth must perform a complete
resolution arounc? their common axis once in
ttvcnty-four. hcuxsr it-does not. follow,, as L take-
C as 5
direction, or whether this be not the case ; stiff
to out4 newly emerged pinnacle, which is whirled,
by the earth's motion, through the waters of the
deep, the consequences will be the same as i'f
it, that the globules of the fluid ocean must, all
this time, remain as fixed as the atoms of the so--
lid earth : they certainly may and certainly have,
from some cause or other, a subordinate motion,,
among themselves, frequently adverse to the ge¬
neral motion of the globe ; to wit, a current
to the wrestr The atmosphere belongs as much
to this globe as the waters of the ocean do
that is to say, it cannot any more than the
ocean fly off and attach itself to any other pla--
net. It feels-, like the ocean, the gravitating powd¬
er of the earth and the attraction of the neighbor¬
ing planets. It is affected,,no doubt, very sensi¬
bly {at least the lower region of it) by the earth's
diurnal rotation, and, like the ocean, is compelled-
to attend her, in her annual journey around the
sun. But what of this ? D'oes the. atmosphere-
remain fixed in such a manner, as that the part
of it which our antipodes are respiring at ihisrno-
ment, is to furnish our diet, our pabulum vitae'
twelve hours hence ? Certainly not the atoms'
which compose the atmosphere are, we know, in
spite of the earth's diurnal and annual motion, agi¬
tated and impelled in every direction; and so also,,
we equally wrell knovr,are the waters of the ocean.
If the Enquirer, when he says, that " the mo--
tion of the egrth is communicated to every part
of it, whether solid or fluid," intends that the mo¬
tion ©f the loose-and fluid particles of the ocean,-,
< 26 )
there were this actual and strong- current. Fof
while the waters will be continually accumulated
on the eastern coast of this pinnacle, it is obvious
that on the western coast, (protected, as it would
take, from the earth, a flux among themselves to
the east; the result would be, an actual current
to the east; which is not pretended. If he mean,
that the globules of the ocean, unaffected by any
other cause than the motion of the earth, would
always maintain the same position in relation to
each other, he may, indeed, alledge, a principle
which is well established; but as it does not meet
the approbation of my reason, and as I am not in
the habit of readingmerely that I may understand
and believe, I must beg permission to enter my
dissent to the principle. It would be difficult, if
not impossible, so close as we are in the neigh¬
borhood of the earth's attraction, to invent any
apparatus by which a decisive experiment could
be made on this subject. But, by the way of il¬
lustration, let us suppose the earth at rest ; let us
suppose the atmosphere, by the hand of the great
chemist who raised it into its present aeriform
state, once more reduced to a fluid ; let us sup¬
pose it, like a great ocean, to surround the earth
within the torrid zone, (partitioned at right an¬
gles, by two or three mountains running from
ftorth to south) and all its parts reposing in a hal¬
cyon calm ; let us then suppose the earth whirled
on it's axis to the east; what would be the proba¬
ble effect ? It is clear that the lower region of this
superincumbent ocean would be most strongly
bound by the earth's attraction; it is equally clear
( sr )
be, from the current, by the newly risen earth,)
the waters will always be comparatively low and
calm. The result is clear. Ihe sands borne a-
long by the ocean's current over the northern and
that the stratum of globules immediately in con¬
tact with the earth, would adhere more strongly
thereto, than to the fluid stratum which rested
upon it ; while this adhesion to the surface of
the earth would be assisted by the many rugged
protuberances on' that surface. Kence, at the
first motion of the earth, the lowest part of this
circumambient ocean, being most powerfully at¬
tracted and attached to the earth, would slide un¬
der the fluid mass above it, and thereby produce an
inequality in'the upper surface of the water it¬
self ; an elevation in the eastern, a concavity in
the western side of each partition ; while the wa¬
ters from their tendency to seek their level,
would strive to restore the balance, by falling
constantly from east to west. Whether this ef¬
fect would continue forever,or how long it would
continue in our oceans as they are at present ar¬
ranged, it is not easy to solve. But that a cur¬
rent from the east to the west would he at first
produced, is as evident as the light of heaven : if
it be denied,! demand the solution of the follow¬
ing phenomenon ; if a plate he filled with oil or
other fluid, and the plate be then drawn in any*
direction, how does it happen that the fluid will
manifest a tendency to flow in the opposite direc¬
tion ; in so much, that if the draught of the plate
be sudden, the fluid running rapidly ove;- the ad¬
verse edge of the plate, shall discharge itself com-
( 28 7
southern extremities of this pinnacle, will always'
have a tendency to settle in the calm behind it;
and thus, by perpetual accumulations, form a
pletely -r leaving little behind but the inferior stra¬
tum ? I take it that the man who solves this phe¬
nomenon, satisfactorily, will be compelled tore-
sort to principles, which, when applied to our o«
ceans resting loosely as they do on the earth
which rolls under them, would inevitably produce
a western current; and this current once produc¬
ed, it will be diSiculttosay why and when it should
cease. A current thus produced would be une¬
qual. fiom the nature of it's cause, at various
depths ; it would be subject to temporary affec-
t'ions and alterations near its surface, by the winds,
the tides and the diversified shapes ol the ccasts
on which the ocean rolls. 'I he general tendency,
however, of the great mass of the waters would
be to the west.
I see no sound reason in renouncing Mr. Buf-
fon's theory, either on account of the eloquent
and beautiful manner in which it is explained;
nor because it has long had its just portion of ad¬
mirers ; nor because there are othtr more modern
theories. While we are children, it may be well
enoug^ito lav passively on our backs and permit
others to prepare and feed us with the pap of sci¬
ence ; fyut when our own judgments and under¬
standings have gained their maturity, it behoves"
us, instead of being u a feather for every wind
that blo^s," instead of floating impotentlv before
the cupreous cut rent of fashion and opinion, to
heave ou^ all our anchors^ to-take a-positkhl
( B9 )
western coast, more rapidly perhaps than an eas-
tern one ; as w e may see in miniature, by the capes'
and shallows collected by the still water, on each
from which nothing shall move us but reason and
truth, not novelty and fashion. In the progress
of science, many principles, in my opinion, have
been dropped to make way for others, which are
new er, but less true. A.nd among them Mr.
Buffon's theory of the earth. The effect of allu¬
vion is so slow, that any one generation is almost
unable' to perceive the -change wrought by it ;
hence, many people, unable to s-it down and reflect
on the wonders which time can do ; fly off with a
kind of puerile impatience, and resort to any thing,
even a boiileversementc of a whole continent, ra¬
ther than to depend on so slow and imperceptible
an operation as that o''alluvion. This is not phi¬
losophical. Neither on the other hand would it
be philosophical, to reject a theory because it
might be new and unsupported ,by a name. Oil
the contrary, the man who on any branch of phi¬
losophy starts a new hypothesis, which has even
the guise of reason, confers a benefit on the works
for he enlarges the ground of thought, and altho'
not immediately in the temple of truth himself,
may" have dropped a hint, an accidental clue,
which mav serve to lead others to the door of the
temple. In this spirit, I not only excuse, hut am
.grateful even for the wildest of Br. Darwin's phi¬
losophical chimeras. In the same spirit, I offer,
without the expectation of its final adoption, the
idea suggested by this note as to the cause of %
"western current.
( 30 )
side, at the mouths of creeks, or below rocks, ia
the rapids of a river.
After this new born point of earth had gained
some degree of elevation, it is probable that suc¬
cessive coats of vegetation, according to Dr. Dar-
win's idea, springing up, then falling and dying
on the earth, paid an annual tribute to the infant
continent, while each rain which fell upon it, bore
down a part of its substance and assisted perpe¬
tually i-n the enlargement of its area.
It is curious that the arrangement of the moun¬
tains both in North and South America, as well
as the shape of the two continents, combine to
strengthen the preceding theory. Forthe moun¬
tains, as you will perceive on inspecting your
maps, run, in chains, from north to south ; thus
opposing the widest possible barrier to the sands,
as they roll from east to west. The shape of the
continents is just that which would naturally be
expected from such an origin j that is, they lie a-
long, collaterally, with the mountains. As far
north as the country is well known, these ranges
of mountains are observed ; and it is remarkable,
that as soon as the Cordilleras terminate in the
south, the continent of South America ends ;
where they terminate in the north the continent
dwindles to a narrow Isthmus.
Assuming this theory as correct, it is amusing
to observe the conclusions to which it will lead
Us.
As the country is supposed to have been form¬
ed by gradual accumulations, and as these accu¬
mulations were most probably equal or nearlv so
in every part, it follows that, broken as this coun-
( 31 )
try Is in hills and dales, it has assumed no new
appearance by its emersion ; but that the figure
of the earth's surface is the same throughout, as
well where it is now covered by the waters of the
ocean, as where it has been already denudated.
So that Mr. Boyle's mountains in the sea, cease
to have any thing wonderful in them.
Connected with this, it is not an improbable
conclusion, that new continents and islands are
now forming on the bed of the ocean. Perhaps
at some future day, lands may emerge in the
neighborhood of the Antarctic circle, which by
progressive accumulations and a consequent in¬
crease of weight, may keep a juster balance be¬
tween the poles, and produce a material differ¬
ence in our astronomical relations. The naviga¬
tors of that day will be as successful in their dis¬
coveries in the southern seas, as Columbus was
heretofore in the northern. For there can be
little doubt that there has been a time when Co¬
lumbus, if he had lived, would have found his
reasonings, on the balance of the earth, fallaci¬
ous ; and would have sought these seas for a
continent, as much in vain, as Drake, Anson,
Cooke and others, encouraged perhaps by similar
reasoning, have since sought the ocean of the
south.
If Mr. Buffon's notion be correct, that the eas-'
tern coast of one continent is perpetually feed¬
ing on the western coast of that which lies before
it, the conclusion is inevitable, that the present
materials of Europe and Africa, and Asia in suc¬
cession, will, at some future day, compose the
continents of North and South America, while
( « )
"t^he latter, thrown on the Asiatic shore, will again
make apart, and, in time, the whole of that conti¬
nent, to which, by some philosophers, they are
supposed to have been originally atta-'hed. It is
'equally clear that, by this means, the continents
will not only exchange their materials, but their
'position ; so that, in process of time, they must
respectively make a tour around the globe, main¬
taining, still, the same ceremonious distance irorn
eayh other, which they now hold.
According to my theory, which supposes an
alluvion on the western as well as the eastern
coasts, the continents and islands of the earth,
will be caused, recip~ocally, to approximate, and
(if materials enough can be found in the bed of
the ocean, 01* generated by any operation of na¬
ture) ultimately to unite. Our island of G. Bri¬
tain, therefore, at some future day, and in proper
person, will probably invade the territory of
France. In the course of this process of alluvion
as it relates to this country, the refluent waters
of the Atlantic will be forced to recede from
Hampton Roads and the Ches ipeake, the beds
whereof wilt become fertile vallies, or, as they
are culled here, river bottoms ; while the lands
in the lower district of the state, which are now
only a very few feet above the surface of the sea,
will rise into n ijestic eminences, and the present
sickly srite of Norfolk, be converted into a high
and s dubrious mountain. I apprehend, however,
that the present inhabitants of Norfolk would be
extremely unwilling to have such an effect
wrought in their day: since there can be little
■doubt that they prefer their present commercial
( 35 )
situation, incumbered as it is by the annual vi-
si s ol" the yellow fever, to the elevation and
health ol the Blue Ridge.
In the course of this process, too, of which I
havt been speaking, if the theory be corr. t, the
gulph of Mexico will be eventually filled up, and
the West India Islands consolidated with the A-
merican continent.
'These consequences, visionary as they may
now appear, are not only probable j but if the al¬
luvion which is demonstrated to have taken place
already, should continue, they are inevitable....
There is very little probability that the isthmus
of Darien, which connects the two continents, is
coeval with the Blue Ridge or the Cordilleras ;
and it requires only a continuation of the cause
which produced the isthmus, to effect the repleti¬
on of the gulph and the consolidation of the
islands with the continent.
But when ? I am possessed of no data whereby
the calculations can be made. The depth at
which Herculaneum and Fompea were found to
be buried in the course of sixteen hundred years
affords us no light on this enquiry ; because their
burial was effected not by the slow alluvion and
accumulation of time, but by the sudden and re¬
peated eruptions of Vesuvius. As little are
we aided by the repletion of the earth around the
Tarpeianro:k in Rome ; since that repletion was
most probably effected in a very great degree, by
the materials of fallen buildings. And besides,
the original heiglith of the rock is not ascertain¬
ed with any kind of precision, historians having,
I believe, merely informed us, that it was suflici-
( u 5
ently elevated to kill the criminals who were
thrown from its summit.
Hut a truce with philosophy. "Who could have
believ^l that the skeleton of an unwieldy Whalef
and a _~w mouldering teeth of a Shark, would
have led me such a dance [....Adieu, my deaf
S , for the present: May the light of Heaven
continue to shine around you!
LETTER III.
Richmond, September 15.
Y OU enquire into the state of your favorite art
in Virginia. Eloquence, my dear S has few
successful votaries here, l mean eloquence of
the highest order : such as that, to which, not on¬
ly the bosom of your friend, but the feelings of
the whole British nation bore evidence, in listen¬
ing to the charge of the Begums in the prosecuti¬
on of Warren Hastings.
In the national and state legislatures, as well as
at the various bars in the United States, I have
heard great volubility, much good sense, and
some random touches of the pathetic : but in the
same bodies, I have heard a far greater proporti¬
on of puerile rant, or tedious and disgusting ina¬
nity. Three remarks are true as to almost all
their orators.
First; they have not a sufficient fund of gene¬
ral knowledge.
Secondly; they have not the habit of close and
solid thinking.
Thirdly } they do not aspire at original orna*
ments.
From these three defects, it most generally re¬
sults, that, although, they pour out, easily enough,
a torrent of words, yet these are destitute of the
light of erudition, the practical utility ofjiyrtand
copious thought, or those novel and beautiful al¬
lusions and embellishments, with which the very
scenery of the country is so highly calculated to
inspire them.
The truth is, my dear S , that this scarcity
of genuine and sublime eloquence, is not confined
to the United States : instances of it in any civil¬
ized country have always been rare indeed. Mr.
Blair is certainly correct in the opinion, that a
state of nature is most favorable to the higher ef¬
forts of the imagination, and the more unrestrain¬
ed and noble raptures of the heart. Civilization,
wherever it has, gained ground, has interwoven
with society, a habit of artificial and elaborate de¬
corum, which mixes in every operation of life,
deters the fancy from every bold enterprize, and
buries nature under a load of hypocritical cere¬
monies. A man, therefore, in order to be elo¬
quent, has to forget the habits in which he has
been educated ; and never will he touch his audi¬
ence so exquisitely as when he goes back to th^
primitive simplicity of the patriarchal age.
I have said that instances of genuine and sub¬
lime eloquence have always been rare in every ci¬
vilized country. It is true that Tully and Pliny
the younger, have, in their epistles, represented
Rome, in their respective days, as swarming with
orators of the first class : yet from the specimens
which they themselves have left us, I am led to
entertain a very humble opinion of ancient elo-
( 26 }
querce. B wnosthenes we know has pronounced,
ir L cVur, hut lhc sole merit of an orator to
consist in d~\ Very, or as Lord Verulam translates
it, in kciien ; and, although I know that the world
would proscribe it as a literary heresy, I cannot
lit'p believing Tully's merit to have been princi¬
pally of that kind. For my own pait, I conless
very frankly, that I have never met with any
thing of his, which has, according to my taste,
deserved the name of superior elocuiencc. His
style, indeed, is pure, polished, sparkling, lull and
sonorous, and, perhaps, deserves all the encomi¬
ums which have been bestowed on it. But -an
oration, certainly, no more deserves the title of
superior eloquence, because its style is ornament¬
ed, than the figure of an Apollo would deserve
the epithet of elegant, merely from, the superior
texture and flow of the drapery. In reading an
oration, it is the mind to which I look. It is the
expanse and richness cf the conception itself,
which I regard, and not the glittering tinsel
wherein it may be attired. Tully's orations, exa¬
mined in this spirit, have, with me, sunk far he-
low the grade at which we have been taught to
ix them. It is true, that at school, I learnt, like
the rest of the world, to lisp 41 Cicero the ora-
41 tor but when I grew up and began to judge
for myself, I opened his volumes again and foot¬
ed in vain for that sublimitv of conception, which
fills and astonishes the mind, that simple pathos
which finds such a sweet welcome in every breast,
or that re-dodess enthusiasm of unaffected paw-
on, which lakes the heart by storm. On the con¬
trary, let me confess to you, that, whatever may
C 3r )
"be £he trrrtise, to me he seemed cold and vapid,
and uninteresting and tireson^^not only desti¬
tute of that compul^i^w>ir»«»igy of thought wnigdj-
we look for m a great man, but even void of the
strong, rich and varied colouring of a superior
fancy. His master-piece of composition, his
work,de Oratore, is, in my judgment, extremely-
light and unsubstantial ; and, in truth, is little
more than a tissue of rhapsodies, assailing the
ear indeed, with pleasant sounds, but leaving few-
clear and useful traces on the mind. Plutarch
speaks of his person as all grace, his voice as per¬
fect music, his look and gesture as all alive, -strik¬
ing, dignified and peculiarly impressive ; and I
incline to the opinion, that to these theatrical ad¬
vantages, connected with the just reliance which
the Romans had in his patriotism and good judg¬
ment, their strong interest in the subjects discuss¬
ed by him, and their mors intimate acquaintance
with the idiom of his language, his fame, while
living arose ; and th^t it has been, since, propa¬
gated by the schools on account of the classic pu¬
rity and elegance of his style. Many of these re¬
marks are, in my opinion, equally applicable to
Demosthenes. He deserves, indeed, the dis¬
tinction of having more fire and less smoke than.
Tuliy. But....in the majestic march of the mind
....in force of thought, and splendor of imager}'-,
I think, both the orators of Greece and Rome,
eclipsed by more than one person within his
majesty's dominions.
Heavens ! How should I be anathematized
and excommunicated by every pedagogue in
♦Great-Britain, if these remarks were made pub-
( 38 )
•lie ! Spirits of Car and of Ascham ! have mercy
upon me ! Woe4tgtide the hand that plucks the
--W^ardTbeard of hoary* ^ror. ..From lisping in¬
fancy to stooping age, the reproaches, the curses
of the world shall be upon it !....But to you, my
dearest S.. my friend, my preceptor, to you
I disclose my opinions with the same freedom
and for the same purpose, that I would expose
my wounds to a surgeon. To vou, it is peculi¬
arly proper that I should make my appeal on
this subject ; for when eloquence is the theme,
your name is net far olf!
Tell me, then, you, who are capable of doing
it, what is this divine eloquence ? What the charm
byT which the orator binds the senses of his au¬
dience... .by which he attunes ,and touches and
sweeps the human lyre, with the resistless sway
and master hand of a Timotheus ? Is not the
whole mystery comprehended in one word..-
SYMPA'l HY ? I mean not merely that tender
passion which quavers the Jip and fills the eye of
the babe when he looks on the sorrows and tears
of apother ; but that still more delicate and sub¬
tle quality, by which we, passively' catch the very
colours, momentum and strength .of the mind to
whose operations we are attending ; n Inch con¬
verts every speaker to whom we listen, into a
P}~ocrw>tes ,* and enables him for the moment, to
stretch or lop our faculties to fit the standard of
his own mind ?
This is a very curious subject. I am some¬
times half inclined to adopt the notion stated by
our great Bacon in his original and masterly
treatise on the advancement of learning. "
< 59 )
cination, says he, is the power and act of ima-
44 gination intensive upon other bodies than the
44 body of the imaginant; wherein the school of
44 Paracelsus and the disciples of pretended natu-
*** ral magic have been so intemperate, as that
44 they have exalted the power of the imagination
44 to be much one with the power of miracle-
working faith : others that draw nearer to pro-
144 bability, calling to their view the secret passa*
41 ges of things and especially of the contagion
44 that passetn from body to body, do conceive it
44 shouldlikewise be agreeable to nature, that there
44 should be some transmissions and operations from
44 spirit to spirit, without the mediation of the sen-
44 ses : whence the conceits have grown, now al-
44 most made civil, of the Mastering spirit, and
44 the force of confidence and the like." This no¬
tion is farther explained in his Sylva Sylvarum,
wherein he tells a story of an Egyptian soothsay¬
er, who made Mark Anthony believe, that his
genius, which was otherwise brave and confi¬
dent, was, in the presence of Octavianus Cae¬
sar, poor and cowardly : and therefore he,advis ■
ed him to absent himself as much as he could and
remove far from him. It turned out, however,
that this soothsayer was suborned by Cleopatra
who wished Anthony's company in Egypt.
Yet, if there be not something of this secret in¬
tercourse from spirit to spirit, how does it hap¬
pen that one speaker shall gradually invade and
benumb all the faculties of my soul as if I wrere
handling a torpedo ; while another, like the gym*
tiotus ot Surinam, shall arouse me with an elec¬
tric shock ? How does it happen that the first
C 40 )
shall infuse his poor spirit into my system, lethar-
gisc my native intellects, and bring- down my pow¬
ers exactly to the level of his own ? Or that the
last shall descend upon me like an angel of light,
breathe new energies into my frame, dilate my
soul with his own intelligence, exalt me into a
new and nobler region of thought, snatch me
from the earth, at pleasure, and rap me to the se¬
venth heaven ? And, what is still more wonder¬
ful, how does it happen that these diffcrenttffects
endure so long after the a gene v of the speaker
1ms ceased ? In so much, that if I sit down to any
intellectual exercise, after listening to the first
speaker, my performance shall be unworthy even
of me, and the numb fish visible and tangible in
•every sentence ..whereas, if I enter on the same
amusement, after having attended to the last
mentioned orator, I shall be astonished at the e-
levation and vigor of ray own thoughts ; and, if
I meet, accidentally, with the same production,
a month or two afterwards, when my mind has
lost the inspiration, shall scarcely recognize it
for my own work. Whence is all this ? Tome
it would seem that it must proceed either from
the subtile commerce between the spirits of men,
v hich Lord Verulam notices, and which enables
the speaker, thereby, to identify his hearer with
"himself; or else that the rnincl of man possesses,
independently of any volition on the part of its
proprietor, a species of pupilary frculty of dilat¬
ing and contracting itself, in proportion to the
pencil of the rays of light which the speaker
tVow upon it; which dilatation or cortract'-
* r, as in the case of the eye, cannot be immeui-
ittJj m,.. tAroptly altered.
( 41 ■)
"VTiv»fever may be the so'utlcn, the fact,I think,
Is ci rti inly as I have slated it. And it is remark¬
able tl at the s"me effect is produced, though
perhaps in a less dccre;, by perusing books into
vliiih different degrees of spirit and genius have
been infused. I am. acquainted with a gentleman
who never sits dawn to a composition, wherein
he wishes to shine, without previously reading,
with intense application, half a dozen pages of
bis favor! e Lclir gbroke. Having taken the cha¬
racter and impulse of that writer's mind, he de¬
clares thrt he feels his pen to flow with a spirit
not hir own ; and that, if, in the course of his
woik, his powers brgin to languish, he finds it
easy to revive and charge them afresh from the
same never failing source. If these things be
not visionary, it becomes important to a man, for
a new reason, what books he reads, and what
company he keeps, ^ince, according to Lord Ve-
rulam's notion, an induzi of the spirits of others
may change the native character of his heart ard
understanding, before he is aware of it ; or, ac¬
cording to the other suggestion, he may sp habi-
tuilly, rnntract the pupil of his mind, as to be
di; qualified for the ccmprehc nsion of a great
subject, and fit onl r for microscopic observations.
"Whereas by keeping the company and reading
the works of men of magnanimity and genius on¬
ly, he may receive their qualities by subtle trans¬
mission, and eventually, get the eye, the ardor
and the enterprise of an Eagle.
But whither am I wandering ? Permit me to
return. Admitting the correctness of the prin¬
ciples formerly mentioned, it would seem to be a
( 42 )
fair 'conclusion that whenever an orator wishes
"to know what effect he has wrought on his audi*
•ence, he should coolly and conscientiously pro¬
pound to himself this question....have I, myself,
throughout my oration, felt those clear and co¬
gent convictions of judgment", and that pure and
exalted fire of the soul, with which I wished to
inspire others ? For, he may rely on it, that he
can no more impart (or to use Bacon's word,
transmit) convictions and sensations which he
himself has not, at the time, sincerely felt, than
he can convey a clear title to property, in which
.'he himself has no title.
This leads me to remark a defect which I have
vnoticed more than once in this country. Fol¬
lowing up too closely the cold conceit of the Ro¬
man division of an oration, the speakers set aside
-a particular part of their discourse, usually the
..peroration, in which, they take it into their heads
that they will be pathetic. Accordingly when
they reach this part, whether it be prompted by
the feelings or not, a mighty bustle commences.
The speaker pricks up his ears, erects his ches%
dosses his arms with hysterical vehemence and
isays every thing which he supposes ought to af¬
fect his hearers ; but it is all in vain : for it is ob¬
vious that every thing he says is prompted by
the head ; and, however, it ma)r display his in¬
genuity and fertility., .however it may appeal to
the admiration of his hearers, it will never strike
deeper. The hearts of the audience will refure
all commerce except with the heart of the speak¬
er ; nor, in this commerce, is ij; possible, by any
disguise, however artful, to impose false ware on
( 43 )
•them. However the speaker may labor to seem
to feel, however near he may approach to the-ap-
pearance ot the reality, the heart, nevertheless,
possesses a keen, unerring sense, which never
fails to detect the imposture. It would seem as
if the heart of man stamps a secret mark on all its
effusions, which alone can give them currency,
and which no ingenuity, however adroit, can suc¬
cessfully imitate. I have been not a little .di¬
verted, here, in listening to some fine orators,
who deal almost entirely in this paihos of the
head. They practice the start, the pause....make
an immense parade of attitudes, and gestures,
and seem to imagine themselves piercing the
heart with a thousand wounds. 1 he heart all
the time, developing every trick that is played to
cajole her, and sitting serene and composed,
looks en and smiles at the ridiculous pageant as it
passes. Nothing can, in my opinion, be more
illy j-udged in an orator, than to indulge himself
in this idle, artificial parade. It is particularly
unfortunate in an exordium. It is as much as to
say, caiseat auditor ; and for my own part, the
moment I see an orator rise with this menacing
roajest} .*...assume a look of soltrnn wisdom
stretch forth his right arm, like the rubens dexter
of Jove....and hear him open his throat in deep
and tragic tone, I feel m> self involuntarily brac¬
ed and in an attitude of defence, as if I were go¬
ing to take a bout with Mendoza The Viigi-
nians boast of an orator of nature, whose manner
was the reverse of all this ; and he is the only o-
rator of whom they do boast, with much empha¬
sis. I mean the celebrated PatrickHeniy,v.hcxn,
( 44 )
1 regret, that I came to this country too late t&
see. I cannot, indeed, easily forgive him, even
in the grave, his personal instrumental!n in se¬
parating these fair colonies from Great-Britain,
Yet I dare not withhold from the memorv of h;s
talents, the tribute of respect to which the}* are
so justly entitled. I am told that his general ap¬
pearance and manners were those cf a plain far¬
mer or planter of the back country ? that, in this
character, he always entered on the exordium of
an oration....di '.qualifying himself, with looks and
expressions of humility so lowly an I unassuming,
as threw every heart off its guard and induced
his audience to listen to hiui, with the same easy
openness with \\ hich they would converse with an
honest neighbor ......but, by and bye....when it was
little expected, he wo aid take a flight so high,
and blaze, with a splendor so heavenly, as filled
them with a hind of religious awe, and gave him
the force and authority of a prophet. You re¬
member this wo the manner of Ulysses ; com¬
mencing with the look depressed, and hesitating
voice. Yet I dm e say Ulr. Henry* was directed
to if, nor by the example or Ulysses, of which it
is very probable, that, at the cn inmencenv nt of
his cirnr, at Last, he was entirely ignorant; but
either tl at it was Ihe genuine, trembling diffi¬
dence, without which, il Tully may be believed,
a great or; tor never rises ; or else that he was
prompted to it by his own sound judgment and
his intimate knowledge of the human heart. Ihave
seen the skeletons of some of his orations. The
pn iods and their members are short, quick,eager,
palpitating, and are manifestly the extcmpomne-
C « )
Ous effusions of a •mind deeply convinced, and a
h' art inflamed with zeal for the propagation of
those convictions. They afford, however, a very
inadequate sample of his talents ; the stenogra¬
pher having never attempted to follow him, when,
he arose in the strength and awful majesty of his
genius.'
I am not a little surprised to find eloquence of
this high order so negligently cultivated in the
United States. Considering what a very power¬
ful engine it is in a republic, and how peculiarly
favorable to its culture, the climate of republics
has been always found, I expected to have seen
in America, more votaries to Mercury than even
to Plutus. Indeed it would be so sure a road
both to wealth and honors, that if I coveted ei¬
ther, and were an American, I would bend all xny
powers to its acquirement, and try whether I
could not succeed as well as Demosthenes in van¬
quishing natural imperfections. Ah ! my dear
S , were you a citizen of this country !....You,
under the influence of whose voice a parliament
of Great-Britain has trembled and shuddered,,
yhile her refined and enlightened galleries have
Mept and fainted in the excess of feeling !„..what
might you not accomplish !....But, for the honar
of pay country, I am much better pleased that
you are a Briton. On the subject of Virginian
eloquence, you shall hear farther from me. In
the mean time, adieu, my S , my friend, my
father.
C 46 )
Mr Pleasants,
sir
AS the theory of the earth derives impor¬
tance from its dignity, if not from its utility, and
has of late years given birth to' many ingenious
Speculations, I shall offer no apology for trou¬
bling you with the following remarks, which
were suggested by an essay, in last Wednesday's
Argus, entitled The British Spy."
Sea shells and other marine productions differ¬
ing in no respect from those which now exist in
their native element, have been found in every
explored part of the- globe- They are found, toor
in the highest as well as in the lowest situations...
on the loftiest mountains of Europe, and the still
loftier Andes of Soudi America. To go no far.
ther from home, our own Alleghany abounds
with them. How were these substances separat¬
ed from their parent ocean ? Do they still remain
in their primitive beds, and has the water de¬
serted them, or have they deserted the water?
These questions, differently answered, give rise
to different theories.
Among these theories, that of the Count de
Buffon stands conspicuous. Adorned with all
the graces of style, and borrowing a lustre from
his other splendid productions, it has long had
its full share of admirers.... After exhibiting new
proofs of a former submersion, in. which he dis¬
covers great ingenuity, and is certainly entitled
to great praise, he proceeds to account for the
earth in its present form, bv a natural operation
of the ocean whPh covered it. This hypothesis,
which the British Spy has partially adopted, is li-
C 4r J
Able to many objections, which, to me at least*
arc insuperable....I will briefly notice some of the*
most obvious.
Although alluvion may account for small ac¬
cessions of soil nearly on a level with the ocean,
it cannot explain the formation of mountains. It
is contrary to all the known laws of nature to'
suppose that a fluid could lift, so far above its
own level, bodies many times heavier than itself.
Again, if the ocean, as BuSfon maintains, has a
tendency to wear away all points and eminences
over which it passes, it would exert this tenden¬
cy on the mountains itself had formed, or rather;,
it would prevent their formation'. It is surely in¬
consistent to suppose the ocean would producer
mountains, and at the same time wear away those
that already existed. Indeed, the author himself
seemed to be aware of the invincible objections to
this part of his theory, and endeavors to evade
their force by sinking a part of the earth', in the
cavity occasioned by which, the superfluous wa¬
ters find a sufficient receptable ; thus abandoning
the agency of alluvion, and adopting a new and
totally different hypothesis.
But while marine substances are found far a*
hove their proper element, vegetable bodies are
often found far below the seat of their production.
In Europe they often meet with wood, at great
depths of the earth, in a state of perfect preserva¬
tion, and in sinking wells, in this country, trunks
of trees frequently obstruct the progress of the
work. A Mr. Peters of Harrison county not
long since met with pieces "of pine, twenty feet
below the surface, on a hill of considerable eleva-
C 48 ;
tion, ar> 1 at a dhfance from any water rroursr
In tnis ljwii, 1l ves, belie red Lo be those oi Hie
liazle, were iou id mingled wiiii marine prod ic-
tions. Phase vegetable matters must have been
once exposed, to air, he it .and hgit, to have at¬
tained the state in which they wmre found, and
the same exposure would have afterwards caused
their decay, unless their interment had been sud¬
den and complete." Bones, shells and other ex¬
traneous substances, are olden found bedded in
marble and other hard bodies, and I myself have
seen a specimen of those human bones, which in
the fortifications of Gibraltar are often found in¬
corporated. with the solid rock What less than
some great throe of nature, or some mighty a-
gent, now dormant and unknown, could have pro¬
duced the general boulcverjcment which these ap¬
pearances indicate ?
But,the hypothetical reasoning of Monsieur de
BafTon, is founded on *4 fact no less hypothetical.
The arguments in favor of a general current to
the west, are I confess, very cogent, and would
be convincing but for the following difficulties.
1. If the operation cl the sun and moon, in pro¬
ducing alternate elevations and depressions ol the
ocean, produce aiso a current, the force of this
current will be in proportion to the mass of wa¬
ter thus raised ami depressed. Now, contrary
to the assertion of Baffon, the tides are highest
in high latitudes, and gradually diininh h towards
tKe~equator, where I believe they hardly exceed
afoot. By the observations of Cap'ain Cool;,,
the same difference exists in the Pacific Ocean
as was long known in the xltlanlic.. If then, there:
C 49 )
is a general current to- the west, it should be"1
strongest in high latitudes and weakest under the
line. But the contrary is the fact. No general
current to the west is found without the tropics,
and that which prevails irregularly between them,
is usually and rationally ascribed to the trade
winds.
2. If this supposed current existed, its effect
would be readily perceived by our navigators in
the difference of their passages to and from Eu¬
rope, but, the one before referred to, excepted,
they meet with nothing of the kind. A current
at the rate of one mile an hour, would make a-
difference of near two thousand miles between
an ordinary vovage to and from Europe.
3. By actual observations detailed in the 2d"
vol. of the Philosophical Transactions, the pre¬
vailing currents about some islands in the Atlan¬
tic Ocean are to the east. At Owhyhee, which',
lies within the tropics, and nearly in the middle
of the Pacific Ocean, Capt. Cook observed the
current to set, without any regularity, sometimes^
to the west, and sometimes to the east.
4. But one argument may be deemed conclu¬
sive. The air is a fluid at least as sensible to the'
gravitating power of the planets as the Ocean,.
and, like that, must also have rts tides. If, on
the one hand, the tides of the air are more liable
to be disturbed by its compressibility, by partial
rarefaction or condensation, its obstacles, on the
other hand, to a free motion round the earth, are
comparatively inconsiderable. Its course is-
somewhat impeded, but never arrested. If then.
SttQh a general law existed, as is contended, for,,
IX,
( so f
there would be, either a steady east wind, or
greater flow of air from that quarter than from
the west, in every climate of the globe. But this
is the case only between the tropics, and the pre¬
valence of the east wind in that region, has been
almost universally ascribed to rarefaction by heat,
since no other solution can account for the sea
and land breezes, monsoons, and other phenome¬
na of those climates.
From these considerations I am disposed to
think, that there is no uniform current to the
west, or that it is too inconsiderable to have aqy
effect on the figure of the earth. Admitting the
existence of a general current, it may be merely
superficial. Currents whose force gradually di¬
minishes from the surface downwards, are known
to exist, and the practice of seamen, when they
wish " to try the current," is evidently founded
on the belief that they do not extend to great
depths. The accession of water by the tides is
too small to require a general movement of the
ocean to its bottom.
In weighing the probability of a general cur-
Tent to the west, I have confined myself to the
operation of the tides, as the mere motion of the
earth, either in its orbit, or on its axis, can have
no possible effect this way., This motion is com¬
municated to every part of the earth, whether so¬
lid or fluid, and while it continues equable, they
are both affected alike, and their relative situati¬
ons remain the same. So well established a prin¬
ciple must have been contested by the British
Spv through mere inadvertence.
If^after all that has been said, arguments in,
C si )
favor of a current from the surface to the bottom",
be deemed conclusive, it is worth while to enquire
into its probable effects.
The British Spy supposes that this general cur¬
rent enlarges both the eastern'and western coasts
of continents j in which hypothesis, he differs less
from Buffon than that elegant but fanciful theo¬
rist differs from himself. For, in his theory on
the formation of the planets, he advances that the
ocean is continually wearing away the eastern
coasts, and by a process which he does not even
hint at, enlarging the western j and that Asia is
an older country than Europe. But in a subse¬
quent work, his Epochs, he maintains the direct
reverse, and mentions the abruptness of the wes-»
tern, and the greater number of islands of the
eastern coasts, as evidences that the former have
been abraded by the ocean.
But I find neither reasoning nor fact to war¬
rant either of these conclusions. It has been ob¬
served that a shore forms a convex outline where
it gains on the ocean, and a concave where it
loses. On inspecting the map of the world, we
perceive nothing, which by this standard, indi-.
cates a greater increase on one continent than on
the other, or even any increase at all# We see
no vast prominence of coast under the line, but,
on taking both shores of the ocean, in both hemis
fheres, into comparison, we find that the convexi-.
ties on the western side are balanced by equal
convexities on the eastern. Besides, it is clear
that in proportion as the contents of the ocean
are cast on the land, in the same degree it be-,
eomes deeper, and its shores more steep and ah*.
c » )
nipt. This is as true of the ocean as it is of a
ditch. By this increasing declivity of growing
shores, the additional gravity to be overcome,
■will, in time, check the alluvion of any current,
however strong. An opposite equalizing tenden¬
cy oceurs, where the coast is worn away by the
ocean. Successive fragments of rocks and. pre¬
cipices, by sloping the shoie', gradually abate the
impetus of the waters, until the coast attains that
due inclination by which, the gravity to be over¬
come, exactly counterbalances the projectile force
of the ocean. Without doubt, small variations
continually take place in the outline of all coasts
but the equilibrium for which I contend,is found¬
ed on correct principles, and every coast, whether
eastern or western, approaches to that form, if it
has not already attained it, when what it loses by
the ocean, will be precisely equal to what it gains.
It should be remarked that BufFon, in his last
^addition to his Theorie, conscious of the insuffici¬
ency of alluvion in the formation of continents,
supposes that the cavities with which the earth
abounds, are continually falling in, and, from the
consequent retreat of the Ocean, that continents
.are continually approximating. This conjecture
certainly renders his theory more consistent, but
it substitutes a cause for the emersionof the earth
totally different from his first hypothesis of allu¬
vion, and it has been that alone which I have
considered. This last supposition is merely gra¬
tuitous, as neither observation nor history afford
us any proofs of the existence of these immense
Caverns, or of any general retreat of the ocean.
Tor ths. reasons which I have given, and. fa?
( 53 )
many more, the theory of this celebrated natural¬
ist has long been deemed both improbable and in¬
adequate, and is now confined to the merit, (no
small merit by the bye) of haying collected valu¬
able materials, and detected the fallacies of Bur¬
net,Woodward and other dreamers on the subject.
It has accordingly given place to new theories,
more consistent at least, if not more satisfactory.
Volcanoes, an intense heat in the centre of the
earth, the recrements of animals and vegetables,
have beenemploj'ed, as separate or joint agents,by
the speculators on this curious subject. Dr. Hut-
ton, by far the most celebrated of these, supposes
the exuviae of shell fish to have constituted the
basis of the earth, and that it has assumed its pre¬
sent form and appearance by the fusion produced
by the earth1s internal heat. He supports this
opinion by a train of elaborate reasoning, and a
chemical examination of the bodies which com¬
pose the outer crust of the earth. I regret that I
am acquainted with the work only at second hand-
But I believe that even this theory, ingenious and
scientific as it is, gives little more general satis¬
faction thfin those which preceded it. It is, in.
common with the other late hypotheses, opposed
by the fine reasoning of Buffon, in favor of the
immediate action of water in producing the cor¬
respondent angles of it ountains,their waving out¬
line, parallel strata, &c. as well as by many of
the facts I have glanced at, and it is moreover,
said to be contradicted by some chemical experi¬
ments, at once pertinent and clear.
On the whole, then, I fear we have not yet ar-
.rh edat that certainty which will satisfy the..
( «, )
quirer who is neither enamoured with the fancies
of his own brain, nor seduced by the eloquence of
others, and therefore, to use the words of an ele¬
gant writer of our own country, who discovers
the same acuteness, the same philosophic caution
on this as on other occasions, " we must be con-
" tented to acknowledge that this gre3t phenome-
iC non is, as yet, unsolved. Ignorance is prefer-
" able to error ; and he is less remote from the
*L truth, who believes nothing, than he who be-
lieves what is wrong."
Before we can obtain a sober conviction on the
subject, or even properly compare the probability
of the respective theories, many questions now
contested must be settled....new facts must be
discovered....new powers of nature developed.
How far does the power of aqueous solution
and of crystallization extend ? Does the earth
borrow all its heat from the sun, or has it a pe-
jrennial source in its own bowels ? are there gene¬
ral currents in the ocean....If so, what are their
courses, periods and strength ?....It is clear that
every rain that falls, every wind that blows, trans¬
ports some portion of the earth we inhabit to the
ocean. Is there any secret and magical process
In nature, as some have supposed, by which this
perpetual waste is perpetually repaired, and do
^mountains receive accessions by rain, by attracti¬
on, or any other mode equal to what they evi¬
dently lose ? Again, water is converted into ve¬
getables, vegetables into animals, and both of
ihese again into earth. Is this same earth re¬
converted into water, and by one unvaried round
of mutation, each preserved in its present proposi¬
tion to all eternity i
( « )
Science, with an ardor of enquiry never before
known, and a daily encrease of materials, advan¬
ces with hasty steps to answer these preliminary
questions....but till they are solved, I incline to
think that every theory is premature, and shall
therefore, remain satisfied with the safe, but hum¬
ble character of
AN ENQUIRER.
LETTER IV.
Richmond,, September 22.
I HAVE just returned, my dear S ,from an
interesting morning's ride. My object was to vi¬
sit the scite of the Indian town, Powhatan ; which
you will remember was the metropolis of the do¬
minions of Pocahuntas' father, and, very proba¬
bly, the birth place of that celebrated princess
Ihe town was built on the river about two
miles below the ground now occupied by Rich¬
mond ; that is, about two miles below the
head of tide water. The land whereon it
stood is, at present, part of a very beautiful
and valuable farm belonging to a gentleman by
the name of William Mayo.
Aware of the slight manner in which the In¬
dians have always constructed their habitations,
I was not at all disappointed in finding no ves¬
tige of the old town. But as I traversed the
ground over which Pacahuntas had so often,
bounded and frolickedjn the sprightly morning
of her youth, I could not help recalling the prin¬
cipal features o^ her history, and heaving a sigh
tof mingled pity and veneration to her 'metttoryi
< )
Good Heaven! What an eventful life was her's!
To speak of nothing else, the a} rival of the Eng¬
lish in her father's dominions, must have appear¬
ed (as, indeed, it turned out to be) a most porten¬
tous phenomenon. It is not easy for us to con¬
ceive the amazement and consternation which
must have filled her mind and that of her nation
at the first appearance of our countrymen. Their
great ship, with all her sails spread, advancing in
solemn majesty to the shore ; their complexion j
their dress ; their language ; their domestic ani-
mals; their cargo of new and glittering wealth ;
and then the thunder and irresistible force of
their artillery ; the distant country announced by
.them, far beyond the great water, of which the
oldest Indian had neve* heard, or thought, or
dreamed....all this was so newT, so wonderful, so
tremendous, that I do seriously suppose, the per¬
sonal descent of an army of Milton's celestial an¬
gels, robed in light, sporting in the bright beams
of the sun and redoublingtheir splendor, making
divine harmony with their golden harps, or plac¬
ing with the bolt and chasing the rapid lightning
of Heaven, would excite not more astonishment
■in Great-Britain, than did the debarkation of the
.English among the aborigines of Virginian
Poor Indians'!...Where are they now ?...Indeed
my dear S , this is a truly afflicting conside¬
ration. The people here may say what they
please ; but, on the principles of eternal truth and
justice, they have no right to this country. They
say7 that they have bought it i.,..bought it! Yes;..,«
of whom ?....Of the poor .trembling natives who
jpnew that refusal would be vain, and who sttove
I sr 3
to make a merit of necessity by seeming to yield
with grace, what they knew that they had not the
power to retain. Such a bargain might appease
the conscience of a gentleman of the green bag,
" worn and hackneyed" in the arts and frauds of
his profession ; but in Hea\ en's chancery, my
S , there can be little doubt that it has been
long since set aside On the ground of duress
Poor wretches ! No wonder that they are so im¬
placably vindictive against the white people ; no
wonder that the rage of resentment is handed
•down from generation to generation ; no wonder
that they refuse to associate and mix permanent¬
ly with their unjust and cruel invaders and exter¬
minators ; no wonder that in the unabating spite
and frenzy of conscious impotence, they wage an
eternal war, as well as they are able; that they
triumph in the rare opportunity of revenge ; that
they dance, sing and rejoice, as the victim shrieks
and faints amid the flames, when they imagine
all the crimes of their oppressors collected on his
head, and fancy the spirits of their injured fore¬
fathers hovering over the scene, smiling, with
ferocious delight, at the grateful spectacle, and
feasting on the precious odour as it arises, from
the burning blood of the white man.
Yet the people, here, affect to wonder that the
Indians are so very unsusceptible of civilization ;
or, in other words, that they so obstinately re¬
fuse to adopt the manners of the white men. Go,
Virginian ; erase from the Indian nation, the tra-
diiion of their wrongs ; make them forget, if you
<;an, that once, this charming country w as their's ;
that o\ cr these fields and through these forests,
C *8 )
'their beloved forefathers, once, in careless gaie¬
ty, pursued their sports and hunted their game;
that every returning day found them the sole, the
peaceful, the happy proprietors of this extensive
and beautiful domain : make them forget too, if
you can, that in the midst of all this innocence,
simplicity and bliss ..the white man came, and
lo !....the animated chase, the feast, the dance,
the song of fearless, thoughtless joy were over;
that ever since, they have been made to drink of
the bitter cup of humiliation ; treated like dogs;
their lives, their liberties, the sport of the white
men ; their country and the graves of their fa¬
thers torn from them, in cruel succession; until,
1 driven from river to river, from forest to forest,
and through a period of two hundred years, roll-
•edback, nation upon nation, they find themselves
fugitives, vagrants and strangers in their own
country, and look forward to the certain period
when their descendants will be totally extinguish¬
ed by wars, driven, at the point of the bayonet
into the western ocean, or reduced to a fate still
more deplorable and horrid, the condition of
slaves ; go, administer the cup of oblivion to re-
•collections and anticipations like these, and, then,
you will cease to complain that the Indian refuses
to be civilized. But until then, surely it is no¬
thing wonderful that a nation even yet bleeding
afresh, from the memory of ancient wrongs, per¬
petually agonized by new outrages, and goaded
into desperation and madness at the prospect of
the certain ruin, which awaifs their descendants,
should hate the authors of their miseries, of their
■desolation, their destruction ; should hate their
( )
manners, hate their colour, their language, their
name and eveiy thing that belongs to them....*
No ; never, until time shall wear out the history
of their sorrows and their sufferings, will the In¬
dian be brought to love the white man, and to
imitate his manners.
Great God! To reflect, my S that the au¬
thors of all these wrongs were our own country¬
men, our forefathers, piofessors of the meelc and
benevolent religion of Jesus ! O ! it was impi¬
ous....it was unman y....peor and pitiful! Graci¬
ous Heaven! what had these poor people done ?
The simple inhabitants of these peaceful plains,
what wrong, what injury, had they offered to the
English ? my soul melts with pity and shame.
As for the present inhabitants, it must be grant¬
ed that they are comparatively innocent : unless,
indeed, they, also, have encroached under the
guise of treaties, which they themselves have pre¬
viously contrived to render expedient or necessa¬
ry to the Indians. Whether this has been the
case or not, I am too much a stranger to the in¬
terior transactions of this country to decide. Jlut
it seems to me that were I a president of the Li¬
nked States, I would glory in going to the Indi¬
ans, throwing myself on my knees before them
and saying to them, u Indians, friends, Lrothers,
"O ! lorgive my countr) men ! Deeply have our
" forefathers wronged you ; and they have forc-
" ed us to continue the wrong. Reflect brothers ;
u it was not our fault that we were born in your
country ; but now, we have no other home ; wre
*' have no where else to rest our feet. Will you
not, then, permit us to remain ? Can you .not
( 60 )
tc forgive even us, innocent as we are ? If you
" can, O ! come to our bosoms ; be, indeed, our
" brothers, and since there is room enough for us
" all, give us a home in your land and let us be
" children of the same affectionate family." I
believe that a magnanimity of sentiment like this,
followed up by a correspondent greatness of con¬
duct on the part of the people of the United
States, would go farther to bury the tomahawk
and produce a fraternization with the Indians,
than all the presents, treaties and missionaries
that can be employed ; dashed and defeated as
these latter means always are, by a claim of rights
on the part of the white people which the Indians
know to be false and baseless. Let me not be
told that the Indians are too dark and fierce to
be affected by generous and noble sentiments. I
will not believe it. Magnanimity can never be
lost on ?c nation which has produced an Alkno-
mook, a Logan and a Pocahuntas.
The repetition of the name of this amiable prin¬
cess, brings me back to the point from which 1
digressed. { wonder that the Virginians, fond
as they are of anniversaries, have instituted no
festival or order in honor to her memory. For
my own part, I have little doubt, from the histo¬
ries which we have of the first attempts at colo¬
nizing their country, that Pocahuntas deserves
to be considered as the patron deity of the enter-
prize. When it is remembered how long the co¬
lony struggle 1 to get a footing ; how often sick¬
ness or famine, neglect at home, mismanagement
here and the hostilities of the natives, brought it
to the brink of ruin; through what a tedious lapse
( 61 )
of time, it, .alternately, languished and revived,
sank and rose, sometimes hanging, like Addi¬
son's lamp, " quivering at a point," then sudden¬
ly shooting up into a sickly and short-lived flame ;
in one word, when we recollect how near and
how often it verged towards total extinction,
maugre the patronage of Pocahuntas, there is the
strongest reason to believe that, but for her pa¬
tronage, the anniversary cannon of the fourth of
July, would never have resounded throughout
the United States..
Is it not probable, that this sensible and amia¬
ble woman, perceiving the superiority of the Eu¬
ropeans, foreseeing the probability of the subju¬
gation of her countrymen, and anxious as well to
soften their destiny, as to save the needless effu¬
sion of human blood, desired, by her marriage
with Mr. Rolfe, to hasten the abolition of all dis¬
tinction between Indians and white men ; to bind
their interests- and affections by.the nearest and
most endearing ties, and to make them regard
themselves, as one people, the children of the
same great family ? If such were her wise and
benevolent views, and I .have no doubt but they
were, how poorly were they backed by the Bri¬
tish, court ? No wonder at the resentment and in¬
dignation with which she saw .them neglected ;
no wonder at the bitterness of the disappointment
and vexation which she expressed to Captain
Smith, in London, arising as well from the cold
reception which she, herself, had met, as from
the contemptuous and insulting point of view in
which she found that her nation was regarded.
Unfortunate Princess ! She deserved a happier
( 62 )
fiate T But I am consoled by these reflections £
first, that she sees her descendants among the
most respectable families in Virginia ; and that
they are not only superior to the false shame of
disavowing her as their ancestor ; but that they
pride themselves, and with reason, too, on the
honor of their descent: secondly....that she her.
self has gone to a country, where she finds her
noble wishes realized ; where the distinction of
color is no more, but where indeed, it is perfectly
immaterialwhat complexion an Indian or an
" African sun may have burnt'* on the pilgrim.
Adieu, my dear S This train of thought
has destroyed the tone of my spirits : when I re¬
cover them, you shall hear farther from me..».
Once more, adieu.
^LETTER V.
Richmond, September 23.
THIS town, my dear S , is the residence
of several conspicuous characters, some of whose
names we have heard on the other side of the
* The donee of the manuscript begs that he
may not be considered as responsible for the ac¬
curacy with which certain characters are deline¬
ated in this letter. He selects it purely for the
advantage which he supposes, youthful readers
may derive, from the writer's reflections on tha
characters attempted to be drawn by him»
( 63 )
Atlantic. You shall be better acquainted witK
them before we finish this correspondence. For
the present, permit me to introduce to your ac¬
quaintance the of the commonwealth of
Virginia, and the ..... ....... of the United States;"
These gentlemen are eminent political oppo--
nents ; the first belonging to thfe republican, the
latter leading the van of the federal party., Such
is the interest which they both have in the confi¬
dence and affections of their respective parties,
that it would be difficult, if not impossible, for a-
ny V irginian to delineate either of their charac¬
ters justly. Friendship or hostility would be al¬
most sure to overcharge the picture. But for me,
I have so little connection with this country, or
her concerns, either at present or in prospect,
that I believe I can look on her most exalted
characters without envy, or prejudice of any kind;,
and draw them with the same cool and philoso¬
phic impartiality, as if I were a sojourner from
another plannet. If I fail in the delineation, the
fault must be in the hand or in the head, in the
pencil or the judgment; and not in any prepos--
session near my heart..
I choose to bring those two characters, before-
you, together ; because tjiey exhibit, with great
vivacity, an intellectual phenomenon, which I
have noticed more than once before, and in the
solution whereof,.I should be pleased to see your
pen employed : I mean the ve^ different celeri¬
ty in the movement of two sound minds, which
on all subjects, wherein there is no mixture of
party zeal, will ultimately come to the same just,
conclusion. What a pity it is, that.Mr.: Locke,,
C 01 )
while he was dissecting the human understandings
with such skill and felicity, did not advert to this*
characteristic variance in the minds of men. It
would have been in his power, by developing irs
causes, either to point to the remedy, if it exist
at all, or to Relieve the man of slow mind, from
the labour of fruitless experiments, by shewing
the total impracticability of his cure But, to
our gentlemen ; and in order that you may know
them the more intimately, I will endeavor to pre¬
fix to each character a portrait of the person.
The of this commonwealth is the same
who was, not man}T years ago, the
at Paris. His present office is sufficient evidence
of the estimation in which he is held by his na¬
tive state...».In his stature,he is about the middle
height of men, rather firmly set, with nothing far¬
ther remarkable in his person, except kts muscular
compactness and apparent ability to endure la¬
bor. His countenance, when grave, has rather
the expression of sternness and irrascibility : a
smile, however, (and a smile is not unusual with
him in a social circle) lights it up to very high
advantage, and gives it a most impressive and en¬
gaging air of suavity and benevolence. Judging
merely from his countenance, he is between the
ages of forty-five and fifty years. His dress and
personal appearance are those of a plain and mo¬
dest gentleman.. He is a man of soft, polite and
even assiduous attentions j but these, although-
they are always well timed, judicious and evi¬
dently the offspring of an obliging and philanthro-,
pic temper, are never performed with the strik¬
ing and captivating graces of a Marlborough c£.
C 6S )
a Bollingbroke. To be plain, there is often in
his manner an inartificial and even an awkward
simpliruv, which, while it provokes the smile of
a more polished person, forces him to the opinion,
that Mr. ...... is a man of a most sincere and art¬
less soul.
Nature has given him a mind neither rapid nor
rich ; and therefore, he cannot shine on a subject
which is entirely new to him. But to compensate
him for this, he is endued with a spirit of generous
and restless emulation, a judgment solid, strong
and clear, and a habit of application, which no dif¬
ficulties can shake ; no labours can tire. With
these aids, simply, he has qualified himself for
the first honours of this country ; and presents a
most happy illustration of the truth of the maxim,
i Quisque, suae fortunae,faber. For his emulati¬
on has urged him to perpetual and unremitting-
enquiry ; his patient and unwearied industry has
concentrated before him all the lights which o-
thers have thrown on the subjects of his conside¬
ration, together with all those which his own
mind, by repeated efforts, is enabled to strike ;
while his sober, steady and faithful judgment, has
saved him from the common error of more quick
and brilliant geniuses, the too hasty adoption of
specious, but false conclusions. These qualities
render him a safe and an able counsellor. And
by their constant exertion, he has amassed a store
of knowledge, which, having passed, seven times,
through the crucible, is almost as highly correct¬
ed, as human knowledge can be : and which cer¬
tainly, maybe much more safely,relied on, than
the spontaneous and luxuriant growth of a more:
C 66 )
fertile, but less chastened mind...." a wild where
weeds and flowers, promiscuous, shoot."
Having engaged very early, fl st in the life of
a soldier, then of a statesman, then of a laborious
practitioner of the law, and, finally, again, of a
politician, his intellectual operations ha\ e beey.
almost entirely confined to juridical and political
topics. Indeed, it is easy to perceive, that the
mind of a man engaged in so active a life, must
possess more native suppleness, versatility and
vigor, than that cf Mr- to be able to make
an advantageous tour of the sciences in the rare
interval of importunate duties. It is possible
that the early habit of contemplating subjects as
expanded as the earth itself, with ad the relative
interests of the great nations thereof, may have
inspired him with an indifference, peihaps an in^
aptitude, for mere points of literature. Alger-'
non Sidney has said that he deems all studies un-
worthy the serious regard of a man, except the
study of the principles of just government; and
3VIr. , perhaps, concurs with cur countryman
in this as well as in his other principles. What¬
ever may have been the occasion, his acquaint¬
ance with the fine arts is certainly very limited:
and superficial j but making allowances for his.
bias towards republicanism, he is a profound and
even an eloquent statesman.
Knowing him to be attached to that political
party, who, by their opponents, are called some¬
times democrats, sometimes jacobins ; and a-
ware also, that he was a man of warm ar.d even
ardent temper, I dreaded much, v. hen J first en¬
tered his company,that I should Lav e been shock-
( 6 r )
ed and disgusted with the narrow, virulent and,
rancorous invectives of party animosity.^ How
agr 'eobly, how delightfully was I disappointed 1
Kot one sentiment of intolerance polluted hisk
lips. On the contrary, whether they are the off-
spring of rational induction, of the habit oh sur¬
veying men and things on a great scale, of native
magnanimity, or of a combination of all those
causes, his principles, as far as they were exhibit¬
ed to me, were forbearing, liberal,««ridely extend¬
ed and great.
A.s the elevated ground which he already holds,,
has been gained merely by the dint of applicati¬
on ; as every new step which he mounts, becomes,
a mean of encreasing his powers sill farther, by
stimulating his enterprize afresh, re-invigorating
his habits, multiplying the materials and extend¬
ing the range of his knowledge, it would be mat¬
ter of no surprize to me, if, before his death, the
world should see him at the head of the Ameri¬
can administration- So much for the .. of
tile commonwealth of Virginia ; a living, an ho¬
norable, an illustrious monument of self created
eminence,, worth and greatness T....Let us now
change the scene .and lead forward a very differ¬
ent character indeed ; a truant, but a highly fa¬
vored pupil of nature. It v^ouid seem as if this,
capricious goddess, had finished the two charac¬
ters, purely with the view of exhibiting a vivid
* The cloven foot of the Briton is visible ; or,
else, why from the premises could he have ex¬
pected such a consequence £
( 6» )
contrast. Nor is this contrast confined to their
minds.
The of the United States, is, in his
person, tall, meagre, emaciated -r his muscles re¬
laxed, and his joints so loosely connected, as not
only to disqualify him, apparently, for any vigo¬
rous exertion of body, but to destroy every thing
like elegance and harmony in his air and move¬
ments. Indeed, in his whole appearance, and
demeanor ; drfcss, attitudes, gesture ; sitting,
standing or walking ; he is as far removed front
the idolized graces of Cord Chesterfield, as any
other gentleman on earths To continue the por¬
trait....his head and face are small in proportion
to his height ; his complexion swarthy ; the mus¬
cles of his lace, being relaxed, give him the ap¬
pearance of a man of fifty years of age, nor can
he be much younger ; his countenance has a faith¬
ful expressi n of great good humour and hilarity r
while his black e\ es..—that unerring index....pos¬
sess an irradiating spirit, which proclaims the im¬
perial powers of the mind that sits enthroned
within.
This extraordinary man, without the aid of
fancy, without the advantages of person, voice,
attitude, gesture, or any of the ornaments of an
orator, deserves to be considered as one of the
most eloquent men in the world ; if el iquence
may be said to consist in the power of seizing the
attention with irresistible force, and u ver per-
miting it to elude the grasp, until tl e hearer has
received the convicticn which the sp 'aaerintends.
As to his person, it has alread) been described.
His voice is dry and hard ; hL> attitude, in his
< 69 )
most effective orations, was often extremely awk¬
ward, as it was not unusual for him to stand with
his left loot in advance ; while all his gesture
proceeded from his right arm, and consisted
merely in a vehement, perpendicular swing of it,
from about the elevation of his head, to the bar
behind which he was accustomed to stand. As
to fancy, if she hold a seat in his mind at all,
which I' very much doubt, his gigantic genius,
tramples with disdain, on all her flower deckt
plats and blooming parterres. How then, you
will ask, with a look of incredulous curiosity,
how is it possible, that such a man can hold the
attention of an audience enchained, through a
speech of even ordinary length ? I will tell you.
He possesses one original, and, almost, super¬
natural faculty : the faculty of developing a sub¬
ject by a single glance of his mind, and detecting
at cnce, the very point on which every controver¬
sy depends. No matter, what the question ;
though ten times more knotty than u the gnarled
oak," the lightning of Heaven is not more rapid
nor more resistless, than his astonishing penetra¬
tion. Nor does the exercise of it seem to cost
him an effort. On the contrary, it is as easy as
vision. I am persuaded that his eyes do not fly
over a landscape and take in its various objects
with more promptitude and facility, than his
■mind embraces and analyzes the most complex
subject. Possessing this intellectual elevation,
which enables him to look down and comprehend
the whole ground at once, he determines imme¬
diately and without difficulty, on which side, the
question may be most advantageously approach-
( TO )
ed and assailed. In a bad cause, his art consists
in laying his premises so remotely irom the point
directly in debate, or else in terms so general and
so specious, that the hearer, seeing no consequence
which can be drawn from them, is just as willing
to admit them as not; but, his premises once ad¬
mitted, the demonstration, however distant, fol¬
lows as certainly, as cogently, as inevitably, as a-
ny demonstration in Euclid. All his 'eloquence
consists in the apparently deep self-ccinvjction,
and emphatic earnestness of his manner ; the cor¬
respondent simplicity and energy of his style j
the close and logical connection of his thoughts;
and the easy gradations by which he opens his
lights on the attentive minds of his hearers. The
audience are never permitted to pause for a mo¬
ment. There is no stopping to weave garlands
of flowers, to hang in festoons, around a favorite
argument. On the contrary, every sentence is
progressive.,...every idea sheds new light on the
subjecty.fhe listener is kept perpetually in that
sweetly pleasurable vibration, with which the
mind of man always receives new truths....the
dawn advances in easyr but unremitting pace....
the subject opens gradually on the view....until,
rising, in high relief, in all its native colours and
proportions, the argument is consummated, by
the conviction of the delighted hearer.
The success of this gentleman, has rendered it
doubtful with several literary characters in this
country, whether a high fancy be of real use or
advantage to any one but a poet. They contend,
that although the most beautiful flights of the
happiest fancy, interspersed through an argument,
( « )
may give an audience the momentary delightful
swell of admiration, the transient thrill of divin-
est rapture ; yet, that they produce no lasting ef¬
fect in forwarding the purpose of the speaker :
On the contrary, that they break the unity and
disperse the force of an argument, which, other¬
wise, advancing in close array, like the phalanx
of Sparta, would carry every thing before it
They give an instance in the celebrated Curran ;
and pretend that his fine fancy, although it fires,,
dissolves and even transports his audience to a
momentary frenzy-, is a real and a fatal misfor¬
tune to his clients ; as it calls off the attention of
the jurors from the intrinsic and essential merits
of the defence ; eclipses the justice of the client's,
cause, in the blaze of the advocate's talents ; in¬
duces a suspicion of the guilt which requires
such a glorious display of refulgence to divert tht
enquiry ; and substitutes a fruitless short-lived
•extacy, in the place of permanent and substantial
conviction. Hence, they say, that the cljent of
Mr. Curran, is invariably, the victim of the pro¬
secution, which that able and eloquent advocate
is employed to resist. The doctrine, in the ab¬
stract, may be true, or, as Doctor Doubty says,
it may not be true ; for the present,! will not trou¬
ble you with the "expression of my opinion. I
fear, however, my dear S that Mr. Cuvran's-
failures may be traced to a cause very different
from any fault either in the style or execution of
iiis enchanting defences : a cause but I ai»
( re )
forgetting that this letterhas yet to cross the At¬
lantic.*
- To return to the ..of the United States.
His political adversaries alledge that he is a mere
lawyer ; that his mind has been so long trammel¬
led by judicial precedent, so long habituated to
ihe quart and tierce of forensic digladiation, (as
jDcctor Johnson would probably have calied it)
as to be unequal to the discussion of a great ques¬
tion of state. Mr. Curran, in his defence of Row¬
an, seems, to have sanctioned the probability of
such ar effect from such a cause, when he com¬
plains of his own mind as having been narrowed
and circumscribed, by a strict and technical ad¬
herence to .established forms ; but in the nest
breath, an astonishing burst of the grandest
thought, and a power of comprehension to which
there seems to be no earthly limit, proves that
his complaint, as it relates to himself, is entirely
without foundation. Indeed, if the objection to
the mean any thing more than that he
has not had the same illumination and exercise in
matters of state, as if he had devoted his life to
them, I am unwilling to admit it. 1 he force of
a cannon is the same, whether pointed at a ram¬
part or a man of war, although practice may have
made the engineer more expert in the one case
than in the other. So it is clear, that practice
may give a man a greater command over one
class of subjects than another y but the inherent
* The sentiment which is suppressed, seems
to wear the livery of Bedford, Moira and the
Prince of Wales.
( 73 )
-energy of his mind remains the same, whitherso¬
ever it may be directed. Prom this impression
I have never seen any cause to wonder at what
is called a universal genius ; i+ proves only that
the man has applied a powerful mind to the con¬
sideration of a great variety of subjects, and pays
a compliment rather to his superior industry, than
his superior intellect.. I am very certain that the
gentleman of whom we are-speaking, possesses
the acumen which might-constitute him a univer¬
sal genius, according to the tisual acceptation of
,the phrase. But if he be the truant, which his
.warmest friends represent him to be, there is ve¬
ry little probability that he will .ever reach this
distinction. J
Think you, my dear S that the two gen¬
tlemen whom I have attempted to pourtray to
•you, were, according to the notion of Helvetius,
born with equal mincte, and that accident or edu¬
cation, have produced the striking difference
which we perceive to exist between them? I wish
it were the case ; and that the would be
.pleased to reveal to us, by what accident, or what
■system of education, he has acquired his peculiar
sagacity and promptitude. Until this shall be
.done, I fear I must consider the hypothesis of
Helvetius as a splendid and flattering dream.....
But I tire you :....adieu, for the present, friend
.and guardian of my youth.
< n )
LETTER VL
James Town, Sefilember 27»
I HAVE taken a pleasant ride of sixty miles
nlown the rive in order, my dear S , to see
the remains of the first English settlement in Vir¬
ginia. The scite is a very handsome one. The
river is three miles broad ; and, on the opposite
shore, the country presents a fine range of bold
and beautiful hills. But I find no vestiges of
the ancient town, except the ruins of a church stes*
pie, and a disordered groupe of old tomb stones.
On one of these, shaded by the boughs of a tree,
whose trunk has embraced and grown over the
edge of the stone, and seated on the head-stone
of another grave, I now address you. "What a
moment for a lugubrious meditationi among the
tombs I but fear not ; I have neither the temper
nor the genius of a Hervey : and, as much as I
revere his pious memory, I cannot envy him tire
possession of such a genius and such a temper.
For my own part, I would not hare suffered the
mournful pleasure of writing his bonk, and Doc.
Young's Night Thoughts, for all the just fame
which they have both gained by those celebrated
productions. Much rather would I have danced,
and sung, and played the fiddle with Yorick,
through the whimsical pages of Tristram Shan¬
dy ; that book which every body jiistlv censures
and admires alternately, and which will continue
to be read, abused and devoured, with ever fresh
delight, as long as the world shall relish ajoyous
laugh, or a tear of the most delicious feeling. By
ktUe bye, here, on one side, is an inscription on a
( **■')
vrave stone, which would! constitute no bad theme
for an occasional meditation from Yorick himself.
I he stone, it seems, covers the grave of a man
who was born in the neighbourhood of London ;
and his'Cpitaph concludes the short <and .rudely
-executed account-of his birth and death, by de¬
claring him to have been " a great sinner^ in
■4t hopes of a joyful resurrection as if he had
sinned, with no other intention, than to give him¬
self a fair title-to these exulting.hopes. jBut awk¬
wardly and ludicrously as the -sentiment is ex¬
pressed, it is, in its meaning most just and beau¬
tiful ; as it acknowledges the boundless-merey of
Heaven, and .glances at that divinely consoling
proclamation, u come unto me, all ye, who are
u weary and heavy laden, and J. will give you
•" rest." -
The-ruitl of the steeple, is about thirty feet
high, and mantled, to -its very summit, with ivy.
It is.difficult to look at this venerable object, sur¬
rounded as it is -with these awful .proofs .of the
mortality, of-man, without exclaiming in the pa¬
thetic solemnity of our Shakespeare,
'The cloud capt-towers,..the gorgeous palaces.
The solemn temples....the great globe itself..«.,
"Yea, all which, it inherit, shall dissolve ;
,And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
.Leave not a wreck behind.
Whence, my dear S.arises the irrepress-
'ible, reverence and tender affection with which I
"look at this broken steeple ? Is it, that my. soul,
bv a secret, subtle process invests the mouldering
ruin with her own powers ; imagines it a fellow
[bejng j a venerable old man ; a .Nestor, or.an 0s-
( ra )
sirm, who has witnessed and survived the rava¬
ges of successive generations, the companions of
his youth, and of hia maturity, and now mourns
his own solitary and desolate condition, and hails
their spirits in every passing cloud ? Whatever
may be the cause, as I look at it, I feel my soul
drawn forward, as by the cords of gentlest sym¬
pathy, and involuntarily open my lips to offer
-consolation to the drooping pile.
Where, my S , is the busy, bustling croud
•which landed here two hundred years ago
Where is Smith, that pink of gallantry, that flow¬
er of chivalry fancy that I can see their first,
slow and cautious approach to the shore ; their
keen and vigilant eyes, piercing the forest in eve¬
ry direction, to detect the lurking Indian, with
his tomahawk, bow and arrow. Good Heavens !
What an enterprize ! How full of the most fear¬
ful perils f....and yet how entirely profitless to the
daring men who personally undertook and at-
chieved it! ! Through what a series of the most
spirit chilling hardships, had they to toil ? How
often did they cast their eyes to England in vain;
and with what delusive hopes, day after day, did
the little, famished crew strain their sight to
catch the white sail of comfort and relief ! But
d.iy afttr day, the sun sat, and darkness covered
the earth ; but no sail of comfort or relief came.
How often ir the pangs of hunger, sickness, soli¬
tude and disc orsolation, did they think of Lon¬
don ; her shops, her markets groaning under the
weight of plenty, her streets swarming with gild¬
ed Coaches, bustling hacks, with crouds of lords,
dukes and commons, wi.li healthy, busy,content-
( rr }
ed faces of every description, and among them
none more healthy or more contented, than those
of their ungrateful and improvident directors !...-
But now....where are they, all....the little, famish¬
ed colony which landed here, and the many-co¬
loured crowd of London....where are they, my
dear S ? Gene, where there is no distincti¬
on ; consigned to the common earth. Another
generation succeeded them : which just as busy
and as bustling as that which fell before it, has
sunk down into the same nothingness- Another,
and yet another billow has rolled on, each emu¬
lating its predecessor in height; towering, for
its moment, and curling its foaming honors to the
clouds, then roaring, breaking, and perishing on.
the same shore.
Is it not strange, that, familiarly and univer¬
sally as these things are known, yet that each ge¬
neration is as eager in the pursuit of its earthly
objects, projects its plans on a scale as extensive,
and labours in their execution, with a spirit as ar¬
dent and unrelaxing, as if this life and this world,,
were to last forever It is indeed a most bene¬
volent interposition oi Providence, that thefee pal¬
pable and just views of the vanity of human life,
are not permitted entirely to crush the spirits,
and unnerve the arm of industry. But at the
same time, methinks, it would, be wise in man to
pern.it them to have, at least, so much weight
with him, as to prevent his total absorption by
the things of this earth, and to point some of his
thoughts and his exertions, to a system of being,
far wore permanent, exalted and happy. Think
not this reflection too solemn. It is irresistably
C « )
inspired by the objects around me, and, as rarely
as it occurs, (much too rarely) it is most certain¬
ly and solemnly true, my S-
it is curious to reflect, what a nation, in the
course ol two hundred tears, has sprung up and
flourished from the fee *e, sickly germ which,
was planted here 1 Littie did our short-sighted
court suspect the conflict which she was preparing
for herself j the convulsive throe by which her
infant colony would, in a few years, burst from
her, and start into a political importance that
would astonish the earth! Bat Virginia, my
dear S , as rapidly as her population and her
wealth must continue to advance, wants one most
important source of solid grandeur; and that, too,
the animating soul of a republic. I mean, pub¬
lic spirit j that sacred amor patriae which filled
Greece and Home with patriots, heroes and scho-»
lars-. There seems to me to be but one object
throughout the state ; to grow rich ; a passion
which is visible, not only in the walks of private
life, but which has crept into and poisoned every
public body in the state- Indeed, fnom the very
genius of the government, Lw which all the pub¬
lic characters are at short periodical elections, e-
volved front the body of tne people, it cannot but
happen, that the councils of the state must take
the impulse of the private propensities cf the
country- Kence, Virginia exhibits no great pub¬
lic improvements j hence, in spite of herwealthr
every part of the country manifests her sufferings,
either from the penury of her'guardians, ortheir
wemt of that attention, and noble pride, where-
wLh it is their duty to consult her appearance.
( i-9 J
Her roads and highways are frequently imoassa-
ble, sometimes frightful...-the very few public
works which have been set on foot, instead of
being carried on with spirit, are permitted to
languish and pine", and creep feebly along, in
such a manner, that the first part of an edifice,
grows grey with age, and alrtiost tumbles in ru¬
ins, before the last part is lifted from the dust.«.
her highest officers ate sustained writh so avari¬
cious, so niggardly a hand, that if they are not
driven to subsist on roots, and drink ditch-water,
with old Fabricius, it is not for the want of re¬
publican economy in the projectors of the salaries.
....and, above all, the general culture of the hu¬
man mind, that best cure for the aristocratic di¬
stinctions whmh they profess to hate, that best
basis of the social and political equality, which
they profess to love ; this culture, instead of be¬
coming a national care, is entrusted merely to
such individuals, as hazard, indigence,, misfor¬
tunes or crimes, have forced from their native
Europe, to seek an asylum and bread in the wilds-
of America- They have only one public semina¬
ry of learning j a college in Williamsburg, about
seven miles from this place, which was erected
in the reign of our William and Mary, and bears,
their name. This college, in the fastidious folly
and affectation of republicanism,theyhaveendow-
ed with a few despicable fragments of surveyor's
fees, &c. converting a body of polite, scientific
and highly respectable professors, into a shop-
board of contemptible calbaging taylors. And,
then, instead of aiding and energizing the police;
of the college, by a few civil regulations, permit-
( 80 )
ting their youth to run-riot, in all the wilduess of
dissipation ; while the venerable professor*, are
forced to look on, in the deep mortification of
conscious impotence, and see their care and zeal
requited, by the ruin of their pupils and the de¬
struction of their seminary. These are points,
which, at present, I can barely touch ; when I
have an easier seat and writing-desk, than a grave
and a tomb stone, it will gi,re me pleasure to di¬
late on them ; for, it will afford an opportunity
of exulting in the superiority of our own energe¬
tic monarchy, over this republican body without
a soul.*
For the present, my dear S L bid you a-
dieu.
LETTER VIE
Richmond, October 10-
I HAVE' been, my dear S........ on an excur¬
sion through the- counties which lie along the-
eastern side of the Blue RiJge. A general de¬
scription of that country and its inhabitants, may
form the subject of a future letter. For ihe pre¬
sent, I must entertain you with an account of a
most singular and interesting adventure, which
I met with, in the course of the tour.
It was one Sunday, as I travelled through the
county of Orange, that my eye was cat ght by a
* British insolence! Yet it cannot«be denied,
however painful the admission, that thete is somes
foundation for his cepsures.
( 81 J
cluster of horses tied near a ruinous, old, wood-*
en house, in the forest, not far from the road
side. Having frequently seen such objects be¬
fore, in travelling through these 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 con.
gregation ; 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,
tinder the influence of a palsy, and a few mo¬
ments ascertained to me that he was perfectly
blind. The first emotions which touched my
breast, were those of mingled pity and venerati¬
on. But ah I Sacred God f How soon were all
my feelings changed 1 The lips of Plato were ne¬
ver more worthy of a prognostic swarm of bees;
than were the lips of this holy man f It was a day
of the administration of the sacrament, and his
subject, of course, was the passion of Our Savi¬
our. I had heard the subject handled a thou¬
sand time& ; I had thought it exhausted long a-
go. Little did I suppose, that in the wild woods-
of America, I was to meet with a man whose e-
loquence 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 pecu¬
liar, a more than human solemnity in his air and
manner, which made my blood run cold, and my
C 82 )
whole frame to shiver. He then drew a picture*
of the sufferings of our Saviour....his trial before
Pilate....his ascent up Calvary ....his crucifixion....
jpid his death. I knew the whole history ; but
never, until then, had I heard the circumstances
so selected, so arranged, so coloured ! It was all
new ; and I seemed to have heard it for the first
time in my life. His enunciation was so delibe¬
rate, that his voice trembled on every syllable
^nd. every heart in the assembly trembled in uni¬
son. His peculiar phrases, had that force of de¬
scription, that the original scene appeared to be,
^.ttnat moment, acting before our eyes. We
§aw the yery 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 clenched. But when he came to
touch the patience, the forgiving meekness of
pur Saviour....when he drew, to the life, his bless¬
ed eyes streaming in tears to Heaven....his voice
breathing to God, a soft and gentle prayer of par¬
don on his enemies, " Father forgive them, for
they know not what they dor>....tbe voice of the
preacher, which had, all along, faltered, grew
fainter and fainter, until his utterance being en¬
tirely obstructed by the force of his feelings, he
raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and burst in¬
to a loud and irrepressible flood of grief. The ef¬
fect is inconceivable. The whole house resound¬
ed" with the mingled groans, and sobs, and
shrieks of the congregation. It was some time
before the tumult had Subsided, so far as toper-,
Wthim to proceed., Indeed, judging by the u-
C 83 )
sual, 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 im¬
pairing 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 front
Rousseau : " Socrates died like a philosopher^
lL but Jesus Chirst, like a God 11" I despair oF
giving you any idea of the effect produced by this-
short sentence, unless you could perfectly con¬
ceive 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,,Ossian1 and Mil¬
ton, 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 con¬
gregation were raised....and then^ th^ few mi¬
nutes of portentousy death-like- silence which,
reigned throughout the house....the preacher re-
r ovinghts white handkerchief fromhis aged face,,,
(even yet wet from the recent torrent of his tears):
arid, slowly stretchings forth the palsied hancfc
( 84 }
which holds it, begins the sentence...." Socrates
died like a philosopher"....then pausing, raising
his other hand, pressing them both, clasped toge¬
ther, with warmth and energy to his breast, lift¬
ing his " sightless balls" to Heaven, and pouring
his whole soul into his. tremulous voice...." but
Jesus Christ....like a God !" If he had been in¬
deed and in truth an angel of light, the effect
could scarcely have been more divine. Whate¬
ver I had been able to conceive of the sublimity
of Massillon, or the force of Bourdaloue,had fal¬
len far short of the power which I felt from the
delivery of this simple sentence. The blood,
which, just before, had rushed in a hurricane up¬
on my brain, and, in the violence and agony of
my feelings, had held my whole system in sus-
pence j now ran back into my heart, with a sen-
ssation which I cannot describe ; a kind of shud¬
dering delicious horror! The paroxysm of blend¬
ed pity and indignation to which I had been trans¬
ported, subsided into the deepest self-abasement,
humility ancj adoration. I had just been lacerat¬
ed and dissolved by sympathy, for our Saviour,
as a fellow creature ; but now, wTith fear and
trembling, I adored him as...." a God !'*
If this description gives you the impression,
that this incomparable minister had any thing of
shallow, theatrical trick in his manner, it does
him great injustice. I have never seen, in any
other orator, such an union of simplicity and ma¬
jesty. He has not a gesture, an attitude, or an
accent, to which he does not seem forced, by the
sentiment which he is expressing. His mind is
too serious, too earnest, too solicitous, and, at
( 85 )
the same time, too dignified, t<? stoop to artifice.
Although as far removed from ostentation as a
man can be, yet it is clear from the train, the
style and substance of his thoughts, that he is, not
only a very polite scholar, but a man of extensive
and prpfound erudition. I was forcibly struck
with a short, yet beautiful character which he
drew of our learned and amiable countryman,
Sir Robert Bo)le ; he spoke of him, as if u his
" noble mind had, even before death, divested
" herself of all influence from his frail tabernacle
" of flesh and called him in his peculiarly em*
phatic and impressive manner, u a pure intelli-
u gence....the link between men and angels."
This man has been before my imagination al¬
most ever since. A thousand times as I rode a-
long, I dropped the reins of my bridle, stretched
forth my hand, and tried to imitate his quotation,
from Rousseau ; a thousand times I abandoned
the attempt in despair, and felt persuaded that
his peculiar manner and power, arose from an e-
nergy of soul, which nature could give, but
which no human being could justly copy. In
short, he seems to be altogether a heing of a
former age, or of a totally different nature from
the rest of men. As I recall, at this moment, se¬
veral of his awfully-striking attitudes, the chil¬
ling tide with which my blood begins to pour a-
long my arteries, reminds me of the emotions pro¬
duced by the first sight of Gray's introductory
picture cf his Bard- .
t S6 )
On a rock, whose haughty brow,
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Rob'd in the sable garb of woe,
With haggard eyes the poet stood ;
-{Loose his beard and hoary hair,
.Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air!)
And with a Poet's ha-nd~and Prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lj re.
Guess my surprize, when, -on my arrival at
Richmond, and mentioning the name of this man,
I found not ,one person who had'ever before
heard of James Waddell 1 Is it not strange, that
such a genius as this, so accomplished a scholar,
so divine an orator, should be permitted to lan-
-guish and die in obscurity, within eighty miles
of the metropolis of Virginia! To me it is a con¬
clusive argument, either that the Virginians, have
no taste, for the highest-strains of the most sub¬
file oratory, or that they are destitute of a much
jnere important quality, the love of genuine and
exalted religion. Indeed, it is too clear, my
friend, that this soil abounds more in weeds of
foreign birth, than in goorl and salubrious fruits.
Among others, the noxious weed of infidelity,
•has struck a deep, a fatal root, and spread its pes¬
tilential branches far around. I fear that our ec¬
centric and fanciful countryman, Godwin, has
contributed not a little, to water and cherish this
"pernicious exotic There is a novelty, a splen¬
dor, a boldness in his scheme o fin orals, peculiar¬
ly fitted to captivate a ycuthiul and »an ardent
mind. A young man for In 1 ir delicacy flattered,
an the idea of .being -emancipated from the.old,
X 67 )
'obsolete and vulgar motives of moral conduct:;
and acting correctly from motives quite new, re¬
fined and sublimated in the crucible of pure, ab¬
stracted reason. Unfortunately, however, in
this attempt to change the motives of his conduct,
he loses the old ones, while the new, either from
being too etherial and sublime, or from some o-
ther want of congeniality, refuse to mix and lay
hold of the gross materials of his nature.' Thus
he becomes emancipated indeed ; discharged not
only from ancient and vulgar shackles; but also,
from the modern, finespun, tinsel'd restraints of
his divine Godwin. Having imbibed the high
spirit of literary adventure, he disdains the limits
of the moral world ; and advancing boldly to the
throne of God, he ^questions him on his dispensa¬
tions, and demands the reasons of his laws. But
the counsels of Heaven are above the ken, not-con-
traryto the voice of human reason ; and the un¬
fortunate youth, unable to reach and measure
them, recoils from the attempt, with melancholy
rashness, into infidelity and deism. Godwin's
glittering theories, are on his lips. Utopia or
Mezorania boast not of a purer moralist in words,
than the young Godwinian. But the unbridled
licentiousness of his conduct, makes it manifest,
that if Godwin's principles are true in the ab¬
stract, they are not fit for this system of things ;
whatever they might be in the republic of Pla¬
to.
From a life of inglorious indolence, by far too
prevalent nmpng the young men of this country,
the transition is easy and natural to immorality
suid dissipation. It is at this giddy pefiod ofSfe,,
( 88 }
■when a series of dissolute courses have debauch¬
ed the purity and innocence of the heart, shaken
the pillars of the understanding, and converted
her sound and wholesome operations, into little
more than a set of feverish starts, and incoherent
and delirious dreams, it is in such a situation that
a new fangled theory is welcomed as an amusing
guest, and deism is embraced as a balmly com¬
forter against the pangs of an offended conscience.
This coalition, once formed and habitually con¬
solidated, " farewell, a long farewell" to honor,
genius and glory ! From such a gulf of compli¬
cated ruin, few have the energy even to attempt
an escape. The moment of cool reflection,
which should save them, is too big with horror
to be endured. Every plunge is deeper and
deeper, until the tragedy is finally wound up by
a pistol or a halter. Do not believe that I am
drawing from fancy ; the picture is unfortunately
true. Few dramas, indeed,have yet reached their
catastrophe ; but, too many, are in a rapid pro¬
gress towards it. These thoughts are affecting
and oppressive. I am glad to retreat from them
by bidding you adieu ; and offering my prayer#
to heaven, that you may never lose the pure, the
genial consolations of unshaken faith, and an ap¬
proving conscience. Once more, my .dear S
adieu.
LETTER VIII.
Richmond, October 15»
MEN of talents in this country,my dear S.
have been, generally, bred to the profession oT
the law x and,, indeed, throughout the United
( *9 )
States, I have met with few persons of exalted
intellect, whose powers have been directed to a-
nv other pursuit. 1 he bar, in America, is the
road to honors and hence, although the profes¬
sion is graced by the most shining- geniuses on
the continent, it is encumbered, also, by a me¬
lancholy groupe of young men, who hang on the
rear of the bar, like Goethe's sable clouds in the
western horizon. I have been told that the bar
of Virginia, was, a few years ago, pronounced by
the supreme court of the UnitedStates, to be the
most enlightened and able on the continent. I
am very incompetent to decide on the merit of
their legal acquirements ; but, putting aside the
partiality of a Briton, I do not think either of the
gentlemen by any means so eloquent or so eru¬
dite as our countryman Erskine. With your
permission, however, I will make you better ac¬
quainted with the few characters who lead the
van of the profession.
Mr , has great personal advantages. A
•figure large and portly ; his features uncommon¬
ly fine ; his dark eyes and his whole countenance
lighted up with an expression of the most conci¬
liating sensibility; his attitudes dignified and
commanding ; his gesture easy and graceful; his
voice perfect harmony ; and his whole manner
that of an accomplished and engaging gentleman.
I have reason to believe that the expression of his
countenance does no more than justice to his
heart. If I am correctly informed, his feelings
are exquisite ; and the proofs of his benevolence
are various and clear beyond the possibility of
Aaubt. He has filled the highest offices in this
( so )
commonwealth, and has very long maintained it
most respectable rank in his profession. His
character, with the people, is that of a great law¬
yer and an eloquent speaker; and, indeed, so
many men of discernment and taste entertain this
■opinion, and my prepossessions in his favor, are
so strong, on account of the amiable qualities of
his character, that I am very well disposed to
doubt the accuracy of my own judgment as it re¬
lates to him.
To me, however, it seems, that his mind, as is
often, but not invariably, the case, corresponds
with his personal appearance ; that is, that it is
turned rather for ornament than for severe use.
His speeches, I think, deserve the censure which
Lord Verulam pronounces on the writers poste¬
rior to the reformation of the church " Lu-
~it ther,w says he, w standing alone, against the
church of Rome, found it necessary to awake
" all antiquity in his behalf; this introduced the
" study of the dead languages, a taste for the ful-
' " ness of the Ciceronean manner; and hence the
1 " still prevalent error of hunting more after words
u than matter ; and more after the choiceness of
" the phrase and the round and clean compositi-
on of the sentence, and the sweet fallings of
the clauses, and the varying and illustration of
" their works with tropes and figures, than after
" the weight of matter, worth of subject, sound-
ness of argument, life of invertion, or depth of
"judgment."1' Mr ...'s temper and habits
lead him to the swelling, stately manner of Bol-
lingbroke ; but either from the want of prompti¬
tude and richness of conception, or his too sedu?»
c 91 )
lous concern and " hunting after words," he does
not maintain that manner, smocthly and happily.
On the contrary, the spirits of his hearers, after
having been awakened and put into sweet and
pleasant motion, have their tide, not unfrequent-
ly checked, ruffled and painfully obstructed by
the hesitation and perplexity of the speaker. It
-certainly must demand, my dear S , a mind
of very high powers to support the swell of Bol-
lingbroke, with felicity. The tones of voice
■which naturally belong to it, keep the expectation
continually41 on tiptoe j" and this must be gratified
not only by the most oily fluency, but by a course
of argument clear as light, and an alternate play
of imagination, as grand and magnificent as Uer-
schell's dance of the sidereal system. The work
"requires to be perpetually urged forward. One
interruption in the current of the language....one
poor thought or abortion of fancy ....one vacant a-
verslon of the eye or relaxation in the expressi¬
on of face, entirely breaks and dissolves the
whole charm. The speaker, indeed, may go on
and evolve, here and there, a pretty thought ;
but the wondrous magic -of the whole, is gone
'forever.
Whether it be from any defect in the organi¬
zation of Mr 's mind, or that his passion
for the fine dress of his thoughts, is the master
"passion, which, "like Aaron's serpent swallows
up the rest," I will not undertake to decide ; but
perhaps it results from one of those two causes,
that all the arguments which I have ever heard
"from him, are defective in. that important and
Una at .-matcharacter the iuculus^-rao. Xhitvfe
( 82 )
been sometimes inclined to believe, tbat a man's
divisionof his argument would be generallyfbund
to contain a secret history of the difficulties which
he himself has encountered in the investigation
of his subject. I am firmly persuaded that the
extreme prolixity of many discourses to which
we are doomed to listen, is chargeable, not to the
fertility, but to the darkness and impotence of
the brain which produces them. A man who sees
his object in a strong light, marches directly up
to it, in a right line, with the firm step of a soldi¬
er ; while another, residing in a less illumined
zone, wanders and jreels in the twilight of the
brain, and e'er he attains his object, treads a maze
ag intricate and perplexing as that of the celebrat¬
ed labyrinth of Crete. It was remarkable of the
of the United States, whom I mention¬
ed to you in a former letter, as looking through
a subject, at a single glance, that he almost inva¬
riably seized one strong point only, the pivot of
the controversy; this point he would enforce with
all his powers, never permitting his own mind to
waver nor obscuring those of his hearers, by a
cloud of inferior, unimportant considerations.....
But this is not the manner of Mr. I sus¬
pect, that in the preparatory investigation of a
subject, he gains his ground by slow and labori¬
ous gradations, and that his difficulties are nume¬
rous and embarrassing. Hence it is, perhaps,
that his points are generally too multifarious ;
nnd although, among the rest he exhibit the strong
point, it's appearance is too often like that of Is- ,
sachar, " bow'd down between two burdens." I
take this to be a very ill-judged method. It maj
( 93 )
serve indeed to make the multitude stare j but it
frustrates the great purpose of the speaker. In¬
stead of giving a simple, lucid and animated view
of a subject, it overloads, confounds and fatigues-
the listener. Instead of leaving him under the
vivacity of clear and full conviction, it leaves him,
bewildered, darkling, asleep ; and when he a-
wakes, he
" wakes, emerging from a sea of dreams
•' Tumultuous ; where his wreck'd, despond*
" ing thought,
" From wave to wave of " wiid uncertainty
" At random drove, her helm of reason, lost."
I incline to believe that if there be a blemish
in the mind of this amiable gentleman, it is the
want of a strong and masculine judgment. If
such an agent had wielded the sceptre of his un¬
derstanding, it is presumable, that e'er this, it
would have chastised his exuberant fondness for
literary finery* and the too ostentatious and un¬
fortunate parade of points in his argument, on
which I have just commenced. If I may confide
in the replies which I have heard given to-him at
the bar, this want of judgment is sometimes ma¬
nifested in his selection and application of law
cases But of this I can judge only from the-
triumphant air with which his adversaries seize'
his cases and appear to turn them against him
He is certainly a man of close and elaborate re¬
search. It would seem to me, however, my dear
S , that in order to constitute a scientific law¬
yer, something more is necessary than the patient
C s# )
and" persevering revolution of the leaves of an au¬
thor. Does it not require a discernment suffici¬
ently clear and strong to eviscerate the principles
of each case; a judgment potent enough to digest,
connect and systematize them,and to distinguish
at once, many future combin ition of circumstan¬
ces, the very feature which gives or refuses to. a
principle,a just application Without such intel¬
lectual properties, I should conjecture (for on
this subject, I can only conjecture} that a man
could not have the fair advantage and perfect
command of his reading. For, in the first place,
I should.apprehend, that he would never disco¬
ver the application of a case, without che recur¬
rence of all the same circumstances ; in the next
place, that his cases would form a perfect chaos,
a rudis indigesta que molesT in his brain j and last¬
ly, that he would often and sometimes perhaps
fatally mistake the identifying feature, and fur¬
nish his antagonist with a formidable weapon a-
gainst himself.
But let me fly from this- entangled wilderness,
of which I have so little knowledge, and return
to Mr. •«—•••. Although when brought to the
standard of perfect oratory, he may be subject to
the censures which I have passed on him ; yet it
is to be acknowledged^ and I make the acknow¬
ledgment with pleasure, that he is a man of ex¬
tensive reading, a welt informed lawyer, a fine
belle lettres scholar, and sometimes a. beautiful
speaker.
The gentleman who has-been pointed out to
me, as holding the next, if not an equal grade in
the profession, is Mr. •••••—„ He is, I.amtoldfc
( 9* )
upwards of forty years of age ; but his look', I
think, is more juvenile. As to stature, he is a -
bout the ordinary height of men ; his form gen¬
teel ; his person agile. He is distinguished by a
quickness of look, a sprightly step, and that pe¬
culiarly jaunty air, which I have heretofore men¬
tioned, as characterizing the people of New-York.
It is an air, however, which (perhaps, because
I am a plain son of John Bull) is not entirely to
my taste. Striking, indeed, it is ; highly genteel,
and calculated for eclat ; but thenr I fear, that it
may be censured as being too artificial ; as hav¬
ing, therefore, too little appearance of connection
with the heart j too little of that amiable simpli¬
city, that winning softness, that vital warmth,
which I have felt in the manner of a certain friend
of mine. This objection, howevey, is not meant
to touch his heart. I do not mean to eensure
his sensibility or his virtues. The remark applies
only to the mere exterior of £is manners ; and e-
ven the censure which I have pronounced on that
is purely the result of a different taste, .which is,
as probably, "wrong, as that of Mr.
Indeed, my dear S I have seen few emi¬
nent men in this or any .other country, who have
been able so far to repress the exulting pride of
conscious talents, as to put on the behaviour
which is calculated to win the hearts of the peo¬
ple. I mean that* behaviour,, which steers be¬
tween a low-spirited, cringing sycophancy, and.
ostentatious condescension on the one hand, and
a haughty, self-importance and supercilious con¬
tempt of one's fcllow-creatures on the other; that,
behaviour, in which,..while a man displays a just..
C 'JS j
respect for his own feelings and char t ter, he
seems, nevertheless, to concenter himself with
the disposition and inclinations of the person to
whom he speaks ; in a word, that happy behavi--
our, in which versatility and candor, modesty and
dignity, a^e sweetly and harmoniously attemper¬
ed and blended. Any Englishman, but yourself,
my S........ would easily recognize the original
from which this latter picture is drawn.
This leads me off from? the character of Mr.
to remark a moral defect, which I have, se¬
veral times, observed in this country- Many well
meaning men, having heard much of the hollow,
ceremonious professions and hypocritical gri¬
mace of courts; disgusted with everything which
savours of aristocratic or monarchic parade; and
smitten with the love of republican simplicity and
honesty, have fallen into a rrggedness of deport¬
ment, a thousand times more proud, more into¬
lerable and disgusting, than Shakespeare's fop¬
pish lord, with his chin new reapt and pouncet
box. They scorn to conceal their thoughts and
in the expression of them, confound bluntness
with horftsty. Their opinions are all dogmas.....
It is perfectly immaterial to them what anyoneelse
may think- Nay, many of them seem to have for¬
gotten, that others can think, or feel at all. In pur¬
suit of the haggard phantom, of republicanism,*
they dash on, like Sir Joseph Banks, giving chace
to the Emperor of Morocco, regardless of the
* This phrase is scarcely excusable, even m
& Briton and a Lord.
(.' 9T })
sweet and- tender blossoms of sensibility, which"
fall, and bleed, and die behind them. What an •
error is this, my dear S !. I am frequently
disposed to ask such men...." think you, that the
stern and implacable Achilles, was an honester'
man, than the gentle, humane and considerate
H ector ? Was the arrogant and imperious Alex--
anJer, an honester man, than the meek^ compas¬
sionate and amiable Cyrus ?. Was the proud, the
rough, the surly Cato, more honest, than the soft,.
polite and delicate Scipio Afi;icanus ?. In short,,
are not honesty and-humanity compatible ? And-
what is the most genuine and captivating polite-.'
ness,-bui-humanity refined 1
But to return from this digression. The qua¬
lities by which Mr. ....... strikes the multitude,
are his ingenuity apd his wit. But-those who-
look more closely into the anatomy of his mind,
discover.many properties of much higher dignity
and importance. This gentleman, in my opinion,,
unites in himself a greater diversity of talents and-
acquirements, than any other at the bar of Virgi¬
nia. He has the reputation,, and I doubt not a
just one, of possessing much legal science. He ,
has an exquisite and a highly cultivated taste for
polite literature j.„ a. genius.-quick and fertile; a -
styie pure and classic ; a stream of perspicuous
and beautiful elocution ; an ingenuity which
difficulties can entangle or embarrass ; and a wit<
whose vivid and brilliant corruscations, can guild
and decorate the darkest subject. He chooses
his ground in the first instance, with great judg¬
ment ; and., when, in the progress of a cause,
unexpected evolution of testimony,.or interme-j
( 98 }
eliate decisions from the bench, have beaten that
ground from under him, he possesses a happy,,
an astonishing versatility, by which he is enabled,
at once, to take a new position, without appeal¬
ing to have lost an atom, either in the measure or
stability of his basis. This is a faculty, which, X
Lave observed before, in an inferior degree; but
3ir is so adroit, so superior in the executi¬
on of it, that, in him, it appears a new and pecu¬
liar talent. His statements, his narrations, his
arguments, are all as transparent as the light of
clay. He reasons logically, and declaims very
Jumdsomety. It is true, he never brandishes the
Olympic thunder of Homer ; but then- he seldom,
if ever, sinks beneath the chaste and attractive
majesty of Virgil.- His fault is, that he has not'
veiled his ingenuity with sufficient address
Hence, I am told, that he is considered as a Pro¬
teus ; and the courts are disposed- fo doubt their
senses, even when he appears in his proper shape.
But in spite of this adverse and unpropitious dis¬
trust, Mr. .......'s popularity is still in its flood,
and he is justly considered as an honor and an
ornament to his profession.
■ Adieu !, my friend, for the present. E'er long
we may take another tour through this gallery of
portraits, if more interesting objects do not call,
trs off. Again, my S , good night.
LETTER IX.
Richmond, October SO.
TALENTS, my dearS , wherever they
have had a suitable theatre, have never failed to-
( 99 )
emerge from obscurity, and assume their proper
rank in the estimation of the world. The cele¬
brated Camden, is said to have been the tenant of
a garret. Yet from the darkness, poverty and
ignominy, of this residence, he advanced to dis¬
tinction and wealth, and graced the first offices
and titles of our island. It is impossible to turn
over the British Biography, without being struck
and charmed by the multitude of cofrespondent
examples ; a venerable groupe of novi homines,
as the Romans called them j men, who, from the
lowest depths of obscurity and want, and with¬
out even the influence of a patron, have risen to
the first honors of their country, and founded
their own families anew. In every nation, and in
every age, great talents, thrown fairly into the
point of public observation, will, invariably, pro¬
duce the same ultimate effect. The jealous pride
of power may attempt to repress and crush them ;
the base and malignant rancour of impotent spleen
and envy may strive to embarrass and retard their
flight : but these efforts, so far from atchieving
their ignoble purpose, so far from producing a
discernable obliquity in the ascent of genuine and
vigorous talents, will serve only to increase their
momentum and mark their transit with an addi¬
tional stream of glory.. When, the great earl of
Chatham first made-his'appearance in our House
of Cqmmons,, and began to astonish and trans¬
port the British Parliament, and the British nati¬
on, by the boldness^ the force and range of his
thoughts, and the celestial fire<md pathos of his
eloquence, it is well known, that the minister,
'Walpole, and his brother Horace, (from motiyesi
f rcrcr )
very easily understood) exerted all their wit, all'
their oratory, all their acquirements of every de*
scription, sustained and enforced by the unfeeling
" insolence of office,"' to heave amountain on his
gigantic genius, and hide it from the world.....
Poor and powerless attempt!....The tables were
turned. He rose upon them- in the-might -and ir¬
resistible energy ol his genius,, and in spite of all
their convolutions, frantic- agonies and spasms*
he strangled them and their whole- faction, with
as much ease, as Hercules did, the serpent, Py¬
thon.. Who can turn over the debates of the day,
and read the- account of this conflict between,
youthful ardor and hoary headed cunning and
p owe ^..without kindling in the cause of the tyro,
and shouting at his victory ? -1 hat they should
have attempted to pass off the grand,,yet solid
and judicious operations of a mind like his, as
being mere theatrical Start and emotion ; the gid¬
dy, hair-brained eccentricities of a romantic boy ! ~
That they should have had the presumption to
suppose themselves capable of chaining- down to
the floor of th'e parliament, a genius so etherial,
towering, and sublime ! Why did they not, in
the next breath, by way of crowning the climax
of vanity, bid the magnificent fire-ball to descend
from its exalted and appropriate region, and per¬
form its splendid tour along the surface of the
'earth' When- the son of this great man, too,.
* See a beautiful'note in Darwin's Botanic
Garden, in which the writer suggests the proba¬
bility of three concentric strata of our atmosphere,
ui which, cr between" them., are produced. foiav
X T01 ")
©urpresent' minister, and his compeer'and fiyrtl,
our friend, first commenced their political careex,
the public papers teemed with strictures on their
respective talents ; the .first was censured as be¬
ing merely a dry and even a flimsy reasouer ; the
last was stigmatized as an empty declaimer. But
error and misrepresentation soon expire, and are
forgotten : while truth rises upon their ruins, and
,<tflourishes in eternal youth.*" 'Ihus, the false,
the light,'fugacious newspaper criticisms, which
attempted to dissect and censure the arrangement
of those gentlemen's talents, have been long since
swept away by the besom of oblivion. They
wanted truth, that-soul, which, alone, can -secure
immortality to any literary work. And Mr. Pitt
and Mr. Fox, have, for many years, been, reci¬
procally and alternately recognized, just as their
-subject demands.it, either as closeand cogent rea-
kinds of meteors ; in the lowest, the common,
lightning ; -in the next shooting stars : and the
highest region, which die supposes *to consist of
inflammable gas, tenfold lighter than the cbmmon
atmospheric air, he makes the theatre of the
northern light, and fire-ball"or draco volans. lie
wecites the history of on cof'the "latter, seen in the
year 1758, which was estimated to have been a
mile and a half dn circumference-^ to have been
100 miles high1; and to have moved towards the
north, SO miles in a second. It had a real tail
many miles long, which threw off sparks in its
xourse, and the whole exploded with a sound,
dike that of distant thunder. Bot. JGarden. ,'Pa*St
il, add note 1.
C 102 )
soners, or as beautiful and superb rhetoricians....
Talents, therefore, which are before" the public,
have nothing to dread, either from the jealous
pride, of power, or f rom the transient misrepre¬
sentations of party, spleen, or envy. In spiteof
opposition from any cause, their buoyant spirit
will lift them to their proper grade....it would be
unjust that it should lift them higher.
It is true, there always are, and always will be,
in every society, individuals, who will fancy them¬
selves examples of genius overlooked, under-rat¬
ed, or invidiously oppressed. But the misfortune,
of such persons is imputable to their own vanity,
and not to the public opinion, which has weighed
and graduated thexp. We remember many of
our school-mates, whose geniuses bloomed and
died, within the walls of Alma Mater ; but whose
bodies still live, the moving monuments of de¬
parted splendor, the animated and affecting re¬
membrancers of the extreme fragility of the hu¬
man intellect. We remember others, who have
entered on public life, with the most exulting pro¬
mise ; have flown from the earth, like rockets ;
and after a short and brilliant flight, have burst-
fed with one or two explosions....to blaze no more.
Others, by a few premature scintillations of
thought, have led themselves and their partial
friends to hope, that they were fast advancing to
a dawn of soft and beauteous light, and a meridi¬
an of bright and gorgeous effulgence. But their
day has never yet broken, and never will it break.
They are doomed for ever to that dim, crepus-
qular light, which surrounds the frozen poles,
when the sun has retreated to the opposite circle
t 1(53 )
of the Heavens. Their's is the eternal glimmer*
ing of the brain ; and their most luminous (lis*
.plays, are the faint twinklings of the glow-worm.
We have seen others, who, at their start, gain a
casual projectility, which raises them above their
proper grade; but, by the just operation of their
-specific gravity, they are made to subside again,
and settle ultimately in the sphere to which they
properly belong, All these characters, and ma¬
ny others who have had even slighter bases for
their once sanguine, but now blasted hopes, form
"a querulous and melancholy band of moon-struck
declaimers against the injustice of the world, the
agency of envy, the force of' destiny, ike. charg¬
ing their misfortune on every thing but the true
cause; their own want of intrinsic, sterling merit;
their want of that copious, perennial spring of
great and useful thought, without which a man
may hope, in vain, for growing reputation. Nor
are" they always satisfied with wailing their own
destiny, pouring out the bitterest imprecations of
their souls, on the cruel stars which presided at
their birth, and aspersing the,justicer-of the public
opinion which has scaled them : too often in the
contortions and pangs of disappointed ambition,
they cast a scowling eye over the world of man....
start back, and blanche, at the lustre of superior
merit....and exert all the diabolical incantations
of their black art, to conjure up an impervious
vapour, in order to shroud its glories from the.
world. But it is all in vain. In spite of every
thing, the public opinion, will finally do justice to
us all* The man who comes fairly before the
world, and who possesses the great and vigorous
( .104 )
stamina which entitle him to a niche in the tem¬
ple of glory, has no reason to dread the ultimate
result; however slow hisjprogress may be, he will,
in the end, most indubitably receive that distinc¬
tion. While the rest, " the swallows of science;"
the butterflies of genius, may flutter for thejr
spring ; but they will soon pass away and be. re¬
membered no more. No enterprising man,
therefore,,,(and least of all, the truly great man)
has r-eason to droop or-repi-ne at any efforts which
he may suppose to be made with the-view to de¬
press him.; since he may rely on the .universal and
unchangingtruth, that talents,-which are before
the world, will most inevitably find their proper
level; and this is, certainly, all that a just man
should desire- Let, then, the tempest of envy
or of malice howl around him. His genius will
consecrate him : and any attempt: to extinguish
that, will be as unavailing, as would a human ef¬
fort " to quench the stars;"
I have been led farther into these reflections
than I had anticipated. The train was started
by casting my eyes oyer Virginia; observing the
very few who-have advanced on the theatre of
public observation, and the very many who will
remain, forever, behind the. scenes. What fre¬
quent instances of high, native genius have I seen
springing, in the-wildernesses of this country; ge¬
nius, whose blossoms, the light of science has ne¬
ver courted into expansion ; genius, which is
doomed to fall and die, far from the notice and
the haunts of men! How often, as I have held .my
way through the western forests of this state, and
reflected on.the vigorous shoots,of superior ijit«*l-
X 1*05 )
Tect,- which were freezing and perishing there for
the want of culture....how often have I recalled,
the moment, when our pathetic Gray, reclining
under the mouldering elm of his country church
-yard, while the sigh of genial sympathy broke
-from his heart, and the tear of noble pity started
in his eye, exclaimed,
<" Perhaps, -in-this neglected spot is'lai'd
Some Heart once pregnant with celestial fire,
, Hands that,therodof empire,might have swayM»
Or wak'd to ecstacy, the" living lyre.
„But knowledge to their eyes^her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill penury repress'cl their noble rage,
And froze the,.genial current of their soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ;
Full many a flow'r is born to blush, unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desart air.
-Some village < Hampden, that, with-dauntless
breast,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood ;
Some mute, inglorious Milton, here, may rest;
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's
blood.
Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
'To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,
.Their lot forbad:"..
( 106 )
The heart of a philanthropist, no matter to
what country or what form of government he may
belong, immediatelyenquires...," and is there no
mode to prevent this melancholy waste of talents I
Is there no mode by- which the rays of science
might be so diffused over the state, as to call
forth each latent bud into life and luxuriance ?"
There is such a mode ; -and what renders the le¬
gislature of this state still more inexcusable, the
plan by which these important purposes might be
effected, has been drawn out and has lain by them
for nearly thirty years. The declaration of the
-independence of this commonwealth was made
in the month of May, 1776.^ In the fall of that
year, a statute, or as it is called here, " an act of
Assembly" was made, providing that a commit¬
tee of five persons should be appointed to pre¬
pare a code of laws, adapted to the change of the
state government. This code was to be submit¬
ted to the legislature of the country, and to be ra¬
tified or rejected by their suffrage. In the ensu¬
ing November, by a resolution of the same legis¬
lature, Thomas Jefferson, Edmund Pendleton,
George Wythe, George Mason, and Thomas
Ludwell Lee, Esquires, were appointed a com-
This is a fact which the public journals of
the state establish beyond controversy; although
the legal process and other public acts of Virgi¬
nia, mpdestly wave this precedence, and date the
foundation of the commonwealth, on the 4th of
Julv, 1776, the day on which the declaration of
the independence of the United States was pro*
-mtilged.
1KW}
rnittee to execute the work in question." It "Was
prepared by the three first named gentlemen ; th<?
first of them, now the President of the United
States ; the second, the President of the Supremq
Court of Appeals of Virginia ; and the third, the.
Judge of the High Court of Chancery, at this
place. I have perused this system of state police,
with admiration. It is'evidently the work of
minds of most astonishing greatness; capable, at
once, of a grand, profound and comprehensive
survey of the present and future interest and
glory of the whole state ; and of pursuing that in¬
terest and glory through all the remote and mi¬
nute ramifications of the most extensive and ela¬
borate detail. Among other wise and highly pa¬
triotic bills, which are proposed, there is one, for
the more general diffusion of knowledge. After
a preamble, in which the importance of the sub¬
ject to the republic is most ably and eloquently
announced, the bill proposes a simple, and beau¬
tiful scheme, whereby science (like justice under
the institutions of our Alfred) would have been
" carried to every man's door." Genius, instead
of having to break its way through the thick op¬
posing clouds of native obscurity, indigence ^and
ignorance, was to be sought for through every
family in the commonwealth ; the sacred spark,
wherever it was detected, was to he tenderly che¬
rished, fed, and fanned into a flame ; its innate
properties and tendencies were to be developed
and examined; and then cautiously and judicious¬
ly invested with all the auxiliary energy and ra¬
diance of which thpir character was susceptible.
"What a plan was here to give stability and solid-
( 108 )
rjlory to the republic ! If you ask me why it has
never been adopted, I answer, that, as a foreign¬
er, I can perceive no possible reason for it, ex¬
cept that the comprehensive'views and generous
patriotism which produced the bill, have nof pre¬
vailed throughout'the country, nor presided rin
the body on whose vote the adoption of the bill
• depended. I have new reason to remark it, al¬
most every day, that there is throughout' Virginia,
a most deplorable destitution of public spirit, of the
noble pride arfd love of country. Unless the bo¬
dy of the people can be awakened from this fatal
apathy ; unless their thoughts and their feelings
can be urged beyond the narrow confines of their
own private affairs ; unless they can be strongly
inspired with the public z.eal, the amor patriae of
the ancient republics, the national embellishment,
and the national grandeur of this opulent state,
must be reserved for very distant ages.
Adieu, my S.......; perhaps you will hear from
me again, before I leave Richmond.
From the VIRGINIA GAZETTE.
AN APOLOGY
IN REP L"Y TO A'HINT.
THE letters of the British Spy were furnished
• to amuse the citizens of the town and country^;
and not to give pain to any one human being
■Accordingly, nothing has been.said in.censure of
( 109 )
th'e integrity, the philanthropy, the benevolence*,
charity, or any other moral or religious virtue or
grace of any one Virginian, who has been intro.
duced into those letters.. Nothing indeed could
be justly said on. those heads, in censure of either*,
of the genlhmen.. It is true, that some letters
have been published, which have attempted, to a-
nalize the mhids of three or four,well kno>vm citi¬
zens q£ this state, and in order to- designate them-
more particularly, a description p-f the person
manner of each gentleman was given.. This has»
been called -u throwing, stones at other people's
glass houses,'"and the person .who has communit
eated those letters (gratuitously.styled their u au-.
^ thor") is politely reminded that he himself re¬
sides u in a-g-Ias-s- house.'" If this be correctly-
understood., it implies a threat of retaliation; but
all that the laws of retaliation could justify,'would
be to amuse the town and country with a descrip-t
tion of the person, manner and mind of the author
(as he is called).of the British Spy. He fears*
however,- that it would puzzle the hinter, whate¬
ver his genius may be, .to render so barren a sub-,
ject, interesting and amusing to the public ; and
lie. would be much obliged. tcnthe- hinter if he-
could make it appear that he (the furnisher of ths?
letters) deserves to. be drawn .into, comparison,
either as-to - person, manner, or mind, with any
one of the gentlemen delineated ,by the British,
S,py. As to his person, indeed,-he is less solicit¬
ous ; the-defects of that, were imposed on him by
nature-; and there is no principle better establish¬
ed-than -this general principle of eternal truth and
just ice,-that no man ought to be-censured for.con*
C «o )
tfngencies over which he had no controul. As
to his manner, he has as little objection to a pub¬
lic description of that as his person.
To save the trouble of others, however, he re¬
linquishes all pretensions either to the striking e-
legance which is calculated to excite admiration,
and respect, or to the conciliating grace and vital
warmth which are qualified to gain enthusiastic
friends.....His manneris probably such as would
be produced, nine times out of ten, by the rustic-
education-to, which he was exposed.
As to his mind, it is almost such as nature
made it. He cannot boast with Gray, that " sci¬
ence frowned not on his humble birth." But
what of this? A man may very accurately anato-
mizethe powers of a mind far superior to his own#
It is not improbable that Zoilus*'criticisms of Ho¬
mer was just ; since every nod of Homer's was
a fair subject of criticism. Yet who will suppose
that Zoilus could have produced such a work as
the Iliad ? It is impossible to read Dennis's cri¬
ticisms of Addison's Cato without being forcibly
struck with their justice, and wondering that they
have never before occurred to ourselves. Yet
there is no man, who will,- therefore, pronounce
the genius.of Dennis equal to that of Addison.....
These facts are so palpable and so well under-
Stood, that the .person who furnished the letters,
of the British Spy (even if he had been their au*
thor) could scarcely have had the presumption to
suppose, nor, I trust, the injustice to desire, that
the public would prpnounce his mind free from
the defects, much less endued with the energies-
and beauties, of those which he criticises..
( 1" )
But where is the harm which has been done ?;
Who are the gentlemen introduced into the Bri¬
tish Spy? A.re they young men, just emerging-
into notice, and concerning whom the public have
yet to form an opinion ? Far from it. They are
gentlemen, who have long been, and who still are
displaying themselves in the very centre of the
circle *>f general observation^ They have not
hid their light under, a bushel. Their city is
built on. a high hill.. There is not a feature of
their persons, nor a quality of their mind or man¬
ner, which has not been long and well known,
and remarked, commented on, criticised, repeat¬
ed and reiterated a thousand and ten thousand
times in every circle and every corner of the.
country.
Was it in the power, then,.of any remarks in an.
anonymoqs and fugitive newspaper publication,
either to injure or to serve gentlemen so well and
so extensively known ?. On the contrary,, if those
remarks were untru^, they would be instantane¬
ously and infallibly corrected by the public'opi--
nion and knowledge of the subject; if the remarks
were true, they would add no new fact to the
public opinion and the public knowledge. Think¬
ing thus, nothing was more distant, either from
the expectation or wish of the person who has
furnished the press with the letters of the British
Spy, than that he was about to do an injury to
the character, or to inflict a wound on the feel¬
ings of any citizen of the country. Why could
he have expected or wished any such effect ? He
could not have been actuated by resentment; for
neither of those gentlemen have ever done him
(• l!-3 I
an injury. He could not have been moved by
personal interest j since his conscious inferiority
as well as the nature of his pursuits, remove him.
far from the possibility of being; ever brought in-
to collision with either of. those gentlemen. He.
could not have been impelled by diabolical envy,
or the malicious agony of blasted ambition ; since,
his country, has- already distinguished him far,
very far beyond his desert. And of the .malevo-'
lence of h«art which could intentionally do a,
wicked,awanton and unprovoked injury,he is per-,
suadedthat either of the gentlemen, if they knew",
him, \vould most freely and cheerfully acquit him..
If he be asked why he published the letters de¬
scribing those characters ? He answers....
First, for the same reason that he would, if he
could, present to the town, a set of landscape
paintings,.representing all the lovely prospect*
"which belong to their beautiful city ; to furnish
them with the amusement and pleasure, which,
arise from- surveying an. accurate picture of a
well known original: and this implies, that he
could not have believed himself, adding new in-,
formation, as to the originals themselves. Se¬
condly, he hoped that .the abstracted and miscel¬
laneous remarks', which were blended, with the
description of those characters, might not ber.
without their use, to the many literary young. •
men who are growing up in Virginia..
If the letters of the British Spy have gone be¬
yond these purposes ; if they have given pain to
the gentlemen described, (for as to doing them
an injury, it is, certainly, out of the question),,
there is no man in the community,. disposed ta<
( its J
regret it, mote sensibly, than the man who fur¬
nished those letters for publication.
But while honor and justice compel the writer
of this article, to give these explanations, and
make these acknowledgments' to the gentlemen
immediately interested, he begs he may not be
considered as descending to the meanness, of beg¬
ging mercy on his own kt glass house." On the
contrary,-the person who has published the polite-
hint in question', is welcome to commence his as¬
sault as soon as he pleases. He can scarcely
point out one defect in the person, manner, or
mind of this writer, of which he is not already
conscious.- And if he meant by his menace, any
thing more....if he meant to insinuate a suspicion'
to the public, that the honesty, integrity, or mo¬
ral purity of the man who furnished the letters of
the British Spy for publication, are assailable on
any ground of truth....if such was his intention,-
he has intended an injury, at which this writer
laughs in proud security....an injury, for which
his own heart, if it be a good one, will not for-'
give him so soon, as will the heart of the man
whom- he has attempted to injure.
The writer of this article, tenders, in return;-
this hint, to the hinfer : .that before he commences
his hostile operations, he will be sure of his man.-
As to the persons who really did furnish the Bri¬
tish- Spy, the finger of conjecture has been erro¬
neously, pointed at various persons who reside
in this state;- It would be unjust and barbarous,-,
to punish the innocent for the guilty, if guilt can¬
ine justly charged, on the British Spy.
C 114 5
LETTER X.
Richmondy December Xtf,
IN one of my late rides into the surrounding
country, I stopped at a little inn, to refresh my¬
self and my horse ^and, as the landlord was nei¬
ther a Boniiace, nor " mine host of the garter," I
called for a book, by way of killing time, while
the preparations for my repast, -were goitig for¬
ward. He brought me a shattered fragment of
the second volume of the Spectator, which he told
me, was the only book in the home, for "-he ne¬
ver troubled his heTcl about readingand by the
way of conclusive proof, he farther informed me,
that this- fragment, the only book in the house,
had been sleeping, unmolested, in the dust of his
mantle-piece, for ten or fifteen years* I could
not meet my venerable countryman, in a foreign
land, and in this humiliating plight, nor hear of
the inhuman and Gothic contempt with which he
had been treated, without the liveliest emotion.
So I read my host a lecture on the subject, to
which he appeared to pay as little attention, as
he had before done, to- the Spectator, and with
the sangfroid of a Dutchman, answered me, in
the cant of the country, that he " had other fish
to fry," and left me.
It had been so long since I had had an oppor¬
tunity of opening that agreeable collection, that
the few numbers which were now before me, ap¬
peared almost entirely new ; and I cannot describe
to you, the avidity and delight, with which I de¬
voured those beautiful and interesting speculati¬
ons. Is it not strange, my dear S...,..., that such
C iw )
a work should have, ever lost an inch of ground?
A style so s weet and simple ; and yet so orna¬
mented I A temper so benevolent, so cheerful, so
exhiliarating! A body of knowledge, and of origi¬
nal thought, so immense and various! So'strikingly
just, so universally useful 1 What person, of any
age, sex, temper, calling, or pursuit, can possibly
converse with the Spectator, without being con¬
scious of immediate improvement ? Totbe spleen,
he is as perpetual, and never-failing an antidote,
as he is to ignorance and immorality. ISo mat¬
ter for the disposition of mind in which you take
him up ; you catch, as, you go along, the happy
tone of spirits which prevails throughout the
work ; you smile at the wit, laugh at the drollery,
feel your mind enlightened, your heart opened,
softened and refined, and when you lay him dotvn,
you are sure to be in a better humour, both with
yourself and every body else. I have never men¬
tioned the subject to a reader of the Spectator,
who did not admit this to be the invariable pro¬
cess ; and in such a world of misfortunes, of
cares, and sorrows, and guilt as this is, what a
prize would this collection be, if it were rightly
estimated ! Were I the sovereign of a nation,
which spoke the English language, and wished
my subjects cheerful, virtuous and enlightened,
I would furnish every poor family in my domini¬
ons (and see that the rich furnished themselves)
with a copy of the Spectator ; and ordain that
the parents or children, should read four or five
numbers, aloud, every night in the yea!. For
one of the peculiar perfections of the work is,
that while it contains such a mass of ancient and-
( if& J
modern learning, so much of profound1 wisdom,,
and of beautiful composition, yet there is scarce¬
ly a number throughout the eight volumes, which
is not level to the meanest capacity. Another
perfection is, that the Spectator, will never be¬
come tiresome to anyone whose taste andtvhose
heart remain uncorrupted.
I do not mean that this author, should be read
to the exclusion of others ; much less that he
should stand in the way of the generous pursuit
of science, or interrupt the discharge of social or
private duties. All the counsels of the work it¬
self, have a directly reverse tendency. It furnish¬
es a store of the clearest argument, and of the
most amiable and captivating exhortations, " to-
raise the genius, and to mend the heart." I re¬
gret, only, that such a book should be thrown by,,
and almost entirely forgotten, while the gilded
blasphemies of infidels, and " the noon-tide tran¬
ces" of pernicious theorists, are hailed with rap¬
ture, and echoed around the world. For such, I
should be pleased to see the Spectator universal¬
ly substituted ; and, throwing out of the questi¬
on it's morality, it's literary information, it's-
swectlv contagious serenity, and the pure and
chaste beauties of its st\le;and considering it
merely as a curiosity, as concentering the brilli¬
ant sports of the finest cluster of geniuses, that
ever graced the earth, it surely deserves perpetu¬
al attention, respect and consecration.
There is,methinks, my S a great fault in
the v4 rid, as it respects this subject; a giddy in¬
stability, a light and fluttering vanity, a prurient
longing after novelty, an impatience, a disgust, a
I i vr )
fastidious contempt of every thing1 that is old..-..
You will not understand me as censuring the pro¬
gress of sound science. I am not so infatuated
an antiquarian, nor so poor a philanthropist, as to
seek to retard the expansion of the human mind.
But I lament the eternal oblivion, into which our
-old authors, those giants of literature, are permit¬
ted to sink, while the world stands open-eyed and
open-mouthed to catch every modern, tinsel'd a-
bortion, as it falls from the press. In the polite
circles of America, for instance, perhaps there is
no want of taste, and even zeal for letters. I
have seen several •gentlemen, who appear to have
an accurate, a minute acquaintance with the whole
range of literature, in it's present state of im¬
provement : yet, you will be surprised to hear,
that I have not met with more than one or two
persons in this country, who have ever read the
works of Bacon or of Boyle. They delight to
•saunter in the upper story, sustained and adorned
•as it is, with the delicate proportions, the foliage
and flourishes of the Corinthian order 4 but they
^disdain to make any acquaintance, or hold com¬
munion at all, with the Tuscan and Doric plain¬
ness and strength, which base and support the
whole edifice. As to LordVerulam, when he is
considered as the father of experimental philoso¬
phy ; as the champion, whose vigor battered
down the idolized chimeras of Aristotle, together
with all the appendant and immeasurable webs of
'the brain, woven and bung upon them, by the in¬
genious dreamers of the schools ; as the hero who
mot only rescued and redeemed the world from
isdlthis darkness, jargon, perplexity and error 5
C us )
but, from the stores of his own great mind, pour¬
ed a flood of light upon the earth, straitened the
devious paths of science, and planned the whole
paradise, which we now find so full of fragrance,
beauty and grandeur—.when he is considered, I
say, in these points of view, I am astonished that
literary gentlemen do not co'urt his acquaintance,
if not through reverence, at least through curiosi¬
ty. The person who does so, will find every pe¬
riod filled with pure and solid, golden bullion ;
that bullion, which several, much admired, pos¬
terior writers have merely moulded into various
forms, or beaten into leaf, and taught to spread
its floating splendors to the sun.
This insatiable palate for novelty, which 1 have
mentioned, has had a very striking effect on the
style -of modern productions. The plain language
of easy conversation will no longer do. The
writer who contends for fame, or even for truth,
is obliged to consult the reigning taste of the day.
Hence, too often, in opposition to his own judg¬
ment, he is led to incumber his ideas -with a gor¬
geous load of ornaments ; and when, he would
present to the public a bod}'- of pure, substantial
and useful thought, he finds himself constrained
to encrust and bury its utility within a dazzling
case, to convert a feast of reason into a concert
of sounds ; a rich intellectual boon into a mere
bouquet of tariegated pinks and blushing roses.
In his turn he contributes to establish and spread
wider the perversion of the public taste ; and thus,
on a principle resembling that of action and reac¬
tion, the author and the public reciprocate the in¬
jury i just as, in the licentious reign of our
{ "9 )
diaries the II, the dramatist and his audience-
were wont to poison each other's morals.
A history of style would, indeed, be a curious
and a highly interesting one : I mean a philoso¬
phical, as well as a chronological history : one
which, besides making the gradations, changes
and fluctuations exhibited in the style of different
itges and different countries, should open the re¬
gular or contingent causes of all those gradations,
changes and fluctuations. I should be particular¬
ly pleased to see a learned and penetrating mind
employed on the questions, whether the gradual
adornment which we ohserve in a nation's style,
results from the progress of science ? Or whether
there he an infancy, a youth, and a manhood, in.
a nation's sensibility ; which rising in a distant
age, like a new-born billow, rolls on, through
succeeding generations, with accumulating height
and force, and bears along with it the concurrent
expression of that sensibility, until they both
swell and tower into the sublime....and sometimes
break into the bathos ? The historical facts as
well as the metaphysical consideration of the sub¬
ject, perplex these questions extremely ; and, as
Sir Roger De Coverley says, u much may be
said on both sides." Tor the present, I shall say
nothing on -either ; except that from some of Mr-
Blair's remarks, it would seem that neither of
those hypotheses will solve the phenomenon be¬
fore us. If I remember his opinion correctly,
the most sublime style is-to be sought in a state
of nature ; when, anterior to the existence of sci¬
ence, the scantiness of a language, forces a peo¬
ple to notice the points of -resemblance be twee*.1
( «0 }
'the great natural objects with which they are sur¬
rounded, to apply to one -the-terms which belong
to another, and thus, by compulsion, to fall, at
•once, into simile and metaphor, and launch into
all the boldness of trope and figure. If this be
true, it would seem that the progress of a civiliz¬
ed nation towards sublimity of style is perfectly a
retrogade manoeuvre ; that is, that they will be
Sublime according to the nearness of their ap-
px-oach to the primeval state of nature. This is
a curious and, to me, a bewitching subject. But
it leads to a volume of thought, wrhich is not to
be condensed into a letter. I will remark only
one extraordinary fact as it relates to style. The
Augustan age is pronounced by some critics to
have furnished the finest models ©f style, embel¬
lished to the highest endurable point: and of this,
Cicero, is always adduced as the most illustrious
Example. Yet it is remarkable, that seventy or
eighty years afterwards, when the Roman style
had become much more luxuriant, and was de¬
nounced by the critics of the day* as having
transcended the limits of genuine ornament, Pliny
the younger, in a letter to a friend thought it ne¬
cessary to enter into a formal vindication of three
•or four metaphors, which he had used in an ora¬
tion, and which had been censured in Rome for
their extravagance ; but which by the side of the
meanest of Curran's figures, would.be poor, insi¬
pid and flat. Yet who will say that Curran's
style has gone beyond the point of endurancei
Who is not pleased with its purity ? Who is net
travished by its sublimity !
* See Quinctilian's Institutes.
( 121 }
In England, how wide is the chasm between
'the style of Lord Verulam and that of Edmund
Burke, or MTntosh's introduction to his Vindin-
cioe Gallicoe ! That of the first is the plain dress
of a quaker ; that of the two last, the magnifi¬
cent paraphernalia of Louis XIV of France. In
-Lord Verulam's day, his style was distinguished
for its superior ornaments, and in this respect, it
was thought impossible to surpass it. Yet Mr.
Burke, Mr. MTntosh and the other fine writers
-of the present age, have, by contrast reduced
.Lord Verulam's flower gar dent o the appearance
>of a simple culinary square.
Perhaps it is for this reason, 'and because, as
you know, I am an epicure, that I am very much
Interested by Lord Verulam's manner. It is in¬
deed a most agreeable relief to my mind, to turn
from the stately and dazzling rhapsodies of the
• day, and converse with this plain and sensible old
-gentleman. To me his style is gratifying on ma¬
ny accounts and there is this advantage in him,
that instead of having three or four ideas rolled
over and over and over again, like the fantastic
-evolutions and ever-changin£ shapes of the same
-sun-embroidered cloud, you gain new materials.,
new information at every breath. Sir Robert
Boyle is, in my opinion, another author of the
■same description, and therefore an equal, if not a
higher favorite with me. In point of ornament,
he is the first grade in the mighty chasm (through
the whole, of which the gradations may be dis¬
tinctly traced) between Bacon and Burke. Yet
Lie has no redundant verbage ; has about him a
^perfectly patriarchal simplicity, and every period
( 122 )
3s pregnant with matter. He has this advantage
too over Lord Verulam ; that he not only inves¬
tigates all the subjects which are calculated to try
the clearness, the force and the comprehension
of the human intellect; he introduces others, also,
in handling whereof he shews the masterly pow¬
ers with which he could touch the keys of the
heart, and awaken all the tones of sensibility
which belong to man. Surely if ever a human
being deserved to be canonized for great, un¬
clouded intelligence, and seraphic purity and ec-
Stacy of soul, that being was Sir Robert Poyle.
When I reflect that this <4 pure intelligence, this
link between men and angels," was a christian,
and look around upon the petty infidels and de¬
ists with which the world swarms. I am lost in a-
mazement! Have they seen arguments against
religion, which were not presented to Sir Robert
Boyle His religious works shew that they have
not. Are their judgments better able to weigh
those arguments than his was ? They have not
the vanity even to believe it. Is the beam of their
judgments more steady, and less liable to be dis¬
turbed by passion than his ? O ! no ; for in this
he seems to have excelled all mankind. Are
their minds more elevated and more capable of
comprehending the whole of this great subject,
with all its connections and dependencies,than was
the mind of Sir Robert Boyle ? Look at the men...
and the question is answered. How then does it
happen that they have been conducted to a con¬
clusion, so perfectly the reverse of his ? It is for
this very reason ; because their judgments arc
less extricated from the influence and raised a-
( 123 )
lx)ve the mists of passion ; it is because their
minds are less etherial and comprehensive; less
capable than his was " to look through nature up
to nature's God." And let them hug their pre¬
cious, barren, hopeless infidelity ; they are Wel¬
come to the horrible embrace! May we my friend,
never lose the rich and inexhaustable comforts
of religion I Adieu! my S
THE author of " An Enquirer," on the theo¬
ry of the earth, begs leave to offer the following
observations, to the publisher of u the British
M Spy," in answer to some of his additional
notes.
When the Enquirer read, in the second letter
of the British Spy, that w the perpetual revoluti¬
on of the earth, from west to east, has the obvi¬
ous tendency to conglomerate the loose sands of
the sea, on the eastern coast ;" u that, whether
the rolling of the earth to the east, give to the o-
•cean an actual counter-current to the west, or
not, the newly emerged pinnacles are whirled, by
the earth's motion, through the waters of the
•deep and, from the continued operation of the
■causes which produced them, thatu all continents
and islands, will be caused, reciprocally, to ap¬
proximate when he read these and other simi¬
lar passages, he saw no reason to doubt, that the
British Spy, considered the ocean noiv, as well as
formerly7, affected by the rotation of the* earth ;
or, to express the same thing more correctly, that
the rotatory motion of the earth, is but partially
( 124 )
>eottimuiiic£tted to the ocean. This opinion,
which a thousand, facts may be brought to dis¬
prove, and which the favorite cosmogonist of the
British Spy says,"* no man can entertain, who has
•the least knowledge of physics, it was decorous
to suppose, had been advanced from inadvertence.
^If the meaning of the writer, was taken by the
.Enquirer, in a greater latitude than was meant,
he is not the less sorry for his mistake, because
it was a natural one, and was not confined to him-
■ self.
But the annotator of the Spy, without saying
' whether the supposed current now exists or not,
thinks the former existence of such a current not
improbable, and puts a case, by way of illustrat¬
ing his hypothesis. My reasoning on the sub¬
ject,somewhatdifferent from his,is briefly this.
If the whole surface of the earth, when it first
received its rotatory impulse, was covered with
water, and this impulse was communicated to its
solid part alone, then, indeed, a current to the west,'
would be produced ; and would continue, until
the resistance, occasioned by the friction of the
waters, gradually communicated the whole moti¬
on of the earth, to the ocean. It is not easy to
say, when this current would cease, but it seems
to me, it would be more likely to wear the bed of
'the ocean smooth, than to raise protuberances 5
* The passage in Smellie's translation qf Bu£»
fon, stands thus : But every man, who has the
least knowledge of physics, must allow, that no
fluid, which surrounds the earth, can be affected
by its rotation. Vol. U on regular winds.
C 125 )
and even,.though it were to cause sand banks, it-
could never elevate them-above its own level. I
should observe, that to avoid circumlocution, I
admit a current to the meet; because the effect is
the same, as to alluvion, whether the earth re¬
volve under the waters, or the waters rollover the
earth ; though the fact is, that the ocean, like the
oil in the plate,in the experiment»proposed, would,
have a tendency to remain at rest, and whatever
motion it acquired, must be to the east, like that
of the earth, from which it was derived.
If we suppose a few solitary mountains to lift
their heads above the circumfluous ocean, we may
infer, by the rules of strict analogy,, that they
would be worn away by the friction of. the passing
waters, rather than that they would receive any
accessions of soil.
But let us suppose some ridges of mountains-,-
running from north to south, and of sufficient ex¬
tent and elevation, to obstruct the course of the
waters.- In this case, the sudden whirling of the
earth to the east, would force the ocean on its*
western shores, where it would accumulate, until
the gravity of the mass thus elevated, overcame-
the force whick raised it. Then one vast undula—
tion of the stupendous mass would take place,
from shore to shore, and would continue, until .it:
gradually yielded to the united effect of friction
nnd gravity. A comparison between-vessels of
different sizes, partly filled with water, might en¬
able us-to form a rational conjecture of the term
of this oscillation ;' but be it one year,, or many
years, I think the effect would more probably be,,
an abrasion of the mountain, than the formations
&£ a continent.
( 126 }
But the postulatum that the first impulse to the
earth, was communicated to its solid part alone*
on which sll these suppositions rest, is but a pos¬
sibility : Whether we suppose that the cause
which first whirled the earth on its axis, be an
ascending link in nature's chain of causes, or the
immediate act of the first Great Cause of all, it is
not unlikely, that it penetrated and influenced e-
ver} particle of matter, whether it were solid, li¬
quid, or aeriform. On this subject, our supposi¬
tions are to be limited only by oar invention. One
man may resort to electricity, according to an al-
ledged property of that fluid ; another, to magne¬
tism ; a third to the action of the sun's rays ; and
a fourth, to a quality inherent in matter ; accord¬
ing to either of which hypotheses, no current
could have existed. Monsieur de BufFon, indeed,
ascribes the earth's rotation, to a mechanical and
partial impulse, the oblique stroke of a comet; but
as, according to him, the earth, was then one en¬
tire globe of melted glass, its rotatory motion
must have been uniform, long before the ocean,
existed. Whoever would dispel the clouds in
which this question is enveloped, and make it as
clear U as the light of Heaven," should indeed,
be mi hi mctgims Apollo : but hypotheses, of which
nothing can be said, but that they are not impos¬
sible, though they may beguile the lounger of a
heavy hour, are little likely to further our know¬
ledge of nature. In so boundless a field of con¬
jecture, v. ith scarce one twinkling star to guide
us, we-can hardly hope to find, among the num¬
berless tracks of error, that which singly leads to
truth.
( 12^ 3
When the Enquirer spoke of the general hour-
levernement which many subterranean appearan¬
ces indicated, he did not mean, even to hint at
their cause, but simply to express", as the word,
imports, the topsy turvy disorder, in which vege¬
table and marine substances are found....the one
far above, and the other far Below the seat of its
original production. At the moment he was at¬
tempting to shew, that every explanation of these
phenomena, was imperfect and premature, he-
hardly would have ventured to give one himself j-
for though " we should not suffer ourselves to be
passively fed, on the pap of science,,y xvhen we'
have attained our maturity, yet, until we have at¬
tained it, he thinks it is better to be in leading,
strings, than to stumble at every step.
In the progress of science, I doubt whether
sound principles are abandoned for those that are
less true. Novelty, in moral speculation, aided
as it may be, by our passions, may dazzle and
mislead ; but in physics, though one error may
give place to another, when truth onee gets pos¬
session, she holds it firm, ever after. Thus, the-
theories of cosmogonists follow one another, like
wave obtruding upon wave ; each demonstrating
the fallacy of those which went before, and prov¬
ed absuid in turn ; while the philosophy of New¬
ton, in spite of the continued opposition of French
Academicians, and the later reveries of St.Pierre,
gradually gains universal credit and respect.
The member of the Royal Society, who account¬
ed for the trade winds, by the transpiration of
tropical sea-weed, may have had his admirers, but
he has not been able to shake the theory of Dr.
( 128 )
ffalley. If Harvey's system of generation Had'
been as well supported by iacts, as his discovery
of the circulation of the bloud, all hostility to the
one, as well as to the other, would have ended
with his life.
It certainly is not philosophical "to discard a
theory," because it may be unsupported by a
name, nor yet, because there are otner more re¬
cent theories. In these and many other general
remarks,! entirely concur with the writer, though
I do not clearly discern their application.
I cannot conclude, without regretting, that I
should be compelled to differ with a writer whose
talents I so much admire, and whose sentiments
I so ohen approve ; but, to borrow a celebrated
sentiment, my esteem for truth exceeds even
my esteem for the British Spy. Though neither'
of us may chance to convince the other, yet, if
our discussion should lead those who have not
the same parental tenderness, for particular hypo¬
theses or doubts, t > a better understanding, of
the subject, the light that is thus elicited, wills
console me for the collision which produced it.-
October 12 1803.
THE END.