THE BACHELORS, 
 
 AND OTHER TALES, 
 
 FOUNDED ON 
 
 AMERICAN INCIDENTS AND CHARACTER, 
 
 BY SAMUEL L. KNAPP. 
 
 " There s some peculiar in each leaf and grain- 
 Some unmark d fibre, or some varying vein. 
 Shall only man be taken in the gross? 
 Grant but as many sorts of mind as moss. 
 That each from others differs, first confess ; 
 Next, that he varies from himself no less : 
 Add nature s, custom s, reason s, passion s strife, 
 And all opinion s colours cast on life." 
 
 How ? turn again to tales long since forgot? 
 
 ^Esop and Phaedrus and the rest 1 Why not ? Goicper. 
 
 NEW- YORK : 
 
 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J. AND W. SANDFORD, 
 29 ANN-STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXXXVI, 
 
. * * X * 
 
 ISnterrtr, 
 
 ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS, IN THE YEAR 1836, BY 
 
 SAMUEL L. KNAPP, 
 
 IN THE CLKRK S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT OF THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT oy 
 
 NEW-YORK. 
 
TO 
 
 GEORGE C. SHATl|CK, M.D., 
 
 ^ 
 
 PRESIDENT OF THE MASSACHUSETTS MEDICAL SOCIETY. 
 
 DEAR SIR 
 
 / have taken the liberty to dedi 
 cate this small volume to you, as a slight token 
 of my grateful recollections of the many in 
 stances of friendship and professional skill I 
 have to acknowledge as flowing from your 
 kindness ; and in addition to these, I am in 
 debted to you for many deep and clear read 
 ings of the motives and actions of men, com 
 municated in the course uf our acquaintance. 
 
 These Tales are founded on incidents 
 gathered in the common pathway of life, and 
 intended to exhibit some of the lights and 
 shades as we see them daily. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 The profession you have chosen, and so 
 honorably pursued to distinction, has been fa 
 vorable for the study of human nature ; but it 
 seldom happens, in this busy age, among this 
 mercurial people, that one who has happily 
 caught the lineaments of the physiognomy of 
 the minds about him, can command the requi 
 site time to porjqay them. I ask you to cast 
 your eyes upon these sketches, in some breath 
 ing interval between professional labors -for 
 leisure you have none and see if they have in 
 them any features of nature, or faithfulness 
 to the relations of society. 
 
 With ardent wishes for your health and happi 
 ness, I am 
 
 Your Obliged Friend, and Hum. Ser., 
 
 SAMUEL L. KNAPP. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 WHEN the far-famed Talleyrand, now Prince Bene- 
 vento, was travelling in the United States during 1 the 
 French Revolution, his conversation was considered a 
 philosophical treat by the wise men of our nation. On 
 the affairs of his own country, he conversed like a seer 
 who looked far a-head ; but his remarks often excited 
 a smile, when discussing the prospects and character 
 of America. " The United States," said he, " can 
 never be a naval power ; ibr there is not oak timber 
 enough in the country to make two ships of the line." 
 Another of his profound remarks was " You can 
 never be instructed by poetry or fiction of your own ; 
 for by your laws all men are put upon an equality, and 
 to form differences of character, there must be many 
 acknowledged grades in society." Timber has, how 
 ever, been found sufficient for a more extended pur 
 pose ; and poetry and fiction have commenced a course 
 that has proved the futility of the wise man s remarks. 
 He thought we had no romance in our history : he had 
 never read Hubbard s or Penhollow s Indian Wars. 
 I have stated this, to show that no man can judge of 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 the character of a people, without being well acquainted 
 with their history, however shrewd he might be on 
 
 neral subjects. The foreigner says that there can 
 e but little difference in persons similarly situated 
 that for strong features of character, you must go to 
 nations who have hereditary distinctions nations agi 
 tated by avarice, ambition, and thirst of blood rising, 
 and falling, or dashing against each other with every 
 wave of fortune. It must be confessed, that in such a 
 people you can find more readily incidents to illustrate 
 the character you attempt to exhibit, than in a quiet 
 community. It is not in the difference of pursuits, but 
 in the elements of character, that contrasts and pecu 
 liarities are seen. The Apostles, who followed one 
 Master in the same great cause, exhibited the greatest 
 variety of disposition and temper. 
 
 It may seem tame to those heated by fictions of 
 other lands, in which the worst of crimes are set in the 
 strongest lights where murders by dagger and bowl 
 are found in every legend to trace the lines of nature 
 and truth among a moral, quiet, and industrious people ; 
 but he who examines human nature closely, will find 
 that there is a greater variety in the latter than in the 
 former state of society. Courtiers are all of one class ; 
 the avaricious and ambitious are governed by a few 
 strong impulses ; and all know, that whatever may be 
 the component parts of a mob, its spirit is violent and 
 vindictive ; but when every one is under the guidance 
 of his own reason, infinite varieties of thought and 
 action shoot out for examination. 
 
 A healthy appetite in literary matters is taking place 
 of a literary dispepsia, which has deranged us for a long 
 time. Such novels as Lewis s Monk now give place 
 to the Vicar of Wakefield, and the day of simplicity is 
 dawning. I could have found subjects of greater inte 
 rest in the history of my country ; but I have left those 
 for others to expatiate upon, and seized these found in 
 the common pathway of life. 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 Our primitive fathers are subjects not yet exhausted, 
 or in i act hardly touched upon. The red men, strange 
 as it may seem, have taken precedence of them : but 
 no matter ; the habits the feelings the moral and 
 religious character of our forefathers will, in the end, 
 yield to no other topic. 
 
 If we look carefully into what is called a heroic age, 
 we shall find that the deeds of the sword are transient, 
 unless embalmed by the pen. The record that a light 
 was kindled, lives longer than the light itself. No one 
 man can do much for a nation s fame ; that must be 
 built up as the monument to Kosciusko s memory in 
 Poland, where, to accomplish the great object of crea 
 ting a pyramid, every citizen threw a stone on the pile. 
 He who describes his own country must depend on his 
 own countrymen for a favorable reception of his works, 
 for foreigners in general cannot fairly judge of their 
 merits. If we have the same language as is spoken in 
 England, our manners and habits are essentially our 
 own, and have grown out of the peculiarities of our 
 situation. Englishmen have written clear histories of 
 us, but they cannot seize the traits of individual char 
 acter. We see imitations of Buckskin and Yankee 
 characters, and your Nimrod Wildfires of the West : 
 but a shrewd observer will at once see that they are not 
 true to nature, but caricatures of those they intend to 
 represent. If these imitations were closely examined, 
 the ignorance of the writers would be as easily detected 
 as thi.it of an English sailor impressed to serve in the 
 West India squadron, who insisted that he was an Ame 
 rican born citizen, and fixed the place of his birth at Mar 
 ble-head a town famed for being the cradle of ocean- 
 heroes. He was thought to be an American citizen 
 by his examiners, until Admiral Sir Isaac Coffin called 
 him up. " Well, my lad, if you were born in Marble- 
 head," said he, " you can tell me of what materials the 
 steps of the bishop s palace are composed." " Why, 
 of marble," was the reply ! 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 THE BACHELORS . . : . . 9 
 
 INTEMPERATE . T^ I -l /. - 31 
 
 INFIDEL RECLAIMED . . . .87 
 
 CORRUPTED ..... Ill 
 
 ORPHAN . . : 127 
 
 SOLDIER-SCHOOLMASTER V . ,. 147 
 
 SPECTRE BEAUTY ..... 165 
 
 HERMIT ...... 181 
 
 PHILANTHROPIST AND MISER . . 201 
 
THE BACHELORS. 
 
 "One impulse of a vernal wood 
 
 May teach you more of man 
 Of moral evil, and of good 
 Than all the sages can." 
 
 THE knowledge of human nature cannot be acquired 
 by simply surveying the mass of mankind. We must study 
 the characters of individuals, and draw our general inferences 
 from a careful examination of the whole details. By such 
 a process we shall find that the laws of nature and the 
 commands of heaven are in harmony, and cannot be opposed 
 with impunity. The heart that is cased in flint to the 
 common observer, often beats with an irregular motion, 
 and has its aches, that are ill-concealed under the mask of 
 indifference. 
 
 JOHN THOMPSON, HENRY GILBERT, and MONTJOY TILE- 
 STON RUSSELL, were nearly of the same age born in the 
 same city educated in the elementary branches of know 
 ledge in the same school and graduated from college in 
 the same class. They were bright boys emulous of dis 
 tinction and held, if not an equal rank with each other, 
 surely a high one in their class. In the course of obtaining 
 their education, they were constantly associated together, 
 and a strong friendship grew up between them, which they 
 fondly believed that nothing but death could destroy. They 
 agreed to settle in their native city. Thompson studied the 
 law Gilbert, physic and Russell entered the counting. 
 
10 THE BACHELORS. 
 
 room of his father, and prepared himself to become a mer- 
 qhant .one acquainted with the history and geography of 
 nations,, with ;thp nature and amount of their products and 
 commerce. . After a few years, he became a partner in the 
 house -of which his father was the head, and was considered 
 as an active, intelligent young merchant. The lawyer and 
 doctor began business under good auspices, particularly the 
 former. He was well read, sagacious, and full of confidence. 
 He studied his causes well, and was in general very success 
 ful for he would not condescend to be a tool against his 
 judgment for any one. The doctor was learned in his pro 
 fession, and refined in his manners. He would not use a 
 harsh word to the humblest patient, nor flatter the most 
 exalted. If he did not advance so rapidly as many dashing 
 young men have done, still it may be said, that what he 
 gained, he never lost. His delicacy was only surpassed by 
 his firmness and that never had a particle of asperity in it. 
 These young gentlemen had made it a rule with themselves 
 to meet once a week, to enjoy a banquet of conversation ; 
 and to which feast, like Scarron s, each guest brought his own 
 dish. This habit was kept up for several years with great 
 constancy, and to their mutual advantage. Sometimes a 
 few friends were admitted to join this trio -and this was 
 considered a great favor. 
 
 At a time between the embargo of 1807 and the war of 
 1812, the prices of merchandize underwent many fluctu 
 ations, in the successive shocks given to commerce by the 
 numerous acts of national legislation. At a time when new 
 changes were anticipated, the young merchant was not at 
 his weekly supper as usual. The other two went out to 
 find him. He was still at his desk, but engaged to be with 
 them in the course of an hour or two. When he arrived 
 he told them that he anticipated that great changes were 
 
THE BACHELORS. 11 
 
 about to take place in the prices-current, and that he had 
 prevailed upon a young man who had just come into pos 
 session of a great estate, to venture an hundred thousand 
 dollars to be used by him at half profits. He dwelt so long 
 on the subject, and gave such satisfactory reasons for his 
 belief of great gains, that his friends were convinced that he 
 had a splendid prospect before him ; and after some further 
 preliminary remarks, the professional gentlemen prepared 
 to put something into the speculation. This, Russell agreed 
 to take, upon conditions that they should receive all the 
 profits saying, that if he was successful, he should make 
 enough out of what he now, had of his own and of others, 
 and that he would not trade for his own benefit on the money 
 of his friends. The lawyer and doctor, by pledging their 
 bank stock and mortgaging some paternal real estate, raised 
 fifteen thousand dollars each. This was done forthwith, 
 and the money was put into the hands of their friend the 
 merchant. Some weeks elapsed before the waters began to 
 move. The first purchase made by Russell was of all the 
 spices, drugs, and coffee he could find at fair prices. The 
 next, was to enter into contracts, which were made binding, 
 for an immense quantity of distilled spirits, at numerous dis 
 tilleries. This being done, he repaired to the city of New 
 York, to watch the operation of the great speculators in 
 Wall street. This was managed so adroitly, that his views 
 were not suspected until he was well acquainted with the 
 signs of the flood from the first rise until it would return to 
 its neap. He then left that city for his own. All his trans- 
 actions were carried on without bustle, and succeeded to his 
 wishes. 
 
 At a supper on one of their usual nights of meeting, Ras- 
 sell assured his friends that each of them were now worth 
 an hundred thousand dollars in addition to their former 
 
12 THE BACHELORS. 
 
 fortunes ; and that he had been equally successful himself, 
 but that he should now discontinue his exertions believing 
 that speculation had reached its height. The professional 
 men were delighted with the news, and earnestly desired 
 their mercantile friend to cease his operations ; they did 
 not wish for more. Elated with success, they pushed round 
 the bottle, until they were all a little flushed with wine and 
 the thoughts of their prosperity. At this crisis, one of them 
 proposed that they should adopt a plan of life that would 
 insure them the title of THE IMMORTAL THREE." Name 
 it ! name it !" were heard from the other two. " Then," 
 said he, " let us make up our minds to live bachelors until 
 we go to our graves." " Agreed ! agreed !" was the 
 response and, before the clock struck twelve that night, 
 they had signed a paper, (of which each took a copy,) that 
 he should forfeit the pledge of honor which held them 
 together, whoever might enter the bonds of matrimony, or 
 suffer any woman to call him liusland. They then talked 
 over the course of life they intended to pursue. " I," said 
 the lawyer, " will forthwith close my professional business,. 
 or, at least, as soon as possible buy me a farm, and be 
 come an agriculturist, a horticulturist and my chief delight 
 shall be in a garden. In viewing nature and her delightful 
 products I will spend my days ; and repose, when I choose, 
 on a bed of flowers." "I," said the doctor, "will never 
 again administer a tincture, or a pill, or grasp the ampu 
 tating knife. I will retire from corporal and mental mise 
 ries, and confine myself to philosophical research. The 
 microscope, the developements of chemistry, and the pure 
 mathematics, shall delight me by day, and the still greater 
 wonders of the telescope by ni ght." The merchant pondered 
 for awhile, but at last shaped his course. " My fame shall 
 be that of a traveller," said he j " I will emulate Mandeville, 
 
THE BACHELORS. 13 
 
 surpass Bruce, and rival Ledyard. I will hunt the chamois 
 on the Alps shoot the condor on the Andes and drink at 
 the sources of the Mississippi and the Nile. I will engrave 
 my name on the top of the highest Pyramid and bring up 
 a gem from the deepest cavern in the mines of Golconda." 
 
 The genius of revelry was the ascendant of this midnight 
 hour ; and when the morning sun arose, each was ready to 
 shed tears at his rash pledge but neither would be foremost 
 in acknowledging his folly and recanting his error. The 
 lawyer was the first to set about performing his part. He 
 bought a large, fine farm, well wooded and watered, of an 
 excellent soil and commenced his labors. He laid out his 
 grounds on the most approved methods and, by dams, 
 sluices, &c. prepared to irrigate a greater portion of his 
 fields. He collected a rare stock of cattle, and kept them 
 under the full force of feed. His farm soon became a pat 
 tern one and all in the neighborhood were his imitators, 
 as far as they could be. His poultry-yard swarmed with 
 every species of domestic fowl that ever made a supper for 
 Lucullus, or was ever eaten with curry at the feast of an 
 Asiatic satrap. Every day in the year he could command 
 from his own premises all the luxuries of life in which he 
 took more pleasure in seeing than in devouring. He sup 
 plied the sick with an hundred little dainties from his field 
 or larder, and his wine was a cordial ready to flow when 
 the village physician prescribed it for any of his poor pa 
 tients. His fields were the object of admiration but it was 
 on his garden that he spent the most of his time, and where 
 he exercised his highest faculties. The copious stream 
 which ran through his grounds was made to pass in three 
 channels being separated before they entered the walls of 
 the garden. Trees were planted on the banks of each cur 
 rent, excepting in the proper places for bridges and openings. 
 
 A2 
 
14 THE BACHELORS, 
 
 The grounds were wavy by nature, which offered greaf 
 capacities for picturesque landscapes. The fruit-trees were 
 numerous of every kind that the climate would bear. His 
 green, house and conservatory were large, and filled with 
 plants and flowers from every clime. In a beautiful clump 
 of trees he erected a temple for a study, and there read the 
 classics and all the modern works of taste and talent. It 
 was indeed a treat to be invited to spend a few days at his 
 hospitable mansion. His library was extensive, and con 
 tained many curious works on all subjects, and which far 
 exceeded any other private library in the country, in works 
 on agriculture, gardening, and on all these kindred subjects. 
 He had classed them and arranged them himself, and made 
 an index to these works with his own hand which gave 
 great facilities in readily finding whatever was wanted by 
 the cultivator. In his winter s leisure he amused himself 
 in collecting facts to show the progress of agriculture in 
 every part of the globe, in every age of the history of man, 
 and which went far to prove that the food for the population 
 of the world grew more abundant as the human race increased. 
 The easterly side of his farm was bounded on a lake of large 
 dimensions, filled with a great variety of excellent fish. His 
 friends always found the finest table at his house that the 
 country could afford. Here was happiness one would think 
 sufficient for any mortal. 
 
 Gilbert purchased himself a farm on a small scale just 
 large enough to raise a subsistence for himself and house 
 hold. He erected an observatory, furnished himself with 
 costly astronomical intruments, and in the lower part of 
 his tower he provided rooms for philosophical experiments, 
 and spent more hours in his laboratory than in his observa 
 tory. He turned from experiments to abstract sciences ; 
 and, at the same time, he kept a meteorological table, and 
 
THE BACHELORS. 15 
 
 measured the fall of rain and snow with accuracy ; and 
 once a quarter gave a paper to the Philosophical Society, 
 on some scientific subject being the result of ingenious 
 experiments and sound reflections. 
 
 He made a curious almanack each year, and .presented it 
 to a shoemaker in the neighborhood who had to support 
 fifteen children. This son of Crispin rode into fame by 
 his learned neighbor s science, and had numerous letters 
 addressed to him from distant places all of which Gilbert 
 regularly answered, until Melchisedek Buswell became 
 renowned in every quarter of the globe, as one of the first 
 mathematicians and astronomers of the day when, perhaps, 
 the utmost extent of Buswell s knowledge was no more than 
 to work out that tremendous question, " How many barley 
 corns does it take to reach round the world ?" 
 
 He often visited his friend Thompson, and heard him talk 
 of grain, cattle, trees, shrubs, and flowers, and probably 
 partook, in some slight degree, of his friend s delight but, 
 after all, could not help thinking how undignified was Thomp 
 son s pursuits compared with his own. What pleasure could 
 a wheat-field give, compared with some new discovery in 
 the heavens 1 
 
 The two friends often heard from Montjoy, who was care 
 ful to send them every rare book on mathematics, astronomy, 
 agriculture, or botany ; and also, every rare plant and every 
 new mathematical instrument. They were in the habit of 
 corresponding most frequently with each other, which made 
 no small item in their duties and their happiness. 
 
 Gilbert offered to instruct young men who were going 
 to sea, in the lunar and sideral calculations, without fee or 
 reward only stipulating, that when they became master- 
 mariners, they should pay to the Female Orphan Asylum the 
 usual fee for a common course of instruction in navigation. 
 
16 THE BACHELORS. 
 
 This was readily complied with. If he was not happy to 
 the extent of the measure of the lot of some moitals, he was 
 free from anxiety and ambition. Now-and-then a writer 
 would attack some of his favorite theories ; and this would 
 give him some pain, notwithstanding all that he wrote was 
 under feigned names. At times he grew weary of his pur- 
 suits, and would turn to works of taste for relief. These 
 would engage him for a few days only ; and even during 
 that time he would forget the beauty of a figure of rhetoric, 
 to pursue some problem which had started up in his mind 
 as he was dwelling on Shakspeare or Milton. He contrived 
 to keep up with the news of the day, but took no part in 
 politics for he found that political excitement was the bane 
 of science and an enemy to letters. He had his politica 1 
 views, and gave his vote, but never attempted to influence 
 the minds of others, or to seek for public honors for himself. 
 He associated with but few, and was familiar with no one 
 but his friend Thompson yet he was kind to all. The 
 professional men of the village usually dined with him once 
 a week. He paid his physician as the Chinese do, by the 
 year deducting all the term of his sickness, if he should 
 chance to be unwell. With but few singularities, he moved 
 onward with the current of time devoting six hours each 
 day to his mathematical and astronomical studies. The 
 good people considered him as rather belonging to the stars 
 than to earth ; but as he paid his taxes cheerfully, and 
 injured no one, they thought him no bad citizen. 
 
 Montjoy Tileston Russell, after visiting most of the great 
 cities in Europe, turned his attention to Asia and Africa. 
 He sailed for the Cape of Good Hope, and spent some 
 months in examining that country with more attention than 
 any American traveller had done before his time. From 
 thence, he made a voyage to Bengal, and visited a large 
 
THE BACHELORS. 17 
 
 portion of that immense country. He took passage in an 
 English vessel bound to Bombay. In this place, he became 
 acquainted with the Recorder, Sir James Mackintosh, one 
 of the most accomplished men of his time : with him, he 
 passed several hours every day. He had bills of exchange 
 on John Long, Esq., a merchant of extensive business in 
 Bombay, and became intimately acquainted with his family. 
 Mr. Long was an Englishman, who had resided many 
 years in Spain, and had married a Spanish lady of great 
 beauty and talents. They had been blessed with several 
 children : the sons were in the king s service an only 
 daughter was still unmarried, and lived at home, having 
 just left school in England. She united the Spanish dignity 
 with the English complexion, and was in every respect a 
 fine woman. She spoke the English, Spanish, French, and 
 Italian languages, with purity and ease. She became quite 
 interested in the recital of Russell s travels in various 
 parts of the world, but could not help intimating that such 
 a life of peril could not be a happy one ; and expressed a 
 fear for his safety, when he told her that in a few weeks 
 he was to sail for Mocha, and from thence he was going to 
 explore the coast of the Red Sea, taking the track of the 
 Israelites through the wilderness to Judea, and then winter 
 in Grand Cairo. Finding an American ship in the port, he 
 collected all the rare plants he could find, and sent them to 
 his friend Thompson, with a sketch of his travels. In 
 making up his packages of flowers and seeds, he was 
 assisted by Cynthia Long, who had become quite enam 
 ored with the study of botany. He hastened his depart, 
 ure, for he felt himself getting deeply in love with his fair 
 friend, and seemed to flatter himself thai; there might be 
 some reciprocity between them : but then, his pledge of 
 honor to live a bachelor came across his mind, and he grew 
 
18 THE BACHELORS. 
 
 sick at the thoughts of it, " What evil genius," he would 
 often say to himself, "came over me at that fatal hour? 
 Would to God, that we had all been made bankrupts by 
 our speculations, which we considered so fortunate at the 
 time, and then we should have never found ourselves miser 
 able by this foolish pledge !" With these feelings, he tore 
 himself away from his friends, and sailed for Mocha, hardly 
 caring for his fate. He reached his port of destination, 
 without any remarkable occurrence. From Mocha, he 
 started with a caravan to the interior of the country. For 
 some time, he went on as well as one could expect in such 
 company, partly uncertain of his course, and more uncer 
 tain of his treatment. When they stopped, he was in mis 
 ery from the want of tents, and from want of proper food ; 
 and where to rest his head, he did not often know. But 
 this he could bear, thinking that at some time his journey 
 would end, and he should be happy in thinking that he had 
 done bravely. At length, one afternoon, when they had 
 encamped near a spring of water, and were enjoying them 
 selves wiih the prospect of pursuing their journey as soon 
 as the moon arose this was just before midnight the 
 camels were laden, and the whole ready to depart, when 
 some one of the horses became restive, and would not touch 
 his provender, keeping his head close to the ground, as if 
 hearing something afar off. The leaders hastened his 
 orders to depart. All were mounted, and had proceeded 
 about a mile, when a band of enemies on horses and drome 
 daries dashed in upon them, making a desperate charge. 
 The Arabs were brave, and fought as long as they could. 
 Russell, thinking it was for life and liberty, made a most 
 desperate fight ; but all was in vain. The assailants were 
 numerous, and their conquest was easy. Two of the cara 
 van escaped : the rest were killed, wounded, or taken pris- 
 
THE BACHELORS. 19 
 
 oners. Russell fell under the sabres of his foes, with many 
 wounds ; but none of them were mortal. He had several 
 cuts in the breast and arms, and was exhausted from loss 
 of blood. 
 
 As soon as the fight was over, the assailants, knowing the 
 importance of their prisoner, bound up his wounds with 
 bruised poppies, and gave him barley-water to raise his 
 exhausted spirits. They laid him in their tents, on the skin 
 of a camel, and treated him with great attention from mere 
 mercenary motives. This first night was an awful one to 
 him : he saw the stars performing their destined courses, 
 while the moon was riding in majesty over his head. The 
 silence was distressing. No sound broke the stillness of 
 the night : the long, sighing breaths of the camel and drome 
 dary alone were heard; for the Arabs were all in pro. 
 found repose. One constellation sunk after another, until 
 the morning sun arose. He was unable to drag one limb 
 after another but they must go on. They tied him to a 
 bed on the back of a camel, and pushed onwards, fearing 
 to remain in the same situation, apprehending a vigorous 
 pursuit. This situation was not so distressing as he ex- 
 pected, for their progress was slower than common, and 
 their regard for his comfort greater than he anticipated. 
 His reflections were, however, any thing but pleasant. 
 Talking to himself, he said, " Why should I have left my 
 native land, where fame and even pleasure awaited me, to 
 roam in this barbarous country, to satisfy my curiosity, 
 without doing much good to my fellow-men ? Why should 
 I have left the charms of civil and social life, to wander 
 among savage men ? I could have slept in quiet in my 
 own bed, in the land of my nativity, and have received 
 every attention that wealth and respect could have com. 
 manded, and now I am a slave a wounded man; and 
 
20 THE BACHELORS. 
 
 Heaven only knows if ever I am again to see the faces I 
 once looked upon, and loved ! This is travelling to satisfy 
 the restlessness of the mind." With these thoughts he 
 passed the night, drawing no other consolation than that 
 which arose from believing; that his wounds were not mortal. 
 
 By many marches, he was conveyed to the much distin 
 guished residence of the tribe to whom he was now a pris 
 oner. They knew his situation in life, and were determined 
 not to lose their prize. When he reached the usual abode 
 of the Arab women, he was treated with no ordinary kind- 
 ness, for they all understood that he would be ransomed at 
 a high price. From the strength of his constitution, and 
 the simplicity of his living, he began to recruit, and in a few 
 weeks was nearly well again ; but not a word was dropped 
 about his ransom. Still, he was comparatively happy, 
 from the attentions he received among his new acquaint 
 ances. The chief Arab s daughter made him delicate 
 cakes of pease meal and barley, and gave them to him 
 daily, when the father was absent. This was done with a 
 tenderness that won his heart. He would often say to him 
 self, " Oh woman ! how kind thou art in all tribes and peo 
 ple, while savage man acts like a hard master aye, and 
 often like a brute !" The mother and daughter would steal 
 to his tent, and give him goats milk and little cheeses, when 
 the lordly chief was fast asleep. He said to himself, " I do 
 not deserve this ! Have I not entered into a league to abjure 
 the marriage tie 1 Why do they harass me with their kind 
 ness ? it is only a satire on my outrageous pledge ! But 
 they know it not." The chief began to think of making 
 him a son-in-law ; but to every intimation of this kind he 
 was dumb, and appeared not to understand the hints given 
 him. 
 
 The long absence of the traveller from Bombay, without 
 
THE BACHELORS: 21 
 
 uny direct intelligence from him, at first began to alarm his 
 friends, and at length rumors of his death were prevalent. 
 It was stated that he had fallen in an attack upon the cara 
 van, who had pledged themselves for his safety at Mocha. 
 Those who escaped stated that they saw him fall under the 
 sabres of two fierce Arabs, while fighting manfully for his 
 life. No hopes remained for his safety, among his friends 
 in general at Bombay. But his female friend, Cynthia 
 Long, could not be satisfied that her friend Russell was 
 dead. She mourned his fate, with others, but still could not 
 give him up entirely. She could not feel that the gallant 
 and accomplished Russell was dead ; and she dwelt upon 
 the subject, until she saw him in imagination, a slave, going 
 through every scene of degradation. In this frame of mind, 
 she applied to an old Arab, who kept a sort of Cafe at the 
 corner of one of the streets near her father s residence, to 
 learn if he knew any thing of the course her friend had 
 taken. Pie was well acquainted with his whole route, and 
 told her that, in his opinion, Russell was still alive, as his 
 ransom must have been the principal object of the expedi 
 tion to attack the caravan. The bargain was soon made 
 between old Hassan and Cynthia. She was to furnish him 
 with money, and he was to set out immediately, to find the 
 Captain. Cynthia, without hesitation, pawned her jewels, 
 and raised two thousand dollars, iu gold sequins, for the 
 enterprize. Hassan received his instructions, and was off 
 the next morning. He went to Mocha learned all about 
 the caravan that was cut up in its course to Jerusalem. He 
 followed the track, faithful to his promise, in the garb of a 
 poor Arab, until he found his long-sought object. He 
 entered the tent where Russell was a prisoner, and now felt 
 that half was done, and more, when he was assured that he 
 was in fine health. Hassan had come a mendicant to the 
 
 B 
 
22 THE BACHELORS. 
 
 wealthy Arab s tent, and took no notice of his slave. After 
 some inquiries, he stated to the chief that great concern had 
 been felt at Mocha for a traveller who had joined a caravan 
 to search for medicinal herbs in that region ; and suggested 
 that a liberal sum would be given for his ransom, if he could 
 be found. The avaricious feelings of the chief were exci 
 ted ; and believing that his slave was the traveller, seemed 
 to listen to the suggestions of the mendicant : which ended 
 at length in a determination to go with his slave to a place 
 near Mocha, to see if the ransom could be obtained. They 
 were soon on their way. Hassan had declared on his word, 
 as a Mussulman, that he had heard a merchant of distinc 
 tion Tariff Ben Hafiz offer a thousand dollars for the 
 ransom of the traveller, and he thought he would give 
 more. Within a short distance from the city, they stopped, 
 and Hassan repaired at once to Mocha. In a few days, 
 Hafiz appeared a merchant, whose garb bespoke him a 
 man of consequence. The money fifteen hundred dollars 
 was paid, and a bill of sale was given. " Go, traveller," 
 said Hafiz, " and enjoy yourself among the daughters of 
 your land, and make no farther attempt to explore these 
 dangerous paths. Curiosity is a vice, when it is attended 
 by too much danger. Go, cultivate your maize extend 
 your commerce ; but leave the desert for those who were 
 born near it, and must cross it." " I am willing and able 
 to repay you my ransom," said Russell. " I know it," said 
 Hafiz. Meet me at Bombay: I will there take rny right, 
 and only that. An Arab may be a robber, but never a 
 usurer. There, sir, I shall exact the last sequin 1 shall 
 pay. This, however, you must add to your ransom these 
 sequins that you may go to Bombay as a gentleman. On 
 my pledge, I will be there as soon as you are, and demand 
 my advance :" and waving his hand with Oriental grace 
 and dignity, bade the traveller adieu. 
 
THE BACHELORS. 23 
 
 A vessel soon sailed from Mocha to Bombay, on board 
 of which a humble Arab occupied a place in the steerage, 
 and on the voyage fell dangerously sick. He was an old 
 man. Russell became acquainted with his case ; for there 
 are none so ready to become acquainted with the miseries 
 of others, as those who have suffered themselves. Russell 
 attended the old man s couch with every medicine consid 
 ered proper in his case ; and when it was allowed him to 
 recruit by delicate food, Russell brought it to him at the 
 proper hours. It was received with great gratitude ; but 
 at the same time, in a manner that seemed to say that I 
 have done this thing to others. The attachment between 
 the patient and the nurse seemed to grow daily ; and Rus. 
 sell made the old Arab promise him that he would call on 
 him when they arrived at Bombay, and renew their inter- 
 course. The sick man was at home at Bombay ; and men 
 tioned not only Sir James Mackintosh, but also Mr. Consul 
 Long and his daughter Cynthia, among his friends. " Then," 
 said Russell, "you are my friend I am his friend." "And 
 they are more your friends," said Hassan, " than you will 
 ever know." The manner in which this was said was so 
 peculiar, Russell noticed it, but could not precisely compre 
 hend what was meant by the expression, the Asiatics are 
 so full of enigma. Once or twice, the old Arab spoke of 
 Cynthia Long, in a manner that stumbled Russell. " Can 
 this old fellow," said he, mentally, " have a passion for this 
 young lady ?" 
 
 On the arrival of the vessel at Bombay, Russell was 
 received by all his friends as one raised from the dead. 
 He slated the whole history of the adventure, and all agreed 
 that it was passing strange. Every day he became more 
 and more interested in Cynthia, and thought less of his idle 
 pledge. To ease his own mind on the subject, he consulted 
 
24 THE BACHELORS. 
 
 the rector of the Episcopalian church on a supposed case 
 of conscience, stating his own exactly. The rector laughed 
 at him, to think a man of sense could have any scruples on 
 such a question. The vow, when made to the Lord, was 
 not even required to be paid, if any thing injurious to 
 another might flow from the fulfilment of it. The pledge 
 of honor, even among men of the world, was not binding 
 in a court of honor, unless it would enhance another s hap. 
 piness, or shed some new rays of glory on one s country or 
 his own fame. Sir James being present, placed the subject 
 on the right grounds, as he did every thing ; and Russell 
 made up his mind to make proposals to Cynthia, having a 
 belief that he could obtain the consent of her parents. He 
 waited now only for the appearance of the Arabian mer 
 chant, whose visit he so much desired : for he was not 
 apprized of the sum paid for his ransom ; but thought that 
 it must have been great, as his owner held him at a high 
 price, in comparison with others their prisoners, to slave- 
 traders who had made offers for him. No Tariff Ben 
 Hafiz came. Russell requested Mr. Long to take from the 
 fund in his hands twice the sum he had ever known paid 
 for the ransom of any captive, and sequester it for the pay 
 ment to the merchant when he might arrive. In a few 
 days an opportunity occurred for Russell to offer himself. 
 In wandering about the botanical garden, then under the 
 super visorship of Sir James, Russell took up a violet of 
 the tricolor purple kind, and gave it to Cynthia. They had 
 been talking of the Oriental language of flowers. She 
 placed it on her bosom. He said no more. On their 
 return, he made his wishes known to the parents of Cynthia, 
 and presented them with further credentials than he had- 
 before exhibited, and found that his suit was prosperous. 
 He now prepared to be married by the consent of all par-. 
 
THE BACHELORS. 25 
 
 ties, and to return to his native country, having made a free 
 and candid statement of his whole course of life. 
 
 Mr. Long, having determined to give his daughter a 
 splendid set of diamonds on her marriage, repaired to Sam 
 uel the Israelite, who was the first jeweller of Bombay, for 
 a set of diamonds. He was told by Samuel that he had a 
 set that he could furnish at a low price, as he had received 
 them as a pledge for a certain sum of money from a young 
 lady of the city, who had come to him in disguise. They 
 were pledged for two thousand dollars. Mr. Long was 
 astonished to see that these gems bore his own daughter s 
 initials. He said, " I will take them to my house, Samuel, 
 and see if they will suit." He entered the house with a 
 slow and measured step ; and opening the casket in a sig 
 nificant manner, enquired how these jewels suited. Cynthia 
 raised herself with more than ordinary majesty, and said, 
 " Father, they are the only jewels I ever wish to accept. 
 They were once mine : I pawned them to redeem a friend 
 from slavery and death that friend is before you." The 
 Anglo. Iberian maid quailed not before her father s stern 
 look. " I sent Hassan on the errand of enquiry. He also 
 was the Arab merchant who purchased Mr. Russell, and 
 my jewels were the means to save my friend from captivity. 
 Condemn me who will. It was Hassan who ordered him 
 to come to Bombay 1 gave no such orders. I supposed 
 that he would have taken some other course, and that I 
 never should have seen him again." Russell rushed for 
 ward, and took her in his arms, and exclaimed, " My guar 
 dian angel ! nothing but the decrees of heaven shall part us 
 hereafter." The father and mother were in ecstasy. The 
 story took wing ; and old Hassan was, at once, put into a 
 noble cafe, and amply paid for his services. Mr. Long 
 gave his daughter to his American friend, and Sir James 
 B 3 
 
26 THE BACHELORS, 
 
 was the friend of the bridegroom ; and the casuistic parson 
 joined Montjoy Tileston Russell, the American traveller, to 
 Cynthia Long, the Anglo-Iberian maid, who had, in the 
 generosity of her nature, saved her friend from captivity. 
 The whole city rejoiced at the event ; and as the happy 
 pair returned from church, the populace strewed flowers in 
 their pathway. In a few weeks, a ship was bought, and 
 Russell and his lady were ready to depart for America. 
 The ship had a full cargo of goods, Mr. Long gave a sup 
 per to his friends, and Sir James was there, in the full glow 
 of his intellectual powers, and old Hassan was invited to 
 the feast. It was one of mind and feeling. Sir James was 
 full of playfulness, and had many allusions to the union of 
 the two countries. He gave many splendid anticipations of 
 future events ; and said, the mother and the daughter were 
 one day to be the arbiters of the world. Old Hassan whis 
 pered in Cynthia s ear, that he wished to leave Asia for 
 America ; and Russell declared that nothing would give 
 him more pleasure, than to take the old man out with him. 
 The voyage was soon got up, and all was in readiness. 
 The parting was painful : but a woman goes with one she 
 loves to any clime or country, with a blindness that proves 
 her love. This has been, is, and for ever will be the law 
 of nature. All Bombay were on the shore, when Russell 
 and his spouse departed. The clergyman waved his hands 
 and blessed them, as he saw them depart. All said, " God 
 bless the new-married couple !" The voyage was a pleas 
 ant one, and they reached the shores of the United States 
 without any disaster. Russell was known to be one of the 
 three bachelors, and every one was waiting to witness the 
 effect on the other two. They, too, heard the story, and 
 were silent. Not a word escaped their lips. Thompson and 
 Gilbert, perhaps, had some conversation among themselves,; 
 
THE BACHELORS. 27 
 
 but whatever it might have been, it never reached the world. 
 They still persevered in their course, without any observa 
 tions on the direliction of their friend. Russell felt an awk 
 wardness in his situation, as it regarded his friends, but 
 made no explanations. 
 
 Thompson still was delighted with his employment as an 
 agriculturist, but more particularly as a gardener of Flora. 
 His garden, conservatory, and green house, attracted the 
 attention not only of his neighbors, but also of every trav 
 eller. Those who came with a line from a friend, were 
 invited to partake of refreshments in his hospitable mansion, 
 and all had an opportunity of visiting his grounds. He was 
 in advance of all the florists in the country. He had a 
 larger collection of roses than any other person, and a 
 greater variety of exotics of every kind. But the flower he 
 loved the most was the tricolored violet, called heart s ease, 
 forget-me-not, and sometimes a pansey. This little flower 
 throughout Europe and Asia, for countless ages, has been 
 an emblem of affection. 
 
 Gilbert still pursued his course of study furnishing the 
 periodicals with articles on astronomy, for his amusement ; 
 but he sometimes felt that man was born to live on the earth, 
 and rest securely while connected with his fellow-man. 
 Often he was found to acknowledge that he was fatigued 
 when he returned from his flights through the heavens, and 
 he was obliged to rest himself by indulging in the reveries of 
 fancy. One of his favorite amusements was to people the 
 planets with beings of his own creation. He wrote a poem 
 which he called " Urania" describing the inhabitants of his 
 beloved Venus with their beautiful change of seasons, their 
 refined manners and high poetical character, their freedom 
 from political feuds, and the perpetual sunshine of the soul 
 which reigned among them. He dwelt on this subject until 
 
28 TUB BACHELORS. 
 
 he loved to watch that lovely star that shines brightest in 
 the heavens, whether she belonged to the evening shades or 
 to the morning s dawn. He dwelt upon the heavens, until, 
 like our first parents in the bower of Eden, he communed 
 with celestial spirits and, although no Eve was with him, 
 could say to these creatures of his imagination, 
 
 " How often, from the steep 
 
 Of echoing hill or thicket, have we heard 
 Celestial voice to the midnight air; 
 Sole, or responsive each to other note, 
 Singing the Great Creator ! Oft in bands, 
 While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, 
 With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds, 
 In full harmonious number join d, their songs 
 Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to heaven." 
 
 He carried his devotion to his loved star, and to the whole 
 host of the skies, so far, that some began to think him so 
 much under the influence of the moon or stars, that he was 
 not competent to take care of himself. Among them was 
 an only nephew a profligate young man, who had squan 
 dered his own property, and was now waiting for his uncle s. 
 In an evil hour he petitioned the Judge of Probate to appoint 
 him guardian to his uncle. The Judge knew the astrono 
 mer, and indignantly refused to consider the application. 
 The young man s prospects were ruined for ever. This 
 eagerness to inherit, is often the cause of never inheriting. 
 This act of his nephew so severely wounded Gilbert s pride, 
 that he could not contain himself within any bounds of pru 
 dence, and his rage at the insult was almost sufficient 
 to induce those unacquainted with him, to suppose there was 
 some aberration of mind in his conduct. The ingratitude 
 of his nephew stung him to the heart, and he began to think 
 that the pursuits of science were vain, if they led to such 
 disasters. He communed with Thompson on his mortifi 
 cation, who gave him good counsel, and recommended him 
 
THE BACHELORS. 29 
 
 to pursue for some time the general wanderings of literature 
 in his delightful garden. This offer was accepted and, 
 for several of the summer months, he took up his abode with 
 his friend. 
 
 Russell was happy in his family, and for awhile successful 
 in his business ; but, after several years, finding his pro- 
 perty in some measure reduced, by losses at sea, he closed 
 his business, and retired into the country, some eight or 
 ten miles from his former friends ; but, as they seldom 
 visited their neighbors, he did not see them until the time 
 we have mentioned of their being together after the wound 
 had been given to the feelings of Gilbert by his nephew 
 and then the meeting was accidental. Riding around the 
 country with his whole family in a large carry-all, the driver 
 took such roads as he thought would give them the best view 
 of the country. Thompson s garden was to be seen from 
 the street and the children cried out to the driver to stop, 
 and let them see Paradise. This compliment was heard by 
 the owner of the premises and he raised his head from the 
 flowers he was examining, and saw Russell and his family, 
 and noticed the impatience of the children to walk in the 
 garden and, stepping up to the wall, invited the children 
 to come in ; and, opening the gate himself, came up to the 
 carriage and offered Mrs. Russell his hand, to conduct her 
 to the garden. She did not know the gentleman. As he 
 entered the enclosure, he with great embarrassment stam 
 mered out " Russell, will you not do me the honor of look 
 ing at these flowers with your children?" He descended 
 from the carriage, and entered the garden. Thompson 
 gazed on him a moment, and then rushed into Russell s 
 embrace. They forgave each other ; no explanations were 
 necessary. The wife, from what she had heard from her 
 husband when they were married, instantly understood the 
 
30 THE BACHELORS. 
 
 whole matter and hastened to find her strolling children. 
 Gilbert had seen the interview from the summer-house, and 
 flew out to meet them. He read all at a glance, and de 
 clared that it was the happiest moment of his life. As soon 
 as the three friends were a little more composed, they went 
 in search of Madam Russell. 
 
 Thompson and Gilbert were introduced to the wife of 
 their friend an elegant and accomplished woman. She 
 received them as old friends, and in ten minutes the children 
 were climbing up to get into the arms of their new friends. 
 They were invited to stay and dine which invitation was 
 accepted and a happy time they had of it. The two 
 bachelors were delighted to find the second and third sons 
 were named for them the first being called after the ma 
 ternal grandfather. 
 
 They lived for several years in almost daily intercourse. 
 The bachelors came to dine with Russell, and they became 
 more attached to each other than they had ever been in 
 their youthful days. Calling to mind who it was that had 
 made their fortunes, they secured the inheritance of a good 
 portion of their estates to Russell s children who, in every 
 respect, deserved their good fortune. On the marriage of 
 Russell s eldest daughter, her grandfather (Mr. Long) and 
 his wife, who had several years before returned to England, 
 were present, having come to this country to see their chil 
 dren and grandchildren. The bachelors were present, and 
 enjoyed the scene, perhaps, more than either the parents or 
 grandparents. Sitting at the supper-table after the others 
 had retired, Thompson gave the substance of this narrative 
 to the writer of this tale closing it with this emphatic 
 remark " That no man was ever happy, even in Paradise, 
 or in the loftiest flights of the imagination, or in the depths 
 of science, who neglected to follow the laws of nature and 
 the commands of God." 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 IC I have lived much in the world, and for it : but 1 have done nothing for 
 myself. When I am gone, tell my story, in truth and candor, with no other 
 disguise, than to save the feelings of a few of my kindred and friends Plant a 
 beacon-light on my grave, that others of the gay world may shun the rock on 
 which I have split." 
 
 From the directions of the Subject of this Tale to the Author. 
 
 How many of the human race, and particularly of our 
 own countrymen, there have been, who were rocked in 
 their infancy in the iron cradle, by the rude blasts of mis 
 fortune, and who have grown hardy by the early storms of 
 life and who, too, have won an enviable fame, stood ex- 
 alted on the lists of the mighty in intellect, and among the 
 prosperous in accumulating wealth ! But there is another 
 side to the picture. Some, whose swaddling-bands were 
 fine linen, and whose cradle turned on golden hinges on 
 whose infant heads shone the sun of prosperity, have expired 
 in the abodes of misery, on a pallet of straw. Others have 
 lost their reputation, if they saved themselves from want ; 
 and when they might have " rode the waves of glory" have 
 sunk into dishonorable graves. The most melancholy 
 instance within my memory is here recorded. 
 
 THOMAS CHARLES HAMPTON was born on the 28th of 
 June, 1777 the day on which the battle of Monmouth was 
 fought. His parents were opulent and pious. He was a 
 fine-formed infant, and grew rapidly, with a healthy consti- 
 
32 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 tution. His fond and intelligent mother took great pains to 
 develope his infant faculties. She taught him to read, 
 while other children of the same age could not name the 
 letters of the alphabet. From the nursery, he passed to 
 the school-room, much younger than other boys. At seven 
 years of age, he commenced the study of the Latin lan 
 guage, and made wonderful progress. He was, in temper, 
 as extraordinary as in person. His hair curled in golden 
 ringlets over his forehead, and they were the admiration of 
 all beholders. 
 
 At an examination of the school, when he was quite a 
 child, an aged divine called him, after hearing his recita 
 tions, an infant Adonis ; to which the child replied, " I hope 
 it will not be my fate to be killed by a wild boar." This 
 quick and classical observation still more astonished his 
 examiner. He was the best-natured boy in the school. 
 The boys who were not so forward as himself, knew where 
 to go for assistance in the classics : his own lesson was soon 
 treasured up, and then he was ready to assist all who 
 required his aid. Hampton never missed a recitation, and 
 seldom came to his task without being master of it. At 
 fourteen years of age, he left his preparatory school for 
 Harvard College, forward of his classmates in geography, 
 history, languages, and general information. He soon 
 became a favorite in his class, and was called Little Hamp 
 ton by way of affection, and was the friend of every one. 
 This popularity soon proved an injury to him ; for he was 
 so much courted, that he was under the necessity, as he 
 thought, of spending much of his time in company. He 
 did not feel the effects of this at first, he was so much bet 
 ter prepared for college studies than most of his associates ; 
 but after his second year he was forced to be more studious, 
 as the lessons did not depend so much on memory as on 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 3d 
 
 judgement and reflection. He bent his mind to his tasks, 
 but two years negligence required hard labor to redeem. 
 His resolution, however, did not flag, and he graduated, if 
 not the first, still among the first of his class. As a speaker, 
 he had no rival. His eloquence formed an era in college 
 history. His memory was tenacious, and his voice one of 
 great compass and sweetness. The chapel was always 
 crowded, when it was known that Hampton was to declaim. 
 This reputation brought him acquainted with several distin 
 guished actors, then lately arrived in this country, and who 
 were deservedly popular Hodgkins, Jones, Taylor, Chal 
 mers, Villiers, and others. He often met them, and passed 
 a delightful evening in their company ; and such were the 
 fascinations of their colloquial powers, that he could not 
 refrain from meeting them often : and as they could not 
 begin the pleasures of the evening until their stage duties 
 were over, it was necessarily very late when the social 
 circle broke up. In the parties of these actors and wits, 
 there were often many elegant minds, who were enamored 
 with the charm of the drama. They thought a play-house 
 the Eden of life. Many of these young men paid dearly 
 for indulging this passion, suffering many years before this 
 delusion passed away. 
 
 No man ever possessed higher qualifications for a table 
 companion than Hampton: he could sing enchantingly, and 
 had committed to memory a great number of songs, gay and 
 solemn. He was full of anecdotes, and admirable at attack 
 and retort, in the conversation of the social circle. His 
 flashes of wit were dazzling, but he never scorched or 
 wounded his friends, however warm the dialogue might be. 
 If he bent his bow with more than mortal vigor, his arrows, 
 like those of Ascanius, passed off in a harmless blaze of 
 light, all knowing that the archer was a favorite of the gods, 
 
 C 
 
34 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 and had no intention of injuring man. In this society he 
 lingered, until duty called him home, to look after his pecu 
 niary affairs. His mother had died suddenly, and he came 
 into possession on this event of a large estate, left him by 
 his maternal grandfather. He was an only son, and at his 
 mother s death an only child. After settling his affairs, he 
 entered his name with a distinguished counsellor at law, and 
 commenced reading the prescribed course for a practitioner. 
 He continued his studies, and at the end of three years was 
 admitted to the bar. Great expectations were cherished by 
 his friends, in regard to his professional success, particularly 
 as an advocate. He argued several causes with great elo 
 quence and power, but it was soon seen that he wanted in 
 industry. He had in fact no partiality for his profession. 
 He abhorred its drudgery, and thought that it made him too 
 much acquainted with crime. As he was passing away his 
 days without effect, and in a state of indifference, a disturb 
 ance amounting to something like a war broke out between 
 this country and France, and Congress authorized the rais 
 ing of troops, to constitute an army of defence. The pride 
 of the country, General Hamilton, was the First Major 
 General, and Washington was appointed Lieutenant Gene 
 ral, and was to take the command when the occasion called 
 him to the field. All the first young men of the country 
 panted for office ; and among them Hampton applied for an 
 appointment, and received at once a majority, to the great 
 grief of his best friends, but to the delight of the army. He 
 repaired to Oxford, assumed command, and was at once 
 the pride and delight of all. He had made himself master 
 of his duties, and took rank as a parade officer higher than 
 any one in camp. He appeared to his less instructed bro 
 ther officers as a veteran in knowledge, and was called the 
 Steuben of tike army. The army was not then a goo 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 35 
 
 school for morals for young men : the officers were many 
 of them wealthy, and lived extravagantly. Major Hamp 
 ton was so popular, that every one was desirous of enjoying 
 his society, and he lived in a constant round of dissipation, 
 at his own, or at the table of others. The army was soon 
 disbanded, and he returned to social life, with no greater 
 love for his legal profession than he had felt when he left it, 
 and he could not be prevailed on to return to his duties. In 
 the town where he lived, it was not respectable to live with- 
 out attention to some business, and he was advised to find a 
 partner, and engage in commercial pursuits. He soon took 
 as a partner a well-bred young merchant, and commenced 
 business. For a while, the major seemed pleased with his 
 occupation. He kept his books with great care ; but the 
 novelty soon wore off, and he grew tired of the confine- 
 ment ; and as often as he could took his journies of pleasure 
 with a few gay friends, and left his partner to do in-door as 
 well as out-door business ; and when he returned, it was 
 with a diminished relish for labor. Perhaps from some 
 compunction of conscience he would engage with new zeal, 
 but this did not last long. The nations of Europe were then 
 at war, and the United States had the carrying trade, and 
 fortunes were rapidly made. Hampton s partner proposed 
 a dissolution, which was soon effected, although both parties 
 were advised to the contrary. On settlement, they divided 
 large profits, and the major found that he was a rich man. 
 He at once made judicious purchases of real estate, and put 
 the balance of his funds into the stocks. He had enough, 
 for he was not then avaricious. To every literary institu 
 tion, he was among the most liberal benefactors. To the 
 poor, he was always generous, and made it a part of his 
 duty to see to their wants in person. At his place of busi 
 ness, you would find decayed gentlemen who were his pen- 
 
36 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 sioners ; and to them, if he was sometimes haughty to his 
 equals, he " was as sweet as summer." In the deep snowa 
 of winter, he visited every humble abode of poverty in his 
 neighborhood with ample supplies of fuel, provisions, and 
 medicines, when it was wanted. This became so constant 
 a habit with him, that a severe storm was supposed to bring 
 him the most happy moments. He was as liberal to chari 
 table institutions as to literary and scientific. If the ladies 
 hud any project on foot, he was high on the list of thei? 
 subscribers : they made their calculations on him. 
 
 If at times a few good women sighed on hearing that his 
 dinner-parties did not break up till midnight, they instantly 
 alluded to some liberal and munificent act of his, and strove 
 to cover the story by one of charity. Such was his elo 
 quence, that he was frequently called upon to deliver ad 
 dresses on public occasions ; as such was the purity of his 
 sentiments and the charms of his language, that every slight 
 blast on his reputation among these primitive and fastidious 
 people with whom he lived was washed away at once. At 
 such times, all eyes turned upon the orator as he left the 
 Hall, and every tongue was ready to bless him : even the 
 antiquated virgin, who had often talked sharply about his 
 gaiety, his love of wine, and his syren delusions, seemed at 
 this moment subdued, and was ready to say, he is a fasci 
 nating creature ! he is charming enough to deceive an 
 angel ! 
 
 At this time, some of his friends who loved and honored 
 him, ventured to suggest to him that it was now proper for 
 him to settle in life, and become a domestic man. To this 
 he listened with more attention than they thought he would. 
 He had become quite pleased with a young lady of his native 
 town. She was a being out of the ordinary course. Heir 
 person resembled the best model of female statuary : sym- 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 37 
 
 metry and grace were her s, without looking with the eye 
 of a lover. Her form was animated by no stolen fire from 
 heaven ; but a lambent and celestial flame seemed to light 
 it up as though it came all mildly from the stars, on whose 
 beams come blessings to mortals. Her movements were in 
 harmony with this thought, and she walked as the figure of 
 St. Cecelia, when she converted the heathen priest at the 
 altar, with her air and motion, as she approached the Chris 
 tian shrine. Her voice was finely touched with the tones 
 of a bewitching melancholy, without any accent of anxiety 
 or distress in them. Her taste and temperament would 
 have led her, if she had lived in a classic age and country, 
 to have enrolled herself among- the vestals. Miss Miranda 
 Falmouth had been educated by an aunt her mother dying 
 when she was an infant. This aunt was a woman of sense, 
 and well acquainted with the world. She was attentive to 
 the child of her charge, and spared no pains in her educa 
 tion. This young lady was in the circle in which Hampton 
 moved : she had heard of his eloquence, his taste, and bene 
 volence ; but it was also accompanied with some hints of 
 his gaiety. The major was advised to secure her if he 
 could all believing that such a woman would make him 
 an exemplary man ; and intimated that she should be ap 
 proached by cautious steps. He made up his mind to make 
 the attempt and, as preliminaries, gave up his dinner-par 
 ties, and refrained from the use of all ardent spirits. In a 
 small city, this change of habits was soon made known to 
 his friends but only a very few knew any thing of his 
 intentions. There was a small society formed by the young 
 ladies of the place, for the purpose of improving their minds 
 by reading aloud, in turns, some work of celebrity ; for this 
 intent, they held meetings at each other s houses. Hampton 
 had a magnificent library, and was in the habit of receiving 
 
 C2 
 
38 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 all the new and rare works from England. He now-and- 
 then sent some of the choicest of his importations to this little 
 coterie for their amusement and instruction. Miranda be 
 longed to this club, and sometimes could not help expressing 
 her admiration of the major s taste. One of Hampton s 
 friends a scholar, who in a measure directed the reading 
 of the young ladies, most of them being his friends or rela 
 tions was, at times, invited to read some passages which 
 he was pleased with in the books he brought them. This 
 might have been done to prepare the way for the major 
 and soon an opportunity offered. Scott s Lady of the Lake 
 had just been received on this side of the Atlantic, and had 
 been read only by a few in advance of the public taste. It 
 was so managed, that the book and its owner was found 
 in the little circle towards the close of one of their evening 
 sittings. He had marked the striking passages of the work, 
 and read them with great effect. He was requested to meet 
 them again and did, until the work was finished. It was 
 then loaned to the young ladies, to be read to their friends* 
 It had not as yet been published in this country. 
 
 This book was followed by others and the major was 
 frequently, with some of his younger friends, found reading 
 to- the young ladies. In the autumn, they were in the habit, 
 after the manner of their ancestors, of taking pleasant excur 
 sions to some neighboring sea-shore, to walk on the beach, 
 and enjoy the breeze, as it came with health and freshness 
 from the wave. When fatigued, they retired lo a neighbor 
 ing public-house, and partook of a supper, and early in the 
 evening retired to their respective habitations. These little 
 pleasure-parties were conducted by managers selected for 
 the purpose, in order that there should be no partiality shown. 
 Those who were to occupy the same carriage, knew nothing 
 about it until they received the directions from, the managers. 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 39 
 
 The major was now considered a reformed man and 
 mothers cast their eyes upon him as an eligible match for 
 their daughters. When the regular winter assemblies 
 began, the major was elected Master of Ceremonies. His 
 attention to dress and all proper ceremonies, united to his 
 mild and courteous deportment, made him a popular manager 
 in the ball-room. He commenced the season with new 
 rules and more exact regulations. The dress was in some 
 measure agreed upon. The music was to cease precisely 
 at twelve o clock, even if the dance had just been called. 
 No ardent spirits were to be furnished in the refreshment or 
 the supper-rooms. The major paid no particular attention 
 to reigning belles, but sought those who seemed not to com- 
 mand their ordinary share of attention. Miranda Falmouth 
 could not but observe this, and made the remark to her aunt. 
 While they were in conversation on the subject, the master 
 of ceremonies advanced, and asked the matron to dance with 
 him. She replied, " My dancing days are gone ; you must 
 excuse me." The gallant major turned to Miranda, and 
 requested her to dance. The dame s eyes said, "Yes 
 you may." They joined the cotillion. When supper was 
 announced, he led the aunt to the room, and seated her at 
 the head of the table ; the niece followed. On their leaving 
 the ball-room, he was attentive in seeing that their wrappers 
 and hoods were at hand, and the way to their carriage clear. 
 He was so attentive to all, that this was not thought in the 
 slightest degree exclusive. On the last night of the season 
 for the assemblies, the gentry of the neighboring towns were 
 invited to attend. The hall was tastefully decorated, and 
 the supper-table was superb. The manager closed the 
 season on the 10th of April, which he knew was Miranda s 
 birth-day. She had then completed her nineteenth year. 
 A veteran relation from a distance handed the aunt to the 
 
40 THE INTEMPERATE- 
 
 supper-table with the courtesy of the old school of manners. 
 The major, for the first time during the season, offered his 
 arm to Miranda, and seated her by the side of her aunt 
 and to both was particularly attentive ; but the stranger 
 engrossed most of the matron s time, for he was conversing 
 upon the pride and glory of past times a subject delightful 
 to those who approximate "the sear and yellow leaf of life :" 
 with them there is no scene so bright as that which gilded 
 their early days. The manager improved his opportunity, 
 and said " words of such sweet breath," that Miranda was 
 unconscious that he was so attentive. The room was deco 
 rated with the finest paintings, with antique busts, and other 
 models of sculpture a part, and a large part of which was 
 from the manager s own rooms. He gave his opinions upon 
 all matters of taste with the most snbmissive and delicate air, 
 but at the same time with a consciousness of having paid 
 more attention to the subject than others had done. The 
 evening closed most prosperously, and all came and con 
 gratulated the manager on the success of all the amusements 
 of the winter. Even those antiquated maidens who in former 
 times closed the dance with some bitter remark for want of 
 attention, were forced to bear testimony to the manager s 
 impartial courtesy. 
 
 On May-day, a party was prepared to botanize in the 
 woods of the neighboring farms. It was a fair day, but there 
 were but few flowers to be found : Nature had not as yet 
 been prolific of her bounties; but, from his own garden, he 
 had prepared garlands of flowers, as they returned to tea, 
 and were satisfied with their rambles. He gave them a 
 repast. Miranda was there and it was now seen that the 
 major had made no small progress in his suit, without ven 
 turing hardly a word on the subject to any one but his most 
 intimate friend ; in fact, it seemed to be conceded on all 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 41 
 
 hands, that he had nothing to fear whenever he thought 
 proper to prepare himself. The 28th of June was his birth 
 day and the sagacious aunt of his favorite knew it ; and 
 a few days beforehand, she sent out invitations for a party 
 at her country house, to eat strawberries and cream on that 
 day. The major was in a straight as he had, for the first 
 time for nearly a year, invited a few friends to dine with 
 him ; but still, he could not refuse to accept of the straw 
 berry invitation for he saw that it was in compliment to 
 him, and he deeply felt it as such. Fie was determined to 
 be cautious, and to restrain his convivial feelings. The day 
 arrived ; the dinner was excellent, and his guests enjoyed 
 themselves to the highest degree. He was cautious in his 
 conviviality, and only sipped his wine with his friends. At 
 six o clock he put a friend at the head of the table, and 
 ordered his gig for his visit. A fine shower had fallen in 
 the afternoon, while he and his friends were at the table. 
 The shower had just passed away at intervals of t.tme> 
 raining a few large drops. As he was ascending a fine 
 eminence, he turned to the east, and observed a beautiful 
 rainbow. The colors were most brilliant ; and beyond it 
 still another, with their fading tints, sometimes as lovely as 
 the first for the eye can rest upon it with more composure. 
 He dwelt upon these phenomena with delight, and could not 
 help hailing their brilliant appearances as emblems 01 his 
 future happiness. He said to himself, " The Fates have at 
 last been kind. This sign is set in the heavens to dissipate 
 my fears, and to promise me all the delights of wedded love. 
 Did Adam see a bow in Eden ?" He continued to gaze in 
 ecstacy until the sun and its prismatic lights had sunk 
 together. Flushed with this augury, as he thought it, he 
 drove on to meet the party. He was perfectly himself 
 in a fine glow of spirits. He reached the house, gave his 
 
42 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 horse to the servant, and adjusted his cravat before he 
 entered the room filled with ladies. The large, old-fashioned 
 hall, in which they were assembled, was a part of an old 
 mansion-house, to which had been added several modern 
 apartments, elevated above the ancient part by two steps. 
 Not knowing this fact, the major entered as if the surface 
 had been entirely smooth, and made a false step, and fell 
 on one knee. He recovered himself instantly, and, as a 
 man of the world, made light of the circumstance, and turned 
 to compliment the ladies with his usual ease and grace. 
 He then made his way to the parson of the parish, and 
 entered fully with him into the merits of some polemic mat- 
 ters then being published by several gentlemen of professed 
 erudition and no ordinary degree of genius. He glanced 
 his eves towards Miranda, and saw that she was as pale as 
 death and her female friends soon led her out of the room. 
 This came over him as a death blow for he had heard 
 that there were certain old maids who had within a few days 
 been attempting to persuade Miranda that his reformation 
 was not to be relied upon ; and some of them were present 
 when he made the mis-step, and turned a malignant look 
 at her on the occasion. She shrunk from the basilisk glance 
 with dismay. This was too much for her delicate nerves. 
 The envious had triumphed. Miranda at once returned 
 home. The evening went off pleasant enough to all appear 
 ance, notwithstanding, and the major did everything to make 
 the party happy. Even on this night, all but the malignant 
 few were charmed with his conversation. The parson was 
 delighted to find a layman so well acquainted with the strong 
 points of the religious controversy. The major, however, 
 went home with awful forebodings. The next forenoon 
 he received a letter from the aunt of Miranda, intimating 
 that his visits would no longer be received at her house. 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 43 
 
 He called on his friend the parson, and stated the whole 
 matter to him, and asked his advice. This was known to 
 others, and every one volunteered his service to do away 
 with the unjust suspicion. The duty was most affection- 
 ately performed. All declared that he was perfectly sober. 
 The parson added, that, several years previous to that time, 
 when called on to celebrate a marriage in the same hall, that 
 he had the misfortune to make just such a mistake, in step 
 ping from one room into the other much to his mortifica 
 tion, and inconvenience to his limbs and apparel. The aunt 
 was perfectly satisfied, but at the same time observed, that 
 her neice was in ill health, and if the mis-step was an acci 
 dent, it must be considered at the same time a sad omen, 
 and one that should teach her that Major Hampton was not 
 to be her husband. The story soon reached the public 
 and the little sea- port was in great agitation. Almost every 
 one took the side of the major but it would not do ; the 
 poison that malignity distilled, envy continued to concoct. 
 Miranda was under no pledge, and therefore broke no oath. 
 The vory old maids who had made the mischief, more than 
 insinuated to the major s friends that they personally should 
 not have any such scruples : but this trick would not answer ; 
 he would have wed a bramble as soon as one of them. For 
 awhile he indulged some hopes that a change would take 
 place in Miranda s mind : but this hope was illusory. His 
 mortification was so great, that he did not appear in public. 
 His heart was breaking. In a few months he arranged his 
 affairs, made his will, appointed an agent to manage for him 
 in his absence, and fixed upon his mode of supplies, if his 
 funds in England should not hold out. It was known that 
 he had some unsettled claims in South America and the 
 suggestion was circulated that he had gone to the Brazils 
 on his own business. Instead of going to South America, 
 
44 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 he repaired from one of the southern ports of his own coun 
 try directly to England, by the name of Thomas Carter 
 assuming his mother s name, which he considered justifiable, 
 and quite after the European fashion. 
 
 On reaching England, he was introduced to the first 
 circles of taste and intelligence ; and such was his power 
 in conversation and song, that his company was sought by 
 the leaders in high-bred society. His information was greater 
 than those they had seen from America, and he had much 
 of the Englishman in his manners. 
 
 In the circle to which Major Hampton was introduced, 
 were some of the first minds of the land. He soon met at a 
 dinner-party the celebrated wits of the time among whom 
 was Richard Brinsley Sheridan, who was even then " the 
 observed of all observers," for at that time his infirmities 
 were generally concealed. By one of those accidents which 
 sometimes happen in large circles, the major was not intro 
 duced to the British senator, but they had some knowledge 
 of each other. Hampton very well knew the person of 
 Sheridan, and the latter had heard that a " cute Yankee " 
 would dine with the party that day and chance placed 
 them nearly opposite each other at table. Sheridan had 
 paid a double devotion to his brandy and water that day, 
 before dinner was announced, and soon began to throw out 
 those flashes of wit for which he was so renowned and, 
 looking at the major, observed, "I presume, sir, that I am 
 not trespassing upon any of the laws of the convivial board 
 in your country or mine, in addressing a remark to you 
 without the formality of an introduction ?" The major po 
 litely bowed, and replied, " Sir, I come here into society to 
 take my cue from older actors than myself not to give it." 
 " A little touch at the shop," thought the dramatist ; but 
 recovering, and assuming that smiling courtesy in manner 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 45 
 
 which is peculiar to one half-way gone in inebriation 
 " Weil, my dear sir, I am told that you, on the other side 
 of the water, have made the discovery, that civilized man 
 should walk, in modern fashion, on his hind legs ?" " Yes," 
 replied the major " we have really in theory reached this 
 point of knowledge, and it is thought to be the most graceful 
 and gentlemanly way of getting over the ground and we 
 practise it, except at times when we imitate some of your 
 Members of Parliament, who take the Circean cup, until, 
 by necessity, they must go on all-fours, or not at all." 
 The voice of the respondent was so clear, and his sentences 
 so pointed, that the senator quailed beneath them but soon 
 rallied. The smile, however, was against him. " Pray, 
 sir, 1 said Sheridan, "where did you learn the English lan 
 guage ? you seem to speak it pretty well." " From my 
 mother," said the major " who kept out of sight all Irish 
 dictionaries." This, Sheridan felt a little personal. Chang 
 ing his tone, he proceeded: "I understand that Edmund 
 Burke was the god of American idolatry ?" " Yes," said 
 the major " his Treatise on the Sublime and Beautiful is 
 held in high estimation in my country, as well as several 
 other of his works : his Regicide Peace, and his Letter 
 to a NoMe Lord, are read with avidity and delight in my 
 native land ; and he might have been still greater on the list 
 than he is, if he had not used flattery and ever strained 
 language in praise of his colleagues, in the trial of Warren 
 Hastings." The smile now became a loud laugh ; the wit 
 was disconcerted, and was mortified by being put into this 
 situation by a raw Yankee, as he thought him. He made 
 a desperate struggle to rally and, raising his voice to a high 
 pitch as men often do who feel that they have come off 
 second best said, " What is the state of the drama in your 
 country, for I suppose that you may have seen a play ?" 
 
 D 
 
46 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 " Yes," said the major " when Hodgkinson and others who 
 visited my country, enacted Shakspeare s tragedies, I some- 
 times attended ; but, since the wretched translations of Ger 
 man rhapsodies have taken their place, I have had no great 
 partiality for the drama, and have thought that when senators 
 meddle with these matters, that parliamentary eloquence will 
 decline." The roar was now obstreperous, and "Sherry" 
 was silent he had " caught a Tartar !" The wits saw the 
 calibre of the stranger and his table next day was filled 
 with invitations to all sorts of parties. 
 
 In a few days he met Sheridan again, and now had a 
 regular introduction. The orator gave the American a 
 cordial shake of the hand, and said, " I am glad to see you. 
 Egad! does your country produce men such as you?" 
 " No," was the careless reply " most of them are vastly 
 my superiors." He was then introduced to Tom Moore, 
 who received him very cordially. The major did not un 
 derstand it but Moore was this evening pitted against him, 
 and at supper it was arranged that they should be on oppo 
 site sides of the table, near each other. After the viands 
 were despatched, and the wine began to circulate, Moore 
 played off some of those light and lovely sallies which gave 
 his conversation a charm above that of most other persons ; 
 these were met with equal power and courtesy. They were 
 at once in love with each other, and no one could set them 
 to "the encounter of sharp wits." Moore was soon called 
 upon for a song for the table saw at once they were not to 
 have a second edition of the Sheridan dialogue. He gave 
 one of his own, (of which he had a store,) of more Attic 
 honey than Anacreon himself could boast of and beseemed 
 to address his remarks to his new friend with all his warmth 
 of soul. The major was next called upon for a song : he 
 declared he was no musician. This was true, if he spoke 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 47 
 
 of science ; but his voice was natural, flexible, and sweet. 
 He was pressed by all around him for they wished, pro 
 bably, to hear a native s measure, thinking it might be in 
 the Cherokee or Seminole language. It was intimated that 
 an aboriginal song would be most acceptable. " Well, gen 
 tlemen," said he, " you shall have a primitive song." He 
 sung a foreign ode : some thought it was truly Indian, and 
 were astonished to find how much Indian sounded like 
 Greek ! The classical ear of Moore caught the first line ; 
 it was an ode from Anacreon. When it was finished, before 
 Moore had an opportunity to rise, a song in Sapphic measure 
 was commenced by the stranger the words still being 
 Greek. It had been composed by a learned friend of the 
 major s, for him to sing at a classical glee-club. It was in 
 praise of the translation of Anacreon. It purported to be a 
 poetical prophecy of the Lesbian dame that the beauties 
 of her god-tongued Greek should, in some future day, when 
 kingdoms had decayed, and the glory of Greece had depart 
 ed, be, by a bard of an isle in the Western Ocean, where 
 the horses of the sun went down to rest, infused into a new 
 born language. Moore arose, and continued standing while 
 it was singing ; and, when the singer ended, returned his 
 thanks to the major in the most heartfelt manner. Half the 
 guests could not think what the poet was about : all were 
 astonished when Moore went on to say, that the poetry was 
 as divine as ever the Delphic muse had inspired uttered in 
 the language of the Attic bee and sung as one who had been 
 taught in the school of Apollo. The applause was deafen 
 ing. Moore concluded by drinking the health of "the all- 
 accomplished stranger." The major arose, and returned 
 his thanks for the high honor done him, in a strain of 
 eloquence which astonished his audience. He hastily, but 
 felicitously sketched the history and progress of the English 
 
48 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 language from the days of Sir Thomas More to Shakspeare, 
 Milton, and the writers in the days of Ann, down to his own 
 time, when orators and poets in Britain were earning the 
 amaranthine wreath of glory : and, notwithstanding the dia 
 logue that had passed between himself and Sheridan, he 
 placed the orator among the great names of antiquity. He 
 was interrupted by repeated bursts of applause, which were 
 followed by that silence in which breath and motion seemed 
 to be suspended. He showed that England s poets and great 
 men were familiar to him as those of his own country. Ne 
 ver did any man make a deeper impression on his audience. 
 Sheridan declared that he had heard Chatham, and all the 
 great speakers of the age since, and that he had never heard 
 this day s eloquence surpassed. 
 
 The major threw himself on his couch as soon as he left 
 the convivial board, with a high fever in his veins, from hig 
 extraordinary exertions. He felt that he was an orator ; 
 but he carried the arrow in his wounded side, and no hand 
 could draw the barbed weapon by which his peace had been 
 slain. This was a secret to all his new acquaintances ; 
 they thought him the happiest man alive. With fortune, 
 health, genius, and the accomplishments of a finished gentle 
 man, what could be added ? They could not see, that, with 
 all these blessings, he carried with him a vulture which was 
 preying upon his vitals. In the pride of his fame he envied 
 the humblest wretch he saw. What was the fame of an 
 orator to him ? 
 
 Among those he was introduced to was Lieut. General 
 Sir John Moore, at that time an object of admiration in Eng. 
 land. Nelson had fallen, and Pitt and Fox were sleeping 
 side by side in their quiet graves in Westminster Abbey ; 
 and Sir John now stood first in the eyes of an admiring nation. 
 His life had been an eventful one ; he had entered the army 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 40 
 
 at fifteen years of age ; had served in the West Indies with 
 such gallantry, that he was appointed governor of one of the 
 islands in that region. He was with Abercrombie when he 
 fell in Egypt, in the arms of victory. Sir John had also 
 served in Sweden and other places, and had won laurels 
 wherever he fought. He had the scars of many honorable 
 wounds to show ; but his modesty was equal to his prowess. 
 Sir John was spirited and witty in conversation, and loved 
 the company of high-bred men. He had just been appointed 
 to the command of the army of the Peninsula in Spain as 
 the British had agreed to assist Spain, struggling to get free 
 from the withering grasp of France. He found that Major 
 Hampton was a soldier, and had studied his profession, but had 
 no chance to see dangerous service and ventured to suggest 
 to him, that he should be happy to accept of his service as a 
 volunteer aid. This was readily acceded to by the major 
 not from the love of military renown, but as a palliation of 
 mental pain. In the autumn of 1808, he proceeded, by 
 forced marches, into the interior, to meet the French under 
 Bonaparte. Sir John was every day expecting a large 
 Spanish force to join him but no such force came, although 
 the British Ambassador was constantly promising Sir John 
 that it should come forthwith. After marching an hundred 
 miles or more in the interior, and discovering that the French 
 army was three times as large as the English, he made up 
 his rnind to retrace his steps to the sea coast, and from thence, 
 by the aid of his fleet, to land on the south of Spain, where 
 the supplies for his army could be more easily obtained, with 
 a better chance of raising a Spanish army. When this was 
 fixed upon by Sir John Moore, Marshal Soult commanded 
 the French forces. He had been left by Bonaparte to lead 
 on the French army. He was an excellent general, with 
 a fine body of troops. There is always great confusion 
 
 D a 
 
SO THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 in a retrogading army most of which was caused in this 
 by the facilities the soldiers had to purchase liquors from 
 the natives. Hundreds of poor intoxicated wretches fell by 
 the swords of the enemy, without lifting a hand to resist. 
 From the time Sir John had ordered the retreat, until 
 he reached the seaboard, he was constantly fighting. 
 The major was the most active and fearless officer on the 
 field. He volunteered to perform the most desperate enter- 
 prizes, and his cool and judicious manner excited the admi 
 ration of the whole army. He commanded the grenadiers 
 when Colbert, a most gallant French officer, was killed, 
 and whose fate was regretted by the whole British army 
 for he was as magnanimous as brave. 
 
 On the day of the battle of Corunna, the major was more 
 exposed than any other officer for he carried the orders of 
 the commander-in.chief from one part of the army to an 
 other. Hope, Berresford, and Bayard, took notice of his 
 gallant bearing on that memorable day. He had just re 
 turned from the thickest of the fight, to inform Sir John that 
 the French army were retreating, when the fatal cannon- 
 ball struck the general in the breast. The ball had struck 
 the earth rebounded, passing over the major s head and 
 then did its deed of death upon the illustrious general. The 
 wound, terrible as it was, having torn his shoulder from the 
 body of the victim, was not instantly mortal. Sir John was 
 borne off the field, supported by the sashes of the officers 
 around him, and expired after a few hours, with serenity 
 and firmness, in the citadel. Like Wolfe, he heard the 
 shouts of victory before he expired. He was buried by 
 torch- light, in a mound of the fortress, wrapt in his military 
 cloak, in a grave dug with bayonets. It was indeed a 
 melancholy sight ; all were solemn : but there stood one 
 over his grave who envied him his quiet resting place^ and 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 51 
 
 his glorious exit, and narrow bed ; one who had that day 
 sought death in every form of danger but not a hair of his 
 head had fallen : it was the major. When dying, Sir John 
 had recommended his American friend to the British Go- 
 vernment ; but, the praises bestowed, he never meant to use 
 as a matter of court favor. 
 
 The greater part of the army embarked that night, and 
 the major was with them. He seemed to have but one wish, 
 and that was, to save his Andalusian courser, who had borne 
 him with spirit and safety during the whole day, without 
 a wound, or without a spur to urge him onward. He had 
 caught his master s spirit, and was shielded by his master s 
 good fortune, and received no harm. 
 
 The army wept the fate of their general and the chief of 
 the French army at once erected a monument on the spot 
 to the memory of a consummate general ; and the sweetest 
 muse has mourned his untimely fate in the loveliest inspi 
 rations of grief but his countrymen have not as yet given 
 him a monument in Westminster Abbey. How uncertain 
 is fame ! when Charles I. is called " of blessed memory?" 
 and the day of his execution set apart for religious 
 ceremonies and Sir John Moore is denied a monument in 
 Westminster Abbey ! The process of justice is going on 
 in the region of history : names of glory now are to be sunk 
 in infamy, and those who have been under a cloud are com 
 ing up. The writers of the present day are doing justice to 
 those great men of the time of the Commonwealth. In that 
 day there were men who acted upon higher principles than 
 they have been thought to have acted : they intended to 
 give freedom to man, and set an example for the world. 
 This, no matter : justice to them in their graves may be 
 late ; but if certain, it is enough. 
 
 While the major was living in his native town, he had in 
 
52 THE INTEMPERATE ., 
 
 his service a colored man who had been a slave in the West 
 Indies, but came to the United States with his master who, 
 in his last will and testament, gave Clement his freedom. 
 Before the major took his departure, he gave his faithful 
 servant the lease of a small house for ten years. Clement 
 had noticed his master s movements, and did not believe a 
 word of the story that he was gone to South America. He 
 followed him to New York and from all the circumstances 
 he could gather, believed that he had sailed for England. 
 In London, Clem, found the major, and they had quite a 
 joyous meeting. The major was a man who delighted in 
 strong attachments. Clem, followed the major into Spain, 
 and was there of great service to him for his old master 
 had been in all the battles fought in St. Domingo when it 
 was revolutionized, and understood his duty in a camp as 
 well as any one. Clem, had been seen about an hour before 
 he was missed on the day of the battle, but was not to be 
 found when the firing ceased. His absence distressed the 
 major and he took several boys with torches to examine 
 the battle field, to find Clem, alive or dead. The scene was 
 more awful than the battle ; the dead and dying were strewed 
 over the ground and in every nook of the rocks. Some 
 were just expiring, and seemed to throw the last glare of 
 their stiffened eye-balls on the torches as they were borne 
 along. At length one of the boys cried out, " Major ! 
 there is a black man on the rocks yonder, holding a corpso 
 in his arms !" It was Clem. In passing over the field 
 towards the close of the battle, he saw the son of his old 
 master in the West Indies, weltering in his blood, on the 
 ground, and near him was his dead horse. Clem, had car- 
 ried him to this retreat, and brought him water to revive him. 
 The wounded officer and the faithful African were brought 
 to the citadel. The young French officer had bled pro* 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 53 
 
 fusely, but his wound was not dangerous. When the British 
 army left the coast, the major wrote to Marshal Soult, and 
 stated the circumstances under which he found Leclerc, (the 
 name of the French officer,) and requested him to send his 
 servant to England when the officer should no longer need 
 his services. In six or eight weeks Clem, arrived with 
 presents from the officer, and with an open letter, answering 
 at once as a passport and as a high recommendation for it 
 stated his services. The major s gallantry in the field had 
 been noticed by Soult, and Clem, was with him most of the 
 day. 
 
 When the Major reached England, he found his name 
 blazoned through all the land. Sheridan mentioned his 
 American friend in one of his speeches, and seemed at a loss 
 which to admire most, his literary taste, or his martial prow*. 
 ess. The lord Mayor had him placed at his right hand at 
 an aldermanic dinner. As he drove through several small 
 towns in England, which he took occasion to visit, the driver 
 who had seen him in London, whispered to the bystanders, 
 that they had a chance of seeing the man who had whipped 
 the French so the other day, and at times he was much an 
 noyed by his notoriety ; and, with a mind even less at ease 
 than when he first visited England, he was anxious to see 
 such parts of Europe as might be visited at that time in safety. 
 He had mistaken the nature of the passion, when he sought 
 to quench the flame of love by cherishing a thirst for glory, 
 it were as vain as to throw the spirits of wine on a flame of 
 fire to drown it. 
 
 His friends who were now numerous, devised the best 
 way for him to travel, this was done through the diplomatic 
 corps then in England. Provided with all passports, he as- 
 sumed the dress of an officer of the Imperial Guards, and 
 was soon on his way to Rome. The Austrian Ambassador 
 
54 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 had given him a protection, arid a letter to Cardinal Gonsal- 
 vi by the title of Major Rosencrantz. The Cardinal receiv 
 ed him kindly, and promised him safety while he remained 
 at Rome. This was pleasant, as he intended to make Rome 
 a residence for a year or two, and with this intention he took 
 a house and provided himself with servants; but Clem, was 
 still his right hand man. The Major at once employed a 
 master to teach him the Italian language. His acquaintance 
 with Latin and French greatly facilitated his progress. He 
 was, in moments of leisure, examining all the curiosities 
 of the Eternal City. By the friends he had at Rome, the 
 Vatican and all public places were made quite familiar to 
 him. His master in the Italian language was also one of 
 the cognocenti, and some one of his female friends was so 
 kind as to be his Corrine when he happened to meet a 
 social circle, and express his wish to visit any particular 
 place. Almost every day he saw some American on his 
 travels ; these American travellers make nothing in ascend, 
 ing mountains and crossing rivers ; they make a grand tour 
 as rapidly as Southey wrote his epic, the JOAN OF ARC, in 
 six weeks. The Major although perfectly in cog., managed 
 to have most of them at his table. He put numerous ques 
 tions to all of them, and was amused at their answers on 
 subjects which he was well acquainted. He had been en 
 gaged during his stay in Rome, in collecting a gallery of 
 fine paintings, in which he was greatly assisted by some of 
 the Italian ladies. He intended that this collection should in 
 some future day be sent to his native land, whether he should 
 ever see it or not. The Cardinal Gonsalvi was delighted 
 with the English language, and had made great proficiency 
 in it, but wished to catch the grace of colloquial eloquence, 
 and delighted with the Major s conversation, he saw him as 
 often as his duties would permit him to do. The learned 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 55 
 
 and exalted dignitary of the church had just begun to relish 
 the beauties of Shakspeare ; here the Major was at home, 
 but few understood the author better, and no one could read 
 him so well. In these Attic intercourses the dignitary forgot 
 his honors, and was only the learned and agreeable man. 
 In one of these familiar conversations, Gonsalvi made these 
 remarks : " these plays are a mighty engine in the moral 
 and political world, for whenever a people become fond of 
 Shakspeare, they are more than half Englishmen, and in 
 training for the adoption of their constitution and their laws ; 
 if ever the Church of Rome is to be undermined, it will be 
 done by the writings of Shakspeare. He lived in an age of 
 apostacy, and here in disguise, opposed the subtleties of rea 
 son, to the cannon of the church. One of his plays is more 
 dangerous than ten religious attacks upon us from protestant 
 divines. We are prepared for them on all hands ; but such 
 attacks as Shakspeare made, are difficult to parry." 
 
 One day as t .e Major was gazing upon the crumbling 
 walls of the Colliseum, where the cows now grazed, reflect, 
 ing on the fall of empires, and on the constancy of change, 
 he heard several voices in conversation in the are i of this 
 immense edifice. The tones of some of the voic s seemed 
 distressingly familiar. He turned and saw several of his 
 American friends, and among them was Miranda Falmouth, 
 and her aunt. The Colliseum swam around in his vision, 
 and he sat on a fragment of the walls to recall his bewilder 
 ed senses. He was fearful at first that he should be known 
 to the group, but recollecting his military dress, his large 
 black whiskers, and his wig many shades darker than his 
 own hair, he plucked up courage and threw himself in their 
 way, and began a conversation with the American gentle 
 man, into which the ladies were imperceptably drawn. The 
 Major with his accustomed^ gallantry, offered the aunt his 
 
56 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 arm, which was readily accepted, as the fame of the Aus 
 trian stranger was in every public house in Rome, and his 
 attention to American travellers had been particularly no 
 ticed ; in truth, the party had been looking for him for sev 
 eral days. Miranda several times looked as pale as death, 
 when she thought how much the tones of the gallant Aus 
 trian s voice resembled those of her once admired friend 
 Hampton, and then she thought that it was all imagination. 
 Some mutual acquaintances met the party and they had a 
 formal introduction to each other, which was followed by a 
 proposition from the Major to permit him to accompany them 
 to the Vatican next day, and after the visit was over to 
 dine with him ; this was at once accepted by the ladies and 
 gentlemen, as the Austrian s character was so well known. 
 The next morning s sun arose, and the Major called on the 
 ladies and all went to examine the works of the great mas 
 ters in painting in past ages. The aunt had relinquished in 
 some degree the particular attention paid her by the stranger 
 in favor of her neice. Thd mysterious resemblance of the 
 voice of her once dear friend, to that of the Austrian officer 
 was still in her ears, and she breathed an unconcious sigh, 
 which did not pass unnoticed. Their size was about the 
 same, but on further examination she came to the con 
 clusion that the Austrian was more stately, the American 
 was more graceful. The merits of the paintings were dis 
 cussed by the Austrian to the delight of all. He gave the 
 history of the picture, with anecdotes of the painter, with 
 as much ease and eloquence as one bred in the bosom 
 of the arts ; here Miranda thought all parallel would fail. 
 The library was as attractive as the pictures ; the illumined 
 manuscripts ; the splended volumes from the Aldine presses, 
 with all the charms of vellum and type passed in review, 
 until the hour for dinner was announced by the African in 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 57 
 
 full Austrian livery. The moment he appeared, the aunt 
 was struck with his resemblance to Clem, who had been a 
 servant in her family for many years, but there was not the 
 slightest look of recognition on his part, of course she smiled 
 at her own fancies. When seated at table, the aunt found 
 just such a dinner as she would have ordered for a particular 
 friend ; the roasted veal, the soup, the curried chicken, and 
 the marsh bird, all seemed as on her own table. The con- 
 versation at table, after the subjects of England and the 
 Continent were exhausted, turned upon the United States of 
 America. The master of the feast appeared well read in 
 American history, but misunderstood some of the geogra 
 phy of the country. Among other things, he quoted an 
 Italian writer, who, speaking of the rivers Merrimack, and 
 Connecticut, in New England, says, " these rivers like twin 
 swans from the same nest, hold their course to the ocean, and 
 mingle their waters with those of the mother of the floods, 
 within a few miles of each other." Miranda smiling replied, 
 " it seems wrong to destroy the beauty of the figure by tel 
 ling the truth ; but they arise far from each other, and join 
 the ocean more than an hundred and fifty miles apart." 
 The history of the Government was another topic of discus 
 sion, and some singular points were stated by the host, for 
 which he had day and date ; but, his guests insisted were 
 errors now fully explained. Nothing could exceed their 
 astonishment, when the Austrian officer mentioned Cotton 
 Mather as among the early American novelists ; one, he 
 thought, of great learning and of a most brilliant imagina 
 tion. He said that Mather was admirable in drawing char 
 acters, and that his invention was but little inferior to that of 
 the English Shakspeare in the supernatural world. The 
 whole machinery of the New England witchcraft, he declared 
 to be finely conceived and admirably carried out. He how- 
 
 E 
 
58 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 ever thought that burning at the stake, would have bees 
 more epic than vulgar hanging ; but he supposed that hang 
 ing was more in keeping with the age, and that the reason 
 that they suffered on the gallows was the same as that given 
 by one of the great crown lawyers of England for this mode 
 of punishment by suspension that is, men who were not fit 
 for this world, or another, should be suspended between 
 heaven and earth. Miranda smiled, but her aunt a very 
 well informed woman attempted to explain the whole matter, 
 to which he lent the most devout attention, and seemed to 
 enter with great pleasure into the explanation* He had be 
 fore conceived the whole as a mass of fiction, and was sur 
 prized on finding it a matter of veritable history. The guests 
 were not a little surprised that one who had lived so long in 
 England, as this Austrian was said to have been there, should 
 with his good sense have taken up such wild and errone 
 ous impressions ; but since she had come from America, 
 the aunt had before found that the English people were in 
 many errors in regard to her own country. 
 
 The conversation now turned upon the revolutionary strug 
 gle, on this subject the Austrian was quite at home. The ma 
 tron had been the wife of an actor, and a distinguished one 
 in that great event, and she spoke feelingly and eloquently 
 on the subject. Miranda was silent, but was delighted to 
 hear one so far from her native land, so deeply interested in 
 her country s history. The character of Washington came 
 upon the tapis, and the Austrian did ample justice to the 
 merits of that great man ; he placed his valor, his skill in 
 military strategy, in a proper light, but above all his Fabian 
 wisdom in the whole course of his military life. He then 
 adverted to the American Congress, and descanted upon the 
 abilities of the members, touching with a nice and delicate 
 discrimination the peculiar merits of the deceased statesman 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 59 
 
 who had been the husband of the matron before him ; she 
 looked a thousand thanks, but dared not trust herself to ex 
 press one of them. The manners, customs, and character 
 ofthe American people, were in turn brought forward and 
 discussed by the Austrian, with honorable feelings, and with 
 military brevity. The guests were astonished at his gen- 
 eral information, while they were amused at the incorrectness 
 of some of the sources of his information. 
 
 The next day a party on horseback was proposed ; Mi. 
 randa rode elegantly. The Austrian asked permission to 
 find a horse for the young lady, for he had one he knew 
 would suit her. The aunt took a carriage. The Andalu- 
 sion courser, who had bourn the gallant officer in his Span 
 ish campaign, had been brought to Rome, and now was ca 
 parisoned with an English side-saddle, found among the Eng 
 lish families in the city. The animal was as gentle as spirit 
 ed, obedient to his master s voice in every situation. The 
 Austrian rode a cream colored charger ; they rode around 
 the city and along the banks ofthe Tiber, and were the ad- 
 miration ofthe population. The Austrian gave the whole 
 cavalcade a minute history ofthe several places, both an 
 cient and modern. They visited the tombs of the Scipios, 
 and others ofthe mighty dead, who had the honor of being 
 buried on the road side. Miranda was charmed with her 
 ride ; the Andalusian behaved with all possible spirit, gen 
 tleness, and obedience ; he seemed to know that his mas 
 ter s feeling were in the case. The rider felt no fatigue, 
 and as she dismounted, the officer made her a proffer of his 
 horse, whenever she might want to ride. An accident trans 
 pired which had well nigh led to a disclosure ; the Major 
 pushed his horse, then a little restive, over a fragment of a 
 column, which was done so furiously, that his wig had near 
 ly fell from his head. They returned after the day s amuse- 
 
60 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 ment to an elegant supper, or rather dinner; they had par 
 taken of light refreshments several times during the day, but 
 had not set down to any regular meal. The banquet 
 was in first Italian style ; the covers were numerous, and 
 shone by the lights of an hundred lamps ; one would have 
 thought that Lucullus had come back to Rome to sup with 
 Lucullus. The light wines of Italy flowed like water, and 
 Miranda noticed how sparingly the host drank. Oh ? thought 
 she, could the too indulgent Hampton have been so abstime- 
 ous, we should now have been a happy couple. A band of 
 music was playing while the guests were at table ; the host 
 gave them a toast : " The United States, and its enlightened 
 inhabitants." The music instanly struck up "Hail Colum 
 bia," and followed with the national air of" Yankee Doodle," 
 which the host accompanied with his voice. The unexpect 
 ed compliment was received with transport. Instantly a 
 German March succeeded, not giving the guests time to 
 reason on the subject. After his guests had retired, the 
 Major threw himself on his bed in a paroxysm of feeling ; 
 he had acted his part all day with the greatest effort, and 
 when the scene was over he could not contain himself, or 
 remain master of his feelings. At one moment he made up 
 his mind to go and throw himself at Miranda s feet, confess 
 all, and implore her to save him ; but instantly his pride 
 arose to condemn such a step, for he would rather have died 
 an hundred deaths than to have a second refusal ; and there 
 were again moments when he had lashed himself to high re 
 sentment at what he thought his ill treatment ! that he was 
 not certain he would marry her if every obstacle was re 
 moved ; then followed a gush of salt tears, and sleepless 
 ness and feverish dreams. One image of despair chased 
 another, until the day shone all lovely upon his aching head 
 and broken heart. There is something in daylight that 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 61 
 
 soothes the wretched. Apollo was wisely called by the sa 
 gacious ancients, the healing god, for his rays send a sum 
 mer feeling to the heart, which is a wonderful medicine in 
 the maladies of the mind, and no where is his reign so per 
 fect as in the Italian skies. The Americans were now ma 
 king ready for their departure for Venice. One of the gen 
 tlemen was a brother to Miranda, a merchant much older 
 than herself; he had sent a ship to Smyrna and ordered her 
 to come to Venice to take him and his party to the United 
 States. The time had now nearly arrived when she might 
 be expected, and they were anxious not to keep her waiting 
 when she did arrive. The Major understanding this, pro 
 vided them with suitable conveyance to that city, and pro 
 posed to accompany them himself, which proposition was 
 hailed as a new proof of his kindness. He left his African in 
 his house, and took an Italian servant. The journey was ta 
 ken with leisure, as is common in that country, not as in Eng 
 land or the United States, with all the fury of Jehu. They 
 were beguiled of thetediousness of the way by free conver 
 sation. Still careful of speaking of French politics, for Gon- 
 salvi intimated to the Major that every servant in Rome was 
 a French spy. They reached Venice without accident, but 
 the ship had not yet arrived ; but within a week the Star 
 Spangled Banner was seen floating on the breeze of Venice. 
 On their arrival, they lost no time in examining the city. 
 Venice offered much for curiosity, and something for in 
 struction. The city makes a spirited appearance at a dis 
 tance, it seems to have arisen from a sea of glass ; the large 
 buildings seem to have no foundation on earth. The city 
 stands on numerous small islands, and every guide differed 
 as to the precise number ; they are saiid to be from sixty to 
 one hundred and sixty eight. Some oft he numerous canals 
 are narrow, others are of a fine width. At this time Venice 
 E 2 
 
62 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 was no longer a republic, but formed a part of the Austrian 
 Territory; of course, the Major had every facility from the 
 officers of government. The party often chartered a gon 
 dola for their excursions, but they did not like the slow-mov 
 ing, mournful looking vessel ; most of them being either 
 painted black, or lined with black cloth. The bridges are 
 of stone, and more numerous than the canals, there being 
 between four and five hundred of each. The largest of these 
 bridges is the Rialto ; some of these bridges are quite small, 
 raised from the walk only by a step or two. Miranda s 
 brother turning suddenly round to point out some new wonder 
 to her view, made a mis-step and fell, but instantly recover 
 ing himself, laughed off the -accident. The officer smiling 
 said, " it is fortunate for you that we are on a small bridge, 
 for the Venetians have a proverb " to fall on the Rialto, is 
 the worst of omens ; but probably that is only a glance at 
 traffic, and has a covert meaning ; but I forgat that I was 
 talking to those who came from where the people are above 
 all superstition." The good aunt looked confused, and Mi 
 randa let fall her veil, and the accident was not again men 
 tioned. 
 
 They then visited the office where thousands in a state 
 of abject want and wretchedness repair to see their ances 
 tor s names incribed in the golden book of nativity. This 
 republic shows us the mutability of all things, said the Aus 
 trian officer ; for more than thirteen hundred years this city 
 has stood, and for more than seven hundred of it was a prin 
 cess of the sea. Her armies and navies have made infidels 
 tremble, and filled Christendom with admiration ; crowned 
 heads were proud to rank among her nobles, and her aris 
 tocracy acknowledged no superiors on the globe ; she rais 
 ed her glory on trade, and fell by pride and folly. When 
 her commercial resources were dried up, she consoled her- 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 63 
 
 self with what she had been, and forgot what she was. As 
 her prosperity declined, her severity increased. In the name 
 of republican justice she committed acts of the vilest despo 
 tism ; with the imbecility of tattered poverty she assumed 
 the pride and meanness of liveried mercenaries. Once the 
 highborn fair of Venice could not bear the slightest breath 
 of suspicion, now no city in Italy is more lax in its morals. 
 The traffic now of Venice does not equal one of the smallest 
 seaports in the United States. These miserable Venetians 
 have some relief twice a year ; when the Christmas carni 
 val is celebrated, and on Ascension day,when they go through 
 the frivalous ceremony of marrying the Adriatic. Your Re 
 public, my dear friends, has not the same dangers to go 
 through ; there was a time when you were fast verging to 
 aristocracy, but the mass belonged to the middling classes 
 of society, and they kept down the proud spirits that would 
 tower above the rest, by the talismanic power of a ballot box. 
 This power may be abused ; watch it with great care ; but 
 let us leave this subject, or rather this side of it, and look at 
 something that Venice may boast of. We have seen almost 
 as many fine paintings here as in Rome ; her musicians are 
 second to none for delicacy and cultivation. If operas are 
 valuable, and they seem to amuse nations, she was the nur- 
 sing mother of them ; she was also a patron of the fine arts, 
 but she cannot put in any high claims for literary glory ; 
 but it should not be forgotten that the Aldi those illustrious 
 patrons of learning, had a press here as early as 1459." 
 The Austrian finding that he had been unconsciously making 
 a long speech, apologized to his friends, observing that when 
 on the subject of freedom, he was apt to be carried away, 
 and added with a smile, " it is seldom that one of his Imperi 
 al Majesty s officers has an opportunity of touching upon 
 such a subject." The prudent Americans thought their 
 
64 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 friend had somewhat forgot himself. He was overheard, 
 and the Austrian Intendent who was in his secret, cautioned 
 him the next day against such freedom of speech. 
 
 For several days they continued (after reading in the 
 morning some passages of the history of Venice when in her 
 glory) to pursue their observations. They were showed 
 the house where the Moor had told his wondrous tales to the 
 listening Desdemona. If they had some doubts of the cor- 
 rectnessofthe tradition, the house looked old enough to favor 
 the belief.. The Venetians do not like the tragedy of Othello. 
 They say that the story is impossible, that the daughter of 
 a Venetian senator should wed a Moor ; but they cannot 
 deny but thai there is something of the same nature in their 
 remote legends. The story is singular, but not impossible. 
 It is not often that a visage is seen in the mind but it some 
 times so happens. The moral of the tragedy is good : it 
 shows that unnatural and ill-sorted connections generally 
 end in distrust or doubt. 
 
 As they passed the Rialto, they discovered that the Jews 
 were obliged, even now, to wear a slip of red cloth in their 
 caps, to designate them from other nations, If the Jews were 
 obliged to do this now, in the humble state ^of this country, 
 what degradations did not they suffer in the proud state of 
 Venice ! Then, they were only permitted to exist there ; 
 now, they pay no small part of the taxes of the city. 
 " Oppression often increases as prosperity decreases ; but, 
 sufferance, as the badge of all our tribe" is nearly at an end 
 in most parts of the globe. 
 
 The house was pointed out to them where Pierre, Jaffier, 
 and the whole band of conspirators met for their arrange 
 ments and there can be no question about the place of their 
 execution. It is thought a stain almost, a crime to ap 
 proach this place of torture and death ; and the Venetians 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 65 
 
 now gaze with astonishment, and almost with horror, on 
 foreigners who visit this spot. Some of the magnificates 
 could not restrain their indignation when they saw the love 
 liest woman who ever trod the pavements of Venice one 
 who had attracted admiring crowds as she passed go fear 
 lessly where criminals had expiated their offences. As she 
 returned, they saw no trait of sanguinary vengeance in her 
 countenance : her face was as sweet as an angel s, and as 
 reflective as the waters which gave them the image of their 
 own peaceful dwellings. As Miranda walked the streets, 
 the sculptors followed her for a model for a new Venus. 
 On seeing her retire from this awful place so calm and 
 placid, they thought she must be some saint who had come 
 to take the sting from death changing their minds as the 
 people of Melita did, when St. Paul shook the viper from 
 his hand. 
 
 The American ship had now reached Venice, and the 
 party prepared to return to their native home ; but they 
 could not think of commencing their voyage until they had 
 made some return to several gentleman who had extended 
 to them the courtesies of the city. A large party was 
 invited to dine on board the ship. The entertainment was 
 sumptuous, and the Venetian gentlemen were astonished to 
 find such a banquet on ship-board. The captain of the Ame 
 rican ship was a good caterer, and the owner a munificent 
 merchant. To all the varieties that Venice could furnish, 
 there were added all the fruits of the Archipelago, with 
 preserved meats from the Western Continent, particularly 
 boned turkies a most delicious morsel which Venice had 
 never known in the days of her Ducal power. The wine, 
 which flowed in profusion, had been once round the globe, 
 and was succeeded by that which had twice and thrice 
 circumnavigated it. Water was offered them from every 
 
66 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 famous spring in the four quarters of the world and all, 
 they were told by the merchant in a very modest tone, were 
 brought by his own ships as they pursued their common 
 voyages. Venice imperial Venice never had had a ship 
 that had circumnavigated the globe, since her glory began. 
 " This from the New World !" said they "a world that did 
 not commence its historical existence until after Venice had 
 begun to decline !" The ladies retired to the city in a gon 
 dola, early in the evening, attended by the major and several 
 gentlemen, who returned to the ship and continued the feast 
 until a late hour. They had never seen an American 
 ship of such size and comfort before, and seemed now 
 unwilling to leave her. The Venetians and Americans parted 
 with the best feelings, and with reciprocal promises of remem 
 brance. The next day the ship sailed for Naples, and a 
 most delightful voyage they had. The Austrian officer was 
 still with them. They entered the Bay of Naples, which 
 has been celebrated for more than three thousand years by 
 all the master-poets of every age. It is in the form of a 
 bowl is thirty miles in circumference, and nearly eleven 
 in diameter. They were all filled with unbelief when the 
 merchant contended that it was not in beauty equal to the 
 harbor of New York. He described the waters below 
 and above the Narrows, and was eloquent upon the pic 
 turesque beauties of the East and North Rivers. The Aus 
 trian pored over the map with intense interest, listening to 
 the merchant s rhapsodies and then, with a half suppressed 
 sigh, expressed a wish to see the country ; but, recollecting 
 himself, he turned to the ladies, and began an animated 
 description of Naples a city older than Rome, and nearly 
 as renowned in history. Among other subjects of history, 
 he amused them with the rise, progress, and downfall of 
 Massaniello. 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 67 
 
 They found Naples a delightful city. If there were not 
 so many palaces as in Rome, the houses occupied by the 
 generality of the inhabitants were more comfortable ; the 
 streets, many of them, are wide, and kept cleaner than those 
 in Rome. The curiosities of Naples took up the time of the 
 travellers for several days, while the ship was taking in her 
 Leghorns, marbles, and silks. At an auction of pictures 
 a rare event in Naples for, whatever articles of this kind 
 there are for sale, are sent off to England, or France, or the 
 United States in this sale the major found several pictures 
 to his taste. He bought one for the matron. It was Dorcas 
 administering food and raiment to the suffering poor, and 
 medicine to the sick. The face of the philanthropist and 
 saint had a striking resemblance to the aunt of Miranda, 
 although it was taken three hundred years before she was 
 born. The picture presented to Miranda, was Venus yoking 
 her doves, and preparing her car for a flight to Cytheria. 
 It was a chaste and finished picture, which seemed to have 
 a tongue that spoke most eloquently ; and until the very 
 moment of bidding each other farewell, the matron expected 
 that the accomplished Austrian would propose himself for 
 her niece but he said not a word of love ; but, when he 
 saw the signal given for sailing, the major approached the 
 aunt, and taking her hand, raised it to his lips, and said, 
 " God bless you for many years !" and then turning to Mi- 
 randa with a pale countenance, and with more emotion than 
 was usual for him to exhibit, said, " I hope to meet you in 
 America : may every light of love and happiness shine on 
 your pathway of life !" and then, kissing her hand, let fall 
 a tear on it, and abruptly departed. He gazed from his 
 window on the gallant ship as she was conveying his friends 
 to their home. He felt that he had played his part well, 
 and seemed almost sorry that he had continued it so long, 
 
68 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 or had over assumed it. He again raised the glass to his eye, 
 and watched the ship until she sunk into the obscure distance. 
 He retired early, but found no repose. His dreams were 
 full of horror. In them he was walking the deck of the 
 ship with Miranda, in solemn discourse, when the sea-gulls 
 thickened around them, and uttered those cries which the 
 mariners say are the forerunners of a storm, often of ship, 
 wreck and death itself. Miranda was frightened : the storm 
 gathered fast : the ship, tempest-tost, was running on the 
 rocks : she struck : he held his beloved one in his arms, 
 and plunged with her into the waves to reach the shore 
 and at this moment awoke, and found it was a dream. The 
 next day the major left Naples for Rome not caring much 
 which way he wandered. The ruins of cities no longer 
 attracted his attention ; and even the sight of illumined 
 manuscripts caught his eye only for a moment. The only 
 scintillation of pleasure he found, was in studying the 
 Italian tongue, and in reading the works of Petrarch in 
 the original language. His mind was so gloomy, that he 
 preferred the ^legy upon Laura to all the sonnets of the 
 lover. He made several translations of this exquisite pro 
 duction, which had been written in all the meltings of 
 love purified, and consecrated by the death of the object. 
 Looking at his own translations, he would turn to those made 
 by Sir William Jones, who was formed by nature and edu 
 cation, and taste, to transfer the beauties of one language to 
 another, in all the plaintive melodies of love. The major 
 gave various versions to that passage from the elegy which 
 Sir William Jones has rendered in the English language 
 as follows : 
 
 "Hard fate of man, on whom the heavens bestow 
 A drop of pleasure for a sea of wo ! 
 Ah ! life of care, in fears or hopes consum d ! 
 Vain hopes, that wither ere they well have bloom d ! 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 69 
 
 How oft, emerging from the shades of night, 
 Laughs the gay morn, and spreads a purple light ! 
 But soon the gathering clouds o ershade the skies 
 Red lightnings play and thundering storms arise ! 
 How oft a day, that fair and rnild appears, 
 Grows dark with fate, and mars the toil of years !" 
 
 This part of the elegy was selected as suited to his own 
 case for the elegy contains verses of greater beauty than 
 these. The address of the shade of Laura is full of sur 
 passing tenderness. 
 
 The Cardinal Gonzalvi was truly the friend of the major, 
 and, finding out his history, advised him to throw aside the 
 effeminate Petrarch, and seize more epic matter. " To 
 divert your mind for the present," said this great dignitary 
 of the church, " take the Jewish scriptures in your hand, 
 and travel through Palestine, and see how the prophecies 
 have been fulfilled. It is a subject worthy of a philosopher 
 and a poet, as well as of a Christian. Pass into Egypt : 
 measure the pyramids open the catacombs, and read the 
 hieroglyphics and not whine in the shade, in the prime of 
 manhood, over a woman s love. Nothing so idle and in 
 glorious as to waste a life that might be useful to mankind, 
 in moaning over a disappointment of the heart. One of your 
 own poets I beg pardon," said the cardinal, " for I cannot 
 separate the American from the English nation has ex 
 pressed himself better on this subject than any poet or phi 
 losopher, ancient or modern, I have ever known : 
 
 But, can the noble mind for ever brood 
 (The willing victim of a weary mood) 
 On heartless cares that squander life away, 
 And cloud young Genius bright ning into day? 
 Shame to the coward thought, that e er betray d 
 The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade ! 
 If Hope s creative spirit cannot raise 
 One trophy sacred to thy future days, 
 Scorn the dull crowd that haunt the gloomy shrin 
 Of hapless love, to murmur and repine T " 
 F 
 
70 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 In a few days the lover set out upon his journey. He 
 first visited the Islands of the Archipelago. He then visited 
 Athens. He viewed all the curiosities of the country which, 
 in its present form, was nothing. Athens was only a village ; 
 but, however disappointed at this, he was determined to call 
 up the history of past ages. It was a mighty and a mourn 
 ful task but he could not leave Athens until it was per 
 formed. Who could visit Mar s Hill without thinking of 
 the Areopagi, and all the wise decisions of that wonderful 
 judicial body ? Here, too, he looked down on the forum, 
 where the great orators flourished. In one of those delight 
 ful nights which are found in that climate, he awoke in the 
 memory of history, the songs of Sappho the thunders of 
 Demosthenes and the sweet outpourings of Plato. The 
 reign of despotism was now resting on the land ; but the 
 resentment of oppressed pride and indignant resolution seem- 
 ed at that hour kindling up among them, and would soon be 
 bursting into a flame. It was indeed painful to see the calm 
 of despotism reigning over this country of ultra freedom and 
 unbounded renown. The air was as clear as ever breathed 
 around the head of Socrates, when he all night long gazed 
 on the heavens and drew inspirations from the light which 
 poured upon his head : but there was no Socrates here now, 
 nor even an Alcibiades, to delight the people with splendor, 
 or amuse them with his eccentricities. 
 
 The history of Athens was more than her antiquities. 
 Some parts of the Parthenon remained ; but every wealthy 
 depredator was allowed to plunder, as he could pay. If, 
 now and then, an old Greek felt the insult, the Turks (their 
 masters) had the pay, and all were silent. The Illysus, 
 which had so often flowed in song, or in the mind of the 
 classic traveller, he found a little, dry, rocky chasm, in 
 which it was difficult to get water enough to slake his thirst. 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 71 
 
 Still, he found there was a strong presentiment prevailing, 
 that Greece would soon be free. The Greeks were fully 
 impressed with the sentiment, that Christendom would not 
 much longer suffer them to be trampled upon by Moslem 
 power. There was a settled melancholy in the countenances 
 of the people of Athens, which spoke a volume of sufferings. 
 From this land of story he passed to Constantinople, to 
 hail the minarets and towers of that memorable city. 
 Here he expected to find a world of wonders in things that 
 exist, and a greater one in the memory of the things that 
 have passed. Could this dull city be the once famous house 
 of wisdom, from which fled the scholars who enlightened all 
 Europe in the fifteenth century 1 But, as he examined the 
 city, he found more to attract attention than he first thought 
 there was. The pure water which every family has at the 
 public expense, was no small affair and the inhabitants 
 were better educated than he supposed they were. Most 
 of the Turks could read the Koran, and many of them were 
 good readers ; but, after all, he could not see any thing of 
 liberty, though all seemed to do as they chose. There is 
 a dreadful stillness in the air in which despotism reigns, 
 which seems to throw a sad palsy over human actions. He 
 could not conveniently take the rout marked out to him by 
 Gonsalvi, as some disturbances were known to exist in 
 Egypt and therefore he had taken this course. After 
 amusing himself in angling in the Bosphorus, and eating 
 some of the delicious fish Lucullus loved so well, he 
 directed his course to Moskow. He was delighted with this 
 wonder of the world : he considered it a sort of union of the 
 natural luxuries of the East, and the artificial comforts of 
 the North. The gardens abounded with flowers and fruits 
 in great profusion, and the houses were prepared to keep off 
 every blast of winter. 
 
72 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 If the traveller was astonished at Russia, he was more 
 surprised and delighted with Persia. From what he eould 
 understand and he had access to the learned they were a 
 well-educated people. The females were well read in the 
 history and tales of the country, and many of them had 
 attained the art of an elegant chirography. This branch of 
 education was in a higher state, he found, than in any coun 
 try he ever visited. Persia is the garden of the world and 
 the major being an agriculturist, florist, and deeply skilled 
 in engrafting, budding, and all the mysteries of Pomona, took 
 great delight in this branch of study. Soon as the Prince 
 of Persia found that he was a lover of nature, and devoted 
 to flowers and fruits, he gave orders for the opening all the 
 royal gardens to the stranger, and ordered all his gardeners 
 and botanists to offer to him every assistance in their power. 
 Through the medium of the French and Latin languages 
 they carried on a free intercourse. Nature had done much 
 for the growth of all sorts of vegetables, flowers, and forest 
 trees ; but, neither in Italy, in Naples, Florence, or Rome* 
 had he ever seen such fine gardens, as in Persia. The 
 muse of the country had consecrated the different flowers 
 with some sweet touch of poetry, and had embalmed 
 many of the beautiful productions of nature, which Flora 
 herself had lost. The mandrake here had now the same 
 cabalistic character which it bore in the days of the patriarch, 
 and was used now as Rachel considered it in the primitive 
 ages. The language of flowers was well understood, and 
 even now used in love. The major amused himself in this 
 diversion, and some of his female friends thought that he was 
 practising in the science not learning. The nymphse of 
 Persia he found larger than those of the ponds of his native 
 land, and of a higher fragrance. He amused himself every 
 morning in collecting them from their beds, and examining 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 73 
 
 the different kinds ; and he began seriously to doubt if they 
 were indigenous in his native land but had, in the course 
 of three thousand years, travelled from Persia with the peach, 
 the apricot, the pink, and the melon, from country to coun 
 try, through Europe, until they crossed the Atlantic with 
 the early colonists of America. In his conversations with 
 the great gardeners, he found they had not as yet cultivated 
 the asparagus or the potatoe and he put them in the way to 
 get them at once. He gave them a history of the articles, 
 and astonished them by conjecturing the quantity of the 
 latter article yearly raised in the United States, for the 
 use of man, and the cattle and swine. All these Asiatic 
 countries have a dislike to swine from the circumstance 
 that such obese animals are unwholesome in a warm cli 
 mate. He selected as many sorts of flower seeds as he 
 had not seen in any other country, and had them carefully 
 preserved. 
 
 On returning to Constantinople, he found an American 
 vessel sailing for Naples. He embarked for that city, which 
 he reached in safety. Here he found several letters from 
 England. His American friends had heard nothing from 
 him, and knew not where he was, until after his departure 
 to- the Holy Land. At Naples, an American ship-master 
 gave him some papers from his native State which he 
 packed up, to read more at leisure when he reached Rome. 
 
 One morning before his usual time to take a walk, he 
 took up the Centinal, a paper of his native state, his eye fell 
 on an obituary notice of Miranda Falmouth. The paper fell 
 from his hands, and it was many hours before he ventured to- 
 take another look at it ; when he made an effort to read the 
 article, it stated, that she had died of a rapid consumption, 
 arising from a cold caught in a storm at sea, as she was ap 
 proaching the American coast. The writer spoke of hey 
 
 F 2 
 
74 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 beauty and elegance, and of her high mindedness and moral 
 worth ; stated that she bore her sickness with Christian forti 
 tude, expressing no anxiety for life, no regrets at her prema 
 ture death, which she felt was near, several weeks previous 
 to her death. The writer glanced at some affair of the 
 heart, but so obscenely that no stranger could conjecture the 
 meaning of the sentence. In a paper of the same file, he 
 found a partial account of his own wanderings. It must have 
 been from Clem, who had permission to return to the United 
 States, when the Major left Rome to go on his travels. A 
 fever and delirium followed this shock, from which he slowly 
 recovered, under the care of the best physicians ; the medi 
 cal friends of the Cardinal were in attendance ; amusement 
 rather than medicine was resorted to for his recovery. The 
 softest music was heard from a distant room, and the finest 
 flowers were sent him glistening with morning dew. Ex 
 quisite paintings were brought for nim to examine. The 
 mind of the sufferer became tranquil, and his fever passed 
 away. As he was recovering, he received a package of 
 letters from a friend in the United States, addressed to Major 
 Carter ; they had been by some accident long in coming j 
 the writer had been made acquainted with his ad ventures by 
 Clem. He also added that Miranda had been informed of 
 all the circumstances of his wanderings from the same source, 
 and found that her Austrian admirer was her discarded lover 
 Thomas C. Hampton. She was ill when Clern. arrived but 
 she sent for him ; she made him recount minutely all the 
 causes of the assumption of the Austrian uniform, dark wig, 
 a nd colored whiskers. From day to day, Clem, continued 
 the narrative, and she was amused, and a slight angelic smile 
 at times, played around her face, and the faithful servant 
 seemed to think that he was engaged in the holy work of 
 showing his master s heart. When he left the room, he 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 75 
 
 thought that the Major might now come back again, for he 
 was quite sure that the young lady would not drive him 
 away again. It did escape from her lips, to the ear of a 
 female friend, while Clem, was telling his long story, "if he 
 were to assume as many forms as Proteus, he would win my 
 heart in every one of them." The Major s friend conjured 
 him to hasten home to secure his own happiness, and that of 
 his friends ; but added that it was his duty to state, that the 
 physicians thought Miranda very sick. 
 
 Comparing the date of the letters with that of the notice of 
 Miranda s death, he found she had lived three months after 
 this opinion was given. " She is dead," said the broken 
 hearted lover, " and died without being another s." It may 
 be called selfish, it is selfish, to draw any consolation from 
 thinking that that which heaven has denied us, was never 
 possessed by another ; but, nevertheless, it is natural to 
 every mind, unless sublimated by the graces of an ardent 
 piety. 
 
 The Major now left his room with composure, and sought 
 in all the studies of the artists for a model of a monument to 
 Miranda. At length he found one to suit him, it was the 
 monument Octavia erected to the memory of her daughter. 
 On it was sculptured, Grief attempting to preserve a lilly, by 
 pressing it between the leaves of a manuscript, on which His 
 tory was inscribing the passing events of the world. He 
 watched the artist in every stage of the work, he was the 
 immortal Canova. This transcendant genius had read the 
 Major s whole soul, and felt a strong sympathy for him, 
 for he too had suffered in his youth, from the pangs of love, 
 which was disturbed in its course by the merciless hand of 
 aristocratic pride. On the disappointment he redoubles his 
 assiduity to his profession, and made himself the master sculp 
 tor of the world. Enamored witJi the beauties of nature, it 
 
76 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 carried him directly to nature s God, and he was as remark 
 able for his piety as for his genius. 
 
 Only one word was found on the monument, it was MI 
 RANDA. When the artist had given the last touch to his 
 work, the traveller prepared to return home with his charge, 
 now dearer to him than all living things. In sixty days he 
 reached the iron-bound coast of New-England ; the monu 
 ment was placed in a cemetary long since thickly peopled 
 with the congregation of the dead. It had been a favorite 
 walk of Miranda, and sometimes they had mused over the 
 monuments together. It may seem singular to those who 
 think but little about the sources of their pains and pleasures 
 that a grave-yard should be a lover s walk ; but it is often 
 made such. There is something of a melancholy tinge in 
 pure affection, which many have felt, but cannot describe ; 
 even if the current runs smoothly. This melancholy is per 
 haps the offspring of that solemn certainty of a coming sep 
 aration by death, while the uncertainty of the world beyond 
 the grave comes sweeping over the mind, and crowds it with 
 hopes and fears so intensely, that we loose that calmness and 
 self-possession which are necessary in making a philosophi 
 cal analysis of our feelings. Our unwillingness to be for 
 gotten, is plainly felt in the pleasure we derive in perusing 
 the epitaphs of others. 
 
 The former friends of Major Hampton now gathered 
 around him, and urged him to political life ; they offered 
 him a seat in the State Legislature, but he would not listen 
 to these proposals. He reasoned incorrectly; the path way 
 of politics is the grave of love, and almost every affection. If 
 he wished to have been cured, he should have entered in the 
 bustle of political life. For some months he seemed to find 
 relief in making, returning, and receiving social visits, and 
 in looking over the record of events- that had transpired 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 77 
 
 since his departure ; but still, there was a sickness at his 
 heart, which, if some friend did not come in, he attempted 
 to remove by an extra glass of Madeira when the decanter 
 grew low, he had it replenished. He was a man of leisure, 
 and in this busy community, such a one has many heavy 
 hours on his hands, which he could not fill up with subjects 
 of taste or amusement. The Major disliked fishing or shoot 
 ing, and from early life had taken up a fixed determination 
 against all games of chance. Conversation was his passion ; 
 but this of a high intellectual order was, even in the enlight 
 ened society in which he lived, difficult, at all times to obtain. 
 There are but few, in any society, who are sufficiently afflu 
 ent in intellectual wealth, to pour th eir riches in golden 
 showers of eloquence so lavishly as Hampton wished to en 
 joy. A lover of conversation, next to an eloquent talker, 
 loves a patient listener. If he could not find a talker, he 
 looked after a listener, and with him he was satisfied. He 
 loved admiration, whether expressed in looks or words. His 
 table was always hospitable, and many gentlemen of high 
 standing were found there ; but when he could not obtain 
 them, he took those of inferior grades, and sometimes those 
 whose characters he had not carefully inspected ; and if, 
 perchance, some one of his best friends stepped in, he was 
 offended by finding himself in company with those whom he 
 did not wish to associate with. As the better sort drew off, 
 the other associates increased, until he was told that many 
 of his best friends refused to come to his table, because they 
 did not know who might be there. This chafed him, and 
 he would sometimes complain most bitterly of neglect. Such 
 was the urbanity of his manners, and munificence of his 
 charities, that the public strove to put the best construction 
 they could upon his conduct. After it was found he was 
 sinking into habits of great indulgence, many efforts were 
 
78 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 made to redeem him. Some of his old friends would pro 
 pose short excusions into the country, as they knew that he 
 was fond of riding, and drank the best of liquors, and could 
 drink no others, they continued to pass through obscure 
 towns, where nothing but the vilest liquors could be obtain 
 ed, in order to cure him of the habit ; but it was of no avail, 
 for when he reached a place where the luxuries of life 
 abounded, he amply made up for his privations. It was 
 seen by every one that his nerves were now shattered, and 
 that his mind had lost some of its buoyancy, if not its strength. 
 He was unwilling to sleep in a room alone, and often urged 
 his travelling companion to share his apartment with him. 
 At times he would start from his slumbers in the dead of 
 night, the cold sweat standing on his brow, and every limb 
 trembling with fear. At such moments he would relate the 
 night-mare-dreams of his soul. Sometimes he was quarrel 
 ling with the shade of his father, and uttering blasphemy 
 before his sainted mother, or he was driven to the worst of 
 crimes. Sometimes he almost believed he had perpetrated 
 some horrid deed, and would call on his friends to protect 
 him. At other times he was floating down the dance with 
 some smiling beauty, radientin all her charms ; and instant 
 ly she would turn to a death s head, and grin in his face, 
 whilst her lovely form would become a heap of dust and 
 ashes at his feet. Not unfrequently he was hurled by 
 countless furies from a lofty precipice, or bidden to take a 
 fearful leap over some yawning chasm. The grave-yard, 
 the charnel house, the shrouded corse, would haunt his eye, 
 and the shrieks of those in torments, torture his ear. 
 
 Even after he had spoken, seemingly awake, awful visions 
 would swim before his eyes. In this state of mind he would 
 drink large quantities of brandy to steep his senses in obliv 
 ion. This at some times, no doubt, gave him relief, but in 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 79 
 
 the end was sure to increase the evil. This intemperance 
 was not only injurious to his health of body and mind, but 
 had also a deleterious effect on his affections. His memory 
 suffered a sad decay, and he lost all interest in books, except 
 those of course humor, and vulgar satire. Over such pro 
 ductions he revelled, and shook his sides with a half idiot 
 laugh. The things he drew from his memory, resembled 
 the threads and patches of a once splendid wardrobe, mouldy 
 by damps, and eaten by moths, good for nothing but to show 
 that it had once been rich, and now mocked its possessor. 
 He who was once the soul of honor, who would not have 
 suffered a shade to sully the fair fame of an absent friend, 
 would now sit whole hours in listening to slanders which he 
 knew to be false. Perhaps this arose from his wish to bring 
 others to his own level. He became suspicious of all his 
 former friends, and imagined that they all had conspired 
 against him. Knowing his change of disposition and his 
 sad habits, his former acquaintances no doubt, did shun him 
 whenever they could ; but if he met one of them accidental 
 ly, he would speak of his situation with the most bitter an 
 guish ; when any one ventured 10 suggest a reformation, he 
 would say with a sigh, " it is too late." 
 
 Man, but a rush against Othello s breast, 
 And he retires. 
 
 He had for several years deserted his own house, and 
 taking his chaise, rode from town to town, spending a short 
 time in each place ; the length of his visit depending very 
 much on the temper and forbearance of his landlord. New 
 faces and scenery gave him some slight relief, but he never 
 thought of a permanent cure. The sight of a pleasant stream, 
 as he rode along, would induce him to stop and bathe his 
 burning temples, which would bring his mind to some natural 
 
80 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 tone again ; but the waters of the brook or the breeze of 
 the hill, were only momentary medicines for his incurable 
 diseases of mind and body. Such, however, was the strength 
 of his constitution, that, to the astonishment of every one, he 
 lived more than seven years in this state of inebriation. 
 Towards the last of his days, he became exceedingly appre 
 hensive of spontaneous combustion, and would not suffer a 
 candle or lamp to be brought near him. Some of the wretch 
 es who were his companions, would throw him into agonies 
 for their amusement, by alluding to some wonderful case of 
 spontaneous combustion. This once clear-headed and firm 
 philosopher, became miserably superstitious. He heard 
 death ticks in his bed at midnight, and if a grass-hopper 
 at noon day snapped his wings he thought it the prognostic 
 of his funeral knell ; the voice of a tree-toad seemed a har 
 binger of mishap, and the howl of a dog was to him terrific. 
 In the autumn and winter evenings he would crouch near 
 the fire to hear the foolish tales of witches, and their won 
 derful foats, in olden times ; and often these ridiculous sto 
 ries would blanch that cheek, which had kept its color amid 
 the heat of battle, when dashing through the hostile squad 
 rons. When the morning sun arose he felt ashamed of his 
 fears, and would attempt to laugh off his credulity, with 
 the young folks who had listened with him to the stories ; 
 but it would not do, the impressions they received in the 
 evening, of his belief in these supernatural agencies, were 
 not to be removed by a facetious tale told in the morning, 
 evidently from mortification at having exposed himself. 
 Fear is often a creature of a diseased mind and body. If in 
 temperance sometimes produces rash acts, it more common 
 ly produces mental and corporal imbecility. Had Alex 
 ander of Macedon been as many years a drunkard, he 
 would have been as cowardly. Intemperance is a monster 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 81 
 
 that first came to soothe, then to violate its victim ; an then 
 to deliver him to scorn, and to infamy, and afterwards to 
 set malevolence to write his epitaph. 
 
 The seventh dreary year had passed away since Major 
 Hampton had been, in a good measure, driven from the 
 abodes of men ; and spring had arrived in all her loveliness, 
 filling the fields with flowers, and the air with perfumes, ere 
 he ventured to appear abroad to inhale an invigorating 
 breath. At this time an old friend, who had never entirely 
 given him up, sent word that she should be happy to se^him 
 either -in their native town or elsewhere be would name. 
 In this good woman s and relatives breast, there lingered a 
 hope that she could save him, if she could prevail upon him 
 to make her house his place of abode. He had lived with 
 her when he was young, and she had then greit influence 
 over him. Her letter was pressing, and affectionate, and it 
 touched his heart more than any thing had done for a long 
 time. He braced himself up for this short visit, and return 
 ed an answer that he would be with her in a few days. He 
 refrained for several days from indulging in his usual pota 
 tions ; took under the direction of his physician, warm and 
 cold baths, and fed frequently on broth, and drank arrow 
 root. He dressed himself with great care, and his physician 
 began to think that some miraculous change was to be ef 
 fected. On a fine morning in June he stepped into his chaise 
 to commence hisshort journey. Ele shook hands with those 
 around him, and bade t lem adieu with the most natural smile 
 his face had worn for years ; some of his friends had advis 
 ed him to take a driver ; this he declined, and proceeded on 
 his way alone. The horse was high spirited, and had been 
 but litllo used for months. In descending a hill the speed 
 of IT S horse increased, and in striving hard to stop him he 
 fainted, and was thrown with great violence to the ground. 
 
 G 
 
82 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 His head struck on the hard gravel of a turnpike road, and 
 so severely injured the vertebrae of his neck that he died in 
 thirty-six hours after the accident. The best surgical skill 
 was called to his aid, but he was beyond surgery. Death 
 had thrown his dart at him, in the only moment that he had 
 seen his victim entirely sober for many years. It was fierce 
 ly, but compassionately done. His corpse was brought to his 
 native town to receive the funeral obsequies. His death 
 lost as he was, spread a gloom over the city. He had been 
 a great favorite, and each one said with a sigh, " he was an 
 enemy only to himself." This observation is often made in 
 kindness, but it is absolutely untrue. He who is an enemy 
 to himself, is, by his baleful example, and by the loss of him 
 self as a member of that community, which by his exertions 
 and talents he might have benefitted and adorned, an enemy 
 to society. 
 
 The funeral of Thomas C. Hampton, Esq. was numerous 
 ly attended by a portion of all classes of people in the town. 
 Men of high standing, of his own age, bore his pall. The 
 connections were but few, but the mourners were numerous. 
 It was known that he had left large legacies for charitable 
 purposes. Among other bequests, was one for the mainte 
 nance of a High School for Females. The young ladies of 
 this, and other schools, were invited to attend his funeral. 
 They formed a long procession, each dressed in white, carry 
 ing a bunch of flowers in their hands. The hearse reach 
 ed the cemetary ; the grave being near one of the gates of 
 the city of the dead. The coffin shining with armorial bear 
 ings, emblazoned in pictures of silver, was lowered into the 
 grave, and the sexton, according to custom, threw a few 
 shovels full of gravel and stones upon it, Good God ! how 
 distressing is that sound ! The procession then passed on, 
 and each one looking into the narrow house appointed for all 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 83 
 
 the living, breathed a deep sigh over the ashes of a man 
 born with talents to advance, and to illumine society. One 
 educated in the first schools of the age ; who gave promises 
 which he never fulfilled, and awakened hopes that were 
 never realized. 
 
 The procession of the maidens, passing the new made 
 grave, repaired to the monument of Miranda, and standing 
 around it, sung a solemn dirge, written by one of her female 
 friends, to her memory. The flowers were then strewed 
 on the ground, and over the monument, and they proceeded 
 in silence to leave the cemetary at another gate. 
 
 While the young ladies were performing these ceremo 
 nies, the great mass of the spectators were as motionless and 
 silent as those beneath their feet. The soldiers, for the Ma 
 jor was buried with military honors, stood with arms rever 
 sed until the close of the dirge, and the procession of females 
 was out of sight, they then paid the usual honor to a brave 
 man, who once had taught them the art of war. 
 
 I had been his bosom friend, but we had been estranged 
 for several years ; for there is nothing more difficult to bear 
 than the waywardness and caprices of an inebriate man, who 
 expects every thing from friendship, and will not make one 
 sacrifice himself. We had been more than common friends. 
 We had travelled long journeys, and spent Attic nights to 
 gether. We had together been on more than Alpine heights 
 and seen the gates of the morning open, and the glorious sun 
 shine from the bosom of the Atlantic wave. From the same 
 hights we had with tiles e opic aid watched the changes of 
 the moon, and marked the courses of the stars, and devoutly 
 thought that we saw in the heavens, the God who made 
 them. We had together raked the ashes in the urns of de 
 parted ages, for gems which might be found there ; and by 
 the power which God has given to the living over the dead 
 
84 THE INTEMPERATE. 
 
 we called up the shades of the prophets of old to explain 
 their records; and the historians, orators, and statesmen, 
 to throw light on the pathway of Time. From the twilight 
 of the past, we looked forward to the coming years. The 
 remembrance of these hours at one moment, froze my soul 
 to stone, and then melted it like wax before the sun. In 
 this agony from my 
 
 " Subdued eyes, 
 
 Albeit unused to the melting mood; 
 Drop d tears as fast as the Arabian trees 
 Their medicinal gum." 
 
 It was not so much that one of my earliest friends was dead ; 
 this is a common evil ; but in the cause of his death there was 
 a delirious anguish that nothing could assuage. He had 
 none of those excuses so often given for the follies and crimes 
 of intemperance. Poverty, with her numerous brood of 
 evils, never entered his doors. No harpy of the law, had 
 ever torn the pillow from under the head of the partner of 
 his bosom. No child had cried to him in vain for bread. 
 No, his cradle was hung on golden hinges, and canopied 
 with silk ; and even his hearse was ornamented with the 
 nodding plumes of hereditary pride. When he found him- 
 self hastening to the precipice which overhung the gulf of 
 perdition, he made no struggle to arrest his fall ; but slid 
 onward as one under the unfluence of the Circean cup, still 
 conscious of the certainty of destruction. I know not how 
 long I might have remained in painful contemplation by the 
 grave of my once loved friend, if I had not been reminded 
 by t those artists of the spade and mattox, and the professors 
 of the rites of the sepulchre, that their work was finished, 
 and the gates of the cemetary would soon be closed, and 
 should be left in darkness with the dead. 
 
THE INTEMPERATE. 85 
 
 It was many weeks before I recovered from the shock in 
 flicted by this scene, and many years elapsed before I ven 
 tured to record this melancholy tale ; and it was written at 
 last with a bleeding heart, and a reluctant hand, sustained 
 only by a sense of duty. 
 
THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 
 
 " Go, and fathom the doep fountains of your own mind, and find the GOD 
 who poured them forth. Follow next the illumined vapors of another s reason : 
 but take the divinity that stirs within you, to select the best guides and chouse 
 the safest paths." 
 
 IN a new town in the interior of our country, which was 
 in a prosperous state, and where all ages attended church 
 every Sabbath, rain or shine, there lived a family by the 
 name of THORNTON. The head of the family had been a 
 seafaring man, and had taken a decided part in the Revo 
 lutionary conflict, both by sea and land ; but, having a large 
 family of sons, he had come into the country to make them 
 farmers, and to keep them f;om following his own profession, 
 in. which he had been distinguished, but did not love. He 
 was anxious to give his children a good education but this 
 was na easy affair in a thinly settled country. His wife 
 was a woman of superior mind and great moral virtue. The 
 husband was impetuous arid irascible, but of elevated and 
 refined feelings. The captain had often undertaken to in 
 struct his children, but had not patience enough to sustain the 
 task for any length of time. He had made some attempts 
 to get a school-master in his family but this was no easy 
 matter, as his boys were much more advanced in their studies 
 than most other children in the interior : but, a lucky chance 
 soon procured for his family a teacher of the right stamp* 
 
83 THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 
 
 George Thornton, the fifth son, then just past his twelfth 
 year, on a Sunday noon was eating his dinner in the church 
 yard, (as was the custom with boys who had come several 
 miles in the morning to meeting,) under the shade of some 
 flourishing tree, when an aged man, with a miserable-looking 
 horse, dismounted in the highway, and, opening the gate of 
 the yard, led in his pony, to feed upon the grass growing 
 most luxuriantly over the graves of the primitive fathers 
 of the village. The lad gazed on the venerable-looking 
 stranger, and the thought struck him that the rider might 
 be as hungry as the horse : he approached the gentleman, 
 (seated in the shade of a neighboring tree,) and proffered 
 a part of his cold roasted chicken and broiled sausages. It 
 was done with so much sincerity, that the stranger thanked 
 the lad, and freely partook of his fare. The old man ques 
 tioned him on the number and grades of the schools in the 
 town. His answers surprised the stranger. The one was 
 minute in his inquiries, and the other as accurate as he was 
 able to be in his answers. The language of the old man 
 was so pure and elegant, that the lad thought he had found 
 the greatest scholar of the age and he was not far from, 
 being right in this conjecture. The conversation closed 
 between them, as the people hastened into church : the lad, 
 having invited the stranger to visit his father s house, four 
 miles distant, and getting the old man s promise that he 
 would be there to tea, he left him, as he would not accept 
 of an invitation to hear the sermon. This promise was- 
 fulfilled : the lad having made his mother acquainted with 
 the interview before they left the church, the family were 
 prepared to receive the stranger. The boys saw him 
 coming on his Rozinante, and were ready to smile, and 
 said to each other, " This is one of our George s adven 
 tures." George stood at the gute, ready to receive his- 
 
THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 89 
 
 guest. As he approached the house, the lad said to the 
 stranger, "By what name, sir, shall 1 introduce you to my 
 mother ?" " My name you may say is Donald McDonald, 
 from Scotland." This was sufficient : by that name he 
 was introduced to Mrs. Thornton and the young gentlemen, 
 and to Captain Thornton when he came home : he had taken 
 a circuitous route from church, to see a sick friend. As 
 soon as George had made his new friend acquainted with 
 the family, he looked after Dobbin, and, with rather ;t frolic 
 some cast of the eye, he enquired of the stranger if his horse 
 was breechy ; if he was, he would put him into the stable 
 if not, into the pasture. " Let him go into the pasture," 
 said the old gentleman ; " he is sober, and has been cured 
 long since of all propensity to dash over brooks or fences." 
 On his return from the pasture, George found his father and 
 the stranger in earnest conversation upon Edinburgh which 
 city had been visited by the captain, in some of his voy 
 ages. The powers of the stranger seemed every moment 
 to develope themselves to the delight of the family. His 
 acquaintance with every period of history was to the young 
 gentlemen quite astonishing ; and of this, they were in some 
 respects good judges. George did not dare, in presence of 
 his mother, mention the classics ; she had so often cautioned 
 him not to become too proud on account of his progress in 
 them ; but, in a short walk with the stranger in the gray of 
 the evening, he ventured to make some allusion to a line in 
 Virgil : this was caught by tho scholar with enthusiasm, 
 and he quoted the following line in the Bucalies, and poured 
 out his remarks as if he had found a pupil. The next morn- 
 ing, Captain Thornton for he was a direct business man 
 at the request of his wife and children, invited Mr. McDonald 
 to spend some time with them, to superintend the education 
 of his children making him such an offer for compensation 
 
90 THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 
 
 as he could afford. This was readily accepted : all was 
 arranged and Donald McDonald entered on his duties. 
 The young gentlemen called him " Professor" as the 
 shortest and most respectful title they could think of. The 
 pupils were required to work on the farm four hours a day, 
 and the remainder of the time they could devote to the 
 school. The professor was full of high spirits, and began 
 with his pupils on a new system. They were his enthu 
 siastic admirers, and did every thing to make him happy. 
 Many of his lessons were given in the pasture grounds or 
 in the woods. He gave practical lessons in surveying, 
 without any parade. One of the boys was quite an inge 
 nious mechanic and the professor and this pupil, with the 
 assistance of the neighboring blacksmith and joiner, manu 
 facture^ a pretty good chemical apparatus, and the professor 
 gave lessons whenever he could get materials for his experi 
 ments. When the labors of the day were over, and on the 
 coming on of twilight, then commenced the examination of 
 the pupils in history and biography for the teacher insisted 
 that these branches were necessarily to be studied together. 
 They commenced on Greek history, from the introduction 
 of letters by Cadmus, and came down to the present time 
 going back to Egypt and the far East, whence it was neces 
 sary to trace the origin of customs or languages. The 
 portion of history next to be discussed was then marked, 
 in order that his pupils should be in some measure prepared. 
 The great eras were dwelt upon with care, and the general 
 state of the world at those periods given. Battles, merely 
 as such, were of no great account in the professor s mind, 
 and were not dwelt upon, unless they had produced a great 
 effect on the world. Marathon, Salamis, and Platea which 
 saved the liberties of Greece, that she might become the 
 instructor of nations were read with enthusiasm, and every 
 
THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 91 
 
 distinguished person who fought in them traced out with 
 admiration. High above the rest would he place him who 
 had fought in all three battles the father of tragedy, the 
 mighty ^Eschylus ; and, while he rushed into the midst of 
 the fight, he thundered out the epic lines of the bard, as if 
 his mantle had fa lan on him. From age to age would he 
 pass, pouring out the tide of eloquence. It was readily to 
 be seen that he was a lover of liberty and, from what he 
 would necessarily let fall, it was thought by his pupils, and 
 particularly by their sagacious mother, that he must have 
 suffered deeply in the cause of freedom ; but, no enquiiies 
 were ever pushed every one around him had so high a 
 respect for his feelings. It was often remarked, that while 
 on English history, he avoided saying any thing of the 
 administration of the great man then at the helm of state in 
 Great Britain William Pitt, although Captain Thornton 
 would sometimes praise him as a man of exalted talents. 
 Of the French Revolution he never spoke. It was be 
 lieved that circumstances connected with that event were 
 heavy on his mind. 
 
 In a cool afternoon he would take his pupils into the fields 
 and woods to botanize beginning his peripatetic lecture on 
 the dandelion, or some other common flower, and ending on 
 some majestic tree of the forest. He taught his pupils to 
 engraft and to bud, and led them at once into the art and 
 science of both the garden and the field. He laid it down 
 as a fundamental rule in the education of a young American 
 gentleman, that he should ba thoroughly acquainted with 
 the history of his own country ; and for this purpose he 
 studied American history again himself, in order that he 
 might show the wonderful birth and growth of the country. 
 He expatiated up:m the state of Christendom at the time the 
 early settlements were made ; analyzed the moral and men. 
 
92 THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 
 
 tal character of the adventurers, and showed the natural 
 advancement of their prosperity, from the means they pos 
 sessed and the course they pursued. Their virtues, their 
 errors, and mistakes, were all pointed out with discrimi 
 nation and candor. He would at times astonish Captain 
 Thornton, by correcting some error in the statement given 
 by historians of certain events which that officer had a perfect 
 knowledge of, being himself engaged in the affair. The 
 civil as well as political history of the United States was 
 familiar to him as that of antiquity, in which he was quite 
 at home. To give strength and tone to voice, he made his 
 pupils declaim in the pastures and in the woods. He pre 
 ferred to have his scholars select translations from Demos, 
 thenes for declamation, rather than from Cicero, while they 
 were more fond of the latter. He laid it down as a rule, 
 that a member of a republic should be instructed to use, as 
 occasion might require, his tongue his pen or sword 
 but, above all, his tongue, for it takes the longer discipline 
 to make that member do its duty than the others. Thus, 
 the circle was going on harmoniously ; the pupils were more 
 rapidly advancing in their studies than those of any other 
 school. The preceptor of a neighboring academy, with a 
 wretched education but of great pretensions, began to feel 
 mortified that the difference between his pupils and the pro 
 fessor s was noticed by the sagacious people in the vicinity. 
 One incident made the preceptor outrageous : The court 
 was in session in the town when the academy was establish 
 ed ; and, on the trial of a land title, the accuracy of a former 
 survey was called in question and the court appointed the 
 preceptor to make a new survey. This was more inaccurate 
 than the former and new difficulties arose. The court 
 now sent for the professor, and appointed him surveyor. 
 On his arrival, he stated that he, hearing of the dispute, had 
 
THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 93 
 
 sent his pupil, George Thornton, not fourteen years of age 
 who had surveyed the ground, and found out the mistake 
 in the calculations of the former surveyor not mentioning 
 the preceptor by name. The lad was called, and swore to 
 the accuracy of his survey and the professor confirmed 
 his statements. The chief justice looked at the calculations, 
 and intimated the probabilities of the causes of the former 
 errors, and told the jury that -this latter survey was right. 
 This was a severe blow to the popularity of the mushroom 
 institution. Those who .established it were deeply wounded, 
 and the preceptor enraged. To make his degradation more 
 perfect, the counsel opposed to his survey, called him on 
 the stand and examined him, putting such questions as the 
 Jad suggested which soon ended in the confusion of the 
 popular preceptor. This was truly an unfortunate affair for 
 the Thornton family for they soon heard whispers thrown 
 abroad, that the professor was a philosopher of the French 
 school ; and it was thought had assisted Thomas Paine to 
 write his Age of Reason. The clergyman of the town in 
 which the academy was situated, now recollected that he 
 had never heard him say a word in commendation of his 
 doctrinal sermons, but had heard him speak of the classical 
 taste shown in the writings of a neighbor of the pulpit, whose 
 reputation had been so great as to annoy him. A deputation 
 of the church soon arrived to visit Mrs. Thornton, who was 
 a bright and shining light in that body, to enquire into the 
 truth of these rumors. She received them civilly, but an 
 swered them firmly. She said, that "she had never question 
 ed the professor on his religious creed for that part of her 
 children s education she should, whib they were under her 
 roof, retain to herself. His conduct had been highly moral 
 and exemplary while he lived with them, and no inquisition 
 should set upon his heresy. He was a moral agent, and 
 
 H 
 
94 THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 
 
 had a right to think for himself. She believed that her sons 
 would have cause to remember him for good as long as they 
 lived. We have," added she, " in years past, made every 
 struggle to educate our children ; it is all the fortune we can 
 give them. We have sent them, at great expense, to these 
 academies, and have been entirely dissatisfied : we now have 
 had this learned, moral man in our house for eighteen months 
 oaly, and I am a sufficient judge of their improvement to 
 say, that a life-time spent in our academies, such as rise up 
 in every village, would not be equal to the instruction this 
 good man has imparted to my children in this time." This 
 self-constituted committee declared that she would have to 
 answer here and hereafter, if she kept a free-thinker in her 
 house, to poison the morals of her children, and as an evil 
 example in the household of the faithful. These arguments 
 did not shake the constancy of Mrs. Thornton ; and the 
 committee repaired to her own church, and called a meet 
 ing, of which the pious woman had notice. She would have 
 no other person attend her, but her young son George. 
 The charge of fostering infidelity was again urged against 
 her. This she denied for she knew nothing of the profes 
 sor s creed. George declared, that while he had been under 
 the care of the great Scotchman, he never suspected his 
 infidelity. The church dismissed the charge, with no gentle 
 reprimand to their brethren of another church, for their 
 watchfulness and anxiety to keep them from error. 
 
 These wounded patrons of learning, and guardians of 
 religious opinions, followed up these attacks by slanders, 
 until they were brought before the court who tried the land 
 cause. Donald McDonald did not wish to prosecute, but 
 the high-tempered Captain Thornton insisted upon it, and 
 brought the traducer to terms by a verdict. The charge 
 of the chief justice was admirable ; he developed the story 
 
THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 95 
 
 of the persecution and slanders so fully, that the jury gave 
 heavy damages without delay. The professor made an 
 exact account of his expenses and, deducting them from 
 his judgement, he paid the whole balance over to the trus* 
 tees of the academy, in order, as he said, that good teachers 
 might be procured for their institution. 
 
 The company of the professor was now courted by all the 
 scholars far and near, and many offers were made him to 
 leave the Thornton family, and take a classical school him 
 self; but his uniform answer was "Not until my boy 
 George goes to college nor then, so long as his mother 
 has a child to educate, and wishes me to be his preceptor." 
 Finding him fixed in his delermination, they no longer dis* 
 cussed the subject. So much had the professor and his steed 
 improved in appearance, that their identity could only be 
 ascertained by those who had seen them frequently during 
 the time they had lived with the Thorntons. The horse 
 indeed gained faster than his master for he had nothing to 
 do but to recruit. 
 
 The professor had announced to Captain Thornton that 
 he wished for books to commence a course of metaphysics 
 and moral philosophy with his pupils. These were soon 
 procured, and the professor began a course of lectures on 
 these studies, and invited Captain Thornton and his lady to 
 attend. They accepted of his invitation more readily, for 
 they now expected to detect his creed as in these courses 
 of instruction it is difficult to keep from theological discus 
 sion ; but the professor never committed himself he kept 
 them as distinct as possible. Towards the close of these 
 lectures, a general invitation was given to the clergymen 
 and other professional men in this and the neighboring towns, 
 to come and hear the learned Theban. The auditors pro- 
 nouuced the lectures of great interest. On these lecture 
 
9& THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED, 
 
 days, Captain Thornton was thronged with company, anc? 
 showed his hospitality without any stint. The professor 
 retired as soon as he had closed his lecture, having deter 
 mined never to enter into any dispute with any one. 
 
 While all things were going on prosperously, an event 
 happened that threw misery and distress over the professor, 
 and the whole family. In a fine afternoon, William, the 
 third, son of Mrs. Thornton, who had been instructed in cml 
 engineering by the professor, a young gentleman of nearly 
 seventeen years of age, proposed to his instructor and some 
 visitors, to take the sail boat, and to make an excursion on 
 the lake, which was within full view of Mr. Thornton s house. 
 Having been a sailor, the Captain kept boats and fishing- 
 tackle, for his own, and the amusement of his friends ; but 
 so closely had his sons been confined to their studies that they 
 had partaken sparingly of this amusement. The professor- 
 had when his pupils were in the field, often taken a smalK 
 boat, and paddling to some fishing spot, caught a mess of 
 pickerel or perch, for breakfast. He had taught the boys- 
 to strip a large elm tree after it had been cut down, from 
 the butt to the utmost twig, by hitching the oxen to the loos-- 
 ened bark at the butt, and turning the whole inside out to the 
 top. By stones tied to the lower end of the bark it would 
 sink in the water, and then the top would make a shade at the 
 bottom^ where fish would bite at any hour of the day. The 
 professor had been in his little boat, and brought home his 
 basket full of fine fish, and had no great inclination to go 
 out again, but William was importunate, and the old man 
 consented to be one of the party. Jt was indeed a lovely 
 day, and the surface of the lake was only agitated by a gen 
 tle breeze, sufficient only to take the boat two or three mires 
 an hour. The Captain seldom entrusted the helm or his 
 boat to any other hands than his own ; but he happening to 
 
THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 97 
 
 l)e engaged, thought his man, John, who was quite discreet 
 in carrying sail, would answer to be steers-man on such a 
 pleasant day. George was invited to join, but finding that 
 his father was not to be with them, declined being one of the 
 party. They took the boat in high spirits. A small boy 
 at the landing, belonging to a neighboring town, was stand 
 ing near, and begged to be permitted to have a sail ; to this 
 William consented, and they left the shore with him. For 
 several hours they were seen on the lake under easy sail ; 
 although near the distant mountain tops, the clouds had the 
 appearance of a squall ; but not for some hours to come. 
 As the clouds thickened, Captain Thornton, who had kept 
 up some of his sea-faring habits, hoisted his signal for the 
 boat to come in, but not in season. The tornado come down 
 the lake of a sudden, and bore a threatning aspect. William 
 advised making towards a small island near them, and wait 
 ing until the danger had passed ; but the man John, seeing 
 the signal was hoisted for making the landing, did not readi 
 ly acceed to it ; in this state of indecision, the boat was struck 
 by a whirlwind sweep, and capsized. The Captain was 
 looking through his spy-glass, and when the boat upset, he 
 dropped down the glass, called some of his men and hastened 
 to the lake, took small boats and came to the relief of the un 
 fortunate boat s crew. Mrs. Thornton took up the glass, 
 and clearly saw William assist the professor on to the bot 
 tom of the boat, and then some of the others. Her son then, 
 which seemed to her mysterious, left the boat, swam a short 
 distance from her, and seemed trying to assist some one"; 
 she saw him go down and rise no more. Her eye lost its 
 light and she dropped the glass, and exclaimed, William is 
 drowned ! The domestics looked and saw those on the bot 
 tom of the boat taken off in safety. The horses were put 
 to the wagon, and the dripping, distressed objects were 
 
 H 2 
 
99 THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 
 
 brought to the house. The Captain had joined those who 
 had started to rescue the bodies of those who had sunk. 
 Numerous boats soon were spread on the lake for that 
 purpose. These were increasing, for many had witnessed 
 the scene. The good people soon took Captain Thornton 
 to the house. It was a melancholy group. The professor 
 was frantic ; he tore his white hair, charged himself with be 
 ing the cause of the whole catastrophe, for not taking Wil 
 liam s advice in steering for the Island, as he recommend 
 ed the man John to do ; and also charged himself with hav 
 ing intimated that the boy should be taken into the boat. It 
 was in attempting to save that boy. he exclaimed, that Wil 
 liam lost his life. The old gentleman was conveyed to bed 
 in a state of delerium. One neighbor come in after another, 
 and the house was filled with lamentations. The darkness 
 stole over them ; when George thinking that darkness and 
 dispair were often connected in poetry, and perhaps in philos- 
 phy, ran and lighted the candles, and placed them on the 
 table. It had at once an effect on the utterance of their 
 grief, if it did not assuage their anguish. Capt. Thornton had 
 thrown himself into a great chair, and was silent ; his eye 
 was sunless and vacant; his lips were close as if he were 
 struggling with corporal pain. He was the picture of a sea 
 commander, who had been overpowered with superior force, 
 and was attempting to bear up under his misfortune, but 
 found his moral courage not equal to his corporal bravery. 
 There was a tear in the mother s eye, but she uttered no 
 groan, or made any complaint ; once in a while a text of 
 scripture was on her lips such as "the Lord gave, the Lord 
 has taken away, blessed is the name of the Lord." She cal 
 led George, and went into the professor s room, and admin 
 istered to him an anodyne, for he was in spasms. She cast 
 her eye to ward the lake and it was_a sea of fire , immediate- 
 
THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 99 
 
 Jy a roar of thunder was heard over the waters, passing to 
 the gaps of the mountains, and after numerous reverberations, 
 returning with awful echoes. Brave as she was, this was 
 terrific to Mrs. Thornton. George saw that his mother was 
 ignorant of the cause of that awful sight, soon informed 
 her that there were a great number of persons in boats with 
 torches and drag nets on the lake, trying to find the body of 
 his dear brother William ; and the field pieces were fired, be 
 lieving that their discharge might cause the body to rise to 
 the surface of the water ; " it is not, said he, "dear mother, 
 now, for me to explain this to you, but it sometimes has the 
 desired effect, but I fear it will not now ; the expanse of the 
 waters is too great for the experiment. While George was 
 in the presence of his mother, he so far caught her spirit as 
 to sustain himself most wonderously ; but he often escaped 
 to the door to indulge in a flood of tears. H-e felt that now 
 William was gone to his grave, new duties rested upon him, 
 His elder brothers were then absent on a journey to survey a 
 large tract of land, and were soon to leave the family roof. 
 to act their parts in the world. The fourth day after the 
 fatal accident, the bodies were found, and carried to a neigh 
 bor s house for burial, fearing that the sad ceremonies would 
 be fatal to the professor. The boy was grappled to the body 
 of William, and had been the cause of his death. The elder 
 brothers were at home at the funeral, and now, more than 
 ever, were desirous of going out into the world. They 
 thought their brother William a young man of uncommon 
 promise, in the line he had chosen, and was also very amia 
 ble. They both attempted by every means in their power 
 to soften the feelings of the professor ; they had supposed 
 him a man of iron, and wero astounded that he could feel so 
 much for a pupil. They did not think a philosopher could 
 be so much a man of feeling. Good Mrs. Thornton was 
 
100 THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 
 
 constant in her attentions to the instructor of her children, 
 and by slow degrees, he seemed to awaken to life. When 
 he first sat up in his bed, he was found making Latin and 
 Greek verses to the memory of William, and sent George to- 
 read them to his mother, in English. The first thing after 
 these classical lines, was a wish expressed to have selected 
 for his examination, the passages of scripture which Mrs. 
 Thornton had repeated in her distress, and all such as she 
 had drawn consolation from, while she was under the first 
 overwhelming agony of affliction. These were brought 
 to him by George, and while he was in bed read to him. 
 Afterward he took them to read b_y himself. These seemed 
 to arrest his attention for a few hours in the day. The 
 Scriptures now became his daily study. He looked into 
 the deeps profound. Some one suggested to him, that if he 
 would advise, he had better send for the clergyman of the 
 parish. He smiled upon his adviser, it was every thing but 
 a smile of complacency. A boy to teach a philosopher his 
 God ! and he turned his head from all such interference. 
 When commentaries were offered him, he exhibited the same 
 feeling. He was visited by the greater part of the clergy, 
 each one hoping and wishing to be the instrument of the 
 philosopher s ^conversion. When they come to grapple 
 with him, it reminded one, of the tales of the crusades, when 
 the young military chieftains of the Christian army, were 
 seized with a wish to contend with the great Salad in of the 
 Saracen host, who honored their daring, at the same time 
 he held in derision their strength. Saladin in an instant dis 
 armed them, and spared them to return to their native 
 land, and to the embraces of their friends. Among the host 
 of the Christian force who sought the philosopher, there waa 
 no Cour de Lion, that for a moment ventured to lift his bat 
 tle axe against the Painim champion. The only one the 
 
THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 101 
 
 professor would condescend to reason with, was the Christian 
 woman, Mrs. Thornton. Every day, he, in the most sub 
 missive manner, talked with her. He often, as he after 
 wards declared, was lost in wonder in contemplating this 
 problem : " What principle could it be that could sustain a 
 fond and doating mother, under such a trial, when a bold 
 seaman and an old philosopher sunk like infants under the 
 tide of grief, can it be from learning ? No ; can it be 
 from hardihood ? No. Can this feeble woman have the soul 
 of a lion, as that brave naval hero has? Can she reason as 
 one bred in the schools :>f philosophy, as I have been ? No. 
 Then there must be some higher principle that sustains her. 
 What is it? She calls it religion. I will examine it fairly, 
 and trust to God that I may reach the truih." Day after 
 day, he brooded over the subject, and read every thing the 
 good woman put into his hands. Some times she gave him 
 funeral tokens, and funeral sermons ; what often he thought 
 as destitute of genius as the common bawlings of the hired 
 mourner. He compared them with the consolation found 
 in his Virgil and Horace, and they sunk as inferior compo 
 sitions ; but not so, the passages of Scripture, she gave him ; 
 he found in them a depth of thought, and a height of moral 
 grandeur unknown to him before, and it surprised him, that 
 he had not previously noticed them. They entered so far into 
 eternity, that he liked to follow them beyond the goal of phi 
 losophy, through the track of Godhead. Mrs. Thornton 
 never crowded the subject upon him, or hardly adverted to 
 it, unless the sage began it, and then she would make a slight 
 remark upon the pride of human wisdom, and instance it in 
 the life of St. Paul. In a few weeks he come out to attend 
 prayer, which were forms written by an ancestor of the 
 good woman, and which were read by herself or one of her 
 children, accompanied by a lessor from the Old or Now 
 
102 THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 
 
 Testament. These devotions had nothing of rant or cant 
 in them. The simplicity and good sense of these devotions, 
 which he had never heard before, struck him agreeably, 
 and he come out constantly to hear them. William was not 
 mentioned in the family, unless some stranger or the profes 
 sor brought up the subject. He never would give another 
 lectuie on chemistry ; but put aside all the apparatus that 
 he and William had together manufactured. George j was 
 now alone his care, as understood by his employers ; but 
 he began to notice the two little boys, and took pleasure in 
 hearing their infantile lessons. These urchins had never 
 been allowed to approach him from a belief that they would 
 be troublesome ; but now they were suffered by him to 
 climb on his knees, play with his white hairs, and giggle un 
 til he laughed with them. When, after dinner, he took his 
 siestere, the playful little fellows would softly enter his room 
 and fan away the flies, an d if they perceived that he was 
 waking up would run off; but not before he saw what they 
 were about. The next thing that Mrs. Thornton knew, he 
 was selecting, and making hymns to teach his new charge. 
 The matron saw their delicate piety, and poetical sweetness 
 and encouraged the children to commit them to memory. 
 One day the professor enquired of Mrs. Thornton, if she 
 knew where he could find Paine s Age of Reason, for, ad- 
 ded he, I wish to make some commentaries on that work 
 which 1 have not seen for many years. The matron replied 
 I can hand it to you, my brother had it here some time ago, 
 and I persuaded him to trust it to my keeping ; this he did, 
 and I took occasion to read it attentively, and if I ever had a 
 doubt before of my faith, the perusal of this book dissipated 
 it. I knew Mr. Paine when he was a very popular man, in 
 Philadelphia, and that time he made himself very pleasant 
 in the society of young ladies, by his conversation, his play- 
 
THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 103 
 
 ful conundrums, and poetical effusions ; but, at that time we 
 had heard nothing of his infidelity ; I read the work without 
 any prejudice against the man, I was taught to revere, as a 
 most disinterested patriot ; but in this work, he neither ex 
 hibited the dignity of learning, nor the language and courte 
 sy of a gentleman. 
 
 The professor took the book, and nothing more was said 
 about it for several months, when he returned it, and on 
 presenting Mrs. Thornton with a manuscript, he observed, 
 " I wish you to read this, and keep it for George. She took 
 the first opportunity to give it a thorough examination. It 
 was an answer to the " Age of Reason." The first part 
 was a learned history of all the religions of the world ; their 
 beauties and deformities were pointed out with discrimination 
 and candor, and their influences on the minds of their fol 
 lowers philosophically considered. The state of the Pagan 
 World at the Advent of the Messiah, was fully shown, and 
 the changes which were soon made fully noticed. The evi 
 dence in support of the Christian Religion, was arranged in 
 proper order, and followed by arguments of great acuteness 
 and power. He explained many things which had been 
 stumbling blocks for ages, by his deep researches in oriental 
 literature. He brought together all the scintillations of Heav 
 enly fire, scattered through the New Testament, and they 
 burned with intense radience on his altar of devotion. With 
 great skill he proved the harmony of the Gospels, by their 
 seeming discrepancies, and showed the purity and value of 
 evangelical truth, by its elevation above the common cur 
 rent of sentiment. Armed at all points, he left no difficulty 
 unsubdued, but grappled with all suggested by Paine and 
 others, as a bounden duty. He stopped not in his pathway, 
 to worship Calvin or Luther, or any of the earlier fathers of 
 the Church. He considered them only as great expounders 
 
104 THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 
 
 of truth, and not inspired guides. Mrs. Thorn .on could hard 
 ly trust her own senses, on reading this manuscript, nor 
 could any thing exceed her delight on being assured that the 
 instructor of her children was not wandering in the doubts 
 of a proud philosophy. She had never glanced at the 
 subject with him. With this manuscript was another, giv 
 ing some account of himself, which he entrusted her with ; 
 but not to be made public while he was living. He stated 
 that he bore an assumed name, that he was bred in Edin- 
 burg, and had spent most of his life within the College walls ; 
 that he had received the degrees of M. D. and L. L. D., 
 and was a Professor of Chemistry at the time of his leaving 
 that country. The causes of his exile was also explained ; 
 there was a society formed in the University, which, at first, 
 was entirely of a literary nature, but when the French Revo- 
 lution broke out, this subject was freely discussed, and, of 
 course, both religion and politics could not be avoided. As 
 the scenes in this great drama followed each other in rapid 
 succession ; the discussions grew more frequent, and often 
 ended in fierce contentions. The British Government was 
 alarmed, and kept strict watch over every germ of freedom 
 that might hasten on a spirit of reform, or perhaps, a revo 
 lution. Pitt watched with the eye of a lynx all seats of 
 learning, for he knew that from the French Academy had 
 sprung in no small measure, the evils the nation was then 
 suffering. There were extra-loyal subjects enough in Scot 
 land to aid hirn in this espionage. Some few persons who spoke 
 freely, more from a pride of the freedom of speech, than 
 from a desire to take a part in the politics of the day, were 
 rudely attacked as enemies to our country, and to our reli 
 gion. We resented this unjust treatment, and were soon in 
 open war with many. After Thomas Muir was tried and 
 convicted without evidence of any treasonable intention, sev- 
 
THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 105 
 
 era! of us were hurried away by our friends to places of 
 safety. Most of us found our way to France. I remained 
 there until I saw every outrage committed under the name 
 of liberty, and then repaired to the United States. I spent 
 a year or more in the cities of the Atlantic, and finding no 
 comfort in this, I determined to travel through the interior. 
 To do this I took a humble appearance in clothes, and horse 
 From choice, hot necessity, and was on my travels when your 
 son found me in the church yard, and invited me to your 
 mansion, in which I have been happier than I thought I 
 could ever have been while an exile from my country. I 
 can go home, there is nothing to prevent me from returning 
 to Scotland, but my friends are many of them dead, and my 
 acquaintances were mostly confined to the University. I 
 Visit the City of Edinburgh in my dreams, and all things are 
 pleasant, perhaps more so than I should find them, were I 
 actually to visit the scenes of my youth and manhood. I 
 shall not leave you until my pupil George, has gone to the 
 University, and probably not until my little ones have be 
 gun Erasmus, and my dear madam, sometimes I have a 
 presentiment that I shall find a resting place along side of 
 William ; but it is not well to pursue these subjects, for they 
 throw a gloom over the day of sunshine which we ought to 
 r enj"oy as it passed, for we cannot recall past time. It was 
 only once in the annals of human life, that the shadow travel. 
 Ted back on the dial of Ahaz." 
 
 George now entered college on an advance standing, and 
 was so well prepared that he at once took a high rank in his 
 class. The value of such a tutor as he had been fortunate 
 enough to have met with, was seen and acknowledged by 
 the faculty of the College, as well as by the class. While 
 George was gaining honors in College, the little ones at home 
 were learning with that rapidity children generally do, who 
 
 I 
 
106 THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 
 
 love their teachers. The schoolmaster had to take the chil 
 dren into the fields and woods for exercise, for they would 
 stay in the house all day unless the professor went out with 
 them. 
 
 When George graduated, he was appointed to deliv 
 er an English oration. He insisted that the professor 
 should join his father s family to attend commencement ; to 
 this he acceded, and come with them the day before com 
 mencement. When it become known that the great scholar 
 who had instructed George Thornton, was in the town, the 
 class about graduating requested to be introduced to him ; 
 this was arranged, and the interview was delightful. One 
 of the class in behalf of the whole, made him a most respect 
 ful and appropriate address expressing their high satisfaction 
 of seeing so ripe a scholar among the learned, who had come 
 to honor the commencement. This was answered by the 
 learned sage in a dignified and affectionate manner ; he 
 pointed out the value of knowledge, and the way to at 
 tain it ; told them " that now their education was finished, 
 their studies were to begin ;" congratulated them on being 
 born in a country which was growing for them faster than 
 scholars could multiply, and that all would find sufficient em 
 ployment ; and closed by telling them that their country s 
 honor depended more upon them than they were aware of, 
 and by leaving them his blessing. On commencement day 
 the professor, by invitation from college government, took 
 his seat on the stage with the Faculty and Trustees. On 
 that clay he surprised his friends by his extraordinary atten 
 tion to dress, for he wore the full costume of a Regius pro 
 fessor. George was the valedictory orator, and acquitted 
 himself to the delight of his friends, and to the admiration of 
 every one. He delicately alluded to the agency the vener 
 able stranger had had in his education, and laid an offering 
 
THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 107 
 
 of gratitude at his feet, as he was about to say farewell to all* 
 The president understanding- some of the passages in the life 
 of the professor from Mrs. Thornton, and his true name, for 
 all concealment was at an end, at the close of the day con- 
 ferred the additional honorary degree of L. L. D. on James 
 Brown Wallace, M. D., L. L. D., Edinburgh, Scotland. 
 George and his mother shed tears of joy, and the whole 
 class of graduates were on the point of huzzaing in the 
 church. This was the most memorable day in the life of 
 George Thornton, now a man of middle age, who has since 
 seen much of life. Even Captain Thornton congratulated 
 the professor, by calling him Admiral, with a new star on 
 his breast, and it would be in vain to say that the eyes of 
 the veteran did not twinkle with pleasure. Mrs. Thornton 
 was afraid it would be too much for his nerves ; but most 
 constitutions bear pleasure better than pain ; the old doctor 
 had not been so well for many years, as he was for months 
 after that eventful journey. He never mentioned his own 
 honors, but gave the neighbors a full account of those be 
 stowed on George. 
 
 It were idle to detail too much. George read law, and 
 then by the advice and assistance of his teacher, made a 
 tour through Europe. His instructions given him by the 
 doctor, were so minute, that he spent one year more than 
 others who go over the same ground, in examining such 
 things as his patron pointed out to him. George took pas 
 sage from Alexandria, having spent nearly a year in Egypt 
 and the Holy land, and of course he had not heard from 
 home for a long time. He reached the American shore in 
 the night, and finding the stage would start at the early dawn 
 of the morn, he took passage, and reached his native town 
 late in the evening. He stopped at the stage house, and en 
 gaged a boy and wagon to take him to Captain Thornton s. 
 
108 THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 
 
 The boy drove gently in silence; the moon shone with that, 
 clearness that always give a solemn tone to the reflecting 
 mind, and George was more than usually melancholy. 
 Only those who have experienced such an hour, can under 
 stand the feelings it produces. As they passed the grave 
 yard, he beconed the boy to stop, and he clambered over 
 the wall and went to the grave of his brother "William ; along 
 side of this were two others of full length. He struck his 
 breast in agony and exclaimed, Oh God ! in one of these 
 rests my mother in the other my father ! but he at once 
 saw that they were on either side of William s grave, and 
 said to himself, " Oh, no ; this is, not according to the fashion 
 of burial in my native land. My parents would have been 
 placed side by side ; it is the Last abode of my patron, and 
 my friend." On enquiry, the boy confirmed his suspicions, 
 and added, " you have a new mother at the Captain s, and 
 all the folks say that she is not fit to take the place of the 
 first one." This was enough. He ordered the boy to drive 
 him back to the stage house, and there spent a restless night. 
 In the morning, he rode over to see his father, and his young- 
 er brothers, DOW grown fine intelligent lads. His father 
 Deceived him with ooen arms, but felt no little awkwardness 
 in introducing to him a woman, to be called mother. This 
 he would not do, at the hazard of immolation on the refusal. 
 There were many who were anxious to give him the par 
 ticulars of his mother s death. She at fifty- seven years of 
 age, found her health declining, and prepared herself to die, 
 only wishing to see her son George once more, if it was the 
 will of God, if not, she was resigned. As she grew weak, 
 the doctor read to her portions of Scripture daily, and such 
 other works as she wished to hear read, but did not venture 
 to allude to her situation, unless she commenced the conver 
 sation, for he never lost the awe he felt for the majesty of 
 
THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED: 109 
 
 her virtues. She gradually sunk to the grave in peace, 
 longing to leave this world of sorrow and be at rest. At 
 her death, the professor promised that he would not leave the 
 younger boys until they were fitted for the counting house 
 or college, if God spared his life. He collected composure 
 enough from her example, to sketch the character of his 
 friend with great force and delicacy ; but it was the last ef 
 fort of his pen ; he never again took ji in hand, when this 
 was finished. He lingered along from day to day, for the 
 space of about three months, and expired in an apoplectic 
 fit, as it was said ; but it was from the heart-break, a more 
 common death than is generally imagined. He had left a 
 sealed package for his son, as he called him, George Thorn- 
 ton, in which was found a will, bequeathing to his adopted 
 child, his books, papers, and a pretty little fortune. The 
 step dame, when she heard this, was in a rage, and advised 
 her husband to bring in a bill against the estate, for many 
 years board ; but the Captain had too much sound sense, to 
 be guided by such advice. Yet such was her indignation, 
 that it became uncomfortable for the heir to remain in his 
 father s house ; and he quit it for the tavern, in order to set. 
 tie his estate in peace. He erected tomb stones over the 
 graves of his mother, brother, and friend ; and returned 
 home no more until his step-dame had ceased to trouble the 
 living. George Thornton has now this answer to the " Age 
 of Reason," and the minute progress of belief in the mind of 
 the philosopher, who had come from the twilight of Infideli 
 ty, to the noon-day sun of the Christian s Hopes. 
 
THE CORRUPTED. 
 
 " In the name of God most merciful I swear by the sun and its brightness ; by 
 the moon when she followetn him ; by the day when it showelh its splendor ; by 
 the night when it covereth him with darkness ; by the earth, and Him who spreaa 
 eth it forth ; by the soul, and him who perfectly formed it, and inspired into the 
 same its faculty of distinguishing, and power of choosing wickedness or piety 
 that he who hath purified himself shall be happy, and he who has corrupted his 
 soul shall be miserable." Koran. 
 
 THE form and character of the instruction received by an 
 individual in the course of obtaining an education, more than 
 the amount of information required by him, give a tone to 
 the moral and intellectual powers he may possess. Indis 
 criminate reading brings on as many diseases to the mind as 
 gross and indiscriminate feeding does to the body. There 
 is hardly a mind in society, from the highest to the humblest 
 that is not more or less influenced by this latitude of indul 
 gence, in coursing at pleasure the fields of literature. It is 
 deplorable to see youths, whose diet is regulated by a wise 
 physician, allowed in their reading, to ramble over hill and 
 dale, meadow and woodland, to gather flowers for themselves 
 without a guide ; often taking the most poisonous of all, al 
 lured by the brilliancy of their colors, and at the same time 
 neglecting the salutary and medicinal ones, being less attrac 
 tive to the senses. The literature of the age is full of" thril 
 ling sentiments, of stirring incidents, of rapturous glow, of 
 
112 THE CORRUPTED. 
 
 unheard of suffering" and all that sort of machinery to- 
 swell the bosom with emotion, and to fill the eye with tears. 
 This inundation of poisonous confectionary, is distressing to 
 those who love wholesome food for body and mind. Intern* 
 perance and consumption slay thousands daily, or rob them 
 at least of the joys of life. Still the world is on the watch 
 against these enemies of the human race ; but who thinks of 
 stemming the current of deleterious sentiment, which is con. 
 stantly flowing in upon every mind 1 It is time that the pub 
 lic should be awakened to this subject ; if any one will look 
 around him, he will find numerous instances in his view to 
 justify the writer in these remarks. 
 
 John Zone, and Sarah his wife, were respectable grocers 
 in a growing city ^in this country. They were industrious 
 and honest, and of course, thrifty. They were blessed with 
 several children of good sound constitutions. Their sons 
 were clever and quiet, and two of their daughters out of 
 three, plain good girls, and learned readily whatever was 
 taught them"; but one of their daughters was pronounced a 
 beauty from her birth. She was a paragon in the cradle* 
 In the mother s imagination, an hundred Fairies attended her 
 birth, and more were to superintend her growth. This is 
 a weakness that often attends- those otherwise blessed with 
 good sense. Mrs. Zone sought for a lovely name for this 
 little Peri of perfection, and at last fixed upon Helen Hya- 
 cinthia Zone. This was generally applauded by all the 
 relatives. As Hyacinthia grew up, no one was allowed to 
 contradict her, or even to gainsay whatever she did. She 
 broke play things as she pleased, but all was right. Good 
 Mr. Zone sometimes ventured to, ask his wife if she were 
 doing right ; but on these occasions he was snubbed up in 
 such a manner, that the question was not often repeated. 
 Go look after Hyacinthia, was the constant direction to the 
 
THE CORRUPTED. 113 
 
 other children, until they wished their little sister in Heaven. 
 She mastered her alphabet as soon as the other sisters, and 
 in fact, was forward in learning to read, for she was not des. 
 titute of mind or memory. She was about equal to those of 
 her age in school for reading, or hand writing ; but the mo 
 ment she was put to higher branches, she was obstinate and 
 resorted to tears for an indulgence from her lesson. Her 
 instructor got out of all patience, and insisted that she should 
 learn the multiplication table with the other scholars ; bu,t 
 she would not make the attempt. She returned from school 
 with swollen eyes, and appealed to. her mother for protec 
 tion. The mother said she should not be driven to this odi 
 ous task. Her sisters had learned it and that was enough^ 
 Hyacinthia should not be crossed in her temper, for such a 
 trivial thing as a multiplication table. Mr. Zone insisted 
 that she was capable of committing it to memory, and that 
 she should be made to do it ; a violent family quarrel en 
 sued, and Hyacinthia and her mother, were conquerors over 
 father and scholmaster. The mother thought that her dear 
 daughter should have private tutors, and not be submitted 
 to the degradation of a public school. Mr. Zone knew how 
 hard his wife labored, and how much she earned for him ev 
 ery day, could not object, or rather thought it the wisest 
 course not to refuse her request. One instructor after anoth 
 er was hired, and Hyacinthia was not suited ; no one seem 
 ed to understand her bent and genius, but her dear mother 
 and she could not exactly describe it, but felt assured that it 
 was something of a high order. The sums paid her tutors 
 began to grow severe in the sight of Mr. Zone, and he re 
 monstrated with his wife upon the subject. She acknowl 
 edged that some of the masters might have suited if her 
 daughter Hyacinthia had not such a peculiar temper ; or as, 
 ahe had heard lawyer Danforth say, " was not of such a deli- 
 
114 THE CORRUPTED. 
 
 cate fibre." She had some slight passion for music, and 
 an old musician who had spent the good part of a life 
 in managing mothers and daughters, coLtrived to keep 
 the little uneasy, capricious creature, constant to her piano, 
 until she had really caught some idea, of music. Hyacinthia 
 had taste in sounds, and soon acquired a tolerable execution 
 on the piano. Now the great secret of her genius was dis 
 covered, and was to rival the Santag and Malibran, and the 
 whole troup of Syrens of the opera, from Naples to New- 
 York, and it is to be confessed that she did make some im 
 provement by the dint of exertion, and the force of flattery. 
 Her mother thought that Hyacinthia had an exquisite taste in 
 dress, but she always appeared gaudy, flaunting, and extrava 
 gant. She was never in equable spirits, either melancholy 
 or extatic. Her conversation was offensive to a man of 
 sense. An uncle of hers come to the city to see his brother 
 and family, and was well received. He was a lawyer in the 
 interior, a sens-ible man with an affectionate heart. He wag 
 soon at home with all the rest of the family, but Hyacinthia 
 had not determined whether it was genteel or not to be socia 
 ble with an uncle from the country. He was disgusted with 
 her on a few minutes conversation ; she quoted all the mod 
 ern novels and sentimental poetry, thinking it would be quite 
 acceptable to a literary man. In the first place he could 
 not find out the meanipg half the time, and when he did catch 
 a glimpse of it, he considered it as the most wretched affec 
 tation in the world, and could not help treating it as such. 
 The mother saw the disgust the lawyer felt at her display, 
 but consoled herself by saying to her husband, " these coun 
 try folks, if they are ever so smart, have no notion of what 
 a wife of a city gentleman should be ; they want somebody to 
 take care of the farm. Lucy or Jane would make good 
 wivc-s for country gentry ; but Hyacinthia shall never go 
 
THE CORRUPTED. 115 
 
 into the country. Lucy and Jane soon had offers of mar 
 riage from substantial business men, and were happily set 
 tled. Hyacinthia now had the whole attention of her pa 
 rents. She was dressed like a tragedy queen in the street, 
 and attracted those drones of society who watch hours in 
 the day to see who passes. It was not difficult to.get an in 
 troduction to her, and it was well known that her mother 
 handed round an excellent glass of wine, and fresh house- 
 baked cake. The honest citizen, Mr. Zone, had no small 
 difficulty to eat his dinner in peace, as Hyacinthia s beaux 
 come at one o clock as a most fashionable hour to visit. It 
 was a sad business, but it was decided that the family should 
 dine at three o clock instead of one. They suffered much 
 from this change in hours for dinner ; but their daughter s 
 welfare was paramount to all inconveniences. Every eve 
 ning until a late hour, the parlor was filled by every dandy 
 cit or foreigner in the city, but no one made advances to 
 Miss Helen Hyacinthia Zone. She grew impatient, pout- 
 ed, scolded, and put on airs ; the loungers about her under 
 stood it, but did not stir an inch. It was whispered that the 
 Grocer was heavy in purse, and that his favorite daughter 
 would be amply provided for. This set some of the hangers 
 on to thinking that a comfortable living, might be made out 
 of a match like this. Two young men who called themselves 
 Louisiana merchants, but who probably were never citizens 
 or inhabitants of New Orleans, made love to Hyacinthia. 
 She favored one lover, the parents the other. After long 
 negotiation with each other, one drew off, and the remaining 
 one was soon accepted ; ii was after this stipulation was 
 made with him who absented himself, that he who was the sue- 
 cessful cand date should give the other one-third of all he might 
 receive by the bargain. The marriage was solemnized 
 with no small parade, and it was intimated that Mr. Simcoto 
 
tl 6 TfcE CORRUPTED. 
 
 had an uncle who was a Baronet, and that Alfred Simcote 
 was the heir to the title and estates, and in the autumn Mrs. 
 Simcote was to go South with her husband, to take posses- 
 sion of his large plantations, near New Orleans ; until that 
 time Hyacinthia was invited to make her home at her father s 
 house. This Mr. Sirncote consented to, as he did not wish 
 to tear her from her dear mother, until such time as she 
 should be ready to embark for the South. Mr. Simcote 
 brought to Mr. Zone s house a great many visitors, but he 
 did not introduce one to Mr. Zone s family. At times these 
 gentlemen sat late at the card table, and deep imprecations 
 were sometimes heard, as they retired, but Mrs. Zone thought 
 it was only one of the forms of fashionable life. The parlor 
 occupied by Mrs. Simcote was strewed all around with ele 
 gantly bound novels and poems of a fashionable cast with 
 prints that would have suited better for a Paphian Saloon, 
 than for a parlor of honest people. Sometimes the other 
 daughters would speak , plainly to their mother, and throw 
 out doubts of their sister s good fortune. Mr. Simcote 
 would be gone whole weeks, absenting himself on some ex 
 cuse of business. After one of the absences he returned full 
 of money, having, as he said, been a journey to a distant 
 city to collect monies due him. One excuse after another 
 was given for not repairing to the South, to see to his cot 
 ton and sugar plantations, but as he was flush of money the 
 good Mrs. Zone thought it arose from delicacy to Hyacin- 
 thia s feelings that he continued to stay with her. The fam 
 ily could not but remark how few of the faces of Mr. Sim- 
 cote s friends were known to the merchants in the city, 
 for they made many enquiries, of New Orleans merchants 
 about them. One gentleman told one of the young mer 
 chants lately connected with the Zone family, that Alfred 
 Simcote, who once was distinguished in the South, had sev- 
 
THE CORRUPTED. 117 
 
 eral years before been murdered and robbed, in the moun 
 tains of Spain, as he had always understood, and since he 
 heard that his relation had administered on his estates, and 
 sold them. Simcote s confusion when this was stated to him 
 was great, but recovering himself, he exclaimed, "Good God ! 
 is this the report? so much for staying from home so long. 
 I must soon get ready to visit Louisiana, and show them that 
 they have been deceived." He made preparations to leave 
 at once, excusing himself from taking his wife, as he might 
 have difficulties there, and chose not to have his dear Hya- 
 cinthia share them ; but he would go, put down all these 
 idle rumors, and return as soon as possible. He soon took 
 passage for that state. In the course of a few months Mrs. 
 Simcote received a letter from her husband, saying, that he 
 was getting along with his suits of ejectments against those 
 who had purchased his plantations of his cousins, who came 
 into possession of them On his supposed death. This letter 
 was fully accredited by Mr. Zone and family, as the same 
 vessel which brought the letter, brought him a consignment 
 of cotton for Mrs. Simcote s benefit. 
 
 Soon after her husband commenced his voyage to the 
 South, his friend, Mr. Trenon, was more attentive than ever 
 to Mrs. Simcote. He took her to all public places, and his 
 attentions were noticed with pain, by the mother and other 
 members of the family, but upon the slightest remonstrance 
 Mrs. Simcote rose to a towering passion, and said it was too 
 hard to be forever annoyed by the narrow and vulgar views 
 of her family. It must be remembered that she and her 
 husband were people of the world, and led, instead of follow 
 ing, in society. She repeated all that had been told her of 
 the freedom of manners in France and England, and the 
 Grandees of these nations were the only persons to be thought 
 of. The good mother heaved a sigh, but found she had lost 
 
 K 
 
THE CORRUPTED. 
 
 all control over her daughter. The rumors increased, and 
 on investigation were found to be too true. One evening one 
 of the gentlemen who were allied to the family, insulted 
 Alexander Trenon, Esq., at a public garden, by calling him 
 a black-leg. It was thought a duel would follow, but the de 
 voted friend of Hyacinthia, could not descend to fight with a 
 man of common standing. Mr. Zone forbade Trenon his 
 house ; but still the proscribed was seen with his friend s 
 wife, in many parts of the city ; and it was believed they 
 had private intercourse, even in her father s house. The 
 family were astonished at hearing nothing from Simcote.for 
 several months. 
 
 One morning it was rumored that Alexander Trenon, Esq. 
 Was found stabbed to the heart, in the upper part of the city. 
 A single blow had been struck at him with a dagger, which 
 had reached his heart, and instantly deprived him of life. 
 It could not have been a robber, who did the deed, for his 
 noney, watch, gold snuff-box, and rings were still about his 
 person, when found by the Watch. The whole affair was 
 involved in mystery. The sober and discreet men who had 
 become sons-in-law to Mr. Zone, were above alt suspicion 
 of such a deed. The only clue they had to the discovery 
 of the murderer was but a slight one. The victim was seen 
 after midnight by a Watchman in company with another not 
 far from where he fell. All the guardians of the night were 
 examined, and one of them acknowledged that about eleven 
 o clock, the night the murder was perpetrated, he found a 
 gentleman inebriated, who called upon him for assistance, 
 and asked him to hide him in the watch-house, for a short 
 time, and he should get over his infirmity. To the watch- 
 houss he was taken. The gentleman seemed to get better 
 soon, and was liberal with his purse, giving the officer some 
 thing handsome for his trouble, and said to him, " I will doze 
 
THE CORRUPTED. 119 
 
 a few minutes and then make towards home." The Watch 
 man fell into a sound sleep, and when he awoke, discovered 
 that the stranger had taken an old coat, hat and weapon, 
 the badge of office, belonging to another. The guardian 
 of the night awaked before one o clock, but the gentleman 
 had gone. In a short distance from the body of Trenon, 
 these articles were found, and identified by the Watch 
 men ; but he could not remember a single feature of the per 
 son he took with him for a short repose, but on reviewing 
 all the circumstances, he was fully of opinion, that the drunk 
 enness was feigned. No farther progress in discovering the 
 assassin was made for some time. 
 
 No news was heard from Simcote for a year or more, 
 when a ship from New-Orleans, brought Mrs. Simcote let, 
 ters and some drafts. She opened her letter and read it-^ 
 she uttered a scream, and her mother entering the room 
 found her daughter in convulsions. A physician was sent 
 for, but all to no avail, Mrs. Simcote expired the next day 
 at noon, having broken a blood vessel in her paroxysms.^- 
 The father took up the letter from Simcote, and read as 
 follows ; 
 
 DEAR WIFE, (I still will call you so, though lost to me 
 forever.) 
 
 Ship-board. 
 
 When this shall reach you, no trace of the wretch, once 
 your husband, will be found on earth ; my body will be in 
 the bosom of the sea. Several days since, I fractured my 
 leg, and the mortification has taken place. I do not regret 
 it ; mourn not for me I am not worthy of a tear. You 
 will never know who I am, but it is but justice that I should 
 make you acquainted with some things in my life. While 
 a clerk in New-Orleans, I became acquainted with the man 
 
130 THE CORRUPTED, 
 
 who called himself Alexander Trenon. I had spent more 
 money than I could honestly command, and on making 
 known my situation to him, he assisted me to make all quiet, 
 but his apparent generosity was the basest selfishness, 
 for it was not long afterwards that he proposed to me to 
 join in robbing a bank ; he coaxed and threatened me, and 
 I at last yielded. From that time, we were together, as 
 successful plunderers of the public. He gave me the name 
 of Alfred Simcote, the name of a man he was supposed to 
 have murdered in Spain. When we made our appearance 
 in your city, we had hidden treasures in New Orleans, and 
 in the West Indies. When I first saw you, I was pleased 
 with you, and my intentions were honorable, as far as such 
 a man s intention could be honorable. I honestly intended 
 to make you my wife ; and to shake off Trenon and settle 
 down as a domestic man. This Trenon opposed, called me 
 a fool ; but finding my determination fixed, waved the sub 
 ject. He intended to make you his victim at first, and never 
 ceased his machinations until he ihad ruined us both. 
 When I left you to go to New Orleans, to dispose of some 
 hidden treasure, with my part of it I purchased cotton, which 
 I shipped to your father, and his part was transmitted in bills 
 on your city. He then induced me to go to the West In 
 dies to dispose of some concealed treasure ; but when I 
 reached the Island, I discovered that some one had been 
 there before me, and had disposed of all I went to find. I 
 had not been on the Island two days, when I was arrested 
 on a false suit, brought in the name of a Spaniard I had never 
 heard of, and thrown into prison, where 1 remained nearly 
 six months. When the trial come on, my lawyer unravelled 
 the whole mystery, and traced all the deception up to Tre 
 non. The inducements for his villainy flashed across my 
 mind, and I hastened home. For nearly a fortnight I kept 
 
THE CORRUPTED; 121 
 
 myself out of sight rumors to your discredit were then afloat 
 and I soon fathomed the whole affair I swore a deep and 
 bloody revenge I have had it I saw Trenon admitted to 
 your house, by yourself, the last night of his life I then 
 went to the watch-house, as was described in your papers, 
 and obtained the dress as stated, and walked near your 
 house until about midnight, I saw him come out. I knew 
 one of his places of retirement, in an obscu re part of the city, 
 and saw that he directed his steps towards that quarter. I 
 followed him with my disguise, and as he was turning a dark 
 corner, I stopped, seized him by the collar, and struck my 
 dagger to the heart, announcing my real name to him as he 
 fell. He knew me, sprung upon his feet and dropped dead. 
 1 uttered a fiendish laugh, at hearing his last groan, and left 
 him, and on passing a street or two, threw off my disguise,, 
 and moved on in security. I was in no danger of being 
 caught, for I did not care a straw for my fate. I had glut 
 ted my revenge. I pitied you, for I knew that you had been 
 prepared by a wretched education, to become an easy prey 
 to such a designing villain as Trenon. I pitied your mother, 
 because it was her affection and bounty that placed you 
 in the power of such an adventurer as I was. Your mind 
 was light and vitiated when we met, and 1 was a fool for 
 leaving you a moment, if I expected security and happiness, 
 the unkindest cut I felt, of all the agony, was from hearing 
 of your lamentations at the death of Trenon. I hope after 
 you have shed tears for your seducer, that you will shed 
 none for me ; for whatever have been my sins, I was kind 
 and indulgent to you, and was trying to make myself and 
 you better. However long you may live, you can never 
 enter society again. In truth, you never were in society ; 
 you treated with contempt your own family, and never reach 
 ed the fashionable world, you so strongly desired to join. I 
 K 2 
 
122 THE CORIITJPTED. 
 
 feel happy in the thought that I have left you sufficient 
 property to keep you from want. Never think of me again? 
 but set about purifying your own mind, and preparing your 
 self to sustain with fortitude the disgrace you cannot shun. 
 There were times in our lives, when I was on the point of 
 drawing the veil from all the mystery which surrounded us, 
 and of making a full disclosure of every thing, and of going 
 with you into retirement, and of struggling together to be 
 happy in a humble situation ; but I had not moral courage 
 sufficient for the task, or 1 thought you were so wedded to 
 the meretricious state you were in, that nothing could re 
 claim you. Your mother too, in the main, a good woman, 
 had become so poisoned with the sound of fashionable life, 
 that she would not have aided the determination. My heart 
 was swollen almost to bursting, to think how wretchedly 
 you were deceived. That elegant Erskine Russell, who 
 boasted of being related to the Duke of Bedford, whose ex 
 quisite taste in dress you so much admired, is one of the 
 greatest villains in the world. He has been in various situ 
 ations, a servant to a gentleman upon his travels a head 
 waiter at a hotel a notorious gambler a keeper of a gamb 
 ling house a jockey on the turf among the fashionables 
 and a high-way-man within twenty-four hours. He has 
 been sent to Botany Bay, and escaped to the United States, 
 " the asylum of oppressed humanity," and the rendezvous or 
 last refuge of every scoundrel under heaven. He keeps a 
 list of the females he has ruined, and shows the additions 
 made to it, to his circle of infamous wretches, every time 
 they have a revel. Still his language before females has all 
 that scrupulous delicacy of concealed vice, conveyed in sub 
 dued and softened tones, always fascinating to every ear ; 
 but hear him among his diabolical associates, and a more 
 libidinous, foul-mouthed blasphemer does not exist among 
 
THE CORRUPTED. 123 
 
 men. His splendid appearance is supported in your city, 
 by frauds and shifts of which he is the main-spring. I dare 
 say he is now moving in the higher circles of society, a star 
 in the fashionable world. 
 
 That quiet German, Gasper Heidelburg, who won so 
 much money from you, is not a whit behind Russell, as a 
 knave. He has had a good education, but his manners have 
 not received much polish, and he plays a secondary part to 
 Russell, who is the chief of the banditti. His chief ingenuity 
 is in making" keys to unlock banks, and other repositories 
 of money ; and also in preparing chemical ingredients to as 
 sist in altering and counterfeiting bills for distribution through 
 the country. These arch fiends have many of our own 
 countrymen in training, through the medium of agents. The 
 minor agents have but little to do with the leaders, and they 
 have no means of betraying them, if they were so disposed. 
 This secret agency pervades every part of the United States, 
 and while some of the awkward and ignorant of the conspir 
 ators are caught, and punished their leaders, are moving on 
 in the most fashionable circles in thronged cities. 
 
 It makes my heart bleed to think what your good father has 
 suffered. He is an honest, good man ; follow his advice in 
 all things. Give him the charge of your property, and live 
 no where but under his roof. Never upbraid your mother 
 for her mistakes ; they were errors of the judgment, not of 
 the heart. Take this advice as from one who once cherished 
 as much affection for you, as any one could for a woman 
 so volatile, vain, capricious, and so full of spurious sentiment. 
 If I could have lived to have reformed myself, I might have 
 reformed you ; but, alas, it is all over. I am calm and des 
 titute of pain, the mortification is approaching my vitals, and 
 in a few hours all will be over with me. Both of us have 
 been drawn from the paths of virtue by one of the greatest 
 
124 THE CORRUPTED. 
 
 villains in the world; but he now festers in his shroud. 
 He owed me his life and I took it ; I wish for no casuist to 
 settle this for me. Farewell. 
 
 A. SIMCOTE. 
 
 Mr. Zone read the letter in the room which contained his 
 daughter s corpse, and instantly gathered up her splendidly 
 bound books, novels, poems, &c., with all the glowing pic- 
 tures he could find, and conveyed them to the kitchen fire, 
 and threw them into it, one after another, and stood with a 
 vacant stare as the flames arose with spiteful fury, as if the 
 demons the splendid pages contained, were angry at going 
 back to their infernal abodes from whence they sprung. 
 
 Year after year, has the writer of this sketch, seen the 
 grief-stricken pair, the parents of Hyacinthia Zone, going to 
 church every Sunday, bearing deep traces of suffering and 
 penitence ; but of lute, their countenances seem more serene ; 
 a religious composure has settled on their minds ; and if they 
 are not happy, the poignancy of their grief is over. 
 
 Mrs. Zone never hears of beauty among her grand chil 
 dren, but she shudders at the remembrance of her favorite 
 Hyacinthia, and makes no reply. The good Mrs. Zone has 
 often said, that she would sacrafice her life to benefit the ris 
 ing generation ; to teach mothers their duties. She may 
 sigh over her follies for years, the world is hard to teach ; 
 for all the apt scholars are on the side of opposition. Indis. 
 criminate reading is a vice, and should be no more consider, 
 ed as a venial error. The person who has lived among bad 
 books, is more likely to be corrupted than he who lives in 
 bad company. There is a nausea in bad company that does 
 not show itself in vile books ; but in them is hid by paper, 
 type, and binding, and all that delights the eye. From the 
 cradle to the grave, the food of the mind should be prepared 
 
THE CORRUPTED. 125 
 
 with caution and administered with still greater. Females 
 are in more danger than males from this evil, for as exercise 
 is, in some measure, a cure for gross food, so is an acquaint 
 ance with the world, in no small degree, an antidote against 
 bad books. The greater portion of men set their faces 
 against these moral poisons, and but few young men have 
 the hardihood to make allusions to, or quotations from pro 
 scribed works ; but when they are read in private, among 
 females, there is no common atmosphere to blow away the 
 pestilential fume which arise from corrupt books. Of all 
 the reforms in the world, why not reform the reading of the 
 age 1 When the taste is purified, THE MORALS ARE NOT EASILY 
 CORRUPTED, 
 
THE ORPHAN. 
 
 "I stand an isolated being In this world: numbered with no tribe arranged 
 in no class indigenous to no soil. I belong not to the willows for they bend 
 to the breeze, but I cannot : I claim no similarity to the oak, whose head defies 
 the storm for I am torn by every blast : 1 am not of the family of the parasites 
 for I disdain to grow and look green and sleek, like the misletoe, on the sap 
 formed for other purposes. There is no place on earth for me. I have no parent 
 root or kindred branch, I have no genial current of blood in my heart ; it all 
 turns backward to the fountain from whence it sprang, at the thought of my 
 mysterious birth. Is there no charm, no torture, to make that fiend divulge the 
 secret 7 I am writhing on a bed of scorpions lashed by the whips of ten thou 
 sand furies and tho misery will last as long as I am in doubt of my origin: 
 I understand that the witch has cast my nativity and declares, with a malicious 
 smile, that 1 shall not die in battle, or by pestilence, nor earthquakes. I believe it, 
 for I have tried them all. She has also said that she cannot leave the world 
 without a full confession, Watch her, that she does not." 
 
 Asbury s Letter from South America, 
 
 IN a thriving sea-port near the northern boundary of the 
 state which is the heart of New England, there lived in the 
 outskirts of the town a woman of singular appearance and 
 strange character. She first appeared there in 1759 and 
 commenced her career as a school-mistress, and for awhile 
 was quite popular ; but her temper was irascible and after 
 some year or more, she began to show her fierce and tyran 
 nical disposition, and at length found it expedient to break 
 up her school. By this time, however, MADAM COTTLE 
 had gained the reputation of a witch >which was soon con 
 firmed by her turning fortune-teller. Her predictions were 
 often found to come true and she could find stolen goods 
 better than any one of the craft within one hundred miles 
 of her residence. By such means she made a competence 
 to support Jierself. Numerous are the tales of her powers 
 
128 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 in the line of her profession. The whole town were afraid 
 of her, and no one dared, even in private, to say aught 
 against her. She had an abundance of the richest clothes 
 of antiquated cut, which she put on without any regard to 
 modern taste. Jn fact, she dressed herself as oddly as pos 
 sible. All her neighbors sent her presents, to propitiate 
 her good will some, perhaps, believing the current suppo 
 sition, that a witch has not the power to injure those from 
 whom she receives a present. In her solitary cottage, 
 which she hired cheap, (for no one dared refuse to take 
 what she chose to give a landlord,) strange lights were often 
 seen and strange voices heard. Many persons in disguise 
 were seen in the shades of the evening, stealing into her 
 house, who were dismissed by a postern door and, after 
 crossing a wide field, were lost in darkness. Some school 
 boys playing in the road near the house, heard the moans 
 of a child, which attracted their curiosity and one of the 
 lads, who bore the talisman of protection, by having been 
 a benefactor to her, (giving her some fine oranges when his 
 father a sea captain had returned from the West Indies,) 
 ventured to shove up the window and examine the rooms. 
 In one of them he saw a child, between two and three years 
 of age, sickly and emaciated, crying from hunger. Dame 
 Cottle had gone out and locked the door, and left the child 
 without food, from morning until late in the afternoon, in the 
 long days of June. The boys at once bought some ginger 
 bread, and threw it into the window, and the little wretch 
 nearly choked himself in eating it. The boys soon saw the 
 witch on a fast walk, coming towards her house and they 
 wheeled off into the next street to shun her. It was as 
 noiseless about her door as in a solitary desert ; but on 
 opening it, she found that the child had been fed by some 
 one. The existence of this child was, as she thought, an 
 
THE ORPHAN. 129 
 
 entire secret to every one, even to those who visited her 
 house for the purposes of her necromancy. This was 
 ^annoying to her, and she stormed at the next assembly of 
 boys she found, and interrogated them strictly, but they 
 made no confessions, and she obtained no satisfaction the 
 boys thinking that she had lost her power to discover the 
 offender, from her having accepted the oranges presented. 
 The offending boy mustering courage to watch the old 
 woman, saw when she went out, and locked the door. He 
 clambered up to the window, which was fastened down by 
 a nail and it was beyond his power to move it, to give the 
 child any gingerbread with which his pockets were filled. 
 He saw that the child was then looking more wretched than 
 before. In the fulness of courage he dashed in a pane of 
 glass, and threw his cakes on the floor ; but the little suf 
 ferer did not dare to pick up a single piece he had been 
 so severely whipped for eating it on the former occasion. 
 The boy watched the return of the old beldam and listen 
 ing under the other window, heard her rave and whip the 
 child, and then smother his screams by suffocating him with 
 her apron. The lad went home much agitated, fearing 
 that he had gone too far in breaking the pane of glass. He 
 ate no supper told his mother that he had the head-ache, 
 and wished to go to bed. She gave him some warm tea, 
 and he retired, but could not sleep. The good mother be 
 came alarmed, and sent for her physician. He came and 
 said, the child was only troubled in mind ; and he left his 
 mother to discover what he had done. He would not dis 
 close the circumstances to her, but said he would to their 
 clergyman. He was sent for and the boy confessed the 
 whole story. He became quiet when he was told that he 
 had done nothing wrong in the sight of God, if his father 
 had to pay for a trifling trespass. The clergyman a man 
 
 L 
 
130 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 of high feelings and chivalrous character informed the mo 
 ther that her child had gone to sleep, and she might also, 
 but in the morning he would see her, and advise with her 
 as to the best course to pursue. In the morning, all was 
 explained. He advised that complaint should first be entered 
 to the overseers of the poor stating the facts. This was 
 done but the superstitious little town politicians were afraid 
 of the sorceress, and declined taking any part in searching 
 out the affair. A neighboring magistrate was next applied 
 to but he was still more timid, and the whole matter was 
 well nigh being lost, when the mother of the boy who had 
 broken the window, and saved the wretched child from star 
 vation, summoning all the Christian fortitude within her, said 
 to herself, " This shall bo inquired into." She was not then 
 thirty-five years of age, and the mother of ten living sons : 
 a woman of exemplary morals a member of a religious 
 communion and brave and virtuous as the mother of the 
 Gracchii. She at once made up her mind what course to 
 pursue. She called four or five of her female friends around 
 her, and stated to them the whole story, and suggested a 
 plan of operation which was, to rescue the child, and take 
 upon themselves the responsibility. Each lady was to take 
 her woman, and go to the residence of this witch of Endor, 
 and bring away the child by force, and leave her to act as 
 the aggrieved pany. Mrs. Carroll whose son had given 
 the gingerbread took a freed negress, who had been a 
 slave to her father, and one she had known from infancy, 
 to go with her. "Black Luce," as she was called, was a 
 remarkable personage : she was gigantic in mind and body, 
 possessing the most indomitable courage of any heroine of 
 ancient or modern days. They proceeded to the mansion 
 of the beldam, and found the door barred , but she spoke 
 to them through the broken pane, and swore that she would 
 
THE ORPHAN. 131 
 
 wreak her vengeance on one and all, who ventured to dis. 
 turb her. She said that her house was her castle, and that 
 she would defend it to the flowing of the hearts blood of her 
 assailants. They would probably have retreated, had not 
 lamentations issued from the inner room. They were from 
 the suffering child. This roused all the woman in their 
 hearts. The negress, burning with indignation, said, " Mis- 
 tress, give me orders, and that infant shall be in your 
 arms in five minutes !" The mother of ten sons gave the 
 approving nod. The African giantess seized a log of wood, 
 and instantly dashed-in the door and, with one avenging 
 blow, stiuck the witch to the floor who had stood with a 
 butcher s knife in her hand ; and the assailant striding over 
 the fallen hag, seized the child, and delivered him to the 
 matrons, who led him off. The infuriated Madam Cottle 
 at once went to the magistrate and entered her complaint. 
 The ladies appeared pleaded guilty to the trespass and 
 paid their fines without a murmur but refused to give up 
 the child. This subject was next discussed. She was evi 
 dently too old to be the mother of the child and not show 
 ing how she became the guardian of the boy, the magistrates 
 adjudged that he was under the protection of the overseers 
 of the poor. 
 
 The overseers gave these matrons the charge of the or 
 phan. They admired that noble feeling and Christian spirit 
 which these matrons had evinced in the cause of humanity. 
 A mother s heart is the most sacred fountain of pity ; the 
 cause of the wretched makes it flow even beyond the power 
 of the palsying hand of superstition to stop. These religious 
 and high-spirited matrons had no longer fears of any super 
 natural agency within the control of the wicked. They 
 had broken the enthraldom. The infant (who was called 
 lames Asbury) was at once clothed, fed, and sent to school 
 
132 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 at some distance from the town. His story was 
 and he was treated with great kindness. He was among 
 the first in his class but there was a constant gloom over 
 his youthful fac.% which the good matron, his particular 
 protectress, saw, and gave him all the information about 
 himself that she had. 
 
 In the holidays, when he visited his patroness, he was 
 treated as a son, and even her own children would sooner 
 quarrel with each other than with their foster-brother. 
 Large sums of money were offered Madam Cottle for his 
 history ; but, with the malignity of a fiend, she would not 
 say a word to those who importuned her. Now-and-then 
 she would throw out a hint that she could tell secrets if she 
 would, and that not only characters would suffer, but titles 
 to estates would be shaken, if she should turn tell-tale. 
 These stories often reached Asbury s ears, and gave him 
 still more uneasiness. 
 
 In his fifteenth year he made a visit to his friends, and 
 told them that life was a burden to him, while living in a 
 community to which, perhaps, he did not belong, and had 
 no ties of blood or connexion ; and that he wished to go to 
 sea to be the builder of his own fortune and the founder of 
 his own name. Finding him violently bent on this course, 
 they found him a voyage to the East Indies, and he sailed 
 with every preparation that a son of the wealthiest merchant 
 could require. The ship returned without him the cap 
 tain, at his earnest request, suffering him to join an English 
 ship in want of officers. Nothing more was heard of him 
 for ten years, when he returned to see his patronesses, and 
 with sufficient means to refund every dollar that had been 
 spent on him. This he insisted upon and would take no 
 denial. In this visit he became intimate with a young law- 
 yer, a son of the resolute woman who was the cause of his 
 
THE ORPHAN. 133 
 
 being snatched from the clutches of the beldam in whose 
 possession he was found ; and they together made great 
 efforts to get the old wretch to reveal all she knew of his 
 birth and parentage ; but she, true to her diabolical dispo 
 sition, refused to listen to any proposals, however tempting, 
 and refused to see him and his friend a second time, inti 
 mating, however, that he was more than he thought himself, 
 with many such vague expressions. Mr. Asbury soon left 
 the town, and repaired to South America, in search of adven 
 tures and commercial speculations; leaving his friend to 
 look after old Mrs. Cottle, thinking that, when dying, she 
 might be persuaded to make a true disclosure : indeed, she 
 had intimated, that, after death, many matters and things 
 which were now mysterious, would be brought to light. T 
 Ten years more passed away, and the lawyer only heard 
 now-and-then of Asbury always having been in some fight, 
 or just recovering from his wounds, or just having escaped 
 from some dungeon, frequently stating, that probably he 
 never should again see what he had never doubted was his 
 native land. 
 
 In process of time, the old beldam fell sick, and the fame 
 of her incantations were nearly exhausted, and she could no 
 longer support herself, and of course was carried to the 
 alms-house, to be taken care of. The lawyer, the friend of 
 Asbury, was that year one of the overseers of the poor, and 
 ordered the old hag into one of the best rooms of the house, 
 in hopes of finding out the secret of Asbury s birth. Dia 
 bolical as she was, she felt that this was a kindness she did 
 not deserve, and uttered a few sentiments of gratitude for the 
 attentions she had received. On one of Carroll s visits, she 
 said, "If you will pledge me that I shall be buried in such a 
 spot, (naming it in the grave yard,) in a mahogany coffin, 
 with proper winding sheets, as a lady should have, and such I 
 
 L3 
 
134 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 am by birth, I will leave you the whole of my papers." The 
 bargain was acceded to at once, and his pledge was given. 
 The dying sinner knew enough of his character to put full 
 confidence in his pledge. He added, "that she should be 
 carried to the grave in the most genteel hearse in the town, 
 and that he would follow her to the grave himself, with all 
 his friends that he could procure to join him, and she should 
 have every comfort while living it was in his power to offer. 
 The old witch took from her bed a small trunk and handed 
 it to the lawyer, saying, " in that is all you want ; give me 
 your honor that it shall not be opened until I am dead, and 
 buried as you promise, then open it, and act as you think 
 proper, sparing every curse upon me, however truly they 
 may be deserved, they will do no good. I have been a 
 wretched creature from youth. The mother of the lawyer, 
 Mrs. Carroll, wishing to see Dame Cottle, as she had been 
 to her school, and was the resolute woman who had rescued 
 young Asbury from death, took her son s arm and made a visit 
 to the dying witch. As they entered the room, the sick, old 
 woman uttered a shriek arid turned away her head, " Oh ! 
 that I could have been spared this," was her first sentence. 
 Mrs. Carroll said that she had come to induce her to repent, 
 and to implore forgiveness from her Maker. " You know 
 not the guilt of the wretch you wish to save," was the reply. 
 " Three times have I fired your house, which was providen 
 tially discovered each time, before much mischief had been 
 done ; and once I stabbed a boy supposing him to be your 
 son, but he was not ; the child survived the wound. I was 
 disguised as a sailor, when I struck my knife at his heart. 
 In the same dress I waylaid you when you were coming 
 from your sick father. It was your great Newfoundland 
 dog that you had with you that saved you that night. That 
 dog always knew me in whatever disguise I assumed, and 
 
THE ORPHAN. 135 
 
 when I have attempted to feed him, would never touch any 
 thing from my hand. He seemed to look into my very soul, 
 and 1 thought would have given his life to have told you 
 what he thought of me." Mrs. Carroll was quite overpow 
 ered at all this, and her son thought it prudent to take her 
 from the room. The ravings of the beldam were heard all 
 night long, echoing through the large building. Misery, 
 vice, and poverty forgot themselves in listening to the shrieks 
 of remorse. When the morning s sun arose, all was over ; 
 her spirit had flown, but the fiendish lineaments were still 
 left on her face, and her chappy finger seemed still extended 
 to work up some horrid spell. Mr. Carroll was true to his 
 promise ; the " withered witch" was decently shrouded and 
 put into a mahogany coffin ; several of the public coaches 
 were ordered to join the procession, and some of Carroll s 
 friends stepped into them. After the funeral he prepared 
 to open the small trunk. 
 
 In the trunk there were large bundles of papers on vari 
 ous subjects, relating to the affairs of many persons ; but 
 the most interesting, was a full and minute account of Asbu- 
 ry s parentage, with the certificate of his mother s marriage 
 and the letters which passed between his parents during the 
 days of their courtship. The way the old hag became pos 
 sessed of them was fully detailed in the sketch which she left 
 of her own life. "I was born," says the manuscript, "in 
 Edinburgh in the year 17M2, my father was a man of dis 
 tinction and worth, and I was his only daughter ; but I had 
 a brother younger than myself. I received the best educa 
 tion that my native city could afford me, always in science 
 and letters, beyond all other places on the globe. In my 
 nineteenth year, my father took me with him to London, to 
 give me a higher polish. We took up our residence with a 
 relation who was an officer of high rank in the army, and 
 
136 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 his house was constantly filled with company of the most 
 fascinating character. Among others, Colonel Cottle was 
 very attentive to me. He was a man of elegant manners, 
 of classical acquirements, and one of those artless, daring men 
 that women love, next to those who command them in every- 
 thing, and have a right to this command from bravery and 
 delicacy. He was considered as a bachelor, and as such 
 made his addresses to me. They were at first cautiously 
 received, but he pressed his suit so vehemently that I began 
 to soften. I knew my father had already made a match for 
 me in our own neighborhood, in Scotland ; but in this I had 
 no concern, as the young man was still on his travels, and 
 had never made advances to me. Colonel Cottle at length 
 offered me his hand, alledging for a while that it must be pri 
 vate, as he had difficulties to encounter. We were married, 
 and I returned to Scotland. Fortunately the man intended 
 by my father as my husband, did not return as soon from 
 the Continent as his friends expected him, and of course I 
 was free from all importunities. My husband made me two 
 or three visits clandestinely, and at length informed me that 
 he was ordered to America, and wished me to accompany 
 him to the new world. To this I readily assented, and un 
 der pretence of visiting our friends in London, I had an op 
 portunity of embarking lor America. In 1755 we were in 
 the Colonies. 1 was treated with great respect by my hus 
 band, and by every officer in the army. I felt however the 
 sin of disobedience sitting heavily upon me, and often would 
 the stern looks of my father stare me full in the face ; but 
 my husband s smile soon restored me to calmness again. I 
 was near the battle field when Lord Howe fell, and prepared 
 his apparel for the burial. I saw the fight in disguise, which 
 Colonel Cottle knew nothing of. I saw the folly of the 
 course pursued, and ventured to give my opinion ; but what 
 
THE ORPHAN. 137 
 
 could a common soldier know about war ? We had gone 
 down Lake George, on the 5th of July, 1758, in the most 
 scenic manner, a thousand and thirty boats were divided in 
 squadrons, filled with every munition of war, and the besl of 
 provisions for many day s support. At the interval of an 
 half hour, the band of music which were in the centre struck 
 up, " God Sate Great George our King" and many thou 
 sand voices were united at once, which echoed among those 
 highlands which encompass the lake, in numerous reverber 
 ations, that it seemed as if millions had joined us. The fate 
 of the battle on the 8th all know. Two thousand brave 
 fellows fell, when not a dozen Frenchmen were killed. Lord 
 Howe who had fallen was a great favorite with his own 
 troops, but more especially so with the Colonists. The re 
 treat was most melancholly. My husband had been severe 
 ly wounded, and I held his head in my lap nearly all the way 
 up Lake George; but I was disguised, he did not suspect 
 any thing. He frequently sighed, and expressed his con 
 cern for me, if he should die, but little thinking that 1 heard 
 it. I attempted in every way to cheer him, and he grew 
 more easy in body and mind. When we reached head 
 quarters at Fort George, rest and quiet had a wonderful 
 effect on him, and in less than six weeks he was able to walk 
 about leaning on my arm. I managed so adroitly to change 
 my clothes, that when he was brought into the Fort, I was 
 ready, as his wife, to receive him. I thought that 1 had 
 never loved him so much before, as I did when he was as 
 helpless as a child ; he looked to me for every thing. Col- 
 onel Cottle recovered, and we continued to live together in 
 the greatest harmony. General Abercrombte, and other 
 officers, were often at our table, and treated me with every 
 respect. Not one of them had the slightest suspicion of 
 my situation, any more than t had myself. During the 
 
138 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 winter of 1758-9, I took lodgings at Albany ; my husband 
 was the principal part of the time on the more extended fron 
 tiers. While here, a pale, emaciated woman came to my 
 lodgings, and enquired for Colonel Cottle. I informed her 
 that he was at that moment at Fort George. She took his 
 address and thanked me, as I thought with a look of pity. 
 The thought come over my mind that this woman was his 
 wife ; for once an inebriated officer had made some coarse 
 advances to me, which Colonel Cottle resented, when he let 
 fall some hints that greatly alarmed me ; but next morning 
 he came and made the humblest apolog}- for his conduct, 
 throwing his conducl upon his state of mind from excess of 
 wine. I got over this, but some lingering devil of jealousy 
 stili remained in my bosom. 
 
 In a few weeks after this visit, I had a letter from a friend 
 in the Fort, stating that the long-suffering, and long neglect- 
 ed wife of Colonel Cottle had arrived at camp, and was re 
 ceived as his wife. I instantly took a pair of horses, and my 
 servant, and repaired without delay to the Fort, and went 
 without ceremony to the head quarters of my husband. 
 Ten thousand thunders would not have half so much appal, 
 led him. I upbraided him with every epithet my invention 
 could supply. The pale woman grew paler and fainted. I 
 held a pistol to his head and threatened him that if he denied 
 a single word that I should utter, I would blow his brains 
 out. He well knew my resolution. I then left him, and at 
 once having satisfied myself of the fact of his previous mar 
 riage, I instantly left Fort George for Albany. The next 
 day a faithful friend was despatched with the offer of an an 
 nuity of five hundred pounds a year for life, this I indig 
 nantly refused. The plan I had conceived fired my brain, 
 and took the entire possession of my soul. All the mines of 
 Golconda would not have assuaged my burning wrath. 
 
THE ORPHAN. 139 
 
 Night and day I brooded over my intention with more deter- 
 ruination than ever a holy nun took her vows. I waited four 
 months, time enough to have sent lo England and have a 
 return to my letters. I forged letters of introduction for 
 my brother to Sir Jeffrey Amherst, and took them to him 
 myself in the disguise of an officer. He received me with 
 great courtesy in consideration of my family connexions. 
 After having dined with him in a splendid uniform, and bear 
 ing my part most gallantly, he offered me the appointment 
 of his Aid. I was well educated to every military form of 
 dicipline, having acted as scribe to my husband during the 
 whole time we lived together. My chirography was elegant 
 and I could imitate the hand of any one I ever saw write. 
 After I was well established, I encountered my husband, and 
 sent to him, by a friend, a challenge for his treatment of my 
 sister. He was reluctant to fight, wrote me that he had 
 injured my sister, and had offered her amends. 1 treated 
 his offers with disdan. At length the preliminaries were set 
 tled, and the day was appointed for our meeting. 1 propo 
 sed to my second that we should discharge a pistol at each 
 other at fifteen paces, and if this were without effect, then 
 we were to draw swords and commence the combat. I 
 knew that T was nearly his equal with the sword, for we had 
 used his foils an hundred times in sport. We met, he look 
 ed at me with attention, and said to his second, " I am sure 
 he is her brother, as she informed me that her whole family 
 had teeth which appeared to be double teeth in place of in 
 cisors." He saw them in his opponent. The ground was 
 paced out, and we took our places. We were to fire at the 
 signal given we fired ; 1 wounded him in the left arm where 
 I wished to hit him. I was willing to leave the combat 
 then his second would not agree to this, and we drew our 
 swords and measured them. I knew the length of his, and 
 
140 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 had prepared myself with one of nearly the same length; mine 
 happened to be an inch shorter ; but I preferred my own, 
 when he gallantly offered an exchange. This 1 refused. 
 He gave me two slight wounds ; this fired my soul, and at 
 the next onset my sword was successful. All my resent 
 ment died within me, when I saw him bleeding at my feet. 
 The man for whom I had left fortune, fame, and friends had 
 expiated all his sins, and had fallen by my hand. His groans 
 pierced my soul I burst into tears like a very woman. In 
 his pocket was found a provision for me ; I never had the 
 heart to claim it, or I might at this day have lived in comfort 
 as a respectable single woman. The next day Sir Jeffrey 
 Amherst lost his Aid, and I was on my way to Albany. - 
 The Colonel was not mortally wounded, he survived the 
 attack. The whole army were entirely unsuspicious. 
 They pitied Colonel Cottle, but did not blame the brother of 
 an injured woman. My brothers prowess was long talked 
 of, and the highest honor was awarded the opponent of Col 
 onel Cottle. The seconds affimed that the stranger soldier 
 had fought with an openness and gallantry, as though he 
 wished to be shot, or slain by the sword. Enquiries were 
 made after his sister. She was still at Albany, when the 
 wife of Colonel Cottle came on her way to embark to Eng 
 land. I saw her, and endeavored to give all the consolation 
 I could, assuring her that her husband would live. It was 
 cheering to me to hear her say my brother had behaved in 
 a gallant manner, and that she would not pursue him if she 
 could. I who had struck my sword into his bosom, wept 
 like a child, and most sincerely. 
 
 My lover husband had been lavish in^furnishmg me with 
 diamonds, and pocket money, and I found myself in easy 
 circumstances, if money could make me happy ; but it could 
 not, my beloved seducer was sick and wounded. I had done 
 
THE ORPHAN. 141 
 
 this justly, as the world would say ; but his image was 
 forever before me. His pale wife came up in my dreams 
 she reproached me for being her enemy I repelled her 
 charge with indignation, and always satisfied myself that I 
 was right and had the best of the argument, but my heart 
 still ached at the deed. In this distress I wandered to the 
 town where I shall die, and took humble lodgings, and rep 
 resented myself as the wife of an officer slain in battle on the 
 frontiers, and to save myself from ennui, proposed to teach a 
 school, this was readily assented to, as no one could doubt 
 my qualifications. I instructed in French, in Geography^ 
 History, and all those branches so seldom taught in a small 
 seaport ,own in America, at that time. The wages were so 
 small and the task so arduous, that I gave it up after a sea 
 son or two, but With the highest reputation for great learn 
 ing. The clergy gave me certificates of capacity beyond 
 all the female teachers of the times. I now retired and hired 
 the small house I have occupied for many years. The first 
 part of it in innocence and quiet. I had several times pre 
 vious to this journeyed to the city of New-York to sell some 
 of my jewels, where I could get about a quarter part of 
 their value ; but where I lived they were worth nothing. I 
 was almost tempted once while there to take a voyage to 
 England ; but could not muster courage for the enterprize, 
 and I of course returned to this town where I expect to rest 
 when life s fitful fever is over. In this place! found that 
 I had gained the reputation of a witch, which at first I con 
 sidered as a misfortune ; but when my funds grew scanty, 
 and I never was an economist, I concluded to turn this to 
 account. At first some bold young men consulted me, and 
 then some timid girls. I soon answered their enquiries with 
 out difficulty, and so accurately that my prescient wis 
 dom was no longer doubtful. I went on from step to step, 
 
 M 
 
142 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 until my fame was established beyond rivalry, and my fees 
 become as regular as a lawyer s, and 1 had amply enough 
 to maintain myself. It followed that I was consulted by 
 young men and maidens who had involved themselves in any 
 difficulty. I gave them sage advice, and have now the sat 
 isfaction of thinking that I saved many from exposure, dis 
 grace and consequent misery. I used my credit for necro. 
 mancy but to get my living and to do good. I found the 
 world ridiculous enough, and would be deceived, and I de 
 ceived them as honestly as I could. When jealous wives 
 come I laughed them out of their jealousy, and to husbands I 
 never acknowledged that a married woman could go astray. 
 My conscience was easy as long as I could live by the hon 
 est income of my profession. Sometimes 1 had both parties 
 in my house at once ; while I was advising one the other 
 was hid in my closet ; but I never was suspected of playing 
 a double game. The world I found easily gulled, and I 
 found no difficulty in playing my part. I had sustained my 
 reputation with increasing confidence. I was an excellent 
 sbot and often astonished the boys by shooting a robin from 
 the appletrees in the fields near my dwelling, with a single 
 pistol ball. This, indeed, to them, was wonderful, and was 
 set down to my league with the devil; but he had no agency 
 in the affair. 
 
 " When my fame was at its zenith, a young gentleman 
 called on me, and disclosed to me that he was deeply in love 
 with a young lady of a respectable but decayed family but 
 that his proud and wealthy father would not, he knew, con 
 sent to the match. I said every thing I could to dissuade 
 him from a hasty match ; but my exertions were all in vain : 
 he would marry. I assured him that the planets were unpro- 
 pitious. My knowledge of astronomy was often of great 
 service to me in my profession. I saw young Greenwood 
 
THE ORPHAN. 14S 
 
 in six or seven months after his clandestine marriage. He 
 had come to tell me where his wife was, and to leave with 
 me a sum of money, if she should want in his absence. He 
 was then on the eve of sailing for Europe to remain only 
 a few weeks in London, and then to return as soon as pos 
 sible. I called to see my young friend s wife and a lovely 
 being she was. I almost forgave him his folly, on seeing 
 and conversing with her. In a few weeks she became the 
 mother of a boy and at first promised to do well, but soon 
 the physician informed me that he could not save her. The 
 distress arising from her situation had preyed on her delicate 
 frame and the absence of her husband completed the victory 
 over her constitution. She died in three weeks after her 
 confinement, leaving the child in my care. She, a day or 
 two previous to her death, put into my hands the miniature 
 of her husband, set in gold and pearls, with all the letters 
 which had passed between them, and the certificate of their 
 marriage ; all of which will be found in the trunk marked 
 in silver letters, Alice Cottle, with this narrative and a 
 diamond ring, which I swore never to part with while life 
 remained. To the person to whom I shall give this trunk, 
 I give the ring. The motto on the inside of the ring is 
 Ipse dedit, sese dgdit : < He who gave this, gave himself. 
 I put the child out to nurse, thinking the father would soon 
 return and take care of his boy : but, alas ! that boy was 
 never to see his father ! The ship he sailed in was lost, 
 with all on board of her but two or three sailors. When 
 the child was nearly three years old, I had exhausted all 
 the money left me, and all the proceeds of his mother s 
 clothes. I could not board him out any longer, but took 
 him to my own house. I had sworn to Greenwood that 
 I would not say any thing to his father about his marriage 
 and I kept my word. I thought the child might be an 
 amusement to me, or I could have given him away ; but he 
 
144 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 had been indulged so much by his foster-mother, that I could 
 efo nothing with him. My temper led me to severity and 
 about this time I began to indulge in a pretty free use of gin, 
 which made me more irascible. By degrees, I began to 
 hate the little one, and was in hopes that he would soon be 
 out of my way. He was becoming sick and sulky when the 
 boy [ attempted to assassinate found him in my house. 1 
 was mortified that the fact of my having him there should 
 be made known ; but when the overseers shrunk, and the 
 magistrate quailed, that a woman should venture into the 
 lair of the lioness t the famished lioness with dried udders? 
 it was too much for me to bear. 1 swore everlasting enmity 
 to mother and son, and took every possible pains to destroy 
 them. I have frequently attempted to assassinate both. 
 The religious mother seemed protected by a legion of an 
 gels, and moved on with composure amid all my machi 
 nations. Suffice it to say, that for years I pursued them 
 without having the least success baffled, mortified, and 
 often exposed, in so wicked a course. I was inclined to 
 forget all that had passed, and to pass an act of amnesty in 
 my own mind towards them, when I met the matron at the 
 hovel of a fallen woman; the helper came to bring suste 
 nance and religious consolation. I always wore rny dagger 
 in my girdle, concealed and I had made up my mind ta 
 leave her a corse at my feet. I drew my weapon, but that 
 evil genius who had annoyed me for years Black Luce 
 stood behind me, and, arresting my arm, stamped me under 
 her feel in an instant. Imp of hell ! she cried aloud, are 
 you here? The African took her mistress by the hand, 
 and led her out of the hovel. I dared not move a limb. If 
 there ever was a creature that I feared, it was this same 
 negress. At times, I believed that she had, indeed, made 
 that very league with the devil I was suspected to have made. 
 Every where she scoffed at my profession and myself; held 
 
THE ORPHAN. 145 
 
 me in utter derision, when no one else dared ; and often pre 
 dicted events in opposition to my declarations. She had 
 been with her mistress in voyages to the West Indies, and 
 had there been initiated in all the mysteries of the Obeah. 
 I expected now to have been called before a court, to answer 
 for my intended murder ; but the good woman made no 
 complaint, and my intentions were known only to a few. I 
 was penetrated with gratitude at times, at her calm forbear 
 ance and zealous wish to preserve my life as I often heard 
 she said that she hoped that I should live to repent of my 
 course of life. 
 
 " My limbs began to grow old ; and my divinations wore 
 now considered as old as my weak frame. The boys hal 
 looed after me in the street, and mocked me, by saying 
 4 Your league with the devil is run out ! you have no more 
 power here than we have ! and others went farther with 
 unseemly phrases. The alms -house rises to my view ! 
 O God ! this is too much for one of my birth and education ! 
 The paths of vice lead down to hell ! Mercy ! mercy ! 
 mercy I " 
 
 Carroll minutely examined every paper relating to As- 
 bury, and instantly sought an opportunity of sending to him. 
 A vessel sailing for Caracas, took a letter for him under 
 cover to Bolivar. Several papers were sent to that and 
 other places, giving enough for Asbury to undei stand his 
 good fortune, should they reach him. In the course of eight 
 months he returned to his native country ; examined with 
 his friend the letters of his parents, and found the grave of 
 his mother. The rumor went abroad ; the grandparents 
 were dead, but his uncles and aunts were living. One of 
 his father s sisters having suspected her brother s marriage 
 at the time it took place, came forward, and identified her 
 brother s hand-writing, the miniature, &c. ; and every doubt 
 was removed in the family. The days of his birth and bap 
 
146 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 tism were ascertained and St. Clair Tracy Greenwood was 
 taken at once not only into his father s family, but acknowl 
 edged by every respectable person in the city. They 
 lavished all the honors upon him that they could bestow 
 military, civil, and political. He repaired the mansion-house 
 of his paternal ancestors, and built a neat country cottage 
 near the spot where the ashes of his mother reposed. He 
 went further purchased the field and the hut where Dame 
 Cottle had so long resided, and whicli was the scene of his 
 infant sufferings, and presented it to the trustees of an 
 ORPHAN ASYLUM, with other donations. He married into a 
 good family, and was cheerful, prosperous, and happy ; and 
 has since been heard to say, that no mortal but one simi 
 larly situated could describe the agony of mind, the deso 
 lation of soul, that a sensitive being suffers, who is uncertain 
 of his origin, and despairs of ever tracing it out ; that on the 
 smoothest ocean or in the sunniest vale, on the mountain top, 
 or the battle field, the impression that he belonged not to the 
 family of mankind, came over him, and struck every plea 
 sure and every excitement dead. 
 
 Carrol sent his diamond to Russia, where it was sold at 
 a great price, being of a large size and of the purest water, 
 and gave the proceeds of the sale (which was brought home 
 in iron and hemp) to the Orphan Asylum, as a fund, the 
 interest of which should for ever be applied to the clothing 
 and proper outfits of those orphans considered of a proper 
 age to become apprentices, or to go out into the world. 
 
 It has often been remarked, that Greenwood has never 
 breathed a word against Dame Cottle, notwithstanding his 
 head bears marks to this day of her brutality. Forgiveness 
 can only be perfect in the breasts of those who have suffer 
 ed. The Great Author of our holy religion became "a man 
 of sorrows and acquainted with grief" that his compassion 
 and mercy should be co. extensive with the sins of mankind. 
 
THE SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 
 
 Where God gives an employment, he gives the requisite capacity Turkish 
 
 " Ours be the gentler wish, the kinder task, 
 To give the tribute, Glory need not ask, 
 To mourn the vanish d beams, and add one mite 
 Of praise, in payment of a long delight." 
 
 WHEN the American Revolution commenced, all grades 
 of men flew to arms, and gave up their common occupations 
 to defend their country. The farmer, the trader, the school 
 master, the lawyer, and the physician went to the wars. 
 Seven years thinned their ranks ; but when the storm was 
 over, there were many of them left. The cultivator of the 
 soil and the mechanic were soon again busy in the walks of 
 civil life ; but there were some who being too proud to dig, 
 and who were ashamed to beg, found it difficult to find em 
 ployment. Many of them, as soon as schools could be es 
 tablished, engaged in the business of teaching children. 
 Schools had been so long neglected, that no very high at 
 tainments were requisite for the profession of a pedagogue. 
 
148 THE SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 
 
 Their pay was indeed scanty, but there was some pleasure in 
 it, as they had, in this capacity, some authority still left, and 
 from many had some share of respect. Among those who 
 had left merchandize to take a commission in the army, was 
 Mr. Jacob Perrin. He was a whig and patriot in every 
 pulse of his heart. He was prodigal of his property in the 
 cause of freedom, and never thought of his own wants, while 
 his country was straightened for means to carry on the war* 
 It was not wonderful that Captain Perrin left the army desti 
 tute of every thing but honor. After leaving Newburgh at 
 the close of the war, with a small bundle of Continental paper 
 money in his pocket, made his way for New Hampshire. 
 As he crossed the bleak hill of Berkshire in Massachusetts, 
 he thought that he would buy a horse to ride home upon; 
 but his paper money was here so depreciated that he was 
 obliged to pay an hundred and fifty dollars for a breakfast, 
 and after that rate for all the necessaries of travelling ; and 
 by the time he reached home, his pockets were empty even 
 of the trash itself. It was late at night when he come to his 
 house. The house dog growled at him as a stranger ; but 
 knocking several times at the door, a man let him in and 
 enquired his business. He replied, " I am an officer just 
 returned from the army, and am on my way to join my 
 family." " You must be hungry," said the house-keeper. 
 " I am," was the reply. A good supper was soon furnished, 
 for the people were in general very grateful to those who 
 had gone out to fight the battles of their country. He ate 
 heartily, for he had travelled with great rapidity to spend 
 the night at home. The master of the house saw the fatigue 
 and sadness of his guest, but forbore to question him about 
 the wars that night, and kindly showed the Captain to his 
 bed- room. It was one in which he had slept many years, 
 and he did not know why his family was not there; but 
 
THE SOLDJER-SCHOOL-M ASTER. 149 
 
 brave as he was, he dared not make any enquiry. At break 
 fast table the Captain enquired what had become of the fam 
 ily that formerly lived there. The present possessor gave 
 the Captain the details of all that had befallen Captain Per- 
 rin s family, for several years past. " When the Captain 
 went away," said he, " there was a small mortgage on these 
 premises, but he held other mortgages more than sufficient 
 to pay it off, and left it in charge with one of his friends to 
 make these mortgages balance each other ; but he did no 
 such thing ; but went and paid the mortgage held by the 
 Captain to his wife in deprecated paper, which came to al 
 most nothing in her hands, and purchasing the mortgage 
 on the Captain s farm demanded Spanish milled dollars to 
 cancel it. The specie could not be obtained, and he at once 
 sued out the mortgage, and took possession by no fair man 
 agement. I believe," said the narrator, " that this hastened 
 Mrs. Perrinout of the world." This was the first moment 
 the Captain had heard of the death of his wife. He was 
 silent, but the woman of the house who was a listener to the 
 dialogue, from more acutely observing the emotion of the 
 stranger, exclaimed by way of surprise, "are not you Cap 
 tain Perrin /" " I am the bereaved man," was the reply. 
 "Why did nt you make yourself known to us?" said the 
 woman, " you should have had every thing the house afford, 
 ed." " I have been sufficiently well treated," said the Cap. 
 tain ; being so much relieved as to pursue his enquiries, he 
 found out all the circumstances in regard to his family. His 
 three boys, the eldest then only nineteen, were then at several 
 miles distant, gathering a fine harvest of Indian corn, from 
 burnt land. The boys, driven on their resources, when 
 their father s farm was taken from them, thought of a tract 
 of wild land thon in possession of the family, and at once 
 commenced a clearing. They had, the year before, camped 
 
150 THE SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 
 
 in the woods with a few pounds of meat and bread, and fel 
 led twenty-five acres of a heavy growth of trees, and burning 
 it in the spring of 1783, had a fine crop of corn, which had 
 been gathered for some weeks, and safely stacked at this 
 period ; ar.d were now, he was told, harrowing in the rye. 
 The captain only waited to get a little refreshed, and then 
 took his way to his wild land, and had an affecting meeting 
 with his children ; he found them grown sturdy fellows, who 
 were to work like beavers for themselves, and for one un 
 married sister. As he entered their camp, he saw that they 
 had made a comfortable dwelling of it. There he found a 
 Bible, Watts Psalms and Hymns, and a few sermons of re- 
 puted orthodoxy, which looked as if they had been thorough 
 ly read. The youngest son, a playful, honest little rogue, 
 had some difficulty in hiding Robinson Crusoe, and Gulli. 
 ver s travels ; but his father saw him making the attempt, 
 and smiling said, * there is no harm in those books, my son, 
 if you read them aright." Here the Captain fared sump 
 tuously for several days. The new corn was pounded for 
 hominy, and the boys had made a good quantity of maple 
 sugar, which made an excellent dish for one who had had 
 soldier s fare for so long a time. On returning to the village, 
 the Captain looked about him for employment for the winter, 
 as he abhorred all idleness. There was at that time, a great 
 call for wooden heels for women s shoes, such as were gen 
 erally worn at that time covered with leather, and looking at 
 a pair of these heels, he soon thought of an invention, that 
 would make them with great rapidity and more accurately 
 than they had heretofore been. This succeeded well, as he 
 kept the invention to himself, as there was no patent laws in 
 the United States at that day. He had learned among the 
 Indians in the western part of the State of New- York to 
 dress deer-skins, sheep-skins, &c., in the moccasin style.- 
 
THE SOLDIER- SCHOOL-MASTER. 151 
 
 After exhibiting a few specimens, the demand for these skins 
 was constant, and paid well for the dressing. The industri 
 ous Captain was, with his children, go : ng on very well in 
 these jobs, when he was called upon by that important body, 
 a committee from a school district to hire a master. The 
 Captain was reputed a good reader, and his chirography 
 was certainly very good. After some hesitation and reflec 
 tion, he was advised by his friends to accept of the appoint 
 ment, and on the first day of January, 1784, began his labor 
 as a pedagogue. From squad to squad, as a school district 
 used then to be called, he kept for a dozen years, about 
 eight months in the year, and cultivated a garden in the sum 
 mer season, was thrifty and happy, having realized some 
 thing from his commutation, with which, and his earnings he 
 purchased a pretty farm. The children were prosperous, 
 having in addition to farming, from the first of their father s 
 leather dressing, become tanners and curriers, then a very 
 profitable business. He had kept school from 1784 to 1798 
 when the writer first became acquainted with him, and was 
 put under his instruction. He was then a man well to do, 
 wore a fine cocked beaver, a gold headed cane, and there 
 was more creak in his shoes than any other gentlemans in 
 the parish, for he wore a very clean pair every day. As a 
 war was impending over our country, he subscribed an hun 
 dred dollars as a donation for building armed vessels, and 
 had taken a thousand dollars in the loan authorized by gov 
 ernment for the purpose ofincreasing our navy. When his 
 friends remonstrated at this, and reminded him how ungrate 
 fully the country had acted towards those war-worn vete 
 rans who had served her interests in the revolutionary 
 war, and touched upon the hardness of his own case in 
 particular, ho replied, "a patriot should never give up his 
 country for the most unkind treatment, but hold on to pro- 
 
152 THE SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 
 
 tect her as long as he would the mother who bore him. All 
 were not then so particular, as they could not get the pit 
 tance due them lor long past services. 
 
 It was on the nineteenth day of January the school opened 
 as is remembered as being our twelfth birth day. In a 
 large coarse school house, that morning there were seated in 
 due order, about ninety scholars of both sexes, who arose as 
 the master entered. He was a tall, spare man, on whom 
 time had begun to press, but he was still agile, and full of 
 animal spirits. He bade us good morning with the ease and 
 manners of a gentleman, and set about classing us, but we 
 had classed ourselves, knowing each other better than a 
 stranger. The master spoke to us as one having authority, 
 as well he might, for our committee had given him eight dol 
 lars a month, and better board than he was in the habit of 
 getting ; never more than six dollars a month had been pre 
 viously given. The scholars sooner became acquainted with 
 the character of their instructor, than masters do of the tal 
 ents of their pupils. The Soldier-School-Master had the 
 reputation of being an excellent reader ; he had a fine sono 
 rous voice, of great compass, and it was well modulated ; 
 he read with great volubility, but was not very correct in his 
 pronunciation or careful of a right accentation, but his em 
 phasis, however misp acecl, was bold and full, which gave a 
 strength and force to his reading. He made his pause, after 
 the light of nature, although he knew enough of the theory of 
 punctuation, to tell the difference between a comma and a 
 period, but never thought of them after he had defined them. 
 His memory was then strong, and of course he was a good spel 
 ler. In History and Geography, he was better versed than 
 most of his contemporaries, and he possessed an ample store 
 house of anecdote, particularly of the revolutionary war, 
 which, he told with great effect. His arithmetic was scanty ; 
 
THE SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 153 
 
 the Golden Rule of Three was the Ultima Thule of his sci 
 ence of numbers. He thought it was a waste of time to go 
 farther. When once asked what was understood by the 
 word Algebra, he rubbed his forehead a moment and then 
 said, "he believed it was arithmetic or figures, diving into let 
 ters, like a Pinguin into ivater, to come up the same thing in 
 another place, a little disguised" Many a hard question has 
 been answered with less ingenuity than this. 
 
 The discipline of his school was military. The boys 
 marched in and out of school in single file. They were 
 divided into companies and battalions, forming his regulars as 
 he called them. Every offence of any magnitude, was tried 
 by a court-martial, properly organized as a court of honor. 
 A judge advocate was appointed, and charges and specifi 
 cations made to the master who appointed the court. It 
 was often amusing to see with what accuracy the young 
 scholars would go through the forms and get at the justice 
 of the case. He had drilled several of his scholars, who 
 trained the others until all were quite at home, in the manual 
 exercise and all company manoeuvres. The two best schol 
 ars of the week were the two captains for the next week. 
 Regular returns were made to the master every Saturday, 
 and he knew who had been to school constantly or not. One 
 hour each day was spent in reading history. This was 
 done by four or five good readers while the others were lis 
 tening. The best readers were selected, and all were emu 
 lous to be in the class of history readers. Interesting biog 
 raphies were also introduced. When particular portions 
 of Ramsay s History of the Revolution were read, the old 
 soldier was all alive to the subject, and made copious re 
 marks to his school upon the minutiae of them. The biog 
 raphies of many of the heroes of the revolution had not 
 then been written, but something of most of them was known 
 
 N 
 
154 THE SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 
 
 to him, and he detailed all he knew to his boys. Such was 
 the enthusiasm which this course produced, that in a few 
 months there was hardly a child of either sex in the school 
 who could not say something on most of the questions which 
 were proposed one Saturday to be answered the next Satur 
 day, having probably obtained assistance from home. In 
 fact, he so managed his school that all the families in the 
 district, doctor, lawyer, and all were put upon their studies, 
 and did the best they could in assisting the children to appear 
 well in this branch. Plutarch s Lives were next introduced, 
 and read by males and females as well as the other books, 
 the master selecting such as were to be read in public. 
 These volumes were in constant requisition in school, for 
 they were studied by those who had gone through their reg 
 ular lessons. The parents of the children proposed to the 
 old soldier that several sets should be purchased, he at once 
 objected to this, saying that as soon as all had books, the in 
 terest for reading them would diminish ; the only way to 
 make them learn fast was from the above method, then eve 
 ry one was anxious for his turn, and brought his attention to 
 the work to gain as much as another had in the same space 
 of time, and more if possible. The parents yielded to this 
 reasoning. 
 
 The old soldier wrote imaginary dialogues between Gen 
 erals of armies, whether they lived in the same age with 
 each other or not. These imaginary dialogues were 
 handed around the school, in a skeleton form, any one had 
 a right to introduce a new character, if it were in keeping 
 with the others, and many were ambitious to join in the dia 
 logue, which after many incongruities went off very well. . 
 As the spring was advancing, the snow being still deep, the 
 old soldier imparted to his school the design of a grand mili 
 tary fete. He laid out a plan for it. He marked out tho 
 
THE SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 165 
 
 place near the school-house for a large fort ; he had once 
 been distinguished in the defence of a fortress, and this thought 
 was always uppermost in his head. The erection of the 
 works was a joint labor, and was soon accomplished. It 
 was built with large snow masses rolled when the sun was 
 warm at noon day, and piled one upon another, and fashion 
 ed with mechanical exactness, until the works were finished. 
 The rear of the fort was to be unassailable ; but from which 
 the beseiged might make a sortie if they saw proper. The 
 parties to fill the works, and the assailants were arranged. 
 There were two favorite boys selected, or rather designated 
 as leaders; one was Archibald Duncan, a stripling of ardent 
 temperament, daring, generous, and full ofresourses, the 
 other, Stafford Harper, a lad of a year or two older, cau 
 tious, mild, industrious, but selfish. The latter was the high 
 est favorite of the school-master, but he was obliged in jus 
 tice to acknowledge that Duncan was the greatest boy. Har 
 per with one third of the forces was to defend the fort, and 
 Duncan with the other part was to attack it. The young 
 ladies wrought a standard, on which they painted this motto: 
 FoR THE CONQUERORS." A day was fixed for the fight, 
 and all were ready. As they left the school-house, the flag 
 was seen floating on the battlements of the fort. Harper 
 said to Duncan, as they marched out, " the ides of March 
 have come;" " yes," was the reply, " but not gone." A 
 huge conch shell, a common instrument then used to call the 
 workmen from their labors to their meals, was sounded from 
 the ranks of the assailants, with a demand of surrender. 
 This was, of course, refused, with terms of defiance. As the 
 assailants retired, they had heard the master issue the order, 
 " hang out the banner on the outer wall," when Duncan 
 said to his comrades, " they shall see Burnam wood come 
 down to Dunsinane." Duncan had summoned his forces, 
 
156 THE SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 
 
 when all were unsuspicious, and rolled large masses of 
 snow into balls, and put birch poles under them, in order 
 that they might be easily removed. These were brought 
 by the sturdiest of the assailants, and placed under the walls 
 of the fort, grown compact by the frost. This was effected 
 only by a slight annoyance from the snow balls of the gar- 
 rison, the only weapon allowed to be used against the persons 
 of each party. In a few moments the conch rang again, 
 and Duncan s main army appeared, each with a mighty load 
 of hemlock branches in his arms. In their rear was a 
 corps of little boys, each bearing a lever or handspike, made 
 of hornbeam wood, cut to a sharp wedge at the largest end. 
 The branches were thrown on the snow balls, just placed as 
 steps to reach the battlements of the fortification, which by 
 the addition of these hemlock fascines, enabled the assailants 
 to raise their heads high enough to throw their hand snow- 
 balls directly into the works. These had been made several 
 days before, and were hardened by the frost of several nights, 
 although unknown to Harper s party. His balls were soft 
 and had but little effect. Those in the fort could not sustain 
 themselves against those frozen balls, and the orders of 
 Duncan were strictly obeyed to bring down the leader, 
 when the whole fire was directed to him, he could not sup 
 port it, but fled, and his forces followed. Duncan with his 
 own hand seized the standard, and shouted victory. This 
 war-cry fell like a death blow on the ears of the veteran, 
 who seizing his cane ran into the fort deserted by the whole 
 garrison, but the fire did not cease. In a paroxysm of rage 
 he breasted it all. Duncan now gave orders for the demol- 
 ishers to seize their weapons. The little boys advanced and 
 handed to the big ones the formidable weapons. The work 
 of destruction began. The veteran exclaimed, " Spare ! O, 
 spare the fort !" The boys looked at Duncan, whose orders 
 
THE SOLDIER- SCHOOL-MASTER. 157 
 
 were to be obeyed. In fifteen minutes there was nothing of 
 the noble fortress to be seen, but a mass of snow and ice, 
 without form or comeliness. The morning sun had shone 
 on a beautiful specimen of art. The veteran was half suffo 
 cated in the ruins, and laid his cane about him most furious. 
 Jy. Several of the assailants, and Duncan among others, 
 had felt its weight ; he paid no regard to this, but ordered 
 two of his warriors to conduct the master into the school- 
 house. A bag of salt was brought forward, and strewed 
 over the ruins in classical style. When the battle was over, 
 Duncan formed his forces left in front, to enter the school, 
 house the banner in the centre. Uncertain what would be 
 the temper of the chafed veteran, Duncan engaged several 
 of his athletic boys to favor his escape, if any personal vio 
 lence was offered him. The little rosy cheeked, laughing ur 
 chins entered first; when the banner appeared the females 
 arose and cheered the victor, waving their handkerchiefs to 
 welcome his approach. The veteran stood by his desk, and 
 Duncan and the efficient part of his forces, occupied the area 
 in front of the desks, when he thus addressed the Command- 
 er-in- Chief: " General, the forces under my command have 
 been signally victorious. The garrison of Fort Katharine, 
 (named in honor of the Empress of Russia who had built a 
 palace of ice,) have fled to neutral ground in dismay, and 
 the works are in ruins. The proud banner that floated on 
 the "outer wall," shall now be laid at your feet. In this 
 triumph \ve regret to say that when the garrison fled, a vete 
 ran hero, unknown to your officers, made his appearance and 
 fought like Csesar, until he was buried in the ruins. His 
 remains have been recovered, and I now ask your permis 
 sion to give him the funeral of a Feld Marshall, over his 
 remains I will pronounce an oration, in humble imitation of 
 Anthony over the dead body of the mighty Julius." The 
 
 N 2 
 
158 THE SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 
 
 smallest child caught the drift of the speech, and the whole 
 school were in a roar of laughter. The master was now in 
 a good humor, and declared that he had the pleasure of an 
 nouncing to the victorious legion, that the veteran had recov 
 ered from his suffocation, and would decline the honor of a 
 military funeral at the present time ; but when the proper 
 time should arrive no one could do more honor to the merits 
 of an officer, than Captain -Duncan. " Crown the victor," 
 was the order from the desk, when nine young ladies ap 
 proached and dropped the laurel crown on the stripling s 
 head. The veteran then detailed the circumstances of the 
 fight, and gave Duncan great credit in combining the prin 
 ciples of several battles in an admirable manner, and defend 
 ed every act of the assailants on honorable grounds. He 
 saved the feelings of Harper, whose face bore marks of 
 stiffened snow balls, by saying that no one could have ex 
 pected such a tremendous attack. 
 
 The master and scholars and their parents were invited 
 to Duncan s father s house that evening, for a little jollifica 
 tion, to make up all things, in order to go on again smoothly ; 
 for a very different result was prognosticated by many of 
 the knowing ones in the district, who had seen the veteran 
 smile and wink when the subject had been mentioned and 
 it had been talked of for several days previously. The 
 party was large, and all seemed to enjoy it. Duncan intro* 
 duced Harper to his father and family, and appointed him 
 to open the dance. Old Pompey, who had fiddled for five 
 or six generations, was sent for, and he came in full glee 
 as the harper who sung the " Lay of the Last Minstrel." 
 He was infirm and old, but he had. been a warrior, and was 
 senior to all around him. " They were boys," he said, 
 to him. He had played at their fathers weddings." The 
 school -master came also to partake of the hilarity, and made 
 
THE SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTEK. 159 
 
 himself quite agreeable. Notwithstanding, some of the aged 
 dames would make some smiling allusion to his feat of bra 
 very in the fortress. Duncan never alluded to the fight, 
 but charged his forces not in any way to even glance at the 
 subject. This was a difficult task for them to perform but 
 they did as well as they could, and much better than they 
 would have done if Duncan s eye had not been on them. 
 At twelve o clock at night the party broke up. The sleigh 
 bells gingled and, like sprites, they were on the wing. 
 The veteran was invited to spend the night with the family. 
 As Duncan took the lamp to show Captain Perrin his bed* 
 chamber, the sage thus addressed his pupil : " Duncan- 
 this is the first day of your fame : I would not prevent you 
 from seeking for an exalted reputation ; but, let it be founded 
 on good will to man and a love of your country : all other 
 glory will be like the expiring lamp you hold in your hand 
 extinct by the next breath of time. But, a patriot s grave 
 holds no common dust. I have marked the times, my son, 
 and not one in twenty who bled for our independence, has, 
 or ever will have, a grave-stone to designate the spot where 
 his ashes may rest. But, call not your country ungrateful : 
 the day will come when their resting-places shall be sought 
 forand to have been a soldier of the revolution will be an. 
 honorable distinction, and perhaps an heritage to their de. 
 scendants. Futurity opens to my view and I see the day 
 fast coming when our country shall rise in her justice and 
 majesty to do what is right to us who are now suffering and 
 repining. New paths of glory will be open to the rising 
 generation. You will be called to take a share. Act well 
 your part and whether you sleep on the bed of honor, or 
 rise to political eminence, or grasp the wreaths of military 
 glory, let honor be your guide, and love of country your 
 principle. Good night. My blessing rest upon you." 
 
160 THE SOLDIEE-SCHOOL-MASTER. 
 
 Duncan retired to bed, but not to sleep. He did not know 
 that he was very ambitious or vain ; but, for the first time, 
 he now stretched his views forward, in contemplating his 
 future course of life ; and so many paths seemed opened 
 upon him, that he was at a loss to know which to choose. 
 One seemed dark and dreary for awhile, and then became 
 lighter and smoother ; others opened in a flood of light, but 
 seemed at last to lead to dismal swamps, full of crocodiles 
 and venomous serpents. There were some few who looked 
 vigorous and strong, far up the mountain side. " I will," 
 said he, " follow them for at that elevation they have a 
 good survey of the country, and can better judge which 
 pathway to select. This mountain must exhibit the heights 
 of knowledge to which I must climb before I am called upon 
 to judge." With this explanation (satisfactory to his own 
 mind) he sunk to repose. 
 
 Captain Perrin continued in the same occupations for 
 many succeeding years, with the same zeal, if not with the 
 same energy and effect ; every day growing thrifty by his 
 industry and prudence. Fie wept bitterly when he saw 
 some of his old companions in arms, who had spent their 
 time, since the close of the war, in idleness and in useless 
 complaining. The broken-down soldier, however, found 
 sustenance at the captain s hospitable mansion, and never 
 was turned from the door, even if the master was not there, 
 naked or hungry. His orders were permanent, and strictly 
 obeyed. He was often the means of putting some of these 
 objects of charity in a way of earning their bread : this 
 made him truly happy. He felt the ingratitude of the na 
 tion, but he hated to hear of it, for he always found that the 
 greatest grumbler was the idlest man. He frequently pro- 
 phesied that the nation would one day awake, and make some 
 display of justice, however late. 
 
THE SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 161 
 
 When we trace the growth of a people, we are often led 
 to remark how many impressions on society one individual 
 may leave. This schoolmaster in a new country, by a 
 playful display of military prowess and a love of military 
 men, elicited a spirit which, perhaps, ages may not extin 
 guish. Duncan was a general officer on the frontiers in 
 the war of 1812, and has frequently been heard to observe, 
 that many of the best officers he had under him, he found 
 had been educated in Captain Perrin s military school in 
 the section of the country from whence he came. They 
 were brave, well disciplined, and full of patriotism. Such 
 is education. 
 
 The soldier-school-master lived to reach his eighty-sixth 
 year : saw his country prosperous and happy and at last 
 had the pleasure of receiving his military pension, which he 
 divided among his grandchildren, as their patrimony, in order 
 to see them flourishing while he was living. The captain 
 died in his chair on the 3rd of July, while looking on the 
 moon and stars of a clear and brilliant night, and enquiring 
 what preparations had been made for the morrow the anni 
 versary of the glorious Declaration of Independence. Being 
 told that a regiment would be out for parade, and for an 
 escort to the civil procession, he seemed pleased ; and, on 
 hearing the name of the orator of the day one of his former 
 pupils he exclaimed, with great animation, " / taught that 
 boy ; he will do well ; his country s history is familiar to him." 
 It was his last sentence ; the martial spirit of the patriot had 
 burst from its earthly habitation : he had expired without a 
 
 sigh. 
 
 " So sleep the brave, who sink to rest, 
 With all their country s honor blest." 
 
 On the morning of the 4th, the troops began to assemble 
 at the dawn of day. The highest officer on the parade 
 
162 THE SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 
 
 ground at sunrise was Sergeant Johnson who was every 
 inch a soldier. He WHS proud of his rank, and held it for 
 many years, refusing promotion preferring rather to be con 
 sidered the first non-commissioned officer in the State, to any 
 other post of honor. He was the favorite of all who knew 
 him. He had heard of the death of Captain Perrin as he 
 came on in the night-time to be first on the parade ground. 
 At sunrise he mounted a stump, having formed his men into 
 a hollow square, and thus communicated the sad intelli 
 gence : 
 
 " Attention, the whole ! Comrades I have the melan 
 choly duty to inform you, that the veteran Captain Jacob 
 Perrin has grounded his arms here, to be transferred to a more 
 select corps in another world. He died last night, talking 
 of independence and freedom and lies free among the dead. 
 I have heard father tell (and father knew) that the old cap 
 tain went out to fight as cool as a cucumber fought it out 
 like a dragon and sat quiet when it was all over : enquired 
 for the dead and missing, and if any thing could be done- 
 for the wounded ; and, after seeing to all things, he drew 
 his sword, and laid it under his head, and took a little hori 
 zontal repose, in order to refresh himself for a new sum 
 mons. He never minded the whistling of balls it was 
 music to his ears. Fie turned out on hearing of the battle of 
 Lexington, and never left the army until he saw the last red 
 coat at New York. He stood by General Washington firm 
 as a rock, when some of the discontented were for cutting 
 up shines at Newburg. He was too much of a soldier to 
 get into a scrape against discipline too much of a patriot to 
 curse his country, when it would do no good and too wise 
 to ask the Congress for pay, when they had not a dollar to 
 help themselves with. When he came home, (poor as a 
 church mouse,) he was not too proud to go to work, but laid 
 
THE SOLDIER-SCHOOL-MASTER. 163 
 
 right hold, as a man who intended to earn his bread and 
 cheese before he eat it. He had not a drop of idle blood in 
 his veins. He never went loitering to a grog shop to get a 
 dram for telling a story but, when he was there, he treated 
 all. Not that he was caught there often ; but, at his house 
 he was always a prince. I don t know enough of other 
 military officers to make comparisons ; but this I can say 
 that all the old revolutionaries used to say, that he was a 
 Joe Warren of a fellow and that, I think, is saying enough. 
 For my part, I used fo think that I had got something to 
 compare the captain to, and not a homely comparison nei 
 ther : it was to a famous knife belonging to father ; it was 
 great in the meat way ; it was excellent in cutting stalks 
 and for whittling, it was the best in all the country : it was 
 forever in service. A few turns on the grindstone would 
 always put it in order. It grew thin on the back, and de 
 cayed at the edge, but was always cute, until, in hard service, 
 it snapped in two, when father picking up the parts, saved 
 them to make a razor. And I believe that the old captain 
 will go through a new forge, and be made something wonder 
 fully bright. When our colonel comes, he will make you a 
 speech as sweet as a good band of music playing on the water 
 in a moonlight night ; but nobody will ever love the cap 
 tain better than Sergeant Johnson." 
 
 Here ended the harangue of the sergeant and, homely 
 as it was, it brought tears into the eyes of the soldiers. Of 
 the colonel s eulogy we have no copy but the speech of 
 the sergeant our memory has faithfully retained. Such 
 were the men who fought out the battles of the revolution 
 for our country, and made a part of her strength and vir 
 tues when the fight was done. 
 
THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 
 
 <Ye guardian spirits, to whom man is dear, 
 
 From all foul demons shield the midnight gloom ! 
 
 Angels of fancy and of love, be near, 
 And o er the blank of sleep diffuse a bloom !" 
 
 " What time the moon had hung her lamp on high, 
 And pass d in radiance through the cloudless sky, 
 Sad o er the dews, the Spectre Beauty came." 
 
 IT has been the belief in every age and nation, that man 
 has a mortal and an immortal part ; and that when these 
 are separated by death, the corporeal part descends to min 
 gle with the dust from which it came, and the spiritual 
 ascends to the Source from which it emanated. This spiri 
 tual part, under many names, is one and the same substance, 
 whether called manes, ghosts, shades, spectres, &c. There 
 has been, and still is, a belief that the unincumbered spirit 
 is sometimes permitted to walk the earth for extraordinary 
 purposes. The nations of antiquity had a great reverence 
 for the dead, and the most affectionate ceremonies were 
 regarded in funerals. Besides being embalmed, the buried 
 dead of Egypt often slept in costly edifices built to secure 
 their repose. The general impression among them was, 
 that the shades of those suffered to remain on earth unburied 
 
 O 
 
166 THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 
 
 and unblessed by religious funeral rites, wandered an hun 
 dred years on the banks of the Styx, before they could induce 
 the unaccommodating boatman, Charon, to ferry them across 
 his dark waters. These mysteries of the imagination have 
 come down to the present day, through the most enlightened 
 nations of the Pagan world. The Greeks and Romans 
 refined upon the Egyptian religious mysteries, but their 
 essentials were retained. Patriotism and military glory were, 
 in the minds of these intelligent and warlike people, connected 
 with funeral honors, and these with the repose of the soul. 
 The Greeks and the Romans, although believers in the ap 
 pearance of departed spirits, did not imagine that they were 
 called up on trivial occasions. The ghosts of those who 
 remained unburied, Timotheus brought to the monarch s 
 view in the " feast for Persia won," had only to complain 
 that they remained unburied ; this was sufficient to whet his 
 vengeance : the shade of mighty Caesar only arose to shako 
 the assassin s soul. The stern courage and hardihood of 
 the ancients would not suffer the nurseries of their children 
 to be filled with the chimeras of the imagination ; and if the 
 seeds of superstition are not implanted in the youthful mind, 
 they are seldom found in the adult. After the decline and fall 
 of the Roman empire, arid the Christian religion was estab 
 lished in a great part of Europe, it must be confessed that 
 superstition was rapidly on the increase. The superstitions 
 of the enlightened ancients were not lost, but were mingled 
 with those of rude nations, and assumed in most instances 
 less lovely forms. The Druidial forms of religious worship 
 were full of superstitions borrowed from still more remote 
 ages. The northern nations had their fierce and bloody mys. 
 teries : necromancers, enchanters, and wizards, were a part 
 of these creatures of fiction, and held a formidable sway 
 over the minds of men. These superstitions took a cast from 
 
THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 167 
 
 the character of the people among whom they were found. 
 While, among the Scandinavians, Odin drank his wine-blood 
 from the skulls of his enemies, and shook the mountains with 
 the thunders of his voice, the refined Arabian placed the 
 parent of their ever busy genii, who generally labored to do 
 good, in ithe placid form of a monstrous egg, on the lofty 
 heights of Mount Caucasus. All their imaginations were 
 full of meaning. This white egg was an historical emblem ; 
 for, from that region, came the white race of men now called 
 the Caucassian race ; and who are now masters of the 
 world holding the first rank in the scale of human beings, 
 in form and intellect, as well as in physical power. The 
 superstitions of our ancestors underwent a new revolution 
 during the crusades ; but, the imagination gained by an ac 
 quaintance with the taste of the East, on the one hand, while 
 it lost by the great prevalence in the belief of witchcraft 
 which about that time began to be general. The destruc 
 tion of the two higher orders of the Druids gave the most 
 inferior order, from which sprung the weird sisters, a chance 
 to diffuse the dregs of this once sublime worship through the 
 grades of ignorance and crime. 
 
 When our ancestors first came to this country, notwith 
 standing all their piety and firm reliance on Providence, 
 they brought with them all the floating superstitions of the 
 mother country. From generation to generation these were 
 handed down, hardly ever running along with the common 
 currents of knowledge, but, as it were, in subterranean chan- 
 nels, and only at particular times coming to the surface of 
 the earth ; as in the delusion of 1692, when several inno 
 cent persons suffered death on the gallows, from the fanati 
 cism of the age. The reaction then experienced, checked 
 all the open evils arising from these superstitions ; but still, 
 a belief that wicked spirits were allowed at times to walk 
 
168 THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 
 
 the earth, lingered in the land. Even when fashion had 
 made it ungenteel to talk of witches, there was no canon 
 against a belief in ghosts. This was thought by many pious 
 guides of life to be beneficial. It might restrain many from 
 evil deeds, to believe that a departed friend had the power 
 to overlook our actions : but, every species of deception, 
 however honestly intended, is wrong. This species of belief, 
 by sleeping so long, was hardly supposed to exist by many ; 
 but, like the elemental fire of nature, when awoke by fric 
 tion and fanned by fresh breezes, was found to pervade the 
 whole mass of minds in greater or less degrees. 
 
 In a well-educated country town, a sexton who had labored 
 so long in his vocation that he was callous as to the person 
 who might sleep in the house he built for doomsday, went 
 one warm night in the month of August, when the moon 
 Was shining bright as day, to dig a grave, to save the labor 
 of working under a warm sun. While he was amusing 
 himself with humming a tune, and probably congratulating 
 himself on having planted successive generations in the 
 regions round about, and dreaming of continuing his trade 
 until the then living were gone, left his spade and mattox in 
 a nearly finished work, to take a drop of cooling comfort 
 which he had prepared to solace himself with, as fatigue 
 overtook him. Like his predecessor in Hamlet, he threw 
 out a skull. He recollected that thirty years before, he had 
 deposited the body of one Loomis Mattox in that very place ; 
 and, on taking it into his hands, knew it at once. " Well, 
 Old Mat," he muttered to himself, " your scraping and shav 
 ing, your screwing and cheating, did not do you any good. 
 Heaven support me ! how I should like to tell you, if you 
 could understand it, where you are ; a place where I should 
 not wish to be ! How your dollars went in law-suits all 
 the parties cursing your memory, as they lost their causes ! 
 
THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 169 
 
 0, I recollect how the lawyers did talk of you before the 
 jury ! but, thank God, I did not tell them how you cheated 
 me out of half a summer s work, and, according to your 
 account, I owed you when I dug your grave ; but I knew 
 better and have had my revenge for, when I wanted to 
 hide a dead negro for a day or two, for the doctor, I have 
 made use of your grave, as it was easy digging, and I did 
 not care a cent for disturbing you ; I knew you could not 
 touch me. I believe that such an old miser as you were 
 could not appear to a dog!" As he was soliloquizing, he 
 threw the skull aside, saying aloud, " Lie there ! I will 
 keep your old skull above ground : I will make you do 
 some good : I will give you to the doctor, that you may 
 hang up in his office to make among others a show of his 
 caring nothing for death : and faith, although he is considered 
 skilful, 1 don t think he does much^-for he often says to me, 
 Bill, get ready he will drop away about day-break ; and 
 it always happens so, unless I steal in and give the poor sick 
 fellow some of my medicine and then sometimes he gets 
 well ; but, between me and the moon, I must say, that he 
 more often gets off before the time : but it is all one for I 
 never get credit for it if I cure ; and, however, if I don t, 
 nobody is the wiser for it." 
 
 After this soliloquy, Bill turned his head to the flight of 
 steps which led into and out of the grave-yard, and saw a 
 ghost -rise from the street and descend into the yard. He 
 gazed for a moment, when his courage forsook him,, and he 
 uttered a scream, and fled leaving skull, and the tools of his 
 trade where they were lying when he was muttering to him 
 self; nor did he return until the sun had dried every dew- 
 drop from the grass^when he brought off the skull.. 
 
 After the funeral that day, Bill told the story of the ghost, 
 and added " If the ghost had come in the shape of Old 
 O 2 
 
170 THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 
 
 Mattox, I would have made fight before I would have left 
 my farm for him." As this story was noised about, the 
 young men would make Bill tell it over a glass of liquor ; 
 and he always said he was willing to take his Bible oath of it 
 Not long after this, two young women coming from a neigh 
 boring friend s, (where they had been waiting in hopes to see 
 a long absent relation that night, expected to visit his home, 
 from a long voyage) declared that they had seen a ghost pre 
 cisely where the sexton had seen one before. These young 
 ladies were highly respectable, and not given to superstition. 
 They told the story with so much exactness, that many were 
 inclined to believe that this apparition was out of the com 
 mon course of those created by the fears of the timid. The 
 young ladies of a female academy in the village took up the 
 subject, and hunted up every ghost story that had been pre 
 served in tradition or print and they were becoming so 
 timid and ridiculous, that the guardians of the institution 
 began to think that something must be done to check the 
 progress of this disease of credulity, which at once affected 
 their pursuits and their minds. The clergyman of the parish 
 was a venerable divine, who had passed his seventieth year; 
 of a sound mind and body, learned and philosophic, and far 
 above the superstitions of any age. He set- about stemming 
 the delusion and, on a Sunday afternoon, gave notice that 
 he should, on the next Lord s Day, preach upon supernatural 
 agency, and intimated most strongly that the late wonderful 
 reports were occasioned by some successful delusion played 
 off by wags, who wished to disturb the quiet of the parish. 
 The next Sunday the church was crowded people coming 
 from all quarters to hear the learned doctor on such a sub 
 ject. He took for his text a part of two verses in the 44th 
 chapter of Genesis : 
 
 " Is not this the cup in which ray lord drinketh, and whereby, 
 indeed, he divineth ?" 
 Wot ye not, that such a man as I can certainly divine ?" 
 
THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 171 
 
 The learned divine entered deeply into the mysteries and 
 arts of the Egyptians which all who believed or not, were 
 bound to treat with profound reverence ; and Joseph, who 
 was so near the king, was under the necessity of keeping 
 the cup of divination in his hand, as one of the inspired among 
 the E jyptian rulers, to give force to advice, and authority 
 to commands ; but there is no instance on record of his using 
 his cup of divination, except to alarm his brethren, to bring 
 them to remorse and penitence for their former cruelty to 
 himself and father. The history of the plagues, from the 
 pen of Moses, leaves no impression on the mind that the 
 magicians, and soothsayers, and diviners, were any more 
 than learned men, who practised mysterious arts to awe the 
 ignorant, by the appearance of supernatural agency. He 
 next proceeded to grapple with the witch pfJEndor a sub 
 ject which he confessed was the toughest bit of magic con 
 tained in the Scriptures ; but he nevertheless went to work 
 to demolish her pretensions, without ceremony. He contend 
 ed, that if she had possessed a familiar spirit, and that of a 
 high order, why did she not know Saul, even in his disguise 1 
 To prove that it was a deception when a miracle was 
 really wrought, to bring up the shade of the prophet, the 
 witch of Endor was as much surprised as the monarch of 
 Israel : the spirit of righteous Samuel forboded every thing 
 of ill to the foolish king perhaps in part for the impiety of 
 his inquiry. " I do not love," said the preacher, " to trust 
 much to verbal criticism : I prefer to take the broad grounds 
 of general reasoning in the discussion of a subject j but, if 
 I were to make a critical remark upon the Hebrew lan 
 guage, I should say, that the term used for witch, meant a 
 professor of necromancy, rather than a necromancer. The 
 laws of every land since that time, have been against tellers 
 of fortunes and pretenders to the familiar art. No tolerance 
 
172 THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 
 
 of witchcraft grew out of this case ; nor is there any evi 
 dence, from this instance, that there ever was any thing like 
 spiritual agency acknowledged by the wise men of Israel, 
 but such as came from other quarters. Our ancestors blun 
 dered over this text, from a want of liberal feeling, and deep 
 and fair canons of criticism ; and the commentaries of Cotton 
 Mather do not weigh as much as the dust of the balance in 
 the minds of any enlightened men. The priests of ancient 
 days were condemned and we boast our superiority over 
 them : and why do we assume all this superiority ? because 
 we say that we are wiser than they. Do we show this 
 wisdom, by encouraging superstition ? Omnipotence wastes 
 no efforts ; every end is brought about by regular means, 
 unless the objects to be obtained are beyond the common 
 laws of nature. When God suffers miracles to be wrought 
 by the plenitude of his power, it is for reasons wise and just. 
 What object could heaven have in sending the apparition of 
 a woman into our grave-yard, unto those who suppose they 
 have seen a spectre ? Has this spirit made any communi 
 cation which will go to show the perpetration of crimes 
 unstripped of justice 1 Were there spots of blood on the 
 grave-clothes she wore ? Has any one suddenly disappeared 
 from the country about us, whose death could not be ration 
 ally accounted for by the common laws of dissolution? Do 
 not, my hearers, be deceived by these idle tales : rest awhile, 
 and the whole thing will be made plain to you. I am now 
 passed the ordinary boundaries of human life, and I can 
 safely say, that all the stories of supernatural agency which 
 I have heard of, when thoroughly examined, have all been 
 accounted for upon known principles,." 
 
 The preacher called upon his Christian auditors to brace 
 up their minds to a reliance on God, and not stand trembling 
 under the fear of demons, ghosts, spirits, or any of the spec. 
 
THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 173 
 
 tre creation who are all born of weak nerves, and encou 
 raged by weak brains, and, from the best authenticated 
 stories, make their appearance for trifling purposes. " Ac 
 cording to popular belief, they have no power over the good ; 
 and our Saviour has said, that * If ye believe not Moses and 
 the prophets, neither would ye if one were raised from the 
 dead. Go, keep a watch over your actions ; bring them 
 to the acceptance of God ; purify your hearts, and prepare 
 them for the abode of every holy feeling, and no spectres 
 will ever dance before your eyes. Virtue is a talisman, 
 my dear young ladies, that will preserve you if you were 
 surrounded by an hundred spectres. Even the visions of 
 antiquity taught this and shall not Christianity teach as 
 much as the Pagan muse or Pagan priests ? If your imagi 
 nations must be peopled with supernatural thoughts, turn 
 from monkish legends and vulgar stories. Dismiss your 
 witches, riding through the air on a vile stick, or interfering 
 with the ordinary processes of household affairs and fill 
 your memories with such images as are given by Milton 
 in the Mask of Comus. Milton, who stamped the genius of 
 antique thought with images of revelation who coursed 
 other worlds with a seraph s wing, and sung their wonders 
 on a seraph s harp sweetly says, 
 
 So dear to heav ri is saintly chastity, 
 That when a soul is found sincerely so, 
 A thousand liveried angels lackey her 
 Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt; 
 And in clear dream, and solemn vision, 
 Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear ; 
 Till oft converse with heav nly habitants 
 Begin to cast a beam on th outward shape, 
 (The unpolluted temple of the mind) 
 And turns it, by degrees, to the soul s essence, 
 Till all be made immortal. 
 
 " Raise and exalt your minds, and leave the dreams of the 
 vulgar to sink as they arose in the fens and marshes of 
 
174 THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 
 
 stagnant intellects. The ignis-fatuus was never seen in 
 pure mountain air : the deceiving vapor that shines with a 
 phosphorous glare, skims along the low, sour, and unhealthy 
 grounds ; so in the moral world we find in uncultivated minds 
 these sketchy, dreamy, miserable vapors of the brain." 
 
 The sermon undoubtedly had its effect. The young 
 ladies looked much brighter than they had a day or two 
 before, when the ghost story was at its height ; and many 
 sat down to examine the numerous passages of Scripture 
 that the good old man had quoted. It was thought that the 
 subject would soon die away but in the course of three or 
 four days the story began to float again. John Frink 
 a dissipated young man returning, towards morning, from 
 tavern indulgences, was sadly frightened at an apparition 
 near the same place. He went before a magistrate, and 
 made affidavit to the fact ; but this was not very satisfactory 
 to the sober part of the community for a jury would have 
 paid but little attention to the oath of such a man ; but, in a 
 time of excitement, the testimony of those of most doubtful 
 veracity have influence with the ignorant. Not many days 
 after Frink made his affidavit, Deacon Moody one of the 
 meekest men in the town, or perhaps within an hundred 
 miles of it declared to the parson, that the ghost had ap 
 peared to him as he was returning home from watching part 
 of the night with a sick friend. The clergyman, a little 
 sharply, enquired of his deacon if he had followed the ghost. 
 " No," was the reply " I was lawfully in the street, in the 
 course of my honest duties, and there I found courage ; but 
 what right had I to follow the apparition to pry into the 
 secrets of the grave ?" The parson smiled, and thought this 
 reply the very Jesuitism of fear but still insisted to the 
 deacon that he should have taken pains to have made him. 
 self satisfied whether the being he saw was supernatural or 
 not. 
 
THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 175 
 
 This dialogue between the dignitaries of the church was 
 held in the presence of a third person a student in divinity, 
 who had been studying for some time with the learned clergy 
 man, but who had been on a journey during this excitement, 
 and now for the first time became acquainted with the rumor 
 and the consequent agitation. He was sound in his creed 
 more orthodox than his instructor ; but he was more 
 modern in his learning, and for the mysteries of antiquity 
 he had used the German key of interpretation and if a 
 supernatural being crossed his imagination, he was sure to 
 chase it down with the full cry of German philosophy. To 
 him, who was half a Swedenborgian, a ghost was nothing 
 but a pleasant companion and he avowed his intention of 
 spending the night in the grave-yard, for the purpose of be 
 coming acquainted with the spectre ; adding, that if he had 
 not piety and holiness enough to exorcise a ghost, he trusted 
 that he had nerve enough to meet one. 
 
 The deacon was horror-struck ; the parson smiled, and 
 encouraged the determination. The evening was warm 
 the sky clear and the moon arose about ten o clock. Not 
 far from eleven he ventured to the church-yard took a 
 walk around it and saw, as he believed, that there was 
 nothing but the dead in that place to form an apparition from. 
 After strolling about for an hour or more, he stretched him 
 self on a tomb-stone, which he saw, by close inspection, had 
 been erected in honor of a village great man, who was dis 
 tinguished, according to the record, in church and state. 
 The student philosophized awhile on the vanity of fame, 
 so short-lived, and so equivocal while in existence. Doub 
 ling his cloak^which he wore to defend himself from the 
 dew for a pillow, he began to gaze on the heavens, and 
 soon felt that "anundevout astronomer is mad." Space, 
 matter, motion, time, crowded on his mind, until his position 
 
176 THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 
 
 and the object of his mission were forgotten. If ever the 
 human mind rises to the full dignity of its nature, and to the 
 extent of its powers, it is in contemplating the heavens, with 
 a full glow of adoration to the God who made them, while 
 standing on the ashes of past generations. In the midst of 
 these feelings of homage to our Maker, there arises a grati 
 tude to him for allowing us to know so much of the machi 
 nery of his universe, that we can point out the constellations 
 as they journey onward, and calculate times and seasons by 
 distant worlds ; and with this gratitude, (not entirely free 
 from pride,) there comes over us a humbleness, that their 
 origin and their end, and even most of their laws and uses, 
 are, and ever will be, hid in darkness from us. Whether 
 these worlds commenced their march never to end, or whe 
 ther their days are numbered, and they, like ourselves, are 
 to pass away is a problem too mighty for us to solve. 
 
 Overwhelmed by these profound thoughts, the student fell 
 to sleep, and remained oblivious until he was awakened by 
 a crackling as of dried bushes under some light footstep ; 
 when, suddenly raising his head, he saw a ghost within a 
 few feet of him ! His head sunk back at once on his pillow, 
 and he covered his eyes with his hand to collect his thoughts. 
 He felt as if sinking into a solid stone, or that the tomb, 
 with its "ponderous and marble jaws, had opened to receive 
 him" In a moment, however, he was collected and, rising 
 from his bed, with great drops of perspiration standing on 
 his brow, he looked around, and all the mystery was at once 
 explained. A lovely young lady of his acquaintance, in her 
 Dight-dress, stood over a new-made grave, and, waving her 
 handkerchief, uttered, in a low and solemn voice, a farewell 
 to the tenant of the grave. It was Julia Abercrombie who 
 stood before him. She was one of the most lovely of woman 
 kind. She was then about sixteen years of age still a 
 
THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 177 
 
 school girl. She was rather above the common height, 
 and exquisitely proportioned. Her complexion was of the 
 most brilliant whiteness ; her eyes were of that light azure, 
 from which a summer s sun seemed to beam. Her hair was 
 as abundant and flowing as her s" of the bowers of Eden, in 
 the morning of creation. Her step was full of grace and 
 dignity. She was a rare woman ; she possessed a mind of 
 the highest order which had been improved by a judicious 
 education ; and she moved among her school -fellows the 
 exemplar of all, peerless among her peers for the sweet 
 ness of her disposition was more enchanting than the per 
 fection of her personal beauties. 
 
 Among her confidants and bosom friends, the dearest to 
 her heart was Almira Sunderland a beauty of quite a dif 
 ferent style. Her face was of Grecian contour ; her hair 
 and eyes were dark ; and her complexion that of a brilliant 
 brunette, tinged with a fine carnation. Her form had more 
 amplitude, and her movements and her spirits were more 
 buoyant. If she was behind her dear Julia in dignity, she 
 had more sprightliness and eloquence. If she was more 
 gay and thoughtless, her feelings were more acute, and she 
 seized the affections of her friends with sudden surprise. 
 These lovely twain had for several years been in the same 
 course of education, and united in the firmest bonds of affec 
 tion. They were not separated for a single day, and it 
 seemed as if they never could be but Heaven decreed other 
 wise. Early in that spring, of whose midsummer we have 
 been talking, Almira caught a severe cold, from wearing thin 
 shoes the gateway of death to thousands of young females ; 
 and, from paying no attention to it at first, it became settled 
 on the lungs. When the physician was called, he soon per 
 ceived that it was all over with her ; but this he wisely kept 
 P 
 
178 THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 
 
 from her friends but by degrees prepared them for the 
 severe shock they were to receive. She lingered for a 
 month or two in suspense ; but, more early than others 
 believed, she had made up her mind to leave the world an 
 early victim to consumption. Then all was composure ; 
 she breathed not a sigh, nor expressed a wish to live. She 
 directed her friends to the promises of the Christian s hope, 
 and prepared to make her bed "with the forked worm." 
 
 No one felt her situation more acutely than Julia Aber- 
 crombie who never left her friend but a few hours at a 
 time, in all her sickness, until the last solemn scene, which 
 to Almira was so full of joy, that it seemed to all around her 
 as an apotheosis. She was buried in the grave-yard and 
 Julia, who had shown symptoms of sleep-walking in her 
 childhood, had, after the death of her bosom friend, fallen 
 into the habit again, and had several times left her bed to 
 visit the grave of the once lovely Almira. On these occa 
 sions she had been seen ; but no one thought her to be a 
 somnambulist, nor had she the slightest suspicion of it her 
 self. The student saw her safely return to her home, but 
 did not venture to speak to her, for fear that a surprise 
 might have a sad effect upon her delicate nerves. 
 
 As the student was going to his lodgings, he passed the 
 house of his venerable teacher, and saw him sitting at his 
 chamber window for he had seen his pupil enter the grave 
 yard, and had anxiously watched for his return. All was 
 explained in a few words, to the delight of the holy man, 
 who had struggled with all his might to stem the vain belief 
 his parishioners had shown in spectres. 
 
 The next morning the student called at the academy, and 
 found that Julia was not at school she having in the morn 
 ing complained of a severe indisposition. The student called 
 
THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 179 
 
 at her lodgings, and heard from the good woman of the house, 
 that Julia was depressed in spirits and sick at heart having 
 had a sad dream, with which the student was connected. 
 Julia entered the parlor with a melancholy air and, as the 
 student arose to meet her, he said to her, with a smile, "Did 
 you know that among my other acquirements, I was an 
 interpreter of dreams of the highest order ? for I not only 
 can interpret the dream you had last night, but, without a 
 hint from you, can tell you what that dream was." He then 
 stated to her the whole circumstances. She had a dreamy 
 recollection of the whole visit, but could hardly be persuaded 
 that it was not a dream. " If you have any doubts," said 
 he, " whether my statements are reality or fiction, permit me 
 to tell you, that as you were turning to leave Almira s grave, 
 a briar caught your foot, and lacerated it until the blood 
 flowed freely." She acknowledged that the mysterious 
 wound had given her some trouble. How it came, she could 
 not conjecture. She shuddered to think of these wander 
 ings and so deep was the impression made on her mind, 
 that a perfect cure of the disease of somnambulism was 
 effected. 
 
 The clergyman, on the next Sunday, alluded to the ghost 
 story stated the facts, without mentioning names took 
 occasion to lecture his people, from the sexton up to his 
 deacon, upon the folly of credulity and portrayed the evils 
 which would have followed from this case, unless this expla 
 nation had forthwith taken place, as the females were all 
 about leaving the institution some from their own fears, 
 and some from the fears of their friends. 
 
 More than thirty years have come and gone since that 
 period, and not a single ghost has appeared within twenty 
 miles of the place. The salt of a little reason in society 
 
180 THE SPECTRE BEAUTY. 
 
 often preserves the people from superstition foi a long time. 
 The reign of sound sense is propitious to religion, to the 
 health and happiness of social life. 
 
 The student and the Spectre Beauty have often met in 
 the pathway of life, but never without bringing to mind the 
 dramatic incidents of that early period of their existence. 
 
THE HERMIT. 
 
 " The modern history of a country is best obtained from the aged, who have 
 been actors in the scenes they describe. Suffering and glory make strong impres 
 sions on the mind ; and eloquence is always found on the lips of an honest 
 witness. What the eye has seen, and the ear heard, and the heart felt, the 
 tongue muit express with effect." 
 
 THE idiosyncracies of the human mind afford a per 
 petual subject for the investigation of the philosopher. 
 The head and the heart are unfathomable depths. If we 
 can make out, by long study, some of the passions that agi. 
 tate the mind of man, the effects of their combinations are 
 seldom satisfactorily traced. That which would just arouse 
 the energies of one mind to salutary action, would break 
 down another. 
 
 There was an aged itinerant who visited all parts of our 
 country, who was frequently followed by the school. boys 
 not from a mischievous disposition, but merely to hear the- 
 sharp things he would utter when vexed by them. The 
 boys were afraid to come near him for he was a tall, 
 athletic, old man, and carried a staff higher than his head. 
 He wore a wrapper that came down to his shoes, tied about 
 him with a military sash, which looked as if it had been in 
 use ages before. His hair and beard were white as snow. 
 It was said, that at certain houses where he condescended: 
 
 P 2 
 
182 THE HERMIT. 
 
 to pass the night, he would talk most eloquently of olden 
 wars and historical events. He had connexions, who tried 
 to persuade him from this rambling mode of life ; but he 
 grew ferocious, if restrained and he had his way. He 
 had frequently spent a night with a farmer who had a hand 
 some library, and was well-informed. Here he was at 
 times conversable, and the family listened to the Hermit, as 
 the boys called him, with delight. He had been absent 
 for some time from the house, when one of the family of 
 boys went to the river to catch some fish. All the fishing- 
 tackle was kept in an old log-house near the river, which 
 had been the abode of the first white settler in that vicinity ; 
 and the present owner of the tract of land would not suffer 
 the cabin to go to decay, but repaired the roofs, and the 
 chimney made of rude stones and clay. Here were also 
 a pile of dry wood and a tinder-box, to kindle up a fire at 
 once, if any one came from fishing, wet, as was often the 
 case. As the lad entered the cabin, he saw the venerable 
 form of the Hermit stretched upon some hemlock boughs : 
 he was speechless. There were always some refreshments 
 kept in an old chest in the cabin, and these were administered 
 at once, and the Hermit began to revive. The comfortable 
 fire and wholesome food had their full effect and the lad 
 now attempted to persuade the old man to proceed with him 
 to his father s house, where he was sure he would be taken 
 care of; but the old man was pertinacious in his refusal. 
 He said he had come into that cabin to die, and he should 
 stay there until that event should happen. The lad went 
 home forthwith, and told his parents the story. A cot-bed 
 was sent to him, and all the food and utensils he might want. 
 They thought that by indulging him for a day or two, he 
 would get over his freak, and be willing to. take up his abode 
 somewhere else, or set out again on his rambles. Day 
 
THE HERMIT. 183 
 
 after day he still kept to the log-cabin, wandering only 
 around the pasture to gather herbs, or to the river, for a fish 
 to broil on the coals. He had picked up a large pile of 
 wood, which seemed to indicate that he contemplated passing 
 the winter in the cabin. This was distressing to the worthy 
 family. They did not value his food and fuel a straw, but 
 were apprehensive that he would suffer in that cabin, and 
 perhaps expire there and then what would the world say ! 
 They apprised the select-men of his situation but they met 
 with no better success in persuading him to remove. It was 
 now agreed to fit-up the old cabin, and make him as com 
 fortable as possible ; and when this was done, it was not so 
 bad a domicil. The boys brought him candles, cider, and 
 apples, and other little things, which he seemed to enjoy 
 with great relish. This was remarkable for in all his 
 peregrinations he would live on bread and milk, or some 
 vegetable food ; not tasting of meat, but now he was fond 
 of solid food, and every day gained strength. His eyes were 
 filled with tears of gratitude when the parents of the children 
 carne to see him, which was as often as once a week, . or 
 oftener. The boys used to amuse their Hermit by reading 
 to him some interesting books in the long winter evenings. 
 He was particularly fond of Indian history, and made some 
 sage remarks on the Indian character often vindicating 
 them when history had condemned them. 
 
 As a new-year s present, the boys brought him a new, thick 
 wrapper a very timely present. In a happy moment he 
 asked the boys what he should make them for he was very 
 ingenious in his use of tools. He had out of a dry oak 
 plank made a wooden clock for his cabin, which kept very 
 good time ; and had quite furnished his block-house, as he 
 called his log mansion. The boys preferred to hear the 
 history of his life, to any other favor. This surprised him ; 
 
184 THE HERMIT. 
 
 but he said, that if he ever could get firmness enough to go 
 through the story, they should hear it. They gently urged 
 him at times to commence it, and he seemed less reluctant 
 each time, and they felt quite sure that he would indulge 
 them before spring. The snow lay deep and pure on the 
 pasture and woodlands around the cabin, and the moon was 
 riding in majesty in the heavens, and the boys were display 
 ing their smattering of astronomy, when the dogs in full cry 
 were seen chasing a fox, which, being hard pressed, darted 
 into the cabin. One of the boys closed the door against 
 the dogs. When the Hermit and the boys entered, the 
 affrighted fox was easily taken. It was debated among 
 them what they should do with the trembling captive. The 
 eldest boy said, his skin was worth two dollars, and they 
 had a natural right to him. The youngest admitted the 
 right, but insisted that the law of honor and benevolence 
 was of a higher order and, as he had sought protection 
 in a house of peace and friendship, he ought to have the be 
 nefit of it. Another little frolicsome fellow thought the feel 
 ings of the dogs should be taken into consideration ; and they 
 had their rights in the question which he would advocate 
 for them. This turned the whole into amusement. The 
 counsel for Lion (the dog) only asked that the fox should 
 be set at liberty, and have a minute s start of the dogs, and 
 then neither could complain ; but, the councils, of benevo 
 lence prevailed over those of interest or love of sport and 
 it was agreed that the Hermit should let him go when the 
 dogs were out of hearing. The boys left the cabin, and 
 called the dogs to go with them. Lion bayed the moon on 
 his way to his kennel ; but, no sooner were his.masters safe 
 in the house, than he ran to the cabin, scented the fox, and 
 laid down close to the logs,, to ,watch for an opportunity to 
 catch him. Before the Hermit retired for the night, he opened 
 
THE HERMIT. 185 
 
 his door and let out the fox. A deep cry convinced him 
 that the great dog was on the chase. The fox made for the 
 ice of the river ; it was as smooth as glass. Here he had 
 the advantage in the length of his nails, and in his power, 
 by the assistance of his long, bushy tail, in tacking and in 
 manoeuvring to escape. The old man was rejoiced to find 
 the fox gaining on the dog. Lion did not return until late 
 the next morning, and then he appeared so fatigued and mor 
 tified, that it was evident his efforts had been unsuccessful. 
 Ever after that period the dog would not approach the cabin, 
 and would growl if ever the Hermit met him in the pasture. 
 This dislike became so evident, that the boys were obliged 
 to chastise the dog, to keep him from committing violence. 
 The old man requested them to desist, for Lion was only 
 acting like men in strength and power hating those who in 
 any way thwarted their intentions. 
 
 One evening, when they were quite happy in reading 
 some passages in ancient history, the old man observed, that 
 on the next week would be his birthday and then when 
 they came down to his block-house, he would commence 
 the account of his life ; " And as I wish to make it useful to 
 you," said he, " I give you full liberty to put any question 
 to me you please, in the narration. The evening came, and 
 the boys were there at early candle-light. The fire was 
 trimmed and the lights burning, that all might be as cheerful 
 as possible; when the Hermit, smoothing his venerable 
 beard, began : 
 
 " I have lived for many years in hopes to have died 
 without the pain of recounting the incidents of my life ; but, 
 your kindness to me has taken off some of that disgust which 
 I had long felt for all mankind and you have won my pro 
 mise to relate them. My life has been eventful, but humble. 
 I was born on the shores of the Atlantic, on the 19th of 
 
186 THE HERMIT. 
 
 April, 1725. After receiving a good common-school edu 
 cation, I was bound apprentice to a silversmith : but he was 
 a man of all-work ; he mended clocks, repaired watches, 
 and when the alarm of war was abroad, turned armorer, 
 and fixed muskets for the fight. I had stipulated to serve 
 him until I was twenty years of age only with the intention 
 of going to a more skilful workman for the space of a year 
 before I set-up for myself; but, the Commonwealth of 
 Massachusetts having declared war against the French, at 
 Louisburg, by a majority of only one, I was induced to go 
 on that expedition as armorer. There were about 3250 
 men from Massachusetts, 516 from Connecticut, and 350 
 from New Hampshire. As an armorer I can speak of the 
 guns. Some of them were Spanish, taken from the invin 
 cible armada ; some of them from the French, in the days 
 of Louis XIV. ; and others were king s arms, discarded from 
 their great weight. Scarcely a bayonet among them all 
 and no ball would suit any two muskets. They knew no 
 thing of military tactics, but they were pious and fearless. 
 Instead of drilling themselves for battle, they held conference, 
 and inspired each other with faith. I was for having both. 
 " Colonel Vaughan was a most gallant officer : he, with 
 a few New Hampshire troops, struck the first blow. He 
 conducted an advance column through the woods, within 
 sight of Louisburg, and, during the night, fired several large 
 warehouses of naval stores. The smoke, driven by the 
 wind into the grand battery, threw the French troops into 
 the greatest confusion, and they at once abandoned it. The 
 battery deserted by the French troops, was taken possession 
 of by Vaughan, and he sent me to General Pepperell with 
 a short note written on a gun. The troops were all ani 
 mation. The seige of Louisburg lasted forty-nine days, 
 when the city was surrendered to Pepperell and Warren. 
 
THE HERMIT. 187 
 
 The officers were of the best kind. D wight, Gorham, and 
 Walcott, from Connecticut, were unceasing in their endeavors 
 to bring the seige to a close. It was almost a miracle, for 
 a vigorous sally would have closed the campaign in a day. 
 Some future time, this seige will be memorable in our mili 
 tary history ; but it was of no avail to the country. The New 
 England troops, who performed the greatest part of the ser 
 vice, and the sailors, who were in the several colonial sloops 
 of war, were not allowed a part of the prize-money, which 
 was estimated to be as much silver as fifty ox-carts could 
 carry. This injustice laid the foundation of our independ 
 ence. The British governments gave the Provincial no 
 credit or money. The murmurs at times broke into curses. 
 Great Britain had been cowering in her fates for several 
 years before this victory. In this expedition there were 
 some young men who afterwards figured in the revolutionary 
 war, who had never forgot the ill-treatment they received 
 in this campaign. I shall never get over it until the day of 
 my death. 
 
 "I shall never forget the consternation that pervaded 
 New England the next year, when the Duke D Anville 
 was sent by the French on our coasts. All the people were 
 alarmed. I marched to Boston, with others, and in a few 
 days there were 6400 men in the town and Connecticut 
 was ready to send ten thousand more, when called for. 
 God destroyed this mighty armada : storms and pestilence 
 first assailed them ; then divisions arose among the officers 
 of the French fleet. D Anville died suddenly, as it was 
 believed, by poison, administered by his own hand. His 
 successor threw himself on his sword, and the tempest finish 
 ed the naval power, without the firing of a British cannon. 
 Thanks were given to God in every church in New Eng 
 land ; but, so deep and strong were the resentments of the 
 
188 THE HERMIT. 
 
 people, that no prayer was put up for the British ministry, 
 and in some pulpits the king s name was not mentioned. 
 This was followed by the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle dis 
 graceful to England and injurious to this country. Here, 
 my dear children, the seeds of the revolution were sown. 
 Statesmen and historians may talk of navigation, arts, and 
 other remote and general things, as the causes of the revo 
 lution. These might have been the alledged reasons to 
 justify the revolution, but the more immediate causes were 
 in personal feeling. 
 
 " I now thought I should never serve again in a military 
 capacity ; but, when forces were to be raised in 1755, I was 
 induced to accept of a lieutenant s commission in the corps 
 of artificers as it was thought the campaign would be short 
 and glorious. I went to Nova-Scotia with General Wins- 
 low, I have suffered much in camps and fights, my dear 
 children, but it was all nothing to the [distress I felt in this 
 campaign. It was a scene of cruelty and oppression that 
 no American had ever witnessed before, and, I trust in 
 heaven, that no one ever will again. Although years have 
 passed away since that day, my dreams are haunted with 
 visions in which tears of wretchedness flowed without our good 
 general s being able to soften a feature of misery. Nova- 
 Scotia was reduced to the dominion of Britain, but the situ 
 ation of the people, their language, and their religion, made 
 them objects of jealousy to the British government. This 
 race of colonists were of a most interesting character. They 
 were pure in their morals and warm in their faith, and of 
 the most industrious habits. They lived as one family, and 
 of equal condition, with great simplicity and harmony. 
 There was the seat of innocence and love. There were 
 no seducers, no usurers, no speculators. They required no 
 courts or judges among seven thousand inhabitants, but such 
 
THE HERMIT. 189 
 
 as were chosen for any special advice among themselves. 
 It is said that Britain treated them mildly ; but of this I have 
 no proof. Under the pretence that they were, or from fear 
 that they might be, friendly to the Canadians, it was thought 
 unsafe for them to remain in that place ; and it was deter 
 mined to disperse them among the British colonies. This 
 Would, it was thought, put them out of the way of doing 
 harm. To move them all at once, a stratagem was laid to 
 get them to assemble in large bodies ; and then they were 
 seized by force and taken on board the fleet. Parents were 
 separated from their children, and violently transported they 
 knew not whither. Some were taken from the altar of God, 
 while on their bended knees before the Eternal throne. 
 While they were huddled together by the bayonet, their 
 plantations were ravaged and their houses burnt, to deprive 
 all who might escape from shelter and protection. Oh, how 
 "the miseries of that day hang upon my mind ! The troops 
 under Winslow were dissolved in tears, to hear this once 
 happy, but now wretched people, piercing the air with their 
 lamentations. About a thousand of them came to Massachu 
 setts, but there they could not worship God in their own way. 
 From resentment, or from hopes of succor from France, 
 they would not mingle with the people of Massachusetts. 
 They lived by fishing near the seaboard, unwilling to be 
 indebted to any being but their God, for subsistence. They 
 scorned charity and many of them died by protracted 
 starvation. Some of them returned to France, and others 
 to Canada, across the woods. Ages will not wipe away 
 this stain on British humanity. Winslow and his soldiers 
 had to share this accursed deed, and then were denied any 
 honors of the campaign. I feel this, my dear children, more 
 than any mortal living, for I married, on this occasion, a 
 beautiful woman I found in despair her parents being sepa- 
 
190 THE HERMIT. 
 
 rated from her. Compassion was my inducement : Pity 
 me>ts the mind to love. She was descended from the 
 French noblesse but that was nothing in a republican s eye. 
 She was one of the most affectionate and devoted of women. 
 Oh, God ! all that was mortal of her is within ten rods of 
 this cabin ! I built this block-house. You wonder : I will 
 explain. This territory was not then free from Indian war 
 fare ; but, at this time, they seldom made excursions as far 
 down as this, from the Canada frontiers. We had liberty 
 to fix upon our bounty lands, taking our own risk of being 
 disturbed. I wandered into the wilderness, and, from the 
 beauty of the water prospect, and the richness of the soil, 
 fixed upon my location. I brought several men with me 
 to commence my clearing and built this fortification for my 
 residence. I had promised my wife, that she should come 
 and see it as soon as it was in comfortable order. This 
 promise I fulfilled, and brought her to this place, here 1 
 was the happiest of men. I had a sufficiency of food was 
 in fine health and nothing annoyed me, for solitude, with 
 such a wife, was my delight. I heard, as a common sere 
 nade, the howl of the wolf, as he prowled around my dwel 
 ling, as I awaked from my dreams ; and my wife was not 
 afraid as she slept on my arm. I can dwell on this picture 
 no longer. She caught a fever, and died. I buried her 
 in a coffin made of several thicknesses of birch bark, and 
 she reposes on the south side of that large rock, where you 
 have had, for several years, a water-melon bed fenced in. 
 You have offered me your fruit ; I have never touched it, 
 but I could not tell you the reason of my refusal. I thought 
 her grave had better look green, than dreary ; but I could 
 not participate in your fruits." 
 
 " Father, nothing shall grow there hereafter but flowers," 
 said one of the boys ; " those you will see, without feeling 
 that the place is profaned." 
 
THE HERMIT. 191 
 
 * This place now became a desert to me," said the Her 
 mit, " and I abandoned it, and never returned to it again, 
 until accident brought me to it, when you found me here 
 in a speechless state, and 1 was brought to life by your 
 kind attentions. Its precise situation I had in a measure 
 forgotten, when this house, erected by me and my men, after 
 nearly half a century came full in my view. The pains of 
 memory at first were terrible but their anguish soon was 
 soothed, and a calm of pleasing melancholy took their place. 
 The past ages peopled by my imagination, arose before 
 me, and T felt no other sin to answer for than a mis-spent 
 time ; but I had done my country some service, and had 
 injured no one but myself. The spectres, as they arose, 
 seemed to smile on me, and not a frown could I perceive 
 among them. I saw among my groups those who had 
 fallen in the arms of victory, and who were sleeping on the 
 bed of glory ; others who had been known to me, who had 
 passed away young, and were remembered for their loveli 
 ness only, as the vernal flowers. Grave statesmen too were 
 in the crowd, as important as they were when in life, perpe 
 trating some political error, when in the halls of legislation, 
 perhaps, under the impression that they were saving a na 
 tion. Heroes and statesmen often over-rate their deeds done 
 for their country. 
 
 " But, to resume my narrative. I was not on the fron 
 tiers when Johnston defeated Duskau. This victory afforded 
 a gleam of sunshine through the land ; but Johnson was 
 too selfish to follow up his success and the victory was 
 not of much avail. 
 
 " The plan of a campaign was the next year (1756) agreed 
 upon between my noble commander, General Winslow, and 
 the commander-in-chief of the British forces, General Aber. 
 crombie ; but, on the arrival of the Earl of Loudon a 
 
192 THE HERMIT, 
 
 proud imbecile an apology for a general who never could 
 injure his enemies, but always confounded his friends the 
 whole was abandoned. The next year Montcalrn.took Fort 
 William-Henry, which had been built in an improper place, 
 for it could be easily overlooked. It was defended by brave 
 men, who did not surrender until the engineer, Colonel Mason, 
 (a New Englander) had fired the last shot in the fort. I 
 have had the whole details from him. I cannot trust myself 
 to describe to you the massacre, my heart was then so 
 lacerated by the loss of many a brave companion in arms. 
 For this account you must go to the books- and, as the 
 writers knew nothing of the details, they have given it to 
 the world in terms too general to leave a deep sensation of 
 horror. Montcalm stood high among the most chivalrous 
 of the French nobility but ages will not wash out the 
 accursed spot from his escutcheon. While this defeat and 
 massacre were breaking the heart of the colonists, or bra 
 cing them to deeds of revenge, the inane, the wretched, 
 pompous course pursued by one who should have been the 
 protector of the colonies, (Lord Loudon,) produced a disgust 
 not less heart-sickening. His conduct brought the colonies 
 to the eve of a revolution, which would in all probability 
 have taken effect if he had not been superseded by General 
 Abercrombie. The French were now in possession of the 
 lakes. Abercrombie had better manners than Loudon, but 
 not any more abilities. On taking the command of the 
 army, he found it was the largest force ever assembled in 
 America ; consisting of fifty thousand men, of whom twenty- 
 two thousand were regular troops, a part of which was 
 under Amherst and Wolfe officers of talents and bravery,, 
 This year, blood and treasure were again expended to take 
 Louisburg, which had been so readily given up by treaty. 
 I was with the army on Lake George this season an officer 
 
THE HERMIT. 193 
 
 of artificers, of which, my children, your honored maternal 
 grandsire was major. When the ice broke up on Lake 
 George, General Abercrombie sent for several of our corps, 
 with some of the regular army, and enquired of us how 
 many boats it would require to convey the army down the 
 lake. There was but little difference of opinion as it re 
 garded the number of boats ; but a great difference as to 
 the time it would take to build them. The British thought 
 the boats might be got ready by the middle of September. 
 We gave it as our opinion that all might be in readiness by 
 the first day of August. We stipulated to do this, if our 
 plan was followed. We knew the facilities we had, and the 
 power and strength of the colonial troops: all acquainted 
 with the axe, the auger, the forge, and the saw. With cer 
 tain modifications, Abercrombie agreed to our requisitions 
 and we sat about the herculean task. The general thought 
 it could not be done in the given time, as he could not see 
 the progress for every piece of timber was prepared in the 
 mountains, by model. They were brought in pieces to the 
 margin of the lake, and were put together as it were by 
 magic. On the first day of July, 1758, this immense fleet, 
 consisting of nine hundred batteaux and twenty-five whole 
 boats, and some small wherries as attendants on the bat 
 teaux, were riding, light as egg-shells, upon the pure waters 
 of the south end of Lake George. It was a magnificent 
 sight, and excited the admiration of the whole army. The 
 fleet was under the care of the artificers until all the boats 
 had been inspected and approved, which was finished on the 
 fourth, and the troops embarked on the fifth. The high 
 mountains hanging over the eastern side of the lake, pre 
 vents the sun from being seen several hours after it has arisen. 
 An illumined mist arises from the lake, making a beautiful 
 contrast with the dark waters beneath. The rowers were. 
 
194 THE HERMIT* 
 
 all on their benches, and at six in the morning the oars dip 
 ped at the tap of the drum when the bands of music struck 
 up God Save the King, accompanied by sixteen thousand 
 voices, whose echoes rang among the mountains, and returned 
 to greet the armament. The length of the lake is about 
 thirty -two miles a fair day s pull. We anchored in a cave 
 on the western side of the lower end of the lake, not far from 
 the place where it devolved in a pure, foaming, dashing, 
 current, into Lake Champlain. 
 
 " On the morning of the sixth we landed, and formed for 
 battle the provincials forming the flanks, and the regulars, 
 under Lord Howe, the centre. As they marched onward, 
 to clear the woods of French and Indians, Lord Howe was 
 killed. The Indians set up one of their fiendish yells, which 
 made the British, who were not accustomed to such horrid 
 sounds, break into a general panic ; but the provincials on 
 the flanks, by their mode of fighting, soon gained a victory. 
 Lord Howe s death was a subject of general lamentation. 
 It was uttered in low, mournful whispers, The sword arm 
 of our forces is cut off* and the head is nothing ! On the 
 seventh, our army took possession of a post near Ticonde- 
 roga. On the eighth, an assault was made on the fort, of 
 the most imprudent kind, by order of Abercrombie ; and 
 two thousand men were killed and wounded, who felt unable 
 to do their foes any considerable harm. Abercrombie was 
 dismayed, and ordered a retreat to the southern part of the 
 lake, from whence he came. Such confusion as we saw, 
 can hardly be credited. Burying the slain dressing the 
 wounded, and conveying them on board the batteaux was 
 a most melancholy sight. We were then fourteen thousand 
 strong ; and, by regular seige, could have taken the unfin 
 ished fort in a very short time. The provincials could have 
 accomplished it alone, if they had been permitted to have 
 
THE HERMIT. 195 
 
 remained for that service. On our return, we could hardly 
 look each other in the face, from mortification. The eagle 
 of the mountains had scented the blood which had been so 
 prodigally shed, and poised over us as we slowly ascended 
 the lake performing the part of the vulture, who follows 
 the slaughter, rather than that of the bird of Jove, who leads 
 to victory. 
 
 " Soon after this, some gleams of success awaited the Brit 
 ish arms, in the taking of Oswego, and the reduction of Fort 
 Du Quesne. The Indians (always uncertain as allies, but 
 ferocious as enemies) now began to lose their faith in the 
 French, who were always more civil than generous to their 
 Iridian friends and formed treaties with the English, which 
 broke up the French power from the western lakes to 
 Louisiana. 
 
 " My health was in some measure impaired by great 
 exertions, and I had leave to stay at home in the campaign 
 of 1759. This was a successful one. General Amherst 
 took Ticonderoga and Crown Point, without much loss of 
 blood. It is but proper that I should mention Sir William 
 Johnson s conduct in taking the garrison of Niagara which 
 bound a more lasting laurel on his brow, than he won in his 
 victory in 1755. Johnson undoubtedly was a man of power 
 ful mind, but was not overstocked with modesty, delicacy, 
 or a sense of justice. 
 
 "Late this season was fought the battle on the heights of 
 Abraham, which resulted in the surrender of Quebec. This 
 battle is so memorable in American history, and was so im 
 portant in its consequences, that it should be studied by you, 
 my children, with great attention. I never describe a fight, 
 unless I was in it. I shall only say, that Wolfe was a popu 
 lar general younger than most of his army. He was elected 
 by Chatham, from a slight personal acquaintance but suffi. 
 cient for that great reader of men to see in him the elements. 
 
196 THE HERMIT. 
 
 of a consummate general. The generals next in command 
 to Wolfe Townsend and Murray were also young-, intel 
 lectual, brave, and full of experiments. The plan was a 
 bold one, and the difficulties of execution discouraging to 
 ordinary minds ; but Wolfe and his generals knew how to 
 separate the difficult from the impossible. In floating down 
 the river St. Lawrence, just previous to the battle, the pen 
 sive soul of Wolfe, without any thing which might be called 
 ordinary fear, in a melancholy presentment of his fate, it is 
 said, sung the song of the Earl of Peterborough, composed 
 in an age before his time : beginning 
 
 Why, soldiers why 
 Should we be melancholy, boys T 
 Our business is to die ! 
 
 This is not true. Wolfe had a mind of a solemn cast, with 
 out a particle of that cup-jovial soldier-buoyancy that dis 
 tinguished Peterborough. Wolfe did not sing but repeated 
 a sentimental piece of poetry : it was ever too deep and feel 
 ing to be sung Gray s Elegy in a Country Church-yard^ 
 This great production had just been sent him from London, 
 by the latest packet. When he had finished his recitation, 
 he looked around him, and, seeing the effect it had made, 
 he said, in a still more suppressed tone, Now, gentlemen, 
 I would rather be the author of that poem, than take Quebec. 
 What a tribute to poetical genius ! for it too often happens 
 that the mere soldier has no sympathy for the poet, or has 
 no other sympathy for him than that which arises from a 
 distant possibility that the poet may assist in perpetuating the 
 deeds of glory that the soldier has achieved. 
 
 " Wolfe died in the arms of victory. Montcalm followed 
 soon after and Quebec surrendered. This was an impor 
 tant era in the history of North America ; but its beneficial 
 effects were not fully realized until the peace of 1763. By 
 this treaty, Canada was ceded to England ; and the border 
 
THE HERMIT. 197 
 
 wars which were of the most distressing kind ceased. 
 Then the frontier wilderness began to be settled by a hardy 
 and enterprising body of men, who had been waiting for this 
 event, to venture into the woods. No molestation was after 
 wards offered to the thinly -scattered inhabitants of the new 
 towns. The town in which we now live was rapidly settled 
 after this period, and the old men you saw at March meet 
 ing were the pioneers. Many of them are much my junior 
 in years. A hardier, or more honest race, never were patri 
 archs of any land : their descendants may know more, but 
 will not be more virtuous. 
 
 " From this period until the commencement of the revolu 
 tionary war, 1 was engaged in farming, and in bridge and 
 house architecture ; and had been on to Philadelphia, to 
 plan a public edifice ; and was on my return, when, having 
 spent the night at Lynn, on the way, I, with others, was in 
 the morning informed, that, the night previous, a large body 
 of British troops had marched from Boston towards Concord. 
 The musketry had been distinctly heard between day and 
 sunrise. The neighboring towns flew to arms. It was a 
 memorable day for I was that day fifty years of age. As 
 I passed through Woburn, on my track to meet the foe, I 
 found John Hancock and Samuel Adams, who had passed 
 the previous night at the house of the clergyman of that 
 town. Hancock was then in readiness to mount his horse 
 for the scene of action. He wore a dress sword, and was 
 armed with a pair of pistols. Adams, the clergyman, Mrs 
 Hancock, and several others, were attempting to dissuade 
 him from such a rash enterprize. When I saw his situa 
 tion, I joined those who were attempting to prevent his depar 
 ture. And do you, Captain Brainard, an old soldier, said 
 he, unite yourself to these women also? Your life is too 
 valuable, was the reply, to risk in a hasty enterprize like 
 this. Stay here : I will go on to the ground, and send you 
 
198 THE HERMIT. 
 
 tidings of the battle. The provincials have the game in 
 their hands : there can be no fear from the foe ; they will 
 find it difficult, however large their forces, to retreat without 
 loss. With great difficulty we persuaded Hancock to stay 
 in Woburn. I returned to his lodgings about eight o clock 
 thut evening, and gave him all the details I could collect. 
 I saw Warren in the fight, and gave him assurance that 
 Hancock and Adams were safe. 
 
 " At this event, one burst of patriotic feeling was poured 
 from every heart. Every woman was a heroine, and every 
 man was ready to be immolated on the altar of his country. 
 As I returned homeward, groups of men would meet me at 
 every public place, to make enquiries relative to the bloody 
 scene; and, before I was half through my story, women and 
 children ran to catch the news, and caught the infection of 
 resentment. On my return, I enlisted a few soldiers, and 
 marched with them for Cambridge, where the patriots as- 
 sembled by instruction. 
 
 " I was at the battle of Bunker Hill. This action taught 
 the foes that they must remove the seat of war from the iron- 
 bound coast, and from the home of these iron-sinewed men. 
 
 "The campaign of seventy-six I can never think of with 
 out tears of shame. Our army of New York was large, 
 but undisciplined, and ill-sorted, and br.aly supplied with 
 artillery or munitions of war. Most of the officers were 
 unacquainted with each other, and were ignorant of battles. 
 The troops they had to contend with were numerous and 
 well appointed. The shock was great, but might have been 
 foreseen. The great mass of the people supposed that the 
 enemy would be driven from our shores in a short time ; 
 but the wise knew better. The indignation excited by the 
 treatment of prisoners, gave new energy to the people in 
 carrying on the war. From the Provost prison and Jersey 
 prison ship were wafted the moans of thousands, which inspired 
 
THE HERMIT. 199 
 
 with a desperate fury the kindred of those who suffered. In 
 five months after the declaration of independence, there were 
 but few who dared to allude to it. 
 
 " While these dark clouds hung over us in the fall of 1776, 
 patriots who now boast of having never quailed, were 
 whispering with each other on the best method of making 
 their peace with the mother country. I can name them, 
 and may, before I die. In this awful crisis, the battles of 
 Trenton and Princeton threw cheering rays of light on a 
 despairing nation and she arose, with renewed vigor, to 
 arms. It proved to the world, that our Chief, who had been 
 guided by the wisdom of Fabius, could launch, like the 
 Scipios, the thunderbolts of war, when the propitious hour had 
 come. At Monmouth, we lost nothing ; at Saratoga, we 
 settled the question of independence. Some other time must 
 be taken to give you ail the circumstances of this glorious 
 victory, and of those which followed, till our rank among 
 the nations of the earth was settled and acknowledged. 
 
 " Soon after the peace, I had a fever, which left my senses 
 in a bewildered state and I have roamed many years from 
 among men : during which time I have examined every part 
 of our country, or what then constituted my country ; and 
 I will state to you one fact, which you may think singular : 
 that is every thing which transpired during this pericd, 
 is as fully impressed on my memory, as those things which 
 I saw arid heard in my happiest days, if at that time my 
 reasonings upon subjects were not sound. It was not until 
 after I had reached this cabin, (built by me,) and enjoyed 
 some repose, and experienced some kind treatment, that my 
 mind resumed its regularity and health. 
 
 " I will now venture, young gentlemen, to ask you, who 
 is now my guardian ?" 
 
 The lads were happy to say " Our father. The Judge 
 of Probate removed the previous guardian, for mal-conduct, 
 
200 THE HERMIT. 
 
 and urged our father to accept the trust. He did it by our 
 entreaty and we urged him, because we did not intend that 
 any capricious wretch, dressed in a little brief authority, 
 should take you from our care. Our father told the judge, 
 that he thought you were perfectly sane, and had been so 
 for a long time." 
 
 " It will not do to judge too hastily upon that subject," 
 said the Hermit. " Look at that journal of all my wander 
 ings for many years. It is a description of many portions of 
 my travels : you will find nothing of insanity there ; it was 
 only at happy intervals I ventured to take up my pen." 
 
 The lads gave their father a full account of their inter* 
 view with the Hermit and he visited the old sage the next 
 morning. Arrangements were made by which he was to 
 leave the block-house, and come and live with the family. 
 In a few hours the Hermit s flowing locks of silver fell 
 under the barber s scissors, and his wizard beard disappeared 
 by the magic of the razor. The tailor was set to work 
 and the wrapper and the girdle were not ; and the sem 
 blance of the hermit was lost in the dignified appearance of 
 the gentleman of the old school. His noble height his mili 
 tary movements his sage and measured voice, and subdued 
 and bland manners, ^-made him arise at once a patriarch 
 acquainted with the courtesies of the world. Master of his 
 time and his actions, he enjoyed life, as it were, upon a fresh 
 lease, and made himself useful to mankind. I knew one 
 who was acquainted with the sage, and who had listened to 
 his lessons of wisdom, frequently declare, that an axiom from 
 his lips made more impression on his mind, than a hundred 
 on the learned page. No man was ever properly educated 
 who had not conversed with the aged and the wise. 
 
 " Is there a man for wisdom eminent? 
 Seek him then betimes ; he will not shun thee, 
 Tho 7 thy frequent foot wear out the pavement 
 At his door." 
 
THE PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 AND 
 
 THE MISER. 
 
 "1 returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor 
 the battle to the strong ; neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of 
 understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill : but time and chance happeuetL 
 to them all." Solomon. 
 
 Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows ? 
 Whose seats, the weary traveller repose ? 
 Who taught that heav n-directed spire to rise ? 
 The Man of Ross/ each lisping babe replies-. 
 
 ****## 
 
 Hiui portion d maids apprentic d orphans blest 
 The young who labor, and the old who rest." Pope. 
 
 Old as he was, no vulgar known disease 
 On him could ever boast a power to seize ; 
 But, as he weigh d his gold, grim Death, in spite, 
 Cast in his dart which made three moidnre s light ; 
 And, as he saw his darling money fail, 
 Blew his last breath, to sink the fighter scale." Swift. 
 
 IN a tavern, on a rainy day, I asked the inn-holder for 
 some old book, for I saw nothing on the table but some poli 
 tical pamphlets which are generally an abomination to me^ 
 He went to a closet, and brought me several volumes of a 
 newspaper, printed more than fifty years ago, (previous to 
 the revolutionary war.) The volumes were a treat : a part 
 of the pages were filled with sage discussions of the rights 
 of man in general, and the rights of the colonies, in regard 
 
 R 
 
202 THE PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 to personal and political liberty ; and not a few of the argu 
 ments were managed with skill and ability. The British 
 ministry were severely handled, and their right course 
 marked out. Passing from their sage observations, 1 glanced 
 at the marriages and deaths, and smiled to see those called 
 beautiful and young, having then just left the hymeneal altar, 
 whom I had a few days before seen in age and decrepitude. 
 I saw the obituary notice of many that I had ney^r known, 
 had existed, although in the neighborhood of my own birth 
 place. From the records, I could trace connexions I had 
 never before knew of and saw, or thought I saw, the race 
 that had departed before my time, in my contemporaries. 
 The advertisements gave me an insight into the business 
 carried on a half century and more ago. I could from these 
 documents trace the rise and progress of commerce, and 
 learn who had risen and who fallen in the pursuit of gain. 
 My eye fell on an advertisement offering 
 
 For Sale A large quantity of Havana sugars, now 
 landing at Roberts Wharf, from the brig General Wolfe. 
 Terms of sale to be known at Store No. 15 on said wharf. 
 
 Odder 1769. WM " STOCKTON - 
 
 N.B. Brought from Havana, a box of Cigars a very 
 rare article : the best of tobacco rolled up to the size of a 
 small finger, and of about five inches in length for smoking. 
 They are preferred by the Spanish Dons to the pipe. Those 
 who wish to enjoy such a luxury, will please call and try 
 them. 
 
 On the same page of the paper, was the following adver 
 tisement : 
 
 The subscriber has just received at his shop, bottom of 
 Dove Lane, a supply of Apples and Chesnuts from the coun- 
 ry. He has also on hand, a few Geese-yokes and Mouse- 
 raps. Skates faithfully strapped. 
 
 October 1769. IcnABOD GARDINER. 
 
AND THE MISER. 203 
 
 Over these advertisements I pondered long. I had been 
 acquainted with both of these men for the last twenty years 
 of their lives. When my acquaintance commenced with 
 Stockton, he was an active merchant, and one of the most 
 liberal of men. I had studied his character, for I loved the 
 man. When this advertisement was dated, he had just taken 
 his father s business. He was engaged largely in the West- 
 India and Bilboa trade, and was in quite a prosperous con 
 dition, and which continued so until the breaking out of the 
 revolutionary war when an end was put to all regular 
 commerce with our merchants. On the news of the battle 
 of Lexington, Mr. Stockton put a small cargo into a fast- 
 sailing schooner, and went on board of her himself, and sailed 
 for the West-Indies for a cargo of powder and other muni 
 tions of war. The Dutch made no scruple of selling him 
 these articles, and he returned home in season to supply the 
 expedition through the woods to Canada, with powder and 
 ball, and some fire-arms. These articles amounting to 
 eight thousand dollars the government purchased on a 
 credit, payable in Spanish dollars; but, when the notes be 
 came due, he was obliged to take continental paper money, 
 for which he never realized anything, and which may pro 
 bably be seen now in a pile in the garret of the house he 
 then occupied ; it was there a few years ago. He thought 
 this hard, but he did not complain. When government 
 wanted more credit, they had it. He met with vicissitudes 
 during the conflict, but came out of it a man of wealth. He 
 suffered with the rest in the tobacco trade, in 1784-5, but 
 rode the storm which shipwrecked so many American mer 
 chants. At this period, decayed institutions were to be built 
 up again, and new ones to be founded. In this, Mr. Stock 
 ton was always foremost giving his time, and devoting his 
 talents and his purse, in aid of every public plan for the 
 
204 THE PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 benefit of the nation. He was at the head of insurance 
 offices, marine societies, and retreats for disabled seamen, 
 and all institutions of a kindred nature. If one was unfor 
 tunate by flood, or fire, or sickness, William Stockton was 
 found foremost among those who come forward for his assis 
 tance. He was at the head of all internal improvements, 
 and had a good forecast in regard to this great branch of 
 national prosperity. He struggled hard in establishing a 
 general constitution of government, as he saw that was the 
 only ark of safety. He was not only a liberal patriot, who 
 spared nothing for his country, but he was benevolent in all 
 the little currents of social life. Ho took the young mer 
 chant by the hand, and assisted him to business, and was 
 his friend in adversity, if he-was convinced of the integrity 
 of his conduct. He was a patron of schools, and a liberal 
 supporter of letters in every way. In the social circle, he 
 lost the man of business, to resume his exertions with new 
 spirit, when the hour of relaxation had passed. Such was 
 the mildness of his manners, and his affectionate address, 
 that young men often made him their father confessor, when 
 they dared not make a confidant of their own connexions ; 
 and this confidence was always met with good advice, or 
 pecuniary assistance if wanted. An instance of this may 
 be given in a few words: One of his neighbor s sons was 
 taken sick, and the physician was unable to find a cause 
 for the nervous delirium of his patient. The young man 
 requested to see Mr. Stockton, who came and had a private 
 interview with him. A few minutes after the Man of Ross 
 had gone, the young gentleman got up, and walked out 
 weak, but entirely free from all disease or delirium. The 
 cure was thought to be miraculous : no one knew the secret 
 for years not until the person restored told the story him 
 self. The son had taken a sum of money from his father, 
 
AND THE MISER. 205 
 
 which he could not, as he expected to do, replace ; and he 
 knew that his father would soon find it out. As the last 
 resort, he had prepared to shoot himself. The pistol was 
 loaded and piimed, and the sufferer was bracing himself up 
 for the unhallowed deed, when the thought struck him that 
 he would take one more look at the picture of his mother ; 
 but on entering the chamber where it had hung for years, 
 it was not there his sister had taken it to have a copy of 
 it made. He felt the disappointment severely, and said to 
 himself, as he returned to his own room, " Perhaps her 
 sweet smile might have dissuaded me from the dreadful 
 deed. The thought now struck him that he would have one 
 more gaze on earth and heaven ; and for this purpose he 
 threw up the window, and the first object that caught his 
 eye was Mr. Stockton, walking in a contemplative mood 
 on the other side of the street. A beam of light now spread 
 over the gloomy soul of him who had decreed to die by his 
 own hand. All his horrors fled the instant he came to the 
 determination to make Mr. Stockton his confidant. 
 
 An interview was had, and the sum of money was ad 
 vanced the profoundest secrecy preserved. The young 
 gentleman has since been prosperous, and owes no debt of 
 gratitude to the family of his friend, who saved him at that 
 perilous hour, that he is not daily struggling to pay. 
 
 Twice a-year Mr. Stockton made a general jail delivery 
 of all confined for small debts. He assisted the oppressed 
 against the oppressor, however powerful the latter might be. 
 His name was a terror to the usurer and extortioner. As 
 a member of the legislature, he was in constant exertion to 
 soften the hard features of the common and statute law. It 
 was in his time that those disgusting relicts of a barbarous 
 age the whipping-post, the pillory, the stocks, arid the cat- 
 o - nine-tails were driven from civilized man, and all unna- 
 
 R2 
 
206 THE PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 tural punishments abolished. He never listened to a tale of 
 slander, for 
 
 " He abhorr d the insidious lie 
 The low deceit the unmanly calumny." 
 
 He believed, and inculcated the doctrine, that a trespass 
 upon reputation was as criminal as one on property. Envy 
 sometimes looked with all her eyes, to find some defect in 
 this good man; and if an imaginary one was discovered, 
 the public voice instantly put it down : the people would not 
 for a moment believe that his character had a blemish 
 in it. One instance would serve to show the hold he 
 had on the affections of the public. Ogilvie, the Scotch 
 Orator, who gave orations and recitations in different parts 
 of our country, was declaiming in the town in which Mr. 
 Stockton resided. Before a fuJI audience, he happened to 
 select Darwin s beautiful tribute to Howard the philanthro 
 pist : it was received with great applause, and during the 
 delivery, every eye was turned on Stockton the eulogy 
 was his. If in the character of Howard the outlines were 
 b>roader than in that of Stockton, in the latter the finishings 
 were more delicate but the picture answered for both. 
 
 And now, Philanthropy! thy rays divine 
 Dart round the globe, from Zemblu to the Line: 
 O er each dark prison plays the cheering light, 
 Like northern, lustres o er the vault of night. 
 From realm to realm, with cross or crescent crown d, 
 Where er mankind and misery are found 
 O er burning sands, deep waves, or wilds of snow, 
 Thy HOWARD, journeying, seeks the house of woe. 
 Down many a winding step, to dungeons dank, 
 Where anguish wail? aloud, arid fetters clank 
 To caves bestrew d with many a mouldering bone, 
 Arid cells whose echoes only learn to groan 
 Where no kind bars a whispering friend disclose- 
 No sunbeam enters, and no zephyr blows 
 He treads, inenuilons of fame or wea th, 
 Profuse of toil, and prodigal of health ; 
 With soft, assuasive eloquence, expands 
 Power s rigid heart, and opes his clenching hands ; 
 
 
AND THE MISER. 207 
 
 Leads stern-eyed Justice to the dark domains, 
 If not to sever, to relax the chains; 
 Or guides awaken d mercy through the gloom, 
 And shows the prison, sister to the tomb; 
 Gives to her babes the self-devoted wife 
 To her fond husband, liberty and life! 
 The spirits of the good, who bend from high, 
 Wide o er these earthly scenes, their partial eye, 
 When fi st, array d in VIRTUE S purest robe, 
 They saw her HOWARD traversing the globe ; 
 Saw round his brow her sun-like glory blaze, 
 In arrowy circles of unwearied rays; 
 Mistook a mortal for an angel-guest, 
 And ask d what seraph foot the earth impress d. 
 Onward he moves! Disease and Death retire; 
 And murmuring demons hate him, and admire ! 
 
 In the decline of life, Mr. Stockton was not so prosperous 
 in business as he had before been, and his means to do good 
 were lessened ; but he did not grow selfish, but felt the dis 
 tresses of others as keenly as ever ; and strange as it may 
 seem, in his immediate circle his influence v/as still undi- 
 minished. He had been deeply engaged in the Havana 
 trade, and particularly in furnishing the government their 
 small-armed vessels. When the disturbances began in 
 South America, his regular remittances failed, and he 
 thought it necessary for him to make a voyage there. The 
 government at home had charged the viceroys and govern 
 ors of the South American Provinces to pay these demands 
 as they had regularly done; but at times when the patriots, 
 as they were called, had the ascendency, they refused to 
 acknowledge any liability, although they had possession of 
 the property. In pursuing these claims with energy and 
 dignity, he was thrown into prison a foul and pestilential 
 place, where his health suffered greatly. By che interfer 
 ence of the merchants, he was at length liberated, and re 
 turned to the United States, with a broken constitution, and 
 poor in purse. If it could be said that he never came to want, 
 he was crippled in his means in his old age. He had always 
 
208 THE PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 lived prudently and abstemiously, and therefore felt no depri- 
 vation of luxuries. He had no carriage to lay down no 
 train of pampered servants to dismiss. He lived a few 
 years, and then sunk to rest with the respect of all classes 
 of people. His activity had diminished, and of course his 
 loss was not so much felt as it would have been at one cer 
 tain period of his life. 
 
 Ichabod Gardiner, whose advertisement we mentioned as 
 rinding in the same newspaper, announcing his supply of 
 apples, chesnuts, and mouse-traps, resided in the same town, 
 and outlived Stockton several years. His history is indeed 
 a contrast to that of Stockton. In this little shop in Dove 
 Lane, he accumulated money rapidly. Soon after he 
 opened his huckster s shop, he waited on Mr. Stockton to 
 purchase goods such as he wanted for the season. The 
 merchant had passed the bottom of Dove Lane early in the 
 morning, and always found Gardiner at work, strapping 
 skates or sorting his fruit, and believing that such industry 
 augured thrift, had no hesitation in giving him credit. At 
 times, Gardiner sent an adventure in Stockton s vessels, and 
 little was said about freight ; and this might have continued 
 perhaps for a long time, if Gardiner had not made an 
 attempt to smuggle into the port the proceeds of his adven 
 ture, which come near losing the vessel and cargo. Mr. 
 Stockton dismissed from his employment all who were con 
 cerned in the act, and prohibited any one sending an adven 
 ture in his vessels. He never said a word to Gardiner 
 about the affair, and gave him credit as before ; for although 
 he would not run goods on any consideration, yet he knew 
 that many men called honest had no such scruples. 
 
 This gentle rebuke was not forgotten by Ichabod Gar 
 diner. He at once cherished a deadly hatred against his 
 patron, but was too shrewd to show it any way while it was 
 
AND THE M1SEH. 209 
 
 for his interest to hide his rancour. During the revolution 
 ary war, Ichabod owned a part of a small privateer which 
 cruised near the mouth of the Saint Lawrence. He was on 
 board of her in one of her expeditions, and was taken by 
 the British. Great complaints had been made to the Ad- 
 miral on that station of the cruelty and outrages committed 
 by this privateer, along the coast of Nova Scotia. The 
 vessel and crew were identified, and their villany established 
 beyond a doubt. They were thrown into Halifax jail, and 
 the agent for prisoners had orders not to exchange them on 
 any account ; and when their friends heard from them, their 
 situation was deplorable. The weeping friends of this 
 privateer s men waited in a body on Mr. Stockton, and im 
 plored him to take measures to relieve the unfortunate pri 
 soners. His own ship had been successful, and had 
 brought in many prisoners, who had been kindly treated. 
 He had never taken a cent of private property belonging 
 to the prisoners, but had seen that all were well clothed and 
 well fed. His reputation for benevolence was known to the 
 British navy. He had purchased not lo.ig before an 
 old vessel, and sent off a number of prisoners, at his own 
 expense, for Halifax. At the solicitation of his townsmen, 
 he stepped on board of a cartel, and with a large number of 
 persvins sailed for Halifax. The Admiral received him 
 with great kindness, and agreed to an exchange of prison 
 ers, excepting this crew. Mr. Stockton told the Admiral 
 that it was for this crew he came in person. The Admiral 
 at length agreed to give up all but Ichabod Gardiner ; but 
 as for permitting him to go, he could not, as he had such 
 proofs of his flagrant enormities, that he would bring him 
 to trial, and hang him if he could. Mr. Stockton was still 
 for a few days. During the time every prisoner exchanged 
 filled the Admiral s ear with praises of Mr Stockton s bene. 
 
210 THE PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 volence. To one he had given money ; another was sick, 
 and was carried to his house and nursed as a child, until re 
 covered. Hearing all these things, the Admiral sent for 
 Mr. Stockton, and with tears in his eyes said to him, " Take 
 Ichabod Gardiner, I would release the man who attempted 
 to stab me for your sake ; but mind me, merchant, that fel 
 low will be your bitter enemy through life. O Jupiter ! 
 how I want to hang him ! v He has robbed the infant in 
 the cradle, of the chain put round his neck by his godfather, 
 and stripped the priest at the altar of the cr*cifix he was 
 putting to his lips ; and that is not half that can be proved 
 against him, in the small settlements that he has visited. 
 Have, my friend, your eye upon him. On their return, it 
 was found that most of the prizes that Gardiner s privateer 
 had taken, had arrived in safety, and were valuable. He 
 soon made arrangements to purchase up the shares of the 
 sailors who could not wait for the adjudication of the prize 
 goods. He got them at about fifty per cent on their real 
 value ; and at the sale after condemnation, he made a shift to 
 purchase the part held by the government. The goods rose 
 in value on his hands, and he became a man of wealth from 
 this single operation. 
 
 At the close of the war, Ichabod Gardiner left his shop in 
 Dove Lane, and commenced merchant in an eligible situation, 
 and soon had vessels in the West Indies and European trade, 
 and did an extensive business. Whispers of his situation 
 at Halifax were current, but Stockton never let fall a single 
 word. Gardiner became ambitious of public life, and pre 
 vailed on his friends to make an attempt to send him to the 
 legislature. It was sufficient to defeat the election, when it 
 was known that Mr. Stockton thought that the town fur 
 nished better men for the office. From this hour Gardiner no 
 longer concealed his enmity to Mr. Stockton, but shewed 
 
AND THE MISER. 211 
 
 it in every place he could. The good man was not dis 
 turbed nor provoked to make any disclosures. Gardiner s 
 workmen attached every epithet of contempt to his name. 
 Ten thousand anecdotes of his meanness, deception, and 
 beastly passions were current among them who labored 
 for him, The little children in the street were in the habit 
 of crying out as he passed in the street, " There goes old Gri- 
 pus, who cheated his men." Once in a while, he met with 
 some sad lessons of rebuke. The sailors in his vessel 
 would complain of the badness and scantiness of provisions, 
 and drag him before the public tribunal ; and several times 
 he has been fined for not finding a medicine chest, according 
 to law, for his vessels. He was more than once disgraced 
 by receiving a drubbing from sailors, whose wives he 
 had insulted while they were absent. One time he was 
 fairly caught. An old revolutionary officer had lost his 
 cow, in a good measure the support of his family, and his 
 friends got up a subscription paper to purchase him another, 
 and the food of the animal, for the season. The subscrip 
 tion paper was in the first place offered to Ichabod Gar 
 diner, who professed to be quite friendly to his neighbor, 
 the veteran, as he said that he served under him in a cam- 
 paign. He seemed to make no decided objection to putting 
 down his name for three dollars, the maximum of each indi 
 vidual subscription. The subscription paper was soon filled 
 up, and a valuable cow purchased on the strength of it, and 
 the little barn in which she was kept filled with hay and 
 provender. The collection commenced, and all paid with 
 alacrity, until it was requested of fchabod : he said that there 
 had been enough paid without his subscription that he did 
 not intend to make old Captain F. rich ; and lastly, that by 
 the decision of the Supreme Court, he was not legally bound 
 to pay and would not. All this was contemplated by the 
 
212 THE PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 young lawyer who drew the paper, and he had made it 
 safe on all sides. The subscription was not a nudum pac- 
 tum, for there was a stipulation that the veteran should give 
 an acconn: of the battle of Bunker Hill for the newspaper, 
 as a consideration to bind the individuals to the payment of 
 the sums set against their names ; and this account was 
 printed in the newspaper before any collection took place. 
 This Ichabod had overlooked. An action was brought before 
 a justice for the three dollars: it was defended by Ichabod 
 himself, for no lawyer felt disposed to defend him. The 
 justice gave judgment for the plaintiff, and the defendant 
 appealed to the Court of Common Pleas : the day it was set 
 down for trial, the court house was crowded. The lawyer 
 who had written the subscription paper argued the cause for 
 the original plaintiff. In the course of a long and severe argu 
 ment, he gave the life and character of Ichabod Gardiner, 
 Esq. : among other matters and charges, he detailed tho 
 whole story of the Halifax business, with numerous other 
 minute details, that not only went to his avarice, but to his 
 chastity, veracity, and honesty, in almost every respect. It 
 was a speech weighed and balanced with care. The jury 
 brought in a verdict for the veteran, without leaving their 
 seats. The populace made the welkin ring with shouts, in- 
 doors and out. The counsel gave his speech to the news 
 papers that very day. Ichabod was forced by his friends 
 to bring an action against the counsel for the veteran for a 
 libel, which was just what he wished. When this came on 
 for trial, the public was still more excited. The defendant 
 pleaded a justification, and offered the truth in evidence. 
 The Halifax charge was the first to be met : two or thjee 
 of the crew of the privateer were offered as witnesses, and 
 sworn. They were full, explicit, and exact in the detail of 
 that infamous cruise. When they stepped down, a vener- 
 
AND THE MISER. 213 
 
 able form was seen making his way through the crowd : it 
 was father O Riley the Catholic Priest he had been robbed 
 and ill-treated- He took the stand and was grievously 
 affected in telling his story of being robbed and cheated by 
 Ichabod so many years before. The counsel took the 
 crucifix from his green bag, and asked the priest if he knew 
 that article. He looked a moment, and replied, " I do. It is 
 the one that was stolen from me at Nova Scotia, by that 
 image of a man who sits there." The counsel of Ichabod 
 found the current setting hard against his client, and he was 
 in hopes by a bold dash to give a new turn to the exami 
 nation: " Well, reverend father," said he, " do you think 
 that this piece of silver is the Saviour himself." O no, " said 
 the meek old man. " I only considered it as a remembrance, of 
 him who shed his blood for me ; as the presence of him who 
 robbed me of it, does of Judas Iscariot, who for thirty pieces 
 of silver betrayed him." The plaintiff wished to become 
 non-suit, but the defendant alledging that his character was 
 in question, said he should insist on a verdict, and the court 
 said that he had a right to one. It was given, and the 
 plaintiff mulcted in costs. The crucifix had been sold to a 
 silver-smith by Ichabod, and been kept for its rare work 
 manship. The triumph was complete. The master of four 
 hundred thousand dollars could not walk the street without 
 being hooted at, and some times pelted by the school-boys. 
 But Ichabod, as he grew older, grew never the better. 
 Another instance of his meanness and rascality soon after 
 wards happened. His former partner in business had been 
 separated from him some years, and during the time had in 
 a measure failed ; but his family was highly respected, and 
 his youngest daughter had made a good match. On her 
 marriage-day, Ichabod had a writ made on what he de 
 clared was a balance due him from the old man, and sent an 
 
 S 
 
214 THE PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 officer into the house of his former partner to attach his 
 furniture, to mortify the family, as his had not been invited 
 to the wedding. The officer was a man of feeling, and dis 
 charged his duty in such a manner as to save all the mor 
 tification intended. The lawyer who had been in open 
 warfare with Ichabod, was at the wedding ; and learning, 
 under the rose, the whole circumstances, sat down with Icha- 
 bod s former partner, after his daughter had gone, and exa 
 mined their books from the commencement of their business, 
 until that day, and satisfactorily ascertained that Ichabod 
 owed his partner nearly thirty thousand dollars, as his partner 
 had always contended. A writ was made, and the tables 
 turned on the cheat. He had to get a receipt for his own 
 furniture, in the hands of the officer. The whole matter 
 was thoroughly sifted, and the sum of twenty eight thousand 
 dollars, was awarded against Ichabod Gardiner, which was 
 in the end, payed to the great delight of the public. 
 
 Ichabod still prospered. He bought all the real estate 
 that had once belonged to Mr Stockton, and paraded about 
 the domains, as the jack-ass, around the body of the dead 
 lion, now and then, in obedience to the laws of his nature, 
 giving a kick at the memory of his noble predecessor. 
 Ichabod lived to a great old age, and every month saw an 
 argosy arrive from India, and his wealth increase ; but he 
 never could gain the respect of the wise, and certainly not 
 of the pious or the poor. 
 
 At the time I read the advertisement, and made the fore 
 going memorandum, Ichabod himself had gone to the grave, 
 in a good old age, in quiet and confidence. The next day 
 after these reflections, as my custom is, I made a visit to the 
 church-yard, and there on a humble plain stone, I saw writ 
 ten, " Here repose the ashes of William Stockton ;" his age 
 &c. near by, there was to be seen a splendid monument of 
 
THE PHILANTHROPIST 215 
 
 the finestmarble, erected " to the memory of Ichabod Gar- 
 diner, Esquire, an enterprising merchant, who left several 
 legacies to the poor He will be long remembered." In 
 bitter scorn and contempt even of the dead, such as he. 
 1 made a calculation of the amount of his legacies ; for I 
 knew all he had done. The whole of them did not amount 
 to the sum Stockton paid for the ransom of the wretch, when 
 he was in Halifax jail. In anguish and bitterness, calling 
 to mind one of George Crabb s poetical tales, I wrote on 
 the marble with my pencil the first time I ever profaned a 
 monument to the dead, 
 
 " In Monday Place, Sir Richard Monday died." 
 I began, in this disturbed state, to call in question the 
 course of Eternal Justice, and to think the wicked were in 
 general more prosperous than the righteous. I had, with 
 the vigorous, arm of youthful indignation, dealt out to him a 
 richly deserved measure of personal chastisement, for an 
 insult offered to a female friend, the daughter of Stockton, 
 and I could have scattered his ashes to the winds, if I could 
 have reached them. I had to recover from this paroxysm 
 of infidelity and rage ; and turning to the simple slab that 
 marked the resting-place of Stockton, as the last rays of a 
 setting sun was resting upon it, and found a hale of light 
 all around ; from which issued a voice, that said , or seemed 
 to say, " What proud creature of the dust is this, whn dares 
 for a moment to doubt the doctrines of a righteous retribu 
 tion, and a life to come ! Is there not a perfect harmony 
 in the heavens over your head ? Do not the seasons perform 
 their chnnges, and the sun rise and set, by the same laws 
 that it did before man s crimes began 1 Who knows ivhat 
 blessings heaven has in store for the good, and what 
 punishment for the wicked ?" " Vengeance is mine saith the 
 Lord." Human life is but a spark thatjlieth upwards; but 
 
216 AND THE MISER. 
 
 the soul of man, emanating from the source of life, is eternal. 
 In the changes the soul may pass in its journeying through 
 eternity, will there not be opportunities of balancing the 
 scales by the exactitude of WISDOM and GOODNESS ?" / 
 placed my hand on my lips, and bowed my head to the dust, 
 and communed with my heart : " Shall he that contendeth 
 with the Almighty instruct him 1 he that reproacheth God, let 
 him answer it" I arose with a belief that I should under 
 stand this mystery hereafter. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
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