ft? 
 


 .-,-%. 
 
 
THfc 
 
 REPUBLICAN COMPILE!*, 
 
 COMPRISING A SERIES OF 
 
 SCIENTIFIC, 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE, 
 NARRATIVE, 
 
 POPULAR* 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL^ 
 EPISTOLARY, 
 
 AND 
 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 PIECES. 
 JJV PROSE AND VERSE. 
 
 SELECTED 
 
 FROM THE BEST AMERICAN WRITERS, 
 
 AND DESIGNED 
 
 FOR TF.S'USE OF SCHOOLS. 
 
 BY A CITIZEN OF PITTSBURGH 
 
 PITTSBURGH: 
 
 PRINTED BY CRAMER & SPEAK* 
 
 HF.AT), WOOD STUEET* 
 
 1818, 
 
Western District of Pennsylvania, to wit: 
 
 ******* BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the 
 
 I L S % ^ l ^ ay ^ ^ Ovem ^ er 5 in the forty -third 
 year of the independence of the United 
 
 **** States of America, A. D. 18i8,B.R.EvANS, 
 of the said District, has deposited in this office, the title 
 of a book, the right whereof he claims as Author, in the 
 words following, to wit : 
 
 " The Republican Compiler, comprising a series of 
 Scientific, Descriptive, Narrative, Popular, Biographi- 
 cal, Epistolary, and Miscellaneous Pieces. In prose and 
 verse. Selected from the best American Writers, and 
 designed for the use of Schools. By a Citizen of Pitts- 
 burgh." 
 
 In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United 
 States, intituled^," An Act for the Elncouragement of 
 Learning, by securing the Conies 6> c Maps, Charts and 
 Books, to the Authors and Proprietors of such Copies, dur- 
 ing the times therein mentioned." And also, to the Act, 
 entitled, " An Act supplementary to an Act, entitled, 
 < An Act for the Encouragement of Learning, by secur- 
 ing the copies of Maps, Charts and Books, to the Authors 
 and Proprietors of such Copies, during the times therein 
 mentioned.' and extending the benefits thereof to the arts 
 of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other 
 prints." 
 
 D. S. WALKER, 
 
 Clerk of the Western District of Pennsylvania. 
 
PREFACE, 
 
 IN offering the following sheets to the public, the Com- 
 piler, aware of the little merit which is awarded to those, 
 who employ the labours of others, to acquire for them- 
 selves the name and reputation of authors, is content to 
 rely for the success of his attempt, rather upon the nature 
 of his intentions, than upon any pretensions which he can 
 urge to learning or talents. 
 
 Numerous publications have appeared in our country, 
 purporting to be American^ while the greater part, if not 
 the whole, of their contents, have been gfeaiieci from for- 
 eign fields. This circumstance may be, and doubtless is, 
 a matter of little import, in the estimation of those, who 
 consider the cultivation of the youthful mind, as an ob- 
 ject, the attainment of which, depends more upon the 
 quality of the soil, than the indigenous nature of the plants 
 \vhich it is destined to receive. But, although exotic 
 productions may flourish, where even those of native 
 growth would languish for want of culture, yet, (to con- 
 tinue the figure,) it should be considered as incumbent on 
 the botanical profession, to acquire a competent acquain- 
 tance with the productions of their own country, before 
 they have recourse to those of foreign climes. 
 
 From the preceding observations, it may be inferred, 
 that a principal design of this compilation is to bring into 
 more general notice, those productions of native genius* 
 which are, by general consent, admitted to be possessed of 
 merit. This intention will not beseemed Quixotic, v/V'i. 
 
 M 
 
}* PREFACE, 
 
 It is considered, tKat it is the bounden duty of every ciK-t 
 zen, to afford his aid, however small it may be, not only 
 to the political government under which we may live, but 
 to the several departments of learning, which form the 
 constituent parts of national greatness. 
 
 Republican America possesses ample resources within 
 .its territory? to furnish its citizens with subjects, calculate 
 cd as well for mental, as for- physical contemplation and 
 improvement. It is a libel upon the genius and talents 
 of the American people, to assert, as it has become fashion- 
 able beyond the Atlantic to do, that human intellect 
 moves in a retrograde direction among them. 
 
 If it be coiisidered as an object commensurate with the 
 duty of the patriot, to afford encouragement and sup- 
 port to the physical powers of his country, whereby its in- 
 ternal resources may be brought into action, and conduce 
 ro the national welfare, it will sureTy not be controverted', 
 that the same attention bestowed upon the intellectual en- 
 ergies of his native or adopted land, is deserving of equal 
 commendation. 
 
 Impressed with a belief, that a work of a nature alto- 
 gether similar to the present one, has hitherto been adesid- 
 p-mtum in the U. States, the Compiler may at least claim 
 flie merit of originality in its design, if not in the matter 
 employed in its cjcecntion. By a concentration of por- 
 tions of those writings, which have been produced in the 
 new world, he would indulge the hope of having, in soir.e 
 noasure, promoted the cause of literature, which has too 
 frequently been considered as receiving its chief, or only 
 support, from the inhabitants of the other hemisphere. 
 In the execution of this design, he has been careful to se- 
 lect only from such writers as have acquired a name 
 among the literati of their country; to the extension of 
 whose well-earned fame, ho is anxious to contribute his 
 mite. This expression of his sentiments may perhaps be 
 ,t bv some to proceed from presumption and arro- 
 gance : " "for how," it may be asked, " will the fame of an 
 >r, be rendered m?>re brilliant, or acquire more per- 
 petMif.y, through the medium of a common school book ?" 
 is anticipated question, it will be sufficient to reply, 
 l:at, however humble may be the design of this compila- 
 tion, the materials employed in its execution being deriv- 
 
FHEFACE, v 
 
 ed" from the resources which have been afforded by emi- 
 nent native talents, it will probably acquire from this cir- 
 cumstance, some degree of merit, and pretension, to a 
 favorable reception from those who are possessed of real 
 patriotism. 
 
 It is too frequently the case, in every country, that the 
 mental labours of men are held in esteem but a short time 
 after they have been presented to the public eye ; and 
 that, however great may be their merit, they soon become 
 the neglected inmates of t\\Q-escritoir, to make way for 
 more recent, though less valuable productions. This in- 
 attention to, and neglect of merit, it behooves every 
 friend of learning to discountenance : and, by throwing 
 his individual exertions into the general stock, contribute 
 to the formation, if not of an original, at least of a bor- 
 rowed fund, whence youthful adventurers in literary en- 
 terprize, may expect to derive some assistance in the pro- 
 secution of their laudable attempts. The plan which is 
 now submitted to public opinion, it is hoped by its design- 
 er, will tend as much to the attainment of this object, as 
 any other of so humble a character could be supposed to 
 contribute. The rising generation, having placed before 
 them, in the course of their elementary studies, the writ- 
 ings of those, to whom their fathers willingly awarded 
 the meed of applause, will be induced to ingraft the re- 
 spect and veneration due to virtue and talents, on the> 
 knowledge which they will be gradually acquiring in the 
 several branches of learning. Added to this considera- 
 tion, it may be presumed, that, as ther youthful mind is 
 naturally disposed to admire every thing which bears the 
 stamp of devotion to liberty and honour, the compend 
 that this work affords, of incidents connected with the 
 early political, as well as literary history of their country, 
 \vill contribute to keep alive a spirit of virtuous indigna- 
 tion against tyrannical oppression, and to excite feelings 
 of pity and admiration, for distressed virtue and success- 
 ful patriotism. 
 
 Thus, a work which was originally intended for the or- 
 dinary use of the young student, in the incipient stages of 
 his education, may tend to excite in him 'an emulation 
 to equal the merits of the sao;es, patriots, and heroes, to 
 whom his country is so much indebted ; and while he -per- 
 uses the pages, which contain the memorials of their exer- 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 ticns in the cause of political and mental independence, 
 the remembrance of their worth and services will be 
 stamped indelibly on his mind. 
 
 After this brief exposition of the motives to which the 
 ensuing pages owe their origin, it might, perhaps, be coir- 
 sistent with prudence, to leave them to the judgement of 
 the public, without any further prefatory observations, 
 It may, however, be considered a matter of formality, if 
 not of necessity, to state cursorily the outlines of the plan 
 which has been pin sued, with regard to the selection and 
 arrangement of the different subjects included in the 
 work. In the choice of the subjects, a departure from 
 the system generally adopted by compilers, has been 
 ventured upon 5 and it rests with popular opinion, (to 
 which tribunal the reapers, as well as gleaners, of the 
 literary harvest must consider themselves amenable) to 
 decide w-hether the innovation is justified by its probable 
 beneficial effects. 
 
 Biographical notices of men, eminent for their learning, 
 virtue, or patriotism,, it is to be presumed will add some- 
 what to the merits of a book, which is solely intended for 
 the use of young students. The introduction of this spe- 
 cies of writing, may not only tend to perpetuate the 
 names of those, to whom America ascribes her existence 
 in the list of independent and enlightened nations, but it 
 may incite the inquisitive and ingenuous youth, to imi- 
 tate, as well as to admire, their actions. The same re- 
 sults may be anticipated from the introduction of episto- 
 lary matter ; and circumstances, in themselves important, 
 and deriving additional interest from the periods in which 
 they transpired, may be preserved from the oblivion to 
 which they would be exposed, were they to rely for trans- 
 mission to posterity, on the transitory nature of epistola- 
 ry communication. 
 
 In the arrangement, as well as selection, of the several 
 subjects, due regard has been paid, both to the conveni- 
 ence and improvement of the reader. The order in 
 which the various topics appear, will, it is expected, lead 
 to beneficial effects, by strengthening the tender mind of 
 the scholar, and gradually rendering it capable of under- 
 o-oing the fatigue incident to the more advanced essays of 
 mental power. While this consequence is resulting from 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 an application to the useful and necessary subjects, which 
 are presented to his attention, in the introductory part of 
 this volume, the relaxation which is sought from dull and 
 monotonous occupations, will be afforded, by the lighter 
 and more attractive objects, which the design of a miscel- 
 lany left room to introduce. 
 
 In the poetical department, the materials to which re- 
 course has been had, are necessarily limited. The Amer- 
 ican muse has not yet furnished the admirers of the more 
 sublime flights of imagination, with many opportunities 
 of indulging their tastes. From the few whom she HAS 
 led to the elevated and flowery regions of Parnassus, a 
 selection has been made, embracing as large a range as the 
 paucity of materials would admit; and no little pains 
 have been taken, to render the introduction of the bard r s 
 labours, as consistent with the nature of the present work, 
 both with regard to usefuj instruction, and pleasing recre- 
 ation, as the art of poesy will permit. 
 
 Little further, of an introductory nature, would appear 
 to be necessary. It may, therefore, suffice to observe, 
 that, if the Compiler cannot c<>mmand the approbation of 
 those to whom his book is submitted, he has at least assid- 
 uously endeavored to deserve it To the candid and lib- 
 eral part of the community, this will be sufficient*- to 
 those of a different character, no appeal is made. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC. 
 
 ELOQUENCE, objections against considered 13 
 
 observations on American * 
 
 Oratory, of 
 
 Writing, simplicity ia - - .."<. 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE. 
 
 Walls, singular natural ones on the banks of the Missouri 41 
 
 Cascade, description of one cr, the river Missouri - 43 
 
 Shoshonet : Indians, manners and customs of - 4.5 
 
 Missouri river, description of 47 
 Canoes, description of those used by the Indians on the Columbia 
 
 river ---.*..-.-- 49 
 
 CUili, singular customs of the inhabitants of ... - 50 
 Tortoises, description of those found on th? islands of the Pacific 
 
 ocean 52 
 
 Niagara, falls of - 
 
 Cave, description of one near Carlisle, Pa. - 54 
 
 AVat.tr Gup, Lf-'high, description of ..... 07 
 Nooaheeva, Island of, description of a place of religious ceremony 
 
 in 58 
 
 Mounds, remarkable, near Cahokia 60 
 
 Warlike weapons, description of those used by the natives of the 
 
 island of Nooaheeva f?J 
 
 NARRATIVE. 
 
 Alligators, extraordinary ferocity of ,. . * * * 03 
 
 II 'ttlesns-ke, generous disposition of ..... 65 
 
 Hrandy\yine, battle of -------- 65 
 
 Shoshonee Indians, ravenous appetites of .... 70 
 
 L<'\visCapt. providentiril escape of - 71 
 
 Osage Indians, curious traditionary account of ... 74 
 
 Irish sailor, account of an --.... 75 
 
 Allegheny, prophet of the ....... 7t> 
 
 Hospitality, Tydiari - - -- *. * -^ 81 
 
A INDEX. 
 
 U. States troops, sufferings of a party of ^ 84 
 
 Montgomery Gen death of 85 
 
 Corn wall is Lord, Surrender of ...... 87 
 
 French massacres of, by the Indians . . . . 89 
 
 Indians massacre by, and retaliation by the whites 91 
 American troops, distressing situation of a party of, in the campaign 
 
 of 1775 93 
 
 American officer, ingenious stratagem of an .... 94 
 
 Welsh nation, proof of one existing in America ... 95 
 
 Henry Patrick, account of his first speech ... 96 
 
 POPULAR. 
 
 Independence, declaration of - - - - - - 101 
 
 Washington George, the illustrious, eulogy on ... 105- 
 
 Marshall Mr. speech of, on the death ot General Washington 115 
 Oration, extract from an, delivered at Worcester, Mass Juis- 4, 
 
 1796 116 
 
 Washington General, farewell address of - - - - U9 
 
 Rutledge Governor, extract from a speech of ... 
 
 Ames Mr speech of, on the British Treaty - 
 
 Noland Mr speech on the bill to suppress duelling 
 
 Franklin Dr. final speech of, in the federal convention 130 
 
 Henry Patrick, speech of -.--- 132 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL* 
 
 Dr "Benjamin Franklin, life of 
 
 Nathaniel Greene, Gen. 
 
 Alexander Hamilton, Gen. -- 
 
 IVnn William, ^ - 
 
 St Glir Artluir Major-general, life of 
 Ilittenhotise David, L. L. B F. II S. life of 
 
 Uutledge John, life of 
 
 Lewis Meriwether, capt 
 Marion Francis, general - 
 
 EPISTOLARY. 
 
 Washington Gen. letter of, on accepting the command of the A. 
 
 Army, in 1798. 
 
 British Spy, letter from 
 
 Franklin Dr. letter to John Alleyne, Esq. 
 - to Dr Mather 
 
 to Noah Webster, Es q. 
 
 GreenedGeneral, letter from to the President of Congress 
 
 . - . to Gen. Gates 
 
 to Lord Cornwallis 
 
 to G< n. Washington 
 
 St. Glair \rthur Major-general, letter from to the Hon. John Jay 
 Washington General, letter from to Major Lee 
 Franklin Dr. humorous letter from tc a young lady 
 
INDEX, x\ 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 ^Petit Maitres, a mirror for the - - - - 19 ; 
 Money, way to make it plenty .... - 
 
 Olive Obediah, complaint of 
 
 Affectation, beauty destroyed by ------ 202 
 
 Gossipping, a dialogue from life ...... 204 
 
 Wit, false - 207 
 
 Conscience, power of-------- 208 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. 
 
 Heroes American 
 
 Laughing, eulogy on .... 
 
 Congress, first American ....... 214 
 
 Trenck Baron, to the memory of 
 
 Cato, tragedy of, epilogue to the ...... 218 
 
 Prospects gloomy, of 1776 220 
 
 Nature, the force of - - 221 
 
 Star light, an elegy 
 
 Paper a poem ...-.-... 223 
 
 Music, po'wer of-------- 225 
 
 Music Sacred, at midnight 226 
 
 Maniac the 227 
 
 Understanding human, powers of the .... 228 
 
 Distrest Orator, lines on a 230 
 
 Fable The Eagle and the Cat 231 
 
 Beauty, true 232 
 
 Caraccas, destruction of by an Earthquake ... 233 
 
 Theatre Richmond, burning of the .... 234 
 
 Year, the grave of the - 236 
 
 Night, ode to - 238 
 
 Sea Nymph, the 239 
 
 Infant, on the death of an ...... 241 
 
 Banner, the star spangled ...... ibid 
 
 Misery vs. Glory ......... 242 
 
 Chrystalina A fahy tale ....... 243 
 
 Lines addressed to a deaf and dumb girl .... 245 
 
 Wilderness the - - 246 
 
 Winter 247 
 
 Field of Raisin night view of the .... 248 
 
 Congaree Creek, a sand hill scene at the head of the - 251 
 
 Village Greatness 257 
 
 New Year Ode for the 1817 258 
 
 Death of a lady, on the ..-.. 261 
 
 Reflection a 262 
 
 Thy will be done - 263 
 
OBJECTIONS 
 
 AGAINST ELOaUENCE 
 
 CONSIDERED. 
 
 THESE objections are three. First, mat rhetoric is 
 a pedantic science, overcharged \vith scholastic subtle- 
 ties, and innumerable divisions and subdivisions, burden- 
 some to the memory, oppressive to genius, and never ap- 
 plicable to any valuable purpose in the business of the 
 world. 'Second, that it is a frivolous science, substituting 
 childish declamation instead of manly sense, and adapt- 
 ed rather to the pageantry of a public festival, than to 
 the sober concerns of real life. And third, that it is a 
 pernicious science; the purpose of which is to mislead 
 the judgment by fascinating the imagination. That its 
 tendencies are to subject the reason of men to the con- 
 trol of their passions; to pervert private justice, and to 
 destroy public liberty. These are formidable objections, 
 and unless a sound and satisfactory answer can be given 
 to them all, both your time and mine, my friends, is at 
 this moment very ill employed, and the call I am obliged 
 to make upon your attention, is a trespass upon some- 
 thing more than your patience. 
 
 Let me first remark, that the last of these difficulties 
 is not barely at variance with, but in direct hostility to 
 the other two. If rhetoric be a pedantic science, con 
 sisting of nothing but a tedious and affected enumera- 
 tion of the figures of speech, or if it be a frivolous sci- 
 ence, teaching only the process of beating up a frothy 
 declamation inttf seeming consistency, at least it 
 B 
 
14 OI>J ACTIONS AGAINST 
 
 be that deadly \vQajjon 5 'the possession of which is so per- 
 ;at 'the*, atfection of a parent, studious of the 
 leariiiiig and virtue of his son, dares not entrust it to his 
 hand. If rhetoric be no more than the Babylonish dia- 
 lect of the schools, if oratory be no more than the sound- 
 ing emptiness of the scholar, they are at least not those 
 dangerous and destructive engines, which pollute the 
 fountains of justice, and batter down the liberties of na- 
 tions. These objections are still more at strife with each 
 other, than with the science, against which they are point* 
 ed. Were they urged by one and the same disputant, we 
 might be content to array them against each other. We 
 might oppose the argument of insignificance against the 
 argument of danger; and enjoy the triumph of behold- 
 ing our adversary refute himself. But inasmuch as they 
 spring from different sources, they are entitled to a dis- 
 tinct consideration. From their mutual opposition, the 
 only conclusive inference we can draw against them is, 
 .hat they cannot all be well founded. Let us endeavour 
 co prove the same against each of them separately, be- 
 ginning with those, which affect only the usefulness, and 
 not the moral character of our profession. 
 
 The first assault then, which we are called upon to re- 
 pel, comes from the shaft of wit; always a formidable, 
 but not always a iair antagonist. A poet of real genius 
 and original humor, in a couplet, which goes farther to 
 discredit all systems of rhetoric, than volumes of sober 
 argument can effect in promoting them, has told the 
 world that 
 
 AH a rhetorician's rules 
 
 Teach nothing but to name his tools. 
 
 But happily the doctrine, that ridicule is the test of 
 truth, has never obtained the assent of the rational part of 
 nankind. Wit, like the ancient Parthian, flies while it 
 fights; or like the modern Indian, shoots from behind 
 trees and hedges. The arrow comes winged from an in- 
 visible hand. It rankles in your side, and you look in 
 vain for the archer. Wit is' the unjust jud^e, who often 
 decides wrong; and even when right, often from a wrong 
 motive. From his decisions however, after paying the 
 forfeit, there is always an appeal to the more even bal- 
 ance of common sense. On this review we shall find the 
 
ELOQUENCE CONSIDERED. 
 
 poet's position not exactly conformable to truth; and. 
 even so far as true, by no means decisive against the 
 study of tile science. *For what can be more necessary 
 to the artist, than to know the names, as well as the uses 
 of his tools ? Rhetoric alone can never constitute an 
 orator. No human art can be acquired by the mere 
 knowledge of the principles, upon which it is founded. 
 But the artist, who understands its principles, will exer- 
 cise his art in the highest perfection. The profoundest 
 study of the writers upon architecture, the most labori- 
 ous contemplation of its magnificent monuments will no 
 ver make a mason. But the mason, thoroughly acquaint- 
 ed with the writers, and familiar with the construction of 
 those monuments, will surely be an abler artist, than the 
 mere mechanic, ignorant ot the mysteries of his trade, 
 and even of the names of his tools. A celebrated French 
 comic writer, Moliere, has represented one of his charac- 
 ters, learning with great astonishment and self- admira- 
 tion, at the age of forty, that he had been all his life time- 
 speaking prose without knowing it. And this bright dis- 
 covery comes from the information he then first receives 
 from his teacher of grammar, that whatsoever is not prose 
 is verse, and whatsoever is not verse is prose. 
 
 But the names of the rhetorician's rules are not the 
 only objects of his precepts. They are not even essen- 
 tial to the science. Figurative and ornamented language 
 indeed is one of the important properties of oratory, and 
 when the art came to be reduced into a system among 
 the ancient Greeks, some of the subordinate writers, un- 
 able to produce any thing of their own upon the gener- 
 al subject, exercised their subtlety to discriminate, and 
 their ingenuity to name the innumerable variety of forms, 
 in which language may be diverted from the direct into 
 the figurative channel. Pursuing this object with more 
 penetration than discernment, they ransacked all their 
 celebrated authors for figures of speech, to give them 
 names ; and often finding in their search some incorrect 
 expression, which the inattention of the writer had over- 
 looked, they concluded it was a figure of speech, because 
 it was not conformable to grammatical construction; and 
 very gravely turning a blunder into a trope, invested it 
 with the dignity of a learned name. A succession of 
 tht*se rhetorical nomenclators were continually improv- 
 ing upon, one am>ther, until the catalogue of figures grew 
 
t* OBJECTIONS AGAINST 
 
 io a lexicon, and the natural shape of rhetoric was dis- 
 tended to a dropsy. 
 
 This excessive importance, given to one of the branch- 
 es of the science, led to the absurd notion, that all rhet- 
 oric was comprised in the denomination of figurative ex- 
 pressions, and finally provoked the lash of Butler's ridi- 
 cule. But he must have a partial and contracted idea 
 indeed of rhetoric, who can believe, that by the art of 
 persuasion is meant no more than the art of distinguish- 
 ing between a metonymy and a metaphor, or of settling 
 he boundary between synecdoche and antonomasia. So 
 far is this from being true, that Aristotle, the great father 
 of the science, though he treats in general terms of met- 
 aphorical language, bestows very little consideration up- 
 on it, and cautions the orator," perhaps too rigorously, 
 against its use. Cicero, though from the natural turn of 
 .vis genius more liberal of these seductive graces, allows 
 them only a very moderate station in his estimate of the 
 art; and Quinctilian appropriates to them only part of 
 two, out of his twelve books of institutes. 
 
 The idea, that the purpose of rhetoric is only to teach 
 the art of making and delivering a holiday declamation, 
 proceeds from a view of the subject equally erroneous 
 and superficial. Were this its only or even its principal 
 object, its acquisition might rationally occupy a few mo- 
 ments of your leisure, but could not claim that assiduous 
 study and persevering application, without which no man 
 will ever be an orator. It would stand in the rank of 
 elegant accomplishments, but could not aspire to that of 
 useful talents. Perhaps one of the causes of this mis- 
 taken estimate of the art is the usual process, by which 
 it is learnt. The exercises of the student are necessa- 
 rilv confined to this lowest department of the science. 
 Your weekly declamations, your occasional themes, anil 
 forensic disputes, and the dialogues, conferences and ora- 
 tions of the public exhibitions, from the nature of things, 
 must relate merely to speculative subjects. Here is no 
 issue for trial, in which the life or fortune of an individ- 
 ual may be involved. Here is no vote to be taken, upon 
 which the destinies of a nation may be suspended. Here 
 is no immortal soul, whose future, blessedness or misery 
 may hinge upon your powers of eloquence to carry con- 
 viction to the heart. But here it is, that you must pre- 
 pare yourselves to act your part in those great realities oi 
 
ELOQUENCE CONSIDERED, 17 
 
 life. To consider the lessons or the practices, by which 
 the art of oratory can be learnt, as the substance of the 
 art itself, is to mistake the means for the end. It is to 
 measure the military merits of a general by the gold 
 threads of his epaulette, or to appreciate the valor of the 
 soldier by the burning of powder upon a parade. The 
 eloquence of the college is like the discipline of are- 
 view. The art of war, we are all sensible, does not con- 
 sist in the manoeuvres of a training day; nor the sted- 
 uistness of the soldier at the hour of battle, in the drill- 
 ing of his orderly sergeant. Yet the superior excellence 
 of the veteran army is exemplified in nothing more for- 
 cibly, than in the perfection of its discipline. It is in the 
 heat of the action, upon the field of blood, that the for- 
 tune of the day may be decided by the exactness of the 
 manual exercise; and the art of displaying a column, or 
 directing a charge, may turn the balance of victory and 
 change the history of the world. The application of 
 these observat ons is as direct to the art of oratary, as to 
 I'M at of war. The exercises, to which you are here accus- 
 tomed, are not intended merely for the display of the 
 talents you have acquired. They are instruments, put 
 into your hands for future use. Their object is not bare- 
 ly to prepare you for the composition and delivery oi an 
 oration to amuse an idle hour on some public anniversa- 
 ry. It is to give you a clue for the labyrinth of legisla- 
 tion in the public councils ; a spear for the conflict of ju- 
 dicial war in the public tribunals: a sword for the field 
 of religious and moral victory in the pulpit. 
 
 In the endeavour to refute these pretty cavils against 
 rhetoric, which have no higher foundation, than a super- 
 ficial misconception of its real character and object, I 
 have perhaps consumed too much of your time. A more 
 serious obstacle remains to be removed. An obstacle, 
 arising, not from a mistaken estimate of its value, but 
 from too keen a sense of its abuses. An objection, which 
 admits, nay, exaggerates, the immensity of its powers, 
 but harps upon their perversion to evil ends; which be- 
 holds in oratory, not the sovereign, but the usurper of 
 the soul; which, far from exposing the science to the sneer 
 of contempt, aims at inflaming against it the rancour of 
 jealousy. 
 
 Eloquence, we are told by these eloquent detractors, 
 L< the purveyor of fraud, and the pander of delusion, 
 B 
 
1-8 OBJECTIONS AGAINST 
 
 Her tongue drops manna, but to make the worse appear 
 the better reason; to perplex and dasli matures! coun- 
 sels. She fills the trump of glory with the venal blast of 3 
 adulation, and binds the wreath of honor around the 
 brows of infamy. Her voice is ever ready to rescue the 
 culprit from punishment, and to ti.vn the bolt of public 
 vengeance upon innocence. Upon every breeze her 
 breath wings the pestilence of sedition, or kindles the 
 flames of unextinguishable war. Her most splendid vie 
 tories are but triumphs over reason, and the basis of her 
 temple is erected upon the ruins of truth. 
 
 To this tempest of inculpation what reply can we op 
 pose ? If we dispute the correctness of the assertions. 
 our adversaries appeal with confidence to the testimony 
 of historical fact. If we assure them upon the word of 
 Cicero and Quinctilian, that none but a good man can 
 possibly be an orator, they disconcert us by calling for 
 our examples of orators, who have been good men. 
 
 Let us then tell them, that their objection in this in^ 
 stance* is rather against the constitution of human na- 
 ture, the dispensations of Providence, and the moral gov- 
 ernment of the universe, than against rhetoric and ora- 
 tory. It applies with equal force against every faculty, 
 which exalts the human character, virtue alone excepteth 
 Strength of body, vigor of mind, beauty, valor, genius, 
 whatever we admire and love in the character of man 5 
 how often are they perverted to his shame and corrup- 
 tion ! It applies with equal force against the laws of 
 physical nature. Observe the phenomena of the uni- 
 verse, in which we dwell. The very beams of that glori- 
 ous sun, the source of genial heat, of heavenly light, of 
 vegetable growth, and of animal life, how often does 
 their radiance blind the eyes, and their fervor parch the 
 plaius! How often do they^shed pernicious plagues, 
 and kindle consuming fires ! The very atmosphere we 
 breathe, unless perpetually purified by the accession ot 
 oxygen, is it not the most deadly poison ? Virtue, my 
 young friends, is the oxygen, the vital air of the moral 
 world. Immutable and incorruptible itself, like that 
 being, of whom it is the purest emanation, in proportion 
 9tS it intermingles with.and pervades every other particle 
 of intellectual nature, it inspires the salutiferous gale, 
 the principle of life, and health, and happiness. But 
 this is tke peculiar privilege of virtue. Like all the other 
 
ELOQUENCE CONSIDEKED, 
 
 gifts of Providence, eloquence is, according to the man- 
 ner, in which it is applied, a blessing or a curse ; the 
 of nations, or the benefactress of human kind. 
 
 Here then we might rest our defence. We might rely on 
 the trite and undisputed maxim, that arguments, drawn 
 from the abuse of any thing, are not admissible against 
 its use. But we must proceed one step further, and say, 
 that in this case the argument from the abuse is conclu- 
 sive in favor of the use. Since eloquence is in itself so 
 powerful a weapon, and since by the depravity of man- 
 kind this weapon must, and often will be brandished for 
 guilty purposes, its exercise, with equal or superior skill. 
 Becomes but the more indispensable to the cause of vir- 
 tue. To forbid the sincere Christian, the honest advo- 
 cate, the genuine patriot, the practice of oratorical arts, 
 would be like a modern nation, which should deny to 
 itself the use of gunpowder, and march, with nothing, 
 but bows and arrows, to meet t!/e thunder of an invad- 
 er's artillery. If the venal orators of Athens would 
 have sold their country to the crafty tyrant of Macedon, 
 what could baffle their detested bargains', but the incor- 
 ruptible eloquence of Demosthenes? If the incestu- 
 ous Clodious and the incendtary Cataline had eloquence 
 enough for the destruction of imperial Rome, what but 
 the immortal voice of Cicero could have operated her 
 salvation? Or to bring the issue closer home to your 
 own hearts, when would you so anxiously desire and so 
 eagerly hail this irresistable power of words, as at the very 
 moment after hearing it perverted by cruelty, hypocrisy, 
 or infidelity, for the purposes of violence or of fraud ? 
 
 In these objections then, the most plausible of those, 
 -which ever have been advanced against rhetoric, and or- 
 atory, there is nothing which ought to deter an honest 
 and generous mind from their assiduous cultivation. Of 
 the arguments I have urged to convince you, that the 
 <?tiuly is at once useful and honorable, your own minds 
 will judge. You will perhaps think, that I have dwelt 
 witii mqre earnestness, than the occasion required, upon 
 topics, concerning which your hearts were already with 
 me. That 1 have been over anxious in demonstrating 
 what was to you before sufficiently proved. That under 
 the blaze of a meridian sun, I have been sweating with 
 the toil of making daylight visible to your eyes. And is 
 it truly so ? Are you convinced beyond a doubt, that the 
 
20 OBJECTIONS AGAINST 
 
 powers' of eloquence are a wise, an honorable, a virtuous 
 pursuit? A pursuit, to \vliich justice, patriotism and pi- 
 ety, with equal energy stimulate your souls ? Then go 
 with me but one step further; draw with me the only 
 valuable inference, which can result from this long dis"- 
 sertation; the practical inference, which alone can make 
 it of any use to you. Invert the advice of Timotheus to 
 Alexander, and say to yourselves, 
 
 ]f the world be worth enjoying, 
 
 Think ! Oh ! think it worth "thy winning. 
 
 I will conclude with urging upon your reflections the 
 iast great consideration, which 1 mentioned, as giving its 
 keenest edge to the argument for devoting every faculty 
 of the mind to the acquisition of eloquence; a consider- 
 ation, arising from the peculiar situation and circumstan- 
 ces of our own country, and naturally connecting my 
 present subject, the vindication of the science, with that, 
 which will next claim your attention; I mean its origin 
 and history. 
 
 Should a philosophical theorist, reasoning a priori, un- 
 dertake to point out the state of things, and of human 
 society, which must naturally produce the highest exer- 
 tions of the power of speech, he would recur to those 
 important particulars, which actually existed in the Gre- 
 cian commonwealths. The most strenuous energies of 
 the human mind, would he say, are always employed, 
 where they are instigated by the stimulus of the highest 
 rewards. The art of speaking must be most eagerly 
 sought, where it is found to be most useful. It must be 
 most useful, where it is capable of producing the great- 
 est effects ; and that can be in no other state of tilings, 
 than where the power of persuasion operates upon the 
 will, and prompts the actions of other men. The only 
 birth place of eloquence therefore must be a free state. 
 Under arbitrary governments, where the lot is east upon 
 one man to command, and upon all the rest to obey; 
 where the despot, like the Roman centurion, has only to 
 say to one man. go, and he goeth, and to another, come, 
 and he cometh: persuasion is of no avail. Between au- 
 thority and obedience there can be no deliberation ; and 
 wheresoever submission is the principle of government 
 in a nation, eloquence can never arise. Eloquence is 
 
ELOQUENCE CONSIDERED. ,2 
 
 the child of liberty, and can descend from no other stock, 
 And where will she find her most instructive school ? 
 Will it not be in a country, where the same spirit of lib- 
 erty, which marks the relations between the individuals 
 of the same community, is diffused over those more com- 
 plicated and important relations between different com- 
 munities ? where the independence of man is corroborat- 
 ed and invigorated by the independence of the state r 
 Where the same power of persuasion, which influences 
 the will of the citizens at home, has the means of operat- 
 ing upon the will and the conduct of sovereign societies ? 
 Should it happen then, that a number of independent 
 communities, founded upon the principles of civil and 
 political liberty, were so reciprocally situated, as to have 
 u great and continual intercourse with each other, and 
 many momentous common interests, occasional as well 
 as permanent, there, above all others, will be the spot, 
 where eloquence will spring to light; will flourish; will 
 rise to the highest perfection, of which human art or sci- 
 ence is susceptible. 
 
 The experience of mankind has proved exactly con- 
 formable to this theory. The Grecian commonwealths 
 furnish the earliest examples in history of confederated 
 states with free governments ; and there also the art of 
 oratory was first practised, the science of rhetoric first 
 invented ; and both were raised to a pitch of unrivalled 
 excellence and glory. 
 
 From this powerful concurrence of philosophical specu- 
 lation with historical proof, there are several important 
 inferences, which ought to be pressed with peculiar 
 energy upon the consideration of all youthful Americans ; 
 and more especially of those, who are distinguished by 
 the liberal discipline of a classical education, and enjoy 
 the advantages of intellectual cultivation. They cannot 
 fail to remark, that their own nation is at this time pre- 
 cisely linden the same circumstances, which were so pro- 
 pitious to the advancement of rhetoric and oratory among 
 the Greeks. Like them, we are divided into a number 
 of separate commonwealths, all founded upon the princi- 
 ples of the most enlarged social and civil liberty. Like 
 them, we are united in certain great national interests, 
 and connected by a confederation, differing indeed in 
 many essential particulars from theirs, but perhaps in a 
 still higher degree favorable to the influence and exertioij 
 
22 OBJECTIONS AGAINST, &c. 
 
 oi* eloquence. Our institutions, from the smallest muni- 
 cipal associations to the great national bond, which links 
 this continent in union, are republican. Their vital prin- 
 ciple is liberty. Persuasion, or the influence of reason 
 and of feeling, is the great, if not the only instrument, 
 \vhoseoperationcan affect the acts of all our corporate 
 bodies ; of towns, cities, counties, states, and of the whole 
 confederated empire. Here then eloquence is recom- 
 mended by the most elevated usefulness, and encouraged 
 by the promise of the most precious rewards. 
 
 Finally, let us observe how much it tends to exalt and 
 ennoble our ideas of this art, to find it both in speculation 
 and experience, thus grappled, as with hooks of steel, to 
 the soul of liberty. So dear, and so justly dear to us are 
 the blessings of freedom, that if no other advantage could 
 be ascribed to the powers of speech, than that they are 
 her inseparable companions, that alone would be an 'un- 
 answerable argument for us to cherish them with more 
 than a mother's affection. Let then the frosty rigor of the 
 logician tell you, that eloquence is an insidious appeal to 
 the passions of men. Let the ghastly form of despotism 
 groan from his hollow lungs and bloodless heart, that 
 eloquence is the instrument of turbulence and the weapon 
 of faction. Nay, let the severe and honest moralist him- 
 self pronounce in the dream of abstraction, that truth and 
 virtue need not the aid of foreign ornament. Answer ; 
 silence them all. Answer; silence them forever, by re- 
 curring to this great and overpowering truth. Say, that 
 by the eternal constitution of things it wns ordained, that 
 liberty should be the parent of eloquence ; that eloquence 
 should be the last stay and support of liberty; that with 
 her she is ever destined to live, to flourish, and to die. 
 Call up the shades of Demosthenes and Cicero to vouch 
 your words; point to their immortal works, and say, 
 these are not only the sublimest strains of oratory, that 
 ever issued from the uninspired lips of mortal men ; they 
 are at the same time the expiring accents of liberty, in 
 the nations, which have shed the brightest lustre on the 
 Jiame of man. Mams 9 Lecturer 
 
OBSERVATIONS ON AMERICAN ELOQUENCE, 
 
 "THERE are in our country but two classes of men who 
 are popular speakers by profession. Lawyers who com- 
 mence practice early in life, with a superficial general 
 education, and an equally shallow knowledge of legal 
 science ; who, from an ignorance both of local law, and 
 of any of the great principles of universal ethicks, to which 
 to refer the principles of their case, are constrained to 
 resort to commonplace topics of justification, founded on 
 the weakness of human nature ; subjects of defence 
 equally applicable to every possible case, and of course 
 equally idle in all. To this tendency to a false pathos, 
 which is in some degrees the effect of ignorance, the 
 popularity of the speeches of Mr. Curran has a good 
 deal contributed. Mr. Curran is certainly eminently 
 gifted with very high powers of eloquence, but is perhaps 
 a dangerous model for imitation ; and if to be imitated at 
 all, it can never be after the manner pursued in Amer- 
 ica. Our young men endeavor to rival him, with no 
 other advantages than a few inaccurate notions of meta- 
 phor and trope drawn from Blairs Lectures, while at the 
 university, and a confused knowledge of the elementary 
 principles of English law r , gathered in a hasty perusal of 
 Blackstone's Commentary! They do not consider Mr. 
 Cur ran 's discipline in the several branches of severer 
 science ; his comprehensive knowledge of history, poli- 
 tics and ethics: his taste refined by perpetual inter- 
 course with living orators and poets, and an intimate 
 acquaintance with the writings of their immortal prede- 
 cessors. Then he possesses an original brilliancy of ex- 
 pressioo, which is the result of these combined causes 
 operating on a naturally fruitful exertion and poetic 
 temperament. They should imitate him in these previ- 
 ous studies, and in reading- the Latin and Greek poets, 
 before they attempt his passionate and truly dramatic el- 
 oquence. Thus far they have succeeded, only in copy- 
 ing his defects, and borrowing from him those useless 
 appendages to his declamation which he gains by losing. 
 
4 OBSERVATIONS OS 
 
 Some of them have, however, succeeded as Rausscau sr,}^ 
 of the French musical academy, who were advocates foi 
 loud and harsh music, " in making a great noise in the 
 world," but we are consoled by knowing that it will be 
 but of short continuance. 
 
 It is a discouraging circumstance to see models of elo- 
 quence, as of every thing else, sought exclusively in En- 
 glisli literature. The English themselves recur to anti 
 quity, as the father of all that is sublime or beautiful in 
 poetry or prose, and the tendency of American taste to a 
 very different style of speaking from that of the best and 
 the worst orators of England, plainly indicates a differ- 
 ence in the national standard of excellence. Nature 
 herself has ordered it, and it is vain for art to resist. 
 Instead of being chilled by the cold damps of a latitude 
 north of 50 degrees, in a sea girt island, we have a warm 
 and genial climate, a bright sun and a blue sky. Our 
 continent is vast, its aspect frequently picturesque and 
 romantic, is often sublime and beautiful. The rills, and 
 basins, and cascades of England seem but the mimicry of 
 nature, when compared with those inland seas which are 
 fed by that huge river, the din of whose thundering cat- 
 aract peals on every hill for forty miles : or with that 
 father of western waters, who, drawing his torrent from 
 fountains of polar snow, warms his mighty stream in a 
 tropical sun before he reaches the ocean. This magnifi- 
 cent scale of nature, this ethereal sky ? will impart their 
 influence to the imagination and feelings. Our poets 
 must feed their lamps from the fires of the father of song, 
 whose eyes yet iindazzled " with excess of light" had 
 stored his mind with that sublime scenery, that poetic 
 drapery, with which nature has clothed the countries 
 which dispute the honor of his birth. Lighter bards 
 must drink from the goblet of Anacreon Orators must 
 pre over the burning page of Demosthenes, or the more 
 luxuriant decoration of Tully. Let them not do this ei- 
 ther, to the exclusion of the great masters of their own 
 language ; for no one can have a competent knowledge 
 of the copiousness and power of the English tongue, who 
 has not read Spencer, and Shakespear, and Hooker, and 
 Taylor, and the intellectual giants of that wonderful age. 
 It is no objection to what I have here said, that the 
 \vorks of some of these writers abound with figures and 
 passages of the sublimest eloquence, for they saw the 
 
AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 25 
 
 scenery of Greece and Italy irradiated by the genius of 
 Homer and Virgil, and even then, their imaginations re- 
 tain deep tints of the northern gloom. Hooker and Tay- 
 lor, whose sacred ministry led them to the study of orien- 
 tal learning, have often curiously blended the different 
 shades of eastern and western poetry. Some of the effu- 
 sions of their " finest phrenzies" call to our minds the 
 idea of Ossian or some northern bard, striking the harp of 
 Isaiah, with instruments tuned to a prophets ear, and 
 swept by a poet's hand, the music must needs be divine, 
 occasionally it is so, but the periods of celestial harmony, 
 are like vidits from the winged hours of bliss, " few and 
 far between." 
 
 The second class of men who are speakers by profes- 
 sion, are those, who, from ambition or incompetence to 
 succeed at the bar, devote their lives to politics. Gener- 
 ally educated for the law, they are as ill prepared for the 
 discharge of their duty as the others. They are, howev- 
 er, eager to speak on particular occasions, and do speak 
 \vith all the fatiguing superficiality which results from 
 \vant of information, and act with confusion for want of 
 concert; and finally leave public life with disgust and 
 disappointment, for want of preliminary preparation. 
 Hence we are so often condemned, to hear from a san- 
 guine youth on the floor of congress, a piece of florid de- 
 clamation of half an hour's continuance; but the bloom 
 perishes without the fruit ensuing. And hence that 
 crowd of self deluded boys, who think to become orators 
 in a day by celebrating the anniversary of our indepen- 
 dence in a few bombastic sentences. I would recom- 
 mend to their consideration a fine thought beautifully ex- 
 pressed by Lord Bolingbroke: "Eloquence has charms 
 to lend mankind, and gives a nobler superiority than pow- 
 er that any fool may use, or fraud that every knave may 
 employ. But eloquence must flow like a stream that is 
 fed by an abundant spring, and not spout forth a little 
 frothy matter on some gaudy day, and remain dry the 
 rest of the year." 
 
 Sketches of $. Orators. 
 
THE 
 
 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC. 
 
 Of Oratory. 
 
 WE come now to speak of oratory, as it is divided into 
 the several parts which constitute the art. These have 
 been generally the following, invention, disposition^ 
 style or composition, pronunciation, including gesture. 
 
 First. INVENTION. This is nothing else but finding 
 out the sentiments by which a speaker or writer would 
 explain what he has to propose, and the arguments by 
 which he would enforce it. This subject is treated of 
 very largely in most of the books of oratory, in which I 
 think they judge very wrong. In by far the greatest 
 number of cases, there is no necessity for teaching 
 it, and where it is necessary, I believe it exceeds the 
 power of man to teach it with effect. The very first time, 
 indeed, that a young person begins to compose, the thing 
 is so new to him, that it is apt to appear dark and diffi- 
 cult, and in a manner impossible. But as soon as he be- 
 comes a little accustomed to it, he finds much more diffi- 
 culty in selecting what is proper than in inventing some- 
 thing that seems to be tolerable. There are some per- 
 sons, I confess, whom their own stupidity, or that of their 
 relations, forces to attempt public speaking who are en- 
 tirely barren, aad notable to bring out any thing, either 
 
28 BEPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 good or bad; but this is exceedingly rare, and when it 
 .oes happen, it will be so burdensome to the man him- 
 5lf, that he must speedily give over the attempt. There 
 are infinitely more who have plenty of matter, such as it 
 is, but neither very valuable in itself nor clothed in pro- 
 per language. I think it happens very generally, that 
 those who are least concise and accurate are most length v 
 and voluminous. 
 
 I will therefore not spend much time upon invention, 
 leaving it to the spontaneous production of capacity and 
 experience; onJy observe that it is called a common 
 place, from whence you draw your argument. That 
 principle of law, nature, taste, experience, from which 
 you fetch your topic, and apply it to your particular case, 
 is a common place ; as, for example, if I want to prove 
 that a strict discipline in society is best, I say that dis- 
 cipline which will, in the most effectual manner, restrain 
 offences is certainly the best ; this is the topic or common 
 place. 
 
 It would be needless to point out the sources of inven- 
 tion, or shew from whence arguments may be drawn, for 
 they may be drawn from all the characters or qualities of 
 an action or person, ami from all the circumstances that 
 accompany it. If I mean to aggravate a crime or injury, 
 I say it was done deliberately, obstinately, repeatedly, 
 without temptation, against many warnings, and much 
 kindness; that its effects are very bad to a man's self, to 
 others, to the character, the person, the estate, &c. If I 
 want to speak in praise of a free government, I mention 
 its happy effects, in giving security and happiness, pro- 
 moting industry, encouraging genius, producing value ; 
 and then I apply to experience and shew the happiness of 
 free states, and the misery of those that have been kept, 
 in slavery : but I repeat the remark that invention need 
 not be taught, unless it be to one that never yet composed 
 a sentence. There have been books of common place, 
 published, containing arguments and topics for illustra- 
 tion, and even similitudes sayings of the sncients, &c- 
 but they are of very little use, unless to a person that has 
 up fund of his own, and then one that makes use of them 
 is like a man walking on stilts ; they make him look very 
 big, but he walks very feebly. 
 
 Second. The next division of the oratorial art is dis- 
 position or Distribution, This is a matter of the utmost 
 
SCIENTIFIC. 29 
 
 moment, and upon which instruction is both necessary 
 and useful. By disposition, as a part of the oratorial art, 
 I mean order in general in the whole of a discourse or 
 any kind of composition, be it what it will. As to the 
 parts of which a single speech or oration consists, they 
 will be afterwards considered. Before I proceed to ex- 
 plain or point out the way to attain good order, I would 
 just mention a few of its excellencies. 
 
 1st. Good order in a discourse gives light, and makes 
 it easily understood. If things are thrown together with- 
 out method, each of them will be less understood, and 
 then joint influence in leading to a conclusion will not be 
 perceived. It is a noble expression of Horace, who calls 
 it lucidos ordo, clear order. It is common to say, when 
 we hear a confused discourse. " It had neither head 
 nor tail, I could not understand what iie would be at." 
 (2) Order is necessary to force as well as light ; this in- 
 deed is a necessary consequence of the other, for we shall 
 never be persuaded by what we do not understand. 
 Very often the force "of reasoning depends upon the 
 united influence of several distinct propositions. If they 
 are ranged in a just order, they will all have their effect 
 and support one another; if otherwise, it will be like a 
 number of men attempting to raise a weight, and one 
 pulling at one time and another at another, which will do 
 just nothing 5 but if all exert their power at once, it will 
 be easily overcome. 
 
 Third. Order is also necessary for assisting memory. 
 Order is necessary even in a discourse that is to have a 
 transient effect 5 but if any thing is intended to produce a 
 lasting conviction, and to have a daily influence, it is still 
 more necessary when things are disposed in a proper order, 
 the same concatenation that is in the discourse takes place 
 in the memory, so that when one thing is remembered, 
 it immediately brings to rememberance what has an easy 
 and obvious connexion with it. The association of idea 
 linked together by any tie is very remarkable in our con- 
 stitution, and is supposed to take place from some impres- 
 sion made upon the brain. If we have seen two persons 
 but once, and seen them both at the same time only, or at 
 trie same place only, the remembrance of the one can 
 hardly be separated from the other. I may also illus- 
 trate the subject by another plain instance Suppose I 
 desire a person going to the city to do two or three things 
 c 
 
SO REPUBLICAN COMPILED 
 
 for me that are wholly unconnected, as to deliver a let- 
 ter to one person to visit a friend of mine, and to bring 
 me notice how he is to buy a certain book for me if ho 
 can find it and to see whether any ship be to sail to Bri- 
 tain soon, it is very possible he may remember some of 
 them, and forget me others ; but if I desire him to buy 
 me a dozen of silver spoons, to carry them to an engraver 
 to put my name upon them, and get a case to put them in ? 
 if he remembers one article it is likely he will remember 
 all of them. It is one of the best evidences that a dis- 
 course has been composed with distinctness and accura- 
 cy, if after you go away you can remember a good deal 
 of it; but there are sometimes discourses which are 
 pompous and declamatory, and which you hear with pleas- 
 ure, and some sort of approbation, but if you attempt to 
 recollect the truths advanced, or the arguments in sup- 
 port of them, there is not a trace of them to be found. 
 
 Fourth. Order conduces also very much to beauty. 
 Order is never omitted, when men give the principles of 
 fceauty, and confusion is disgustful just on its own ac- 
 count, whatever the nature of the confused things may be$ 
 If you were to see a vast heap of fine furniture, of different 
 kinds, lying in confusion, you could neither perceive half" 
 so distinctly what was there, nor could it at all have such 
 an effect, as if every thing was disposed in a just order, 
 and placed where it ought to stand; nay, a much smaller 
 quantity, elegantly disposed, would exceed in grandeur 
 of appearance chief of the most costly things in nature. 
 
 Fifth. Order is also necessary to brevity. A confus- 
 ed discourse is almost never short, and is always filled 
 with repetitions. It is with thought, in this respect, as 
 with things visible : for to return to the former similitude, 
 A confused heap of goods or furniture fills much more 
 room than when it is ranged and classed in its proper or- 
 der, and every thing carried to its proper place. 
 
 Having shewn the excellence of precision and method, 
 let us next try to explain what it is, and that I may have 
 some regard to method while I am speaking of the very 
 subject, I shall take it in three lights. (1st) There 
 must be an attention to order in the disposition of the 
 whole piece. Whatever the parts be in themselves, 
 they have also a relation to one another, and to the whote 
 body (if I may speak so) that they are to compose. Eve 
 -y work, be it what it will? history, epic poem, dramatic 
 
SCIENTIFIC, 1 
 
 poem, oratory, epistle, or essay, is to be considered as a 
 whole, and a clearness of judgment in point of method 
 will decide the place and proportion of the several parts 
 of which they are composed, The loosest essay, or where 
 form is least professed or studied, ou^ht yet to have some 
 shape as a whole, and we may say of it, that it begins ab- 
 ruptly or ends abruptly, or some of the parts are misplac- 
 ed. "There are often to be seen pieces in which good 
 things are said, and well said and have only this fault, 
 that they are unseasonable and out of place. Horace 
 says, in his art of poetry, what is equally applicable to 
 every sort of composition. " Donique sit quod vis sim- 
 plex duntaxat et unum" and shortly after, " In felix ope- 
 ns summa, quia porere totum nesciet." 
 
 This judgement in planning the whole will particular- 
 ly enable a person to determine both as to the place and 
 proportion of the different parts, whether they be not on- 
 ly good in themselves, but fit to be introduced in such a 
 work, and it will also (if I may speak so) give a colour to 
 the whole composition. The necessity of order in the 
 whole structure of a piece shows, that the rule is good 
 which is given by some, that an orator, before he begins 
 Ins discourse,r*hould concentrate the subject as it weref 
 and reduce it to one single proposition, either expressed, 
 or at least conceived in his mind. Every thing should 
 grow out of this as its root, if it be in another principle 
 to be explained $ or refer to this as its end, if it be a point 
 to be gained by persuasion. Having thus stated the point 
 clearly to be handled, it will afford a sort of criterion 
 whether any thing adduced is proper or improper. It 
 will suggest the topics that are just and suitable, as well as 
 enable us to reject whatever is in substance improper, or 
 in size disproportionate to the design. Agreeably to 
 this principle, 1 think that not only the subject of a sin- 
 gle discourse should be reduceable to one proposition, but 
 the general divisions or principal heads should not be ma- 
 ny in number. A great number of general heads both 
 burdens the memory, and breaks the unity of the subject, 
 and carries the idea of several little discourses joined to- 
 gether or to follow after one another. 
 
 2d. Order is necessary in the subdivisions of a sub- 
 ject, or the way of stating and marshelling of the several 
 portions of any general head. This is applicable to all 
 kinds of composition, and all kinds of oratory, sermons, 
 
S3 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 law pleadings, speeches. There is always a division of 
 the parts, as well as of the whole, either expressed formal- 
 ly and numerically, or supposed, though suppressed. 
 And it is as much here as any where, that the confusion 
 of inaccurate writers and speakers appears. It is always 
 necessary to have some notion of the whole of a piece, 
 and the large divisions, being more bulky, to speak, dis- 
 position in them is more easily perceived, but in the 
 smaller, both their order and size are in danger of being 
 less attended to. Observe, therefore, that to be accurate 
 and just, the subdivisions of any composition, such I 
 mean as are (for example) introduced in a numerical se~ 
 ries, 1, 2, 3, &c. Should have the following properties* 
 (1) They should be clear and plain. Every thing indeed 
 should be clear, as far as he can make it, but precision 
 and distinctness should especially appear in the subdivi- 
 sions, just as the bounding lines of countries in a map. 
 For this reason the first part of a subdivision should be 
 rike a short definition, and when it can be done, it is 
 but expressed in a single term $ for example, in giving the 
 character of a man of learning, I may propose to speak 
 of his genius, his erudition, his industry, or application. 
 
 (2) They should be truely distinct; that is, every 
 body should perceive that they are really different from 
 one another, not in phrase or word only, but in sentiment, 
 If you praise a man first for his judgment, and then for 
 his understanding ; they are either altogether or so near- 
 ly the same, or so nearly allied, as not to require distinc- 
 tion. I have heard a minister on John xvii. 11. Holy 
 Father, &c. in showing how God keeps his people, says, 
 
 He keeps their feet. He shall keep thy feet from 
 ing. (2) He keeps their way. Thou shalt keep him 
 in all his ways. Now, it is plain that these are not two 
 different things, but two metaphors for the same thing. 
 This indeed was faulty also in another respect 5 for a 
 metaphor ought not to make a division at all. 
 
 (3) Subdivisions should be necessary ; that is to say, 
 taking the word in the loose and popular sense, the sub- 
 ject should seem to demand them, to multiply divisions,, 
 even where they may be made really distinct, is tedious, 
 and disgustful,unles*s where they are of use and import- 
 ance to our clearly comprehending the meaning, or feel- 
 ing the fore* of what is said. If a person in the map of a 
 country should give a different colour to every three 
 
 (1) He ! 
 falling. 
 
SCIENTIFIC. S3 
 
 miles, though the equality of the proportion would make 
 the division clear enough, yet it would appear disgusting- 
 ly superfluous. In writing the history of an eminent per- 
 son's life, to divide it into spaces of ten years, perhaps 
 would make the view of the whole more exact ; but to 
 divide it into single years or months would be finical and 
 disagreeable. The increase of divisions leads almost un- 
 avoidably into tediousness. 
 
 (4) Subdivisions should be co-ordinate ; that is to say, 
 those that go on in a series, 1, 2, 3, &c. should be as near 
 as possible similar, or of the same kind, this rule is trans- 
 gressed when either the things mentioned are wholly dif- 
 ferent in kind, or when they include one another. This 
 -will be well perceived, if we consider how a man would 
 describe a sensible subject, a country, for example ; New 
 Jersey contains (1) Middlesex, (2) Somerset county, (3) 
 the townships of Princton, (4) Morris county. So if one, 
 in describing the character of a real Christian, should say, 
 faith, holiness, charity, justice, temperance, patience, 
 this \yould not do, because holiness includes justice, &c. 
 When$ therefore, it seems necessary to mention different 
 particulars, that cannot be made co-ordinate, they should 
 be made subordinate. 
 
 (5) Subdivisions should be complete, and exhaust the 
 subject. This indeed is common to all divisions, but is 
 of most importance here, where it is most neglected. It 
 may be said, perhaps, how can we propose to exhaust any 
 subject ? By making the divisions suitable, particularly 
 in point of comprehension, to the nature of the subject; 
 as an example, and to make use of the image before in- 
 troduced of giving; an account of a country. I may say, 
 the province of New Jersey consists of two parts, East 
 arid West Jersey. If I say it consists of the counties of 
 Somerset, &c. I must continue till I have enumerated 
 all the counties, otherwise the division is not complete. 
 In the same manner in public speaking, or any other 
 composition, whatever division is made it is not legiti- 
 mate, if it does not include or exhaust the whole subject, 
 which may be done let it be ever so great. For example : 
 true religion may be divided various ways, so as to in- 
 clude the whole. I may say, that it consists of our duty 
 to God and man, and divide the last into two subordinate 
 heads, our neighbour and ourselves or I may say, that 
 It consists of faith and practice or that it consists of two 
 
34 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 parts, a right frame and temper of mind, and a good life 
 and conversation. 
 
 (6) Lastly. The subdivisions of any subject should be 
 connected, or should be taken in a series or order, if they 
 will possibly admit of it. In some moral and intellectual 
 subjects, it may not be easy to find any series or natural 
 order, as in an enumeration of virtues, justice, temper- 
 ance and fortitude. Patience perhaps might as well be 
 enumerated in any other order; yet there is often an 
 order that will appear natural, and the inversion of it un- 
 natural as we may say, injuries are done many ways to 
 a man's person, character and possessions. Love to 
 others includes the relation of family, kindred, citizens, 
 country-men, fellow-creatures. 
 
 (3) In the last place there is also an order to be ob- 
 served in the sentiments which make the illustration or 
 amplification of the divisions of a discourse. This order 
 is never expressed by numerical divisions, yet it is of 
 great importance, and its beauty and force will be par- 
 ticularly felt. It is, if I may speak so, of a finer and 
 more delicate nature than any of the others, more vari- 
 ous, and harder to explain. I once have said that all 
 reasoning is of the nature of a syllogism, which lays down 
 principles, makes comparisons, and draws the couclu- 
 sion. But we must particularly guard against letting the 
 uniformity and formality of^a syllogism appear. In 
 general, whatever establishes any connection, so that it 
 makes the sentiments give rise to one another, is the oc- 
 casion of order sometimes necessity and utility point 
 out the order as a good measure as in telling a story 
 grave or humourous, you must begin by describing the 
 persons concerned, mentioning just as many circum- 
 stances of their character and situation as are necessary 
 to make us understand the facts to be afterwards related. 
 Sometimes the sensible ideas of time and place suggest an 
 order, not only in historical relations, and in law plead- 
 ings which relate to facts but in drawing of characters, 
 describing the progress and effects of virtue and vice, 
 and even i a other subjects, where the connexion between 
 those ideas and the things spoken of is not very strong. 
 
 Sometimes, and indeed generally, there is an order 
 which proceeds from things plain to things obscure. The 
 beginning of a paragraph should be like the sharp point of 
 a wedge, which gain's admittance to the bulky part behind. 
 
SCIENTIFIC. 55 
 
 it first affirms what every body feels and must confess, 
 and proceeds to what follows as a necessary consequence : 
 In fine, there is an order 'in persuasion to a particular 
 choice, which may be taken two ways with equal advan- 
 tage, proceeding from the weak to the stronger or from 
 the stronger to the weaker. As, in recommending a 
 pious and virtuous life, we may first say it is amiable, 
 honourable, pleasant, profitable even in the present life ; 
 and to crown all, makes death itself a friend, and leads to 
 a glorious immortality ; or, we may begin the other way, 
 and say it is the one thing needful, that eternity is the 
 great and decisive argument that should determine our 
 choice, though every thing else were in favour of vice ; 
 and then add, that even in present life, it is a great mis- 
 take to think that bad men are gainers, Sec. This is 
 called sometimes the ascending and descending climax. 
 Each of them has its beauty and use. It must be left to 
 the orator's judgement to determine which of the two is 
 cither fittest for the present purpose, or which he finds 
 hiimself at that time able to execute to the greatest advan- 
 tage. Wither spoon's Lectures. 
 
 Of Simplicity in Writing. 
 
 IT is exceedingly difficult to bring young persons espe- 
 cially, to a taste tor the simple way of writing. They are 
 apt to think it of little moment, not so much the object 
 of ambition as an exercise of self-denial, to say a thing 
 plainly, when they^ might have said it nobly. I would 
 observe therefore, in the very beginning, that it is a mis- 
 take to consider simplicity and sublimity as universally 
 opposite ; for on the contrary, there is not only a great 
 excellence in some performances, which we may call 
 wholly of the simple kind, such as a story told, or an 
 epistle written, with all the beauty of simplicity, but in 
 the most sublime and animated compositions, some of the 
 greatest sentiments derive their beauty from being cloth- 
 ed in simple language. Simplicity is even as necessary 
 to some parts of an oration, as it is to the whole of some 
 kinds of composition. Let the subject be ever so great 
 and interesting, it is prudent, decent and necessary to 
 
35 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 begin the discourse in a cool and dispassionate manner. 
 That man who should begin an oration with the same 
 boldness of figure, and the same high pitch of voice, that 
 would be proper towards the close of it, would commit 
 one of the greatest faults against propriety, and I think, 
 would wholly prevent its effect upon the hearers. 
 
 But how shall we explain the simple manner of writ- 
 ing? It is, say many authors, th.4 which is likest to, and 
 least removed from the language of common life. It 
 must therefore be easy and obvious, few or no figures in 
 the expression, nothing obscure in the sentiments or in- 
 volved in the method. Long sentences are contrary to 
 it ; words either difficult or uncommon are inconsistent 
 with it. Cicero and Horace have both said, and all crit- 
 ics have said after them, it is that which, when men hear, 
 they think that they themselves could only have said the 
 same, or that it is just a kind of expression of their own 
 thoughts. They generally remark further, that it is what 
 seems to be easy, but yet is not ; as Horace says, ut sibi 
 quivis, speret idem, &c. We may further observe, that 
 what is truly simple, always carries in it the idea of be- 
 ing easy in its production, as well as in imitation, ancl 
 indeed the one of these seems necessary to support the 
 other. Whatever seems to be the e fleet of study and 
 much invention, cannot be simple. It is finely exempli- 
 fied in the introduction of Anthony's speech in Shake- 
 speare : I am no orator as Brutus is, &c. Rollin has 
 given us an admirable example of a story told with a 
 beautiful simplicity, from Cicero's offices. There is an 
 example also in Livy's account of the battle of the Ho- 
 ratii and Curiatii, only with a little more force of expres- 
 sion, as the importance and solemnity of the subject 
 seemed to require it. But it requires a very masterly 
 knowledge of the Latin language, to perceive the beau- 
 ties fully, that are pointed at by Rollin in the first in- 
 stance, or might easily be mentioned in the last. There 
 is no author in our language who excels more in simplici- 
 ty than Addison The Spectator, in general, indeed, but 
 especially the papers written by him, excel in this qual- 
 ity. Ease and elegance are happily joined in them, and 
 nature itself, as it were, seems to speak in them. If 
 some of the later periodical writers have equalled, or 
 even excelled them in force or elegance, not one has ever 
 come up to them in simplicity. 
 
SCIENTIFIC. H 
 
 The subjects or the species of writing In which sim- 
 plicity chiefly shines, are narration, dialogue, epistolary 
 writing, essay writing, and all the lighter species of po- 
 etry, as odes, songs, epigrams, elegies, and such like. 
 The ancients were remarkable for a love and admiration 
 of simplicity; and some of them remain to us as emi- 
 nent examples of its excellence. Xenophon, in his in- 
 stitutions of Cyrus, is particularly remarkable for a sweet 
 and dignified simplicity. He uses neither language nor 
 ideas that are difficult and far-fetched. In the smaller 
 compositions of the ancients, as odes, epigrams, &c. they 
 were at prodigious pains to polish them, and make them 
 quite easy and natural. They placed their great glory 
 in bestowing much art, and at the same time, making it 
 appear quite easy and artless, according to the saying 
 now grown into a proverb, artis est celare artem. The 
 beauty of simplicity may not appear at first sight, or 
 be at* all perceived by persons of a vitiated taste, but 
 all persons of good judgment immediately, and the bulk 
 of mankind in time, are charmed with what is quite easy 5 
 and yet truly accurate and elegant. 
 
 It ought to be carefully observed, that simplicity is 
 quite a different thing from lowness and meanness, and 
 the great art of a writer is, to preserve the one without 
 degenerating into the other. It is the easiest thing in 
 the world, to speak or write vulgarisms, but a person of 
 true taste, will carefully avoid every thing of that kind. 
 For example, one who would write simply, and as near 
 the language of common people in ordinary discourse as 
 possible, would yet avoid every absurdity or barbarism 
 that obtains a place in common conversation ; as to say, 
 "This here table, and that there candle." It is also 
 quite contrary to simplicity, to adopt the quaint expres- 
 sions or cant phrases, that are the children of fashion and 
 obtain for a little, or in some particular places and not 
 in others. The Spectator attacked with great spirit and 
 propriety, several of these that were introduced into con- 
 versation and writing in his time, such as, mob, rep, pos, 
 bite, bamboozle, and several others. Most of them he 
 fairly defeated, but one or two of them got the better of 
 him, and are now freely introduced into the language, 
 such as mob. Johnson also has put bamboozle in his dic- 
 tionary, which he calls, indeed, a low word. Arbuthnot 
 is his authority, but it was plainly used by him in the 
 
 D 
 
REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 of ridicule, and therefore, it should either not have 
 been in the dictionary? at all, or such an authority should 
 oot have been given for it. 
 
 It is exceedingly difficult, and requires an excellent 
 judgment, to be able to descend to great simplicity, and 
 yet, to keep out every low expression or idea. 1 do not 
 think it is easy to be a thorough judge of pure diction in 
 any language but our own, and not even in that, with- 
 out a good deal of the knowledge of human life, and a 
 thorough acquaintance with the best authors. Writers 
 and speakers, of little judgment, are apt, at times, to go 
 into extremes, to swell too much on the one hand, and to 
 fall into what is vulgar and offensive on the other. 
 
 When speaking on simplicity, I observe that there is 
 a simplicity in the taste and composition of a whole dis- 
 course, different from simplicity of sentiment and lan- 
 guage in the particular parts. This will incline a man 
 to avoid all unnecessary ornament, particularly the orna- 
 ments of fashion, and the peculiar dress or mode of the 
 times. 
 
 We say, in architecture? that a building is in a sim- 
 ple style, when it has not a great multiplicity of orna- 
 ments, or is not loaded with beauties, so to speak. It 
 Is very remarkable that books written in the same age, 
 "will differ very much, one from another, in this respect j 
 and those which have least of the ornaments then in 
 vogue, continue in reputation, when the others are grown 
 ridiculous. I will give you an instance of this : a small 
 religious treatise, ScougaPs Life of God in the Soul of 
 Man, which is written with great simplicity, and yet dig- 
 nity, and may now be read with pleasure and approba- 
 tion, by persons of the best taste ; while most of the other 
 writers of his age and country, are ridiculous or hardly 
 intelligible. 
 
 Perhaps it may help us to form right notions of simpli- 
 city, to consider, what are the opposites, or the greatest 
 enemies. (1) One is abstraction of sentiment, or too 
 great refinement of any kind : of this, the greatest exam- 
 ple in an author of merit, is the writer of the Rambler; 
 almost every page of his writings, furnish us with in- 
 stances of departure from simplicity, partly in the senti- 
 ment, and partly in the diction. 
 
 (2) Another is allegory, and especially far-fetched al- 
 lusions, as in the example which the Spectator gives of a 
 
SCIENTIFIC, a 3 
 
 poet, who speaks of Bacchus' cast coat : this is little bet- 
 ter than a riddle, and even those who discern it, will take 
 a little time to reflect, that, according to the heathen my- 
 thology, Bacchus was the god of wine ; wine is kept in 
 casks, and therefore, an empty cask, or at least an use- 
 less one, may be called Bacchus' cast coat. 
 
 (3) A third enemy to simplicity, is an affectation of 
 learning : This spoils simplicity many ways ; it intro- 
 duces terms of art, which cannot be understood, but by 
 those who are adepts in a particular branch. Such per- 
 sons have been long exposed to ridicule, under the name 
 of pedants. Sometimes, indeed, the word pedantry has 
 been in a manner confined to those addicted to classic 
 literature, and who intermix every thing they say with 
 scraps, taken from the learned languages; but this is 
 quite improper ; for lawyers, physicians, dunces, or 
 schoolmasters, are equally ridiculous, when they fill 
 their discourse with words drawn from their particular 
 art. 
 
 (4) The only other enemy to simplicity I shall men- 
 tion, is, an ambition to excel. This, perhaps, should not 
 have been so much divided from the rest, as to be made 
 the great principle from which the rest proceed. No- 
 thing more certainly renders a man ridiculous, than an 
 over-forwardness to display his excellence; he is not 
 content with plain things, and particularly with such 
 things as every body might say, because these would not 
 distinguish him. 
 
 On the whole, as I observed on sublimity, that one of 
 the best and surest ways to attain it, was to think nobly, 
 so the best way to write simply, is to think simply, to 
 avoid all affectation, to attempt to form your manner 
 of thinking to a noble self-denial. A man little solicit- 
 ous about \yhat people think of him, or rather having his 
 attention fixed on quite another purpose, viz. giving in- 
 formation, or producing conviction, will only attain to a 
 simple manner of writing, and indeed he will write best 
 in all respects. 
 
 Wither spoon* 9 Lecty: 
 
DESCRIPTIVE, 
 
 Singular Natural Walls on the Banks of the Missouri. 
 
 WE came to a high wall of black rock, rising from the 
 water's edge on the south, above the cliffs of the river: 
 this continued for about a quarter of a mile, and was suc- 
 ceeded by a high open plain, till three miles further a se- 
 cond wall, two hundred feet high, rose on the same side. 
 Three miles further, a wall of the same kind, about two 
 hundred feet high and twelve in thickness, appeared to 
 the north : these hills and river cliffs exhibit a most extra- 
 ordinary and romantic appearance : they rise in most pla- 
 ces nearly perpendicular from the water, to the height of 
 between two and three hundred feet, and are formed of 
 very white sand stone, so soft as to yield readily to the 
 impression of water, in "the upper part of which lie imbed- 
 ded two or three thin horizontal stratas of white freestone 
 insensible to the rain, and on the top is a dark rich loam, 
 v/hich forms a gradually ascending plain, from a mile to 
 a mile and a half in extent, when the hills again rise ab- 
 ruptly to the height of about three hundred feet more. In 
 trickling down the cliffs, the water has worn the soft sand 
 stone into a thousand grotesque figures, among which 
 with a kittle fancy may be discerned elegant ranges of 
 freestone buildings, with columns variously sculptured., 
 and supporting long and elegant galleries, while the para- 
 pets are adorned with statuary : on a nearer approach 
 they represent every form of elegant ruins; columns, 
 jome with pedestals afld capitols entire, others mutilated 
 
42 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 and prostrate, and some rising pyramidically over each 
 other till they terminate in a sharp point. These are 
 varied by nicnes, alcoves and the customary appearances 
 of desolated magnificence : the illusion is increased by 
 the number of martins, who have built their globular nests 
 in the niches and hover over these columns ; as in our 
 country they are accustomed to frequent large stone 
 structures. As we advance, there seems no end ''to the 
 visionary enchantment which surrounds us. In the 
 midst of this fantastic scenery are vast ranges of walls? 
 which seem the productions of art, so regular is the work- 
 manship : they rise perpendicularly from the river, some- 
 times to the height of one hundred feet, varying in thick- 
 ness from one to twelve feet, being equally broad at the 
 top as below. The stones of which they are formed are 
 black, thick, and durable, and composed of a vast portion 
 of earth, intermixed and cemented with a small quantity 
 of sand, and a considerable portion of talc or quartz, 
 These stones are almost invariably regular parallelipeds 
 of unequal sizes in the wall, but equally deep, and laid 
 regularly in ranges over each other like bricks, each 
 breaking and covering the interstice of the two on which 
 it rests 5 but though the perpendicular interstice be de- 
 stroyed, the horizontal one extends entirely through the 
 whole work : the stones too are proportioned to the 
 thickness of the wall in which they are employed, being 
 largest in the thickest walls* The thinner walls are 
 composed of a single depth of the parallelipeds, while 
 the thicker ones consist of two or more depths : These 
 walls pass the river at several places, rising from the wa- 
 ter's edge much above the sandstone cliffs which they 
 seem to penetrate ; thence they cross in a straight line 
 on either side of the river, the plains over which they 
 tower to the height of from ten to seventy feet, until they 
 lose themselves in the second range of hills : sometimes 
 they run parallel in several ranges near to each other? 
 sometimes intersect each other at right angles, and have 
 *he appearance of walls of ancient houses or gardens. 
 
 LEWIS AND CLAKKE 
 
DESCRIPTIVE. 43 
 
 Cascade of the River Missouri. 
 
 THE river immediately at its cascade is three hundred 
 yards wide, and is pressed in by a perpendicular cliff on 
 the left, which rises to about one hundred feet and ex- 
 tends up the stream for a mile ; on the right the bluff is 
 also perpendicular for three hundred yards above the falls, 
 For ninety or a hundred yards from the left cliff, the wa- 
 ter falls in one smooth even sheet, over a precipice of at 
 least eighty feet. The remaining part of the river pre- 
 cipitates itself with a more rapid current, but being re- 
 ceived as it falls by the irregular and somewhat project- 
 ing rocks below, forms a splendid prospect of perfectly 
 white foam two hundred yards in length, and eighty in 
 perpendicular elevation. This spray is dissipated into a 
 thousand shapes, sometimes flying up in columns of fif- 
 teen or twenty feet, which are then oppressed by large 
 masses of the white foam, on all which the sun impresses 
 the brightest colours of the rainbow. As it rises from the 
 fall it beats with fury against a ledge of rocks which ex- 
 tend across the river at one hundred and fifty yards from 
 the precipice. From the perpendicular cliff on the north, 
 to the distance of one hundred and twenty yards, the 
 rocks rise only a few feet above the water, arid when the 
 river is high the stream finds a channel across them forty 
 yards wide, and near the higher parts of the ledge which 
 then rise about twenty feet, and terminate abruptly with- 
 in eighty or ninety yards of the southern side. Between 
 them and the perpendicular cliff on the south, the whole 
 body of water runs with great swiftness. A few small 
 cedars grow near this ridge of rocks which serve as a bar- 
 rier to defend a small plain of about three acres, shaded 
 with cotton wood, at the lower extremity of which is a 
 grove of the same tree, where are several Indian cabins of 
 sticks 5 below the point of them the river is divided by a 
 large rock, several feet above the surface of the water, and 
 extending down the stream for twenty yards, At the 
 distance of three hundred yards from the same ridge is a 
 second abutment of solid perpendicular rock, about sixty 
 feet high, projecting at right angles from the small plain 
 on the north for one hundred and thirty four jards into 
 the river. After leaving this, the Missouri again spreads 
 itself to its usual distance of three hundred yards, though 
 with more than its ordinary rapidity. Ibid. 
 
4* REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 Manners and Customs of the Shoshonee Indians. 
 
 As war is the chief occupation* bravery is the chief 
 virtue among the Shoshonees. None can hope to be dis- 
 tinguished without having given proofs of it, nor can there 
 be any preferment or influence among the nation with- 
 out some warlike achievement. The important events 
 which give reputation to a warrior, and which entitle him 
 to a new name, are, killing a white bear, stealing individ- 
 ually the horses of the enemy, leading out a party who 
 happen to be successful either in plundering horses or 
 destroying the enemy, and lastly, scalping a warrior; 
 These acts seem of nearly equal dignity, but the last, that 
 of taking an enemy's scalp, is an honour quite indepen- 
 dent of the act of vanquishing him. To kill your adver- 
 sary is of no importance, unless the scalp is brought from 
 the field of battle, and were a warrior to slay any number 
 of his enemies in action, and others were to obtain the 
 scalps or first touch the dead, they would have all the 
 honours, since they have borne off the trophy. 
 
 The Shoshonee warrior always fights on horseback : he 
 possesses a few bad guns, which are reserved exclusively 
 for war, but his common arms are the bow and arrow, a 
 shield, a lance and a weapon called by the Chippaways,by 
 whom it was formerly used, the poggamoggon. The bow 
 is made of cedar orpine, covered on the outside with sin- 
 ews and glue. It is about two and a half feet long, and 
 does not differ in shape from those used by the Sioux, 
 Mandans and Minnetarees. Sometimes, however, the 
 bow is made of a single piece of the horn of an elk, cover- 
 ed on the back like those of wood with sinews and glue, 
 and occasionally ornamented by a strand wrought of por- 
 cupine quills and sinews, which is wrapped round the 
 horn near its two ends. The bows made of the horns of 
 the bighorn are still more prized, and are formed by ce- 
 menting with glue flat pieces of the horn together, cover- 
 ing the back with sinews and glue, and loading the whole 
 with an unusual quantity of ornaments. The arrows re- 
 semble those of the other Indians, except in being more 
 slender than any we have seen. They are contained ? 
 \vith the implements for striking fire, in a narrow quiver* 
 formed of different kinds of skin, though thatof the otter 
 seems to be preferred. It is just long enough to protect 
 ihe arrows from the weather, and is worn on the back by 
 
DESCRIPTIVE. 45 
 
 means of a strap passing over the right shoulder and un- 
 der the left arm. The shield is a circular piece of buffa- 
 lo hide, about two feet four or five inches in Diameter, or- 
 namented with feathers, and a fringe round it of dressed 
 leather, and adorned or deformed with paintings of 
 strange figures. The buffalo hide is perfectly proof 
 against any arrow, but in the minds of the Shoshonees, its 
 power to protect them is chiefly derived from the virtues 
 which are communicated to it by the old men and jugglers. 
 To make a shield is indeed one of the most important cer- 
 emonies : it begins by a feast to which all the warriors, 
 old men and jugglers are invited. After the repast, a 
 hole is dug in the ground about eighteen inches in depth 
 and of the same diameter as the intended shield : into 
 this hole red hot stones are thrown, and water thrown 
 over them till they emit a very strong hot steam. The 
 buffalo skin, which must be the entire hide of a male two 
 years old, and never suffered to dry since it was taken 
 from the animal, is now laid across the hole with the 
 flash Y side to the ground, and stretched in every direc- 
 tion by as many as can take hold of it. As the skin be- 
 comes heated, the hair separates, and is taken off by the 
 hand 5 till at last the skin is contracted into the compass 
 designed for the shield. It is then taken off and placed 
 on a hide prepared into parchment, and then pounded 
 during the rest of the festival by the bare heels of those 
 \vho are invited to it. This operation sometimes contin- 
 ues several days, after which it is delivered to the propri- 
 etor, and declared by the old men and jugglers to be a 
 security against arrows ; and provided the feast has been 
 satisfactory, against even the bullets of their enemies. 
 Such is the delusion, that many of the Indians implicitly 
 believe that this ceremony has given to the shield super- 
 natural power, and that they have no longer to fear any 
 weapons of their enemies. 
 
 The poggamoggon is an instrument, consisting of a 
 handle twenty -two inches long, made of wood, covered 
 with dressed leather, about the size ofa whip-handle : at 
 one end is a thong of ten inches in length which is tied 
 to a round stone weighing two pounds andheld in a cover 
 of leather: at the other end is a loop of the same materi- 
 al, which is passed round the wrist so as to secure the 
 hold of the instrument, with which they strike a verj 
 aevero blow, 
 
45 REPUBLICAN COMPILED. 
 
 Besideg these, they have a kind of armour, something 
 like a coat of mail, which is formed by a great many 
 folds of dressed antelope skins, united by means of a 
 mixture of glue and sand. With this they cover their 
 own bodies and those of their horses, and find it imper- 
 vous to the arrow. 
 
 The caparison of their horses is a halter and a saddle : 
 the first is either a rope of six or seven strands of buffalo 
 hair platted or twisted together, about the size of a man's 
 finger and of great strength ; or merely a thong of raw 
 hide made pliant by pounding or rubbing; though the 
 first kind is much preferred. The halter is very long, 
 and is never taken from the neck of the horse when in 
 constant use. One end of it is first tied round the neck 
 in a knot and then brought down to the under jaw, round 
 which it is formed into a simple noose, passing through 
 the mouth : it is then drawn up on the right side and held 
 by the rider in his left hand, while the rest trails after 
 him to some distance. At other times the knot is formed 
 at a little distance from one of the ends, so as to let that 
 end serve as a bridle while the other trails on the ground. 
 With these cords dangling along side of them the horse 
 Is put to his full speed, without fear of falling, and when 
 be is turned to graze, the noose is merely talen from his 
 mouth. The saddle is formed like the packsaddles 
 used by the French and Spaniards, of two fiat thin boards 
 which fit the sides of the horse, and are kept together 
 by two cross pieces, one before and the other behind, 
 which rise to a considerable height, ending sometimes in 
 a flat point, extending outwards, and always making the 
 saddle deep and narrow. Under this a piece of buffalo 
 akin, with the hair on, is placed, so as to prevent the rub- 
 bing of the boards, and when theylnount, they throw a 
 piece of skin or robe over the saddle, which has no per- 
 manent cover. When stirrups are used, they consist of 
 wood covered with leather; but stirrups and saddles are 
 conveniences reserved for old men and women. The 
 young warriors rarely use any, except a small leather puff 
 stuffed with hair, and secured by a girth made of a leather 
 thong. In this way they ride with great expertness, and 
 they have a particular dexterity in catching the horse 
 when he is running at large. It he will not immediately 
 submit when they wish to take him, they make a noose in 
 the rope, and although the horse may be at a distance^ cr 
 
DESCRIPTIVE, 47 
 
 even running, rarely fail to fix it on his neck ; and such 
 is the docility of the animal, that however unruly he may 
 seem, he surrenders as soon as he feels the rope on him. 
 This cord is so useful in this way. that it is never dispens- 
 ed with, even when they use the Spanish bridle, which 
 they prefer, and always procure when they have it in their 
 power. The horse becomes almost an object of attach- 
 ment: a favourite is frequently painted and his ears cut 
 into various shapes : the mane and tail, which are never 
 drawn nor trimmed, are decorated with f eath ers of birds s 
 and sometimes a warrior suspends at the breast of his 
 horse the finest ornaments he possesses. 
 
 Thus armed and mounted, the Shoshonee is a formida 
 ble enemy, even with the feeble weapons which he is 
 still obliged to use. When they attack at full speed, they 
 lean forward and cover their bodies with the shield, 
 while with the right hand they shoot under the horse's 
 neck. Ibid. 
 
 Description and romanii c appearance of the Missouri at 
 the junction of the Medicine river, 
 
 THE Missouri is three hundred yards wide at the point 
 where it receives the waters of the Medicine river, 
 which is one hundred and thirty -seven yards in width. 
 The united current continues three hundred and twenty- 
 eight poles to a small rapid on the north side, from which 
 it gradually widens to one thousand lour hundred yards, 
 and at the distance of five hundred and forty-eight poles 
 reaches the head of the rapids narrowing as it approaches 
 them. Here the hills on the north, which had withdrawn 
 from the bank closely border the river, which, for the 
 space of three hundred and twenty poles, makes its way 
 over the rocks with a descent of thirty feet: in this 
 course the current is contracted to five hundred and 
 eighty yards, and after throwing itself over a small pitch 
 of five teet, forms a beautiful cascade of twenty-six feet 
 five inches ; this does not however fall immediately per- 
 pendicular, being stopped by apart of the rock which pro- 
 jects at about one third of the distance. After descend- 
 ing this fall, and passing the cottonwood island on which 
 
4J REPUBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 the eagle has fixed its nest, the river goes on for five 
 hundred and thirty -two poles over rapids and little falls, 
 the estimated descent of which is thirteen feet six inches., 
 till it is joined by a large fountain, boiling up underneath 
 the rocks near the edge of the river, into \vhich it falls, 
 with a cascade of eight feet. It is of the most perfect 
 clearness, and rather of a bluish cast: and even after fall- 
 ing into the Missouri it preserves its colour for half a 
 mile. From this fountain, the river decends with in- 
 creased rapidity for the distance of two hundred and 
 fourteen poles, duringwhich the estimated descent is five 
 feet, from this for a distance of one hundred and thirty- 
 five poles, the river descends fourteen feet seven inches, 
 including a perpendicular fall of six feet seven inches, 
 The river has now become pressed into a space of four 
 hundred and seventy -tlr/ee yards, and here forms a grand 
 cataract, by falling over a plain rock the whole distance 
 across the river, to the depth of forty-seven feet eight 
 inches : after recovering itself, the Missouri then proceeds 
 v/ith an estimated descent of three feet, till, at the dis- 
 tance of one hundred and two poles, it again is precipitat- 
 ed down the crooked falls of nineteen feet perpendicu- 
 lar ; below this, at the mouth of a deep ravine, is a fall of 
 five feet, after which, for the distance of nine hundred 
 and seventy poles, the descent is much more gradual, not 
 being more than ten feet, and then succeeds a handsome 
 level plain, for the space of one hundred and seventy- 
 eight pole?, with a computed descent of three feet, mak- 
 ing a bend towards the north. Thence it descends dur- 
 ing four hundred and eighty poles, about eighteen poles 
 and half, when it makes a perpendicular fall of two feet, 
 which is ninety poles beyond the great cataract, in ap- 
 proaching which, it descends thirteen feet within two 
 hundred yards, and gathering strength from its confined 
 channel, which is only two hundred and eighty yards 
 wide, rushes over the fall to the depth of eighty -seven 
 feet and three quarters of an inch. After raging among 
 the rocks or losing itself in foam, it is compressed imme- 
 diately into a bed of ninety three yards in width : it con- 
 tinues for three hundred and forty "poles, to the entrance 
 of a run or deep ravine, where there is a fall of three fee*, 
 which, joined to the decline of the river during that 
 course, makes the descent six feet. As it goes on, the 
 descent within the next two hundred and forty poles is 
 
DESCRIPT1V1 
 
 only four feet ; from this passing a run or deep :; 
 the"dcscent for four hundred poles is thirteen feet ; wit 
 hi two hundred arid forty poles a second descent o* 
 eighteen feet ; thence one hundred and sixty poles a t 
 scent of six feet; .after which to the mouth of Portage 
 creek, a distance of two hundred and eighty poles the de- 
 scent is ten feet. From this survey and estimate it results 
 that the river experiences a descent of three hundred ant! 
 fifty-two feet in the course of two and three quarter 
 miles, from the commencement of the rapids to the mouth 
 of Portage creek, exclusive of the almost impassable ra- 
 pids which extend for a mile below its entrance. Ibid. 
 
 Description of the canoes us?d by the Indians on the Col- 
 umbia river and their dexterity in the management of 
 them. 
 
 THE canoes most used by the Columbia Indians, from 
 the Chitlucksttequaws inclusive, to the ocean, are 
 about thirty or thirty-five feet long. The bow, which 
 looks more like the stern of our boats, is higher than the 
 other end, and is ornamented with a sort of comb, an 
 inch in thickness, cut out of the same log which forms the 
 canoe, and extending nine or eleven inches from the bow- 
 sprit to the bottom of the boat. The stern is nearly 
 rounded off, and gradually ascends to a point. This canor 
 is very light and convenient ; for though it will contain 
 ten or twelve persons, it may be carried with great ease 
 by four. 
 
 The largest species of canoes are upwards of fifty feet 
 long, and will carry from eight to ten thousand pound? 
 weight, or from twentv to thirty persons. They are cut 
 out of a single trunk of a tree, which is generally a cedar, 
 though fir is sometimes used. The sides are secured by- 
 cross-bars or round sticks, two or three inches-Jn thick 
 ness, which are inserted through holes madejustbelow the 
 gunwale and made fast with cords. The upper eilgo of the 
 gunwale itself is about five-eights of an inch thick, and four 
 or five in breadth, and folds outwards, so as to form a kind 
 of rim, which prevents the water from beating into the boat. 
 f > n bow and stern ure about the same height, and each pro- 
 E 
 
50. REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 vided with a comb, reaching to the bottom of the boat. At 
 the end, also, are pedestals, formed of the same solid piece, 
 on which are placed strange grotesque figures of men or 
 animals, rising sometimes to the height of five feet, and 
 composed of small pieces of wood, firmly united with 
 great ingenuity, by inlaying and mortising, without a 
 spike of any kind. The paddle is usually from four feet 
 and a half to five feet in length 5 the handle being thick 
 for one third of its length, when it widens, and is hollow- 
 ed and thinned on each side of the centre, which forms 
 a sort of rib. When they embark, one Indian sits on the 
 stern, and steers with a paddle, the others kneel in pairs 
 In the bottom of the canoe, and sitting on their heels, 
 paddle over the gunwale next to them. In this way they 
 ride in perfect safety the highest waves, and venture with- 
 out the least concern in seas, where other boats or sea- 
 men could not live an instant. They sit quietly and 
 paddle, with no other movement; except when any large 
 \vave throws the boat on her side, and to the eye of a 
 spectator, she seems lost : the man to windward then stea- 
 dies her, by throwing his body towards the upper side, 
 and sinking his paddle deep into the wave, appears to 
 catch the water and force it under the boat, which the 
 same stroke pushes on with great velocity. In the man- 
 agement of these canoes, the women are equally expert 
 with the men; for in the smaller boats, which contain 
 four oarsmen, the helm is generally given to the female, 
 As soon as they Iand 5 the canoe is generally hauled on 
 shore, unless she be very heavily laden ; but at night the 
 boat is universally discharged, and the canoe brought on 
 vhorer Ibid, 
 
 Singular customs of the inhabitants of Chili on the Fa* 
 cific ocean. 
 
 AT all their dinner entertainments, the principal guest 
 9 placed at the head of the table, the host on one side of 
 \im, and the hostess on the other ; and their principal busi- 
 ness appears to be, to cram him with a part of every thin 
 before him. This duty they are apt to perform most ef 
 , if he happens, like me, to be a stranger, and 
 
DESCRIPTIVE. 51 
 
 not aware of the variety of changes that are to be brought 
 on, each one more and more inviting in their appearance 
 and taste. 
 
 There is another practice at their balls or evening par- 
 ties, which at first gave me some embarrassment. A very 
 large silver dish, filled with sweet jelly, was presented to 
 me by a servant, as well as a silver plate and fork; be- 
 lieving that the whole dish could not be intended for me, I 
 attempted to take the plate ; this the servant objected to ; 
 I then attempted to take the dish, but to this she also ob- 
 jected. I felt, however, certain that it was intended for 
 me to eat in some way or other, and was determined to 
 do it in that way which appears the most natural and con- 
 venient; I therefore took from her the plate and fork, 
 and helped myself to as much as 1 thought I should want. 
 The eyes of all the company, however, were on me, and 
 I perceived that I had made some mistake, of which I was 
 soon convinced, for the servant brought another plate 
 with a fork, which was handed with the sweetmeats 
 around to the company, and each one made use of the 
 same fork to take a mouthful, holding their heads care- 
 fully over the dish in order that nothing might fall from 
 their mouths to the floor; the fork was then laid on the 
 plate and passed to the next. The matti is taken with as 
 little regard to delicacy or cleanliness. When the cup 
 containing it is brought in, one of the company blows into 
 it, through the silver tube, until a high froth is produced; 
 it is then considered properly prepared. The same 
 matti and tube is then passed around the room, and each 
 one takes in turn a suck of it with much apparent relish 
 and delight; but, considering the rotten teeth and un- 
 savoury breaths of the Chilians, there could not be a dose 
 offered more repulsive to a delicate stomach, than this 
 same frothy matti. served up in their style. It is also a 
 practice for one glass of water, one spoon, or one segar^ 
 to be served up to the whole company, and one would 
 almost be led to believe that they had a particular relish 
 for the taste of each other's dirty mouths. 
 
 Porter's Journal* 
 
>* UEPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 Option of the Tortoises found in the islands of the 
 Pacific ocean. 
 
 MANY of them are of a size to weigh upwards of three 
 hundred weights and nothing, perhaps, can be more dis- 
 agreeable or clumsey than they are in their external ap- 
 pearance. Their motion strongly resembles that of the 
 elephant; their steps slow, regular, and heavy; they 
 \-irry their body about a foot from the ground, and their 
 legs and feet bear no slight resemblance to those of the 
 animal to which I have likened them; their neck is from 
 eighteen inches to two feet in length, and very slender; 
 *he head is proportioned to it, and strongly resembles 
 that of a serpent; but, hideous and disgusting as 
 is their appearance, no animal can possibly afford 
 a more wholesome, luscious and delicate food than they 
 do; the finest green turtle is no more to be compared to 
 them, in point of excellence, than the coarsest beef is to 
 the finest veal. These animals are so fat as to require nei- 
 ther butter nor lard to cook them, and this fat does not pos- 
 sess that clogging quality, common to that of most other 
 animals ; and when tried out, it furnishes an oil superior 
 In taste to that of the olive. The meat cf this animal is 
 the easiest of digestion, and a quantity of it exceeding 
 that of any other food can be eaten without experiencing 
 the slightest inconvenience. But what seems the most 
 extraordinary in this animal, is the length of time that it 
 can exist without food; for I have been well ensured, 
 that they have been piled away among the casks in the 
 hold of a ship, where they have been kept eighteen months, 
 and when killed at the expiration of that time, were 
 found to have suffered no diminution in fatness or excel- 
 ence. They carry with them a constant supply of water, 
 in a bag situated at the root of the neck, which contains 
 about two gallons; and on tasting that found in those we 
 killed on board, it proved perfectly fresh and sweet. They 
 are very restless when exposed to the light and heat of 
 the sun, but will lie in the dark from one year's end to 
 another without moving ; in the day time they appear re- 
 markably quick sighted and timid, drawing their head in 
 their shell, on the slightest motion of any object; but 
 they ar-2 entirely destitute of hearing, as the loudest 
 noise, even the firing of a gun, does not seem to alarm 
 them in the slightest degree, and at night or in the dark,, 
 they appear to to perfectly blind- 
 
fcESCIUPTTVE, ^ 
 
 Falls of Niagara, 
 
 WE crossed the Niagara where it issues from lake Erie* 
 to its western side, so late in the afternoon, that we had, 
 at sun down, fourteen miles to ride, which at the close 
 of a fatiguing day's journey, was not very desirable : but, 
 we had reason to congratulate ourselves on this very 
 circumstance, as it occasioned our being spectators of a 
 scene which travellers rarely witness. The warm south- 
 ern breeze which had prevailed during the day, was now 
 succeeded by a keen northwest air, though without any 
 perceptible wind, which obliged us to ride wrapped in our 
 greatcoats. This change intne weather produced the line 
 object which soon after presented itself. The twilight 
 in this latitude is long and bright and we had, at the 
 distance of twelve miles, seen the top of a column of va- 
 por, rising above the falls, still illuminated by the sun, 
 whose beams had been for some time lost to us, The 
 sound of the cataract was soon after heard, but the cloud 
 was no longer in sight, owing to the bending of the road, 
 and the thick shrubbery which bordered it. \Ve had 
 continued to travel rapidly on, with no very striking ob- 
 ject in view, for more than an hour; the farm houses, 
 and overhanging trees on one hand, and the river, full to 
 its brim, flowing silently forward on the other : when 
 suddenly turning an angle in the road, the stream pre- 
 sented itself, expanding to the breadth of two miles, and 
 stretching forward three times that distance, smooth a 
 glass, reflecting every star in the deep blue concave 
 above, and terminated by an object so grand, and even 
 awful, that our whole party immediately stopped, struck 
 with astonishment and almost with terror. The line 
 sheet of water before us was lost in a black cloud, ex- 
 tending quite across the river, and rising to a height with 
 which nothing in nature or art can be compared, by those 
 who have not seen the Alps or Alpine scenes. The cold 
 stillness of the night rendered the cloud so compact, that 
 it could not be penetrated by the eye, but seemed a 
 column black as night, reaching fronj the earth to the 
 heavens, uniting with the few dark clouds stationed 
 above, and which, spreading to the right and left, appear- 
 ed to form an overhanging crown, for this giant of the 
 waters, On each side of this impenetrable curtain, near 
 
:4 REPUBLICAN COMPILER 
 
 the earth, appeared the still glowing horizon, and hio-he:* 
 up, the deep blue firmament glittering with the starry 
 splendor of a winter night. This scene was in full view, 
 for an hour, as we proceeded on our way, durin^ which 
 time, we were frequently startled by a deception, which 
 I think must have arisen from our being entirely unac- 
 customed to look at objects, whose dimensions are so far 
 beyond the limits of ordinary calculation, and with which, 
 nothing within the circle of our knowledge, can bear a 
 comparison. Perhaps it might have been from our sud- 
 denly realizing the height of the object before us for it 
 would, for a few moments, appear rapidly approaching, 
 We would stop and call to those of our party who were 
 on horse back, to witness this phenomenon : but to their 
 eyes the cloud was stationary. At another moment the 
 same delusion would take place with them, and they 
 would make the same claim on our attention. It was 
 now ten o'clock, and one can hardly witness a scene un- 
 connected with danger, more truly sublime than was be- 
 fore us for the last half hour of our ride. The awful 
 majesty of this black and massy column : standing, to 
 appearance, almost within our reach of such vast diame 
 'er, its base upon the water, and rising to an immeasura- 
 ble height, with accompaniments so appropriate 5 the 
 solemn calm of the atmosphere, the sullen roar of the 
 Cataract, and the death-like stillness of the night. 
 
 Port Folio, 
 
 l&scripiionofa remarkable cave on the banks of Canada- 
 guinnet creek, mar Carlisle, Pa. 
 
 SOME seasations of awe were pretty generaily felt by 
 the party on entering the cave. Our footsteps were 
 echoed with a heavy dead reciprocation of sound, and the 
 gleam of the candles through the thick, moist air, gave a 
 pallid and melancholy hue to the 'countenances of each, 
 that, for a few moments prevented us from indulging in 
 anything like merriment Feelings of this kind were, 
 however, soon dissipated ; mirth and jollity quickly suc- 
 ceeded, and our scrutiny was enlivened by the liveliest 
 
DESCRIPTIVE. 5 
 
 sallies of humor, and the brightest effusions of gaiety and 
 wit. 
 
 The largest part of the cave extends ninety yards, 
 nnd then branches oft" in three directions. The passage 
 to the right is broad, but low,' and, from the moisture of 
 '.he stones, was very difficult of access. After passing 
 this opening, the cavt is enlarged to the dimensions of 
 Us first division, and we were in some places, able to 
 stand upright. A very minute search was made to see if 
 there were any other passages from this part, but our 
 scrutiny was unsuccessful. We were incited to use 
 considerable pains in tins examination, from learning that 
 some time before a stranger had visited this curiosity, 
 and, in one of the compartments discovered a chasm suf- 
 ficiently large to admit the body of a child, and, to all 
 appearance of considerable extent. Should we have 
 found the opening we were told he had discovered, we 
 would have spared no labour to render it accessible, but 
 we were disappointed. One difficulty in our way was, 
 the ignorance wo. were under as to the division where the 
 stranger had noticed the opening. Had this been known 
 we might have recognized it, but our searches were direct- 
 ed at random, and on that account alone,, perhaps, were 
 unfortunate. Ail we could perceive, was a small round 
 hole, near the ground, not quite a foot in diameter, and 
 two and a half feet deep, in the solid stone. 
 
 After a very attentive and anxious investigation, we 
 quitted this compartment, which is called very elegantly, 
 " the Devil's Dining Room," and proceeded to the. cen- 
 tre passage. This" is very narrow, and, in direction, 
 somewhat similar to a winding stair. The ascent is steeg 
 and irregular, and, after a tedious and ineffectual endea- 
 vour to ascertain its precise extent, we desisted from pur- 
 suing it. It is inaccessible after proceeding little better 
 than nine yards, and ends in a perpendicular excavation, 
 the height of which we were without the means of deter- 
 mining. 
 
 The left hand passage next claimed our attention. At 
 first view, it seems to extend no further than three or 
 four feet, but it takes a sudden turn to the right, and 
 would measure in length, near thirty yards, with suffi- 
 cient breadth and height to enable a boy to creep along it; 
 but, after this, it becomes so narrow as not to be penetra- 
 ble, except by very diminutive animals. The floor of 
 
COMPILER 
 
 this passage, owing to the rain which had fallen for two 
 or three days before, was entirely covered with mud and 
 water, to the depth of from one to five inches, so that we 
 had by no means, a cleanly appearance on issuing from it 
 About seven feet from the entrance of this minor exc^va- 
 tion, there are five or six little pools of water in the r6ck, 
 formed from drippings from its roof and sides, and which 
 are sufficiently large to contain a quart, and a little better, 
 each. I had the curiosity to taste this water, and found 
 It not unpleasant; filtration seemed to have deprived it 
 of any bad taste it may have originally had. Many iit 
 Carlisle are ignorant enough to think that there are seve 
 springs here, and a number of curious tales were told me 
 of the water they contained. The slightest observation 
 is sufficient to show, that they are but stagnated pools of 
 water ; only^ full during wet weather, and, when not re- 
 plenished with rain, sinking through the small fissures of 
 the stone, and remaining dry. As it would require a long 
 spell of dry weather to effect this desiccation, the vulgar 
 find some countenance to their conjectures in the holes 
 Being almost always full. 
 
 At the furthest extremity of this branch, I found, on a 
 small projection, three bones. One seemed to be a piece 
 of the thigh bone, aud the others of the vertebrae, but 
 whether of a brute or human being, my knowledge of an- 
 atomy was insufficient to the determination. The ledge 
 on which these bones were lying, was ten inches from the 
 floor, and extended in length about four feet. There ap- 
 peared to be a cavity between the ledge and the ceiling, 
 six inches in width ; but I was unable to thrust my arni 
 farther in than to the elbow, though it seemed to be father 
 deeper. 
 
 Having now given a very close examination to every 
 accessible compartment of the cave, and fully satisfied 
 ourselves, that no penetrable outlet would have been dis- 
 covered had our search continued for years, we made 
 our exit, after having been deprived of the light of the sun 
 for two hours and more. The change of temperature 
 was so sudden and so great, that most of us dreaded the 
 effects of our excursion would terminate in troublesome 
 ; eld's bat fortunately all escaped, .Ibid, 
 
DESCRIPTIVE. 
 Description of the Lehigh Water Gap. 
 
 THE Lchigh gap, in Lehigh township, Northampton 
 county, Pennsylvania, about seventy miles northwest oi 
 Philadelphia, is an opening in the Blue Ridge, a branch of 
 Hie great Allegheny mountains : so called from the river 
 Lehigh, which winds its course through this narrow pas- 
 sage, and, with the steep heights on both sides, forms here 
 one of the most picturesque prospects in the state. That 
 beautiful little river, which, in its course through a fertile 
 country, receives numerous tributary rivulets, and at 
 length empties into the Delaware, at Easton, flows through 
 the gap, in a gentle, but majestic stream, deeply shaded 
 by the reflection of the impending mountains. 
 
 * The eastern bank is bordered, for the distance of about 
 a mile, by craggy cliffs, towering to an amazing height, 
 and of forms the most bigarre, between which wall of 
 rocks and the river, the road winds along. Hastening to 
 leave these bleak abodes, which seem to afford shelter tc 
 none but the ravenous beasts of the forest, the Lehigh ap- 
 pears eagerly moving on towards the fertile low lands, 
 which succeed in view of the western bank. Ascending 
 the eastern height, the traveller is amply rewarded for the 
 exertion of climbing from rock to rock, in scaling the 
 pine covered side ofthe mountain, by the rich and exten- 
 sive prospect which the eye there commands. At his 
 feet the waters ofthe majestic stream ; on the opposite 
 side a towering ridge, near the summit of which appears, 
 right opposite, emerging from the surrounding woods, a 
 lonely pile of rocks, whimsically styled, the DeviFs Pul- 
 pit, which indignantly suffers but a few blasted pines to 
 shade its sullen brow ; at a distance an extensive country, 
 variegated with woods and farms, watered by the mean- 
 dering Lehigh, and ridge retiring behind ridge, till lost iu 
 the faint tints ofthe horizonall burst upon the sight, 
 and fill the mind with sublime ideas ofthe greatness of 
 the Creator. 
 
 The shattered rocks, thrown. together in wild confusion, 
 an'l the frequent layers of round stones, which are found 
 in the Gap, have given rise to the supposition that the 
 Lehi|h, being obstructed in its course by the Blue Ridge, 
 was formerly damned up into a lake, which, at length, 
 bursting^ the barrier, formed the chasm now called the 
 Lehigh Gap. Let the learned decide the question, if of 
 importance, ibid. 
 
REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 Description of a place of Religious Ceremony in the 
 Inland ofNooaheeva or Madison's Island. 
 
 IN one of my excursions, I was led to the chief place 
 >t religious ceremony of the valley. It is situated high 
 up the valley of the Havvous, ami I regret extremely that 
 I had it not in niy power to make a correct drawin- of it 
 on the spot, as it far exceeds in splendour every thing of 
 the kind described by captain Cook, or represented in 
 the plates which accompany his voyage. Jn a large and 
 handsome grove, formed of breacf-fruit, cocoa-nut and 
 toa trees, (the tree of which the spear and war clubs are 
 made) and a variety of other trees with which 1 am not 
 acquainted, situated at the foot of a steep mountain by 
 the side of a rivulet, and on a platform made after the 
 usual manner, is a deity formed of hard stone, about the 
 common height of a man, but larger proportioned very 
 other way : it is in a squatting posture, and is not badly 
 executed ; his ears and eyes are large, his mouth wide, his 
 arms and legs short and small, and, on the whole is such 
 a figure as a person would expect to meet among a people 
 where the art of sculpture is ifl its infancy. Arranged 
 on each side of him, as well as in the rear and front are 
 several others, of nearly equal size, formed of the wood of 
 the bread-fruit tree; they are no more perfect in 'their 
 proportions than the other, and appear to be made on the 
 same model; probably they are copies, and the stone god 
 may serve as the model of perfection, for all the sculp- 
 tures of the Island, as their household gods, their orna- 
 ments for the handles of their fans, their stilts, and, in 
 fact, every representation of the figure of a man, is made 
 on the same plan. To the right and left of these gods are 
 two obelisks, formed very fancifully and neatly of bam- 
 boos and the leaves of the palm and cocoa-nut trees inter- 
 woven, and the whole handsomely decorated with strea- 
 mers of white cloth, which give them a picturesque and 
 elegant appearance ; the obelisks are about thirty five 
 feet in height, and about the base of them were hung the 
 heads of hogs and tortoises, as I was informed, as offer- 
 ings to their gods. On the rhrht of this grove, distant 
 only a few paces, were, four splendid war canoes, furnish- 
 ed with their outriggers, and decorated with ornaments 
 of human hair, coral shells, &c. with an abundance of 
 white streamers; their heads were placed towards tho 
 
DESCRIPTIVE. 
 
 mountain, and in the stern of each was the figure of a 
 man with a paddle steering, in full dress, ornamented 
 with plumes, ear-rings, made to represent those formed of 
 whales teeth, and every other ornament of the fashion of 
 the country. One of the canoes was more splendid than 
 the others, and was situated nearer the grove. I enquired 
 who the dignified personage might be who was seated in 
 frrer stern, and was informed that this was the priest who 
 had been killed not long since by the Huppahs. The 
 stench here was intolerable from the number of offerings 
 which had been made, but, attracted by curiosity, I went 
 to examine the canoes more minutely? and found the bo- 
 dies of two of the Typees, whom we had killed, in a bloat- 
 ed state, lying in the bottom of the one containing the 
 priest, and many other human carcases with the flesh 
 still on them, lying about the canoe. The other canoes, 
 they informed me, belonged to different warriors who 
 had been killed, or died not long since. I asked them 
 why they had placed their effigies in the canoes, and also 
 why they put the bodies of the dead Typees in that of 
 the priest: they told me (as Wilson interpreted) that 
 they were going to heaven, and that it was impossible to 
 get there without canoes. The canoe of the priest being 
 larger, he was unable to manage it himself, nor was it right 
 that he should, he being now a god : they had therefore, 
 placed in it the bodies of the Happahs and Typees, who 
 had been killed since his death, to padclle him to the 
 place of his destination; but he had not been able yet to 
 start, for the want of a full crew, as it would require ten 
 to paddle her, and as yet they had only procured eight. 
 They told me also, that the taboo, laid in consequence of 
 his death, would continue until he had started on his voy- 
 age, which he would not be able to do until they had kil- 
 led two more of their enemies, and by this means com- 
 pleted his crew. I enquired if he took any sea stock 
 with him : they told me he did, and pointing to some red 
 hogs in an enclosure, they informed me that they were 
 intended for him, as well as a quantity of bread-fruit, 
 cocoa-nuts, &c. which would be collected from the trees 
 in the grove. 1 enquired if he had far to go ; they re- 
 plied no : and pointing to a small square stone enclosure, 
 informed me that was their heaven, that he .was to go 
 there 3 this place was tabooed, they told me.,;' for, every 
 one except their priests. Porter's Journal "' 
 
60 REPUBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 * 
 Remarkable Mounds near Cahokia. 
 
 1 CROSSED the Mississippi at St. Louis, and after pass- 
 ing through the wood which borders the river, about half 
 a mile in width, entered on an extensive open plain. In 
 fifteen minutes I found myself in the midst of a group of 
 mounds, mostly of a circular shape, and at a distance 
 resembling enormous haystacks scattered through r i 
 meadow. One of the largest which I ascended, was 
 about two hundred paces in circumference at the bottom ; 
 the form nearly square, though it had evidently under- 
 gone considerable alteration from the washing of the 
 rains. The top was level, with an area sufficient to con- 
 tain several hundred men. 
 
 The prospect from this mound is very beautiful ; look- 
 ing towards the bluffs, which are dimly seen at the dis- 
 tance of six or eight miles, the bottom at this place being 
 very wide, I had a level plain before me, varied by islets 
 of wood, and a few solitary trees; to the right, the prai- 
 rie is bounded by the horizon, to the left, the course of 
 the Cahokia may be distinguished by the margin of wood 
 upon its banks, and crossing the valley diagonally, S. S. 
 W. Around me I counted forty-five mounds, or pyra- 
 mids, besides a great number of small artificial eleva- 
 tions ; these mounds form something more than a semi- 
 circle, about a mile in extent in the open space on the 
 river. 
 
 Pursuing my walk along the bank of the Cahokia, I 
 passed eight others in the, distance of three miles, before 
 I arrived at the largest assemblage. When I reached 
 the foot of the principal mound, 1 was struck with a de- 
 gree of astonishment not unlike that which is experienc- 
 ed in contemplating the Egyptian pyramids. What a 
 stupendous pile of earth ! to heap up such a mass must 
 have required years and the labour of thousands. It 
 stands immediately on the bank of the Cahokia, and on 
 the side next it, is covered with lofty trees. Were it not 
 for the regularity and design which it manifests, the cir- 
 cumstances of its being on alluvial ground, and the other 
 jnounds scattered around it, we could hardly believe it 
 the work of human hands. The shape is that of a paral- 
 lelogram, standing from north to south; on the south side 
 there is a broad apron or step, about half way clown and 
 fr m this another projects into the plain about : : 
 
DESCRIPTIVE. 
 
 wide, which was probably intended as an ascent to the 
 mound. By stepping round the base, I computed the 
 circumference to be at least ei^ht hundred yards, and 
 the height of the mound about ninety feet. The step or 
 apron has been used as a kitchen garden by the monks of 
 La Trappe, settled near this, and the top is sowed with 
 wheat. Nearly west there is another of a smaller size, 
 and forty others scattered through the plain. Two are 
 also seen on the bluff, at the distance of three miles. 
 Several of these mounds are almost conical. As the 
 sward had been burnt, the earth was perfectly naked, 
 and I could trace with ease, any uneveness of surface, so 
 us to discover whether it was artificial or accidental. I 
 overy where observed a great number of small eleva 
 lions of earth, to the height of a few feet, at regular dis- 
 tances from each other, and which appeared to observe 
 ome order ; near them I also observed pieces of flint, 
 and fragments of earthen vessels, I concluded that a very 
 populous town had once existed here, similar to those ol 
 Mexico, described by the first conquerors. The mounds 
 were sites of temples, or monuments to the great men. 
 JBrackenridge' ) s Views of Louisiana, 
 
 Warlike Weapons of the natives of JVooakeeva or 
 son's Island, in the Pacific ocean, and their mode of 
 fighting. 
 
 THEIR general mode of fighting consists in constant 
 skirmishing. The adverse parties assemble on the brows 
 of opposite hills, having a plain between them. One or 
 two dressed out in all their finery, richly decorated with 
 shells, tufts of hair, ear ornaments, &c. &c. advance, 
 dancing up to the opposite party, amid a shower of spears 
 and stones (which they avoid with great dexterity) and 
 daring the other to single combat: they are soon pur- 
 sued by a greater number, who are in turn driven back ; 
 and if in their retreat, they should chance to be knocked 
 over with a stone, they are instantly despatched with 
 spears and war clubs, and carried off in triumph. They 
 have two descriptions of spears which they use in their 
 warfare : those by which they set the most store, are about 
 F 
 
C. EEi'UBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 fourteen feet in length, made of a hard and black wood 
 called toa, which receives a polish equal to ivory : these 
 are made with much neatness, and are never thrown from 
 the hand : the other kind are smaller, of a light kind of 
 wood, and are thrown with much accuracy to a great dis- 
 tance. At certain distances, from their points, they are 
 pierced with holes all round, in order that they may break 
 off with their own weight, on entering a body , and then be 
 more difficult to extract. Their strings are made of the 
 fibres of the bark of the cocoa-nut tree, and are executed 
 v/ith a degree of neatness and skill not to be excelled. 
 The stones thrown from them, are of an oval shape, of 
 about half a pound weight, and are all highly polished, 
 by rubbing against the bark of a tree ; they are woru in 
 a net, suspended about the waist, and are thrown with 
 such a degree of velocity and accuracy, as to render 
 them almost equal to musketry wherever they strike 
 they produce effect; and the numerous scars, broken 
 limbs, and fractured skulls of the natives, prove that, 
 notwithstanding their dexterity in avoiding those mis- 
 siles, they are used with much effect. It is no uncom- 
 mon thing to see a warrior bearing about him the wounds 
 of many spears, some of which have transfixed his body 5 
 some bear several wounds occasioned by stones $ and I 
 have seen several with their skulls so indented, as that 
 the whole hand might have been laid in the cavity, and 
 yet the wounds were perfectly healed, and appeared to 
 give no pain. Porter's Journal. 
 
NAHRATIVK 
 
 &etraordinary Ferocity of Alligators. 
 
 MY apprehensions were highly alarmed, after being a 
 spectator of so dfteadful a battle; (between two large al- 
 ligators) it was obvious that every delay would but tend 
 to increase my dangers and difficulties, as the sun was 
 near setting, and the alligators gathered around my 
 harbour from all quarters : from these considerations, I 
 concluded to be expeditious in rny trip to the lagoon, in 
 order to take some fish. Not thinking it prudent to take 
 my fusee with me, lest I might lose it overboard in case 
 of a battle, which I had every reason to dread before my 
 return. I therefore furnished myself with a club for my 
 defence, went on board, and penetrating the first line of 
 those which surrounded my harbour, they gave way ; but 
 being pursued by several very large ones, i kept strictly 
 on the* watch, and paddled with all my might towards the 
 entrance of the lagoon, hoping to be sheltered there from 
 the multitude of my assailants ; but ere I had half-way 
 reached the place, 1 was attacked on all sides, several 
 endeavouring to' overset the canoe. My situation now 
 became precarious to the last degree : two very large 
 ones attacked me closely, at the same instant, rushing up 
 with their heads and part of their bodies above the wa- 
 ter, roaring terribly, and belching floods of water over 
 me. They struck their jaws together so close to my 
 ears, as almost to stun me, and I expected every mo- 
 ment to be dragged out cf the boat, and instantly devour- 
 
64 IlEPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 ed; but I applied 1113' weapons so effectually about me, 
 though at random, that 1 was so successful as to beat 
 them oft* a little: when finding that they designed to re- 
 new the battle, I made for the shore, as the only means 
 left me for my preservation ; for, by keeping close to it, 
 1 should have my enemies on one side of me only, where- 
 as, I was before surrounded by them; and there was a 
 probability, if pushed to the last extremity, of saving my- 
 self by jumping out of the canoe on the shore, as it is 
 easy to outwalk them by land, although comparatively 
 as swift as lightning in the water. 1 found this last 
 expedient alone could fully answer my expectations, for 
 as soon as I gained the shore, they drew off, and kept 
 aloof. This was a happy relief, as my confidence was, 
 in some degree, recovered by it. On recollecting myself, 
 I discovered that I had almost reached the entrance of 
 the lagoon, and determined to venture in, if possible, to 
 fake a few fish, and then return to my harbour, while 
 clay -light continued ; for I could now, with caution and 
 resolution, make my way with safety .along shore, and 
 indeed there was no other way to regain my camp, with- 
 out leaving my boat, and mailing my retreat among the 
 marshes and reeds, which, if I could e* r en effect, would 
 have been in a manner throwing myself away, for then 
 there would have been no hopes of ever recovering my 
 bark 5 and returning in safety to any settlements of men. 
 I accordingly proceeded, and made good my entrance 
 into the lagoon, though not without opposition from the 
 alligators, who formed a line across the entrance, but did 
 not pursue me into it, nor was I molested by any there, 
 though there were some very large ones in a cove at 
 the upper end. I soon caught more trout than I had pres- 
 ent occasion for, and the air was too hot and sultry to 
 admit of their being kept for many hours, even though 
 salted or barbecued. 1 now prepared for my return to 
 camp, which I succeeded in with but little trouble, by 
 kceping close to the shore; yet, 1 was opposed upon re- 
 entering the river out of the lagoon, and pursued near to 
 my landing, (though not closely attacked,) particularly 
 by an old daring one, about twelve feet in length, who 
 kept close after me, and when I stepped on shore, awl 
 turned about, in order to draw up my carioc, he rushed 
 up near my feet, and lay there ror some time, looking 
 me in the face, his head and shoulders oit of water; 1 
 
KAURATIVE. fc>' 
 
 resolved he should pay for his temerity, and having a 
 heavy load in my fusee, I ran to my camp, and returning 
 with my piece, tound him with his'foot on the gunwale of 
 the boat, in searcli of fish; on my coming up, he with- 
 drew, slowly and sullenly into the water, but soon re- 
 turned, and placed himself in his former position, look- 
 ing at me, and seeming neither fearful nor any way dis- 
 turbed. I soon despatched him, by lodging the contents 
 of my gun- in his head, and then proceeded to cleanse and 
 prepare my fish for supper ; and accordingly took them 
 out of the boat, laid them down on the sand, close to the 
 water, and began to scale them : when, raising my head, 
 I saw before me, through the clear water, the head and 
 shoulders of a very large alligator, moving slowly to- 
 wards me : I instantly stepped back, when, with a sweep 
 of his tail, he brushed off several of my fish. It was 
 certainly most providential that I looked up at that in- 
 stant, as the monster would probably, in less than a min- 
 ute, have seized and dragged me into the river. 
 
 BartTa-m's Trv rds. 
 
 Generous disposition of the Rattlesnake. 
 
 WHEN on the coasfc of Georgia, I consented, %v 
 few friends, to make a party of amusement, at fishing 
 and fowling, on Sapello, one of the seacoast islands : we 
 accordingly descended the Alatainaha, crossed the sound- 
 and landed on the north end of the island, nfear the in- 
 let, fixing our encampment at a pleasant situation, under 
 the shade of a grove of live oaks arid laurels, <m the high 
 banks of a creek, which we ascended, winding through a 
 salt-marsh, which had its source from a swamp and sa- 
 vanna in the island : our situation elevated and open, 
 commanded a comprehensive landscape ; the great ocean* 
 the foaming surf breaking on the sandy beach, the 
 y breakers on the bar, the endless chain of islands, 
 checkered sound and high continent, all appearing be- 
 fore us. The diverting toils of the day were not fruit- 
 less, affording us opportunities of furnishing ourselves 
 plentifully with a variety of game, fish and oysters, fcr 
 our supper. 
 
66 REPUBLICAN COMPILED. 
 
 About two hundred yards from our camp, was a coo* 
 spring amidst a grove of the odoriferous myrica; the 
 winding path to this salubrious fountain, led through a 
 grassy savanna; I visited the spring several times in the 
 night, but little did I know, or any of my careless drow- 
 sy companions, that every time we visited the fountain, 
 v/e were in eminent danger, as I am going to relate : 
 early in the morning, excited by unconquerable thirst, I 
 arose and went to the spring, and having, thoughtless oi 
 danger, nearly half past the dewy vale, along the serpen- 
 tine footpath, my hasty steps were suddenly stopped by 
 the si^ht of a hideous serpent, the formidable rattlesnake, 
 in a high spiral coil, forming a circular mound, half the 
 height of my knees, within six inches of the narrow path; 
 as SOOR as I recovered my senses and strength from so 
 sudden a surprise, I started back out of his reach, where 
 I stood to view him : he lay quiet whilst I surveyed him,, 
 appearing no way surprised or disturbed, but kept his 
 half-shut eyes fixed on me; my imagination and spirits 
 were in a tumult, almost equally divided between thanks- 
 giving to the Supreme Creator and Preserver, and the dig- 
 nified nature of the generous, though terrible creature, 
 who had suffered us all to pass many-times by him during 
 the night, without injuring us in the least, although we 
 must have touched him, or our steps guarded therefrom by 
 a Supreme Guardian Spirit: I hastened back to acquaint 
 rny associates, but with a determination to protect *he life. 
 of the generous serpent : I presently brought my compan- 
 ions to the place, who were, beyond expression, surpris- 
 ed and terrified at the sight of the animal, and in a mo- 
 ment, acknowledged their escape from destruction to be 
 rxiiraeulous; and I am proud to assert, that all of us, ex- 
 cept one person, agreed to let him lay undisturbed, and 
 that person, at length, was prevailed upon to suffer him 
 to escape. ^Bartram's Travels*. 
 
 Battle of Brandywine. 
 
 HAVING drawn together his forces, general Washing 
 ton marched to meet' the enemy, who from the head ui 
 Elk was divectinghw course to Philadelphia, As it ha< 
 
NAHRAtlVB. 67 
 
 been given out by $ie disaffected, that \ve were much 
 weaker than in truth we were, the General thought it 
 best to show both whigs and tories the real strength he 
 possessed; and in this view, took his route through the 
 city, bellorum maxima merces,or at least, the great object 
 of the campaign, and the point, which if gained, would in 
 the opinion of Mr. Galloway, be decisive of the contest. 
 
 The impression made by this review of the American 
 army, it is to be presumed, was rather favourable than 
 otherwise from the propensity of persons un accustomed 
 to the sight of large bodies of men to augment them. But 
 it was very disproportioned to the zeal for liberty, which 
 had been manifested the year before. It amounted to 
 but about eight or nine thousand men, according to Mr. 
 Marshall; but these, though indifferently dressed, held 
 well burnished arms, and carried them like soldiers, and 
 looked, in short, as if they might have faced an equal 
 number with a reasonable prospect of success. 
 
 The action which ensued at Brandywine. on the 
 eleventh of September, is an instance, among many others 
 furnished by history, both of the temptation to dispute 
 the passage "of a river by fronting the enemy on the op- 
 posite side, and of the inefficacy of such attempts. The 
 difficulty and ineligibility of tfiese undertakings are no- 
 ticed by most of the writers on the art of war, and par- 
 ticularly by the Marquis Be Feuqueres. To a person of 
 any military experience, who reflects how easy it must be, 
 to distract the opposing army by fallacious demonstra- 
 tions, in a situation at once concealed from observation, 
 and exempted from the peril which results from move- 
 ments in the face of an adversary, in a state to profit try 
 them, the little chance of succeeding in the effort, on a 
 merely defensive plan, must be apparent. "Where, in- 
 deed, the defending- general shall permit himself to be- 
 come the assailant, if occasion should offer r he, in some 
 degree, balances advantages; and the conception of gen- 
 eral Washington, as mentioned by Mr. Marshall, of cross- 
 ing at the lower ford to attack the enemy 's riht under 
 Knyphausen, was masterly; and might, if rapidly put in 
 execution, have handsomely turned the tables. It can 
 hardly be doubted, however, that a position on the ene- 
 my's flank to the westward, would have been more eligi- 
 ble than taken in front ; and that the means of annoying 
 and possibly crippling him on his march, which was all 
 
< REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 that could reasonably be looked for from an army so in- 
 ferior as ours, might have offered at this river or at 
 Schuylkill. This was probably, atone time contemplat- 
 ed, under the recommendation, as it was said, of general 
 Green. But the public clamor required that a battle 
 should be risked for the city ; and I well remember that 
 it was given out at Reading, on the suggestion of general 
 Mifflin, that Green, of whom he was no friend, was jeal- 
 ous of southern influence, and therefore indifferent to 
 the fate of Philadelphia. But if Green really advised the 
 measure attributed to him, thereby securing the open 
 country to our army in case of disaster, in preference to 
 the plan adopted, and which, in addition to its other faults, 
 tended to place us in the nook formed by the course 
 of the Delaware, I cannot but say, that, whatever were 
 his motives, and we have no ground to presume them bad, 
 he was right. Yet, if congress required that the enemy 
 should be fought, and we have good authority that they 
 did require it, the opportunity of bringing him to action, in 
 any other mode than that of placing ourselves directly 
 in his way, might have been lost. 
 
 But why so much caution, it may be asked, against a 
 foe in the very heart of the country ? Why not rather 
 turn out en masse, surround, and mate a breakfast of MJV 
 Howe, and his mercenaries ? Could not a population of 
 two millions of souls, have furnished fighting whigs 
 enough for the purpose ? Where were the multitudes 
 which used to appear in arms on the commons of Phila- 
 delphia ? Where the legions of New-England men, that 
 hemmed in Gage at Boston ? Where, in short, the hund- 
 red and fifty thousand men in arms throughout the con- 
 tinent spoken of by general Lee,* and others at the be- 
 ginning of the contest ? Where were the Pennsylvania 
 riflemen, those formidable, unerring marks-men, each of 
 whom, could venture to put a ball in a target held by his 
 brother ? How came it, that that excellent jest of a Bri- 
 tish dragoon pursuing one of them round a tree, was not 
 exemplified on this occasion ? These things promised 
 well ; they were flattering in the extreme, and admirably 
 calculated to buoy us up in a confidence of the martial 
 
 * Not less than one hundred and fifty thousand gentlemen, yc a 
 tod formers are in arms, determined to preserve their liberties cv 
 JLttter fivntgen. Lee to gen, J$ur\- 
 
NARRATIVE. & 
 
 superiority of freemen to slaves. Yet, on the day of 
 trial, from whatever cause it proceeded, the fate of the 
 country and its liberties was always committed to 
 a handful of mercenaries, the very, things which were 
 the eternal theme of our scorn and derision. The fact 
 must either be, that th effective strength of a na- 
 tion does, after all, reside in regular disciplined forces, 
 or that appearances were lamentably deceitful ; and 
 that the gallant affair of Bunker's hill, and others, 
 were but the effects of momentary excitement. A- 
 merica does not seem to be a soil for enthusiasm ; and 
 I am not at all disposed to dispute the assertion con- 
 tained in a letter of general Du Portail, in the time of 
 the war, that there was more of it in a single cof- 
 iee house in Paris, than on our whole continent put to- 
 gether. From these facts, and facts they assuredly are, 
 let our theoretical men calculate the probable result of a 
 formidable invasion of our country in our present state 
 of preparation ; and if, in the heroic epoch alluded to, 
 when there had been really a promise of great things, so 
 little was done, how much less, is rationally to be expect- 
 ed from the empty vapouring of demagogue valour. 
 Would it have been credited in theyear 1773* that a Bri- 
 tish army of eighteen thousand men could have marched 
 in perfect security from the Chesapeake to Philadelphia ? 
 that a much smaller force could have penetrated through 
 the Jerseys to the Delaware ? and that mere partisan 
 bodies could have traversed the southern states, in utter 
 contempt of the long knife of Virginia! All these things 
 were done; and yet our babbling statesmen will talk* 
 "Ye gods! how they will talk," of the irresistable prow- 
 ess of a nation of freemen ! From the perseverance of 
 Spain, when compared with the short lived exertions of 
 Austria and Prussia, some argue the superiority of a de- 
 termined people to regular armies. But it is not certain- 
 ly like Spain, that we would wish to have our country 
 defended, to be first over-run and destroyed! Neither 
 can the glory we aspire to, be merely thatVf the boxer, 
 who bears a great deal of beating, and solely depends on 
 inding his adversary. I have lately-seen sneers at 
 \v -hat are called technical armies ; but what are we to call 
 those with which Napcleon has achieved his victories 'and 
 attained his present fearful ascendency ! We can hard* 
 
REPUBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 ly say, they are not technical, because, in part, composed 
 of conscripts; and, if by the term, is meant disciplined, 
 ivho will deny them that qualification ? 
 
 Memoirs of a life chiefly passed 
 in Pennsylvania^ #c. <*(\ 
 
 Ravenous appetites of the Shoshonee Indians. 
 
 AFTER the hunters had been gone about an hour, captain 
 Lewis again mounted with one of the Indians behind 
 him, and the whole party set out ; but just as they passed 
 through the narrows, they saw one of the spies coming back 
 at full speed across the plain : the chief stopped and 
 seemed uneasy, the whole band were moved with fresh 
 suspicions, and captain Lewis himself was much discon- 
 certed, lest, by some unfortunate accident, some of their 
 enemies might perhaps have straggled that way. The 
 young Indian had scarcely breath to say a few words as 
 he came up, when the whole troop dashed forward as 
 fast as their horses could carry them ; and captain Lew- 
 is, astonished at this movement, was borne along for near- 
 ly a mile before he learnt, with great satisfaction, that it 
 was all caused by the spy's having come to announce 
 that one of the white men had killed a deer. Released 
 from his anxiety, he now found the jolting very uncom- 
 fortable ; for the Indian behind him, being afraid of not 
 getting his share of the feast, had lashed the horse at every 
 step since they set oft'; he therefore reined him in, and 
 ordered the Indian to stop beating him. The fellow had no 
 idea of losing time in disputing the point, and jumping oft' 
 the horse, ran for a mile at full speed. Captain Lewis 
 slackened his pace and followed at a sufficient distance to 
 observe them. When they reached the place where Drew- 
 yer had thrown out the intestines, they all dismounted in 
 confusion, and ran tumbling over each other like famish- 
 ed dogs; each tore away whatever part he could, and in- 
 stantly began to eat it; some had the liver, some the 
 kidneys, in short, no part on which we are accustomed to 
 look with disgust, escaped them : one of them who had 
 seized about nine feet of the entrails, was chewing at one 
 cod, while with his hand he was diligently clearing hi? 
 
NARRATIVE. 74 
 
 way by discharging the contents at the other. It was, 
 indeed , impossible to see these wretches ravenously feed- 
 ing on the tilth of animals, and the blood streaming from 
 their mouths,' without deploring how nearly the condition 
 of savages approaches that of the brute creation : yet 5 
 though suffering with hunger, they did not attempt, as 
 they might have done, to take by force the whole deer, 
 but contented themselves with what had been thrown 
 away by the hunter. Captain Lewis now had the deer 
 skinned, and after reserving a quarter of it, gave the rest 
 of the animal to the chief, to be divided among the Indians, 
 who immediately devoured nearly the whole of it with- 
 out cooking. They now went forward towards the creek, 
 where there was some brush wood to make a fire, and 
 found Drewyer, who had killed a second deer : the same 
 struggle for the entrails was renewed here, and on giving 
 nearly the whole deer to the Indians, they devoured it 
 even to the soft part of the hoofs. A fire being made, 
 captain Lewis had his breakfast, during which, Drewyer 
 brought in a third deer : this too, after reserving one 
 quarter, was given to the Indians, who now seemed com- 
 pletely satisfied and in good humour. 
 
 LEWIS AND CLARKE. 
 
 Providential escape of Captain Lewis from a Bear. 
 
 CAPTAIN LEWIS then descended the hill, and directed 
 his course towards the river falling in from the west. He 
 soon met a herd of at least a thousand buffalo, and being 
 desirous of providing for supper, shot one of them ; the 
 animal immediately began to bleed, and captain Lewis, 
 who had forgotten to reload his rifle, was intently watch- 
 ing to see him fall, when he beheld a large brown bear 
 which was stealing on him unperceived, ami was already 
 within twenty steps. In the first moment of surprise, 
 he lifted his rifle, but remembering instantly that it 
 ^vas not Charged, and that he had not time to reload, 
 he; felt that there was no safety but in flight. It was 
 in the open level plain, not a bush nor a tree with- 
 in three hundred yards, the bank of the river sloping 
 v nd not more than three feet high, so that there was no 
 
73 REPUBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 possible mode of concealment; captain Lewi3, therefore 
 thought of retreating in a quick walk as fast as the bear 
 advanced towards the nearest tree ; but as soon as he 
 turned, the bear ran open mouth, and at full speed upon 
 him. Captain Lewis ran about eighty yards, bat finding 
 that the animal gained on him fast, it flashed on his mind., 
 that by getting into the water to such a depth that the 
 bear would be obliged to attack him swimming, there was 
 still some chance of his life 5 he therefore turned short 
 plunged into the river about waist deep, and facing about, 
 presented the point of his espontoon. The bear arrived 
 at the water's edge, within twenty feet of him, but as 
 soon as he put himself in this posture of defence, he 
 seemed frightened, and wheeling about, retreated with 
 as much precipitation as he had pursued. Very glad to be 
 released from this danger, captain Lewis returned to 
 the shore, and observed him run with great speed, some- 
 times looking back as if he expected to be pursued, till he 
 reached the woods. He could not conceive the cause of 
 the sudden alarm of the bear, but congratulated himself 
 on his escape, when he saw his own track torn to pieces 
 by the furious animal, and learnt from the whole adventure 
 .never to suffer his rifle to be a moment unloaded. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Curious traditionary account of the origin of the Osage 
 Indians, 
 
 AMONG the peculiarities of this people, there is nothing 
 more remarkable, than the tradition relative to their ori- 
 gin. According to universal belief, the founder of the 
 nation was a snail, passing a quiet existence along the 
 banks of the Osage, till a high flood swept him down to the 
 Missouri, and left him exposed on the shore. The heat 
 of the sun at length ripened him into a man, but with the 
 change of his nature, he had not forgotten his native seats 
 on the Osage, towards which he immediately bent his 
 way. He was however soon overtaken by hunger and 
 fatigue, when happily the Gr.eat Spirit appeared 
 giving him a bow and arrow, shewed him how to ki- 
 cook deer, and cover himself with the skin. 
 
NARRATIVE. 7l 
 
 proceeded to his original residence, bat as he approach- 
 ed the river, he was met by a beaver, who enquired 
 haughtily who lie was, and by what authority he came te 
 disturb his possession. The Osage^ answered, that the 
 river was his own, for he had once lived on its borders. 
 As they stood disputing, the daughter of the beaver came, 
 and having by her entreaties reconciled her father to this 
 young stranger, it was proposed that the Osage should 
 marry the young beaver, and share with her family the 
 enjoyments ofthe river. The Osage readily consented, 
 and from this happy union there soon came the village 
 and the nation of* the Wasbasha, or Os-ages, who have 
 x*ver -since preserved a pious reverence for their ancestors* 
 abstaining from the chace ofthe beaver, because in killing 
 that animal, they killed a brother ofthe Osage. Of late 
 years, however, since the trade with the whites has ren- 
 dered beaver skins more valuable, the society of their 
 maternal relatives has visibly been reduced, and the poor 
 animals have nearly lost all the privileges of kin? 1 red. 
 
 TL 1 
 
 It) id. 
 
 Account of an Irish sailor, who resided, for several years, 
 on a desolate island in the Pacific ocean. 
 
 THIS place will probably immortalize an Irishman, 
 named Patrick Watkins, who some years since left an En- 
 glish ship, and took up his abode on this island, built him- 
 self a miserable hut, about a mile from the landing called 
 after him, in a valley containing about two acres of 
 ground capable of cultivation, and perhaps the only spot 
 in, the island, which affords sufficient moisture for the 
 purpose. Here he succeeded in raising potatoes and 
 pumpkins in considerable quantities, which he generally 
 exchanged for rum, or sold for cash. The appearance of 
 this man, from the accounts I have received of him, was 
 the most dreadful fatjjljpe imagined : ragged clothes, 
 scarce suilicient to-OTiiw his nakedness, and covered 
 with vermin ; his red hair and beard matted, his skin 
 much burnt, from constant exposure to the sun, and so 
 v/ild and savage in his manners^and appearance, that he 
 struck every one with horror. For several years this 
 G 
 
"4 REPUBLICAN 
 
 wretched being lived by himself on this desolate spcf, 
 withoukauy apparent desire than that of procuring rum 
 in sufficient quantities to keep hitn&elf intoxicated, and 
 at such times, after an absence from his hut of several 
 days, he would be found in a state of perfect insensibility, 
 rolling among the rocks of the mountains. He appeared 
 to be reduced to the lowest grade to which human nature 
 is capable of descending, and seemed to have no desire 
 beyond the tortoises, and other animals of the island, ex- 
 cept that of getting drunk. But this man, wretched and 
 miserable as he may have appeared, was neither desti- 
 tute oi' ambition, nor incapable of undertaking an enter- 
 prize, that would have appalled the heart of any other 
 man, nor was he devoid of the talent of rousing others to 
 second his hardihood. 
 
 He by some means became possessed of an old musket, 
 and a lev/ charges of powder and ball \ arid the posses- 
 sion of this weapon, first set in motion all his ambitious 
 plans. Re felt himself strong as the sovereign of the 
 island, and was desirous of proving his strength on the 
 first human being who fell in his way, which happened to 
 be a negro, who was left in charge of a boat, belonging to 
 an American ship, that had touched there for refresh- 
 ment. Patrick came down to the beach where the boat 
 lay, armed with his musket, which now became his con- 
 stant companion, and directed the negro? in an authorita- 
 tive manner, to follow him, and on his refusal snapped 
 the musket at him twice, which luckily imssed fire, the 
 negro, however, became intimidated, and followed him, 
 Patrick now shouldered his musket, marched off before, 
 iind on his way up the mountains, exultingly informed 
 the negro he was henceforth to work for him, and become 
 his slave, and that his good or bad treatment would de- 
 pend on his future conduct ; but, arriving at a narrow 
 defile, and perceiving Patrick off his guard, the negro 
 seized the moment, grasped him in his arms, threw him 
 down, tied his hands behind him, shouldered him, and 
 carried him down to his boat, an^y^ienj:he crew arrived, 
 he was taken on board the ^IrxCnglish smuggler 
 was lying in the harbour at theWrme tiigfl^the captain of 
 which sentenced Patrick to be severely whipped on 
 board both vessels, which was put in execution, and he w^/ 
 afterwards taken on shore, hand-cuffed by the TSngiisb 
 men, who compelled him to make known where he had 
 
NARRATIVE, 
 
 concealed the few dollars he had been enabled to accu- 
 mulate from the sale of his potatoes and pumpkins, which 
 they took from him ; and while they were busy in de- 
 stroying his hut and garden, the wretched being made his 
 escape, and concealed himself among the rocks in the in- 
 terior of the island, until the ship had sailed, when he 
 ventured from his skulking place, and by means of an old 
 file, which he drove into a tree, freed himself from the 
 hand-cuffs. He now meditated a severe revenge, but 
 concealed his intentions. Vessels continued to touch 
 there, and Patrick, as usual, to supply them with vegeta- 
 bles; but from time to time he was enabled, by adminis- 
 tering potent draughts of his darling liquor to seme of the 
 men or their crews, and getting them so drunk that they 
 were rendered insensible, to conceal them until the ship 
 had sailed ; when^finding themselves entirely dependant 
 on him, they willingly enlisted under his banners, became 
 his slaves, and he the most absolute of tyrants. By this 
 means he had augmented the number to five, including 
 himself, and every means were used by him to endeavour 
 to procure arms for them, but without effect. It is sup- 
 posed that his object was, to have surprised some vessel, 
 massacred her crew, and taken her off. While Patrick 
 was meditating his plans, two ships, an American and an 
 English vessel, touched there, and applied to Patrick for 
 vegetables. He promised them the greatest abundance, 
 provided they would send their boats to his landing, and 
 their people, to bring them from his garden, informing 
 theingthat his rascals had become so indolent of late, that 
 ji&'couWfnot get thcmtp work. This arrangement wa?T 
 ggjjRtJEi^ t\vmtygafs (ftfre sent from each vessel, and 
 UStfetf on tjie tfqf h. Tl^ir crews all went to Patrick's 
 habitatio*ftut 'neither he nor any of his people were to 
 be found : and, after waiting until their patience was ex- 
 hausted, they returned to the beach where they found 
 only the wreck of three of their boats, which were broken 
 to pieces, and the fourth one missing, They succeeded, 
 however, after much difficulty, in getting around to the 
 bay opposite to their ships, where other boats were sent to 
 their relief, and the commanders of the ships, apprehen- 
 sive of some other trick, saw no security except in a flight, 
 from the island, leaving Patrick and his gang in quiet po* 
 ' 
 
76 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 Patrick arrived alone at Guyaquil, in his open boai, 
 the rest who sailed with him, having perished for want of 
 water, or, as is generally supposed, were put to death by 
 him on his finding the water to grow scarce. From 
 thence he proceeded to Payta, where he wound himself 
 into the affections of a tawny damsel, and prevailed on 
 her to consent to accompany him back to his enchanted 
 island, the beauties of which he no doubt painted in glow- 
 ing colours ; but, from his savage appearance, he was there 
 considered by the police as a suspicious person, and be- 
 ing found under the keel of a small vessel, then ready 
 to be launched, and suspected of some improper inten- 
 tions, he was confined in Payta goal, where he now re- 
 mains; and probably owing to this circumstance, 
 " Charles Island" as well as as the rest of the Gallapagos, 
 may remain unpopulated for many ages to come. 
 
 Porter's Journal, 
 
 The prophet of the Allegheny. 
 
 IN the year 1798, one of the missionaries to tire Indi- 
 ans of the north-west, was on his way from the Tuscarora 
 settlement to the Senecas. Journeying in pious medita- 
 tion through the forest, a majestic Indian darted from its 
 recesses, and arrested his progress. His hair was 
 somevvtet changed with age, and his face marked with 
 the deep furrows of time ; "but his eye expressed all the 
 fiery vivacity of youthful passion, and his step was Jhat 
 of a warrior in the vigour of manhood. 
 
 " White man of the ocean,* whither wanderestthou ?" 
 said the Indian. " I am travelling," replied the meek 
 disciple of peace, towards the dwelling of tlrp brethren, 
 to teach them the knowledge of the only true God, and to 
 lead them to peace and happiness." "To peace and 
 happiness !" answered the tall chief, while his eye flash- 
 ed fire " Behold the blessings that follow the footsteps 
 
 The Indians at first imagined, that the white men originally sjmn.p 
 from the sen, and that they invaded their country because they h 
 of their own. They sometimes call them in their songs "the white- 
 of the ocean" and this name is still often aypiicrt contemptuous!^ 
 savages of the norihwest. 
 
NAUR ATiYi. 
 
 of the white man; wherever he comes the nations of the 
 woodlands fade from the eye, like the mists of morning, 
 dice over the wide forest of the surrounding world, our 
 people roamed in peace and freedom, nor ever dreamed 
 of greater happiness, than to hunt the beaver, the bear, 
 and the wild deer. From the farthest extremity of the 
 great deep, came the white man, armed with thunder u:i<i 
 lightning, and weapons still more pernicious. In ^ 
 hunted us like wild beasts ; in peace he destroyed 
 deadly liquors, or yet more deadly frauds, ret a 
 
 invaders ; or quietly dwindled into slaves and drunkards, 
 and^their names withered from the earth. Retire, dan- 
 gerous man, leave us all we yet have left, our sava;- 
 tues and cur gods; and do not, in the vain attempt to 
 cultivate a rude barren soil, pluck up the few thrifty 
 plants of native growth, that have survived the fostering 
 care of thy people, and weathered the stormy career of 
 their pernicious friendship." The tall chief darted into 
 the woods, and the good missionary pursued his way with 
 pious resolution. 
 
 fle preached the only true divinity, and placed before 
 the eves of the wandering savages the beauty of holiness, 
 the sufferings of the Redeemer, and the sublime glories ot 
 the Christian Heaven. He allured them with the hope? 
 of everlasting bliss, and alarmed them with denunciations 
 of an eternity of misery and despair. The awe struck 
 Indians, roused by these accumulated motives, many ot 
 them adopted the precepts of the missionary, so far as 
 they could comprehend them ; anu in the course of eigh- 
 teen months, their devotion became rational, regular, and 
 apparently permanent. 
 
 All at once, however, the little church in which the 
 good man was wont to pen his fold, became deserted. 
 No votary came as usual to listen, with decent reverence, 
 to the pure doctrine which they were there accustomed 
 to hear ; and only a few solitary idlers were seen of a 
 Sunday morning, lounging about, and casting a wistful 7 
 yet fearful look ? at their little peaceful, and now silent 
 mansion, 
 
REPUBLICAN 
 
 The missionary sought them out, enquired into the 
 cause of this mysterious desertion, and told them of the 
 bitterness of hereafter, to those who, having once known, 
 abandoned the religion of the only true God. The poor 
 Indians shook their heads, and informed him, that the 
 Great Spirit was angry at their apostacy,aml had sent a 
 prophet from the summit of the Allegheny mountain, to 
 v/anithem against the admission of new doctrines; that 
 f here was to b a great meeting of the old men soon, and 
 that the prophet would there deliver to the people, the 
 t^e with which he was entrusted. The zealous mis- 
 iry determined to be present, and to* confront the 
 v-r, who was known by the appellation of the Pra- 
 pft&t nf the Mleghenif* He accordingly obtained permis 
 "sl-oii from the chiefs, to appear at the council, and to reply 
 to the charges that might be brought forward. The 12th 
 *.ujy 0f June, 1802, was the time fixed for the decision of 
 this solemn question, whether the belief of their forefa- 
 thers, or that of .the white men was the true religion ? ?i ' 
 sual council house not being large enough to contain 
 bij gre^t an assemblage of people, they met in a valley 
 about eight miles to the westward of the Seneca Lake, 
 rhis valfey was then embowered under lofty trees ; it IB 
 surrounded on almost every side with high rugged hills, 
 and through it meanders a small river. 
 
 It was a scene calculated to call forth every energy of 
 the human heart. On a smooth level, near the bank of 
 the slow stream, under the shade of a large elm, sat the 
 chief men of the tribes. Around the circle which they 
 formed, was gathered a crowd of wondering savages, 
 with eager looks, seeming to demand the true God at the 
 hands ol their wise men. In the middle of the circle, sat 
 the aged and travel -worn missionary. A few grey hairs 
 wandered over his brow, his hands were crossed on his 
 bosom, and as he cast his hope -beaming eye to htiaven, 
 beseemed to be calling with pious fervour upon the God 
 of truth, to vindicate his own eternal word by the mouth of 
 his servant. 
 
 For more than half an hour there was silence in the val- 
 ley, save the whispering of the trees in the south wind., 
 and the indistinct murmuring of the river. Then all at 
 a sound of astonishment passed through the ercv" : ; 
 
NARRATIVE. 
 
 avul the Prophet of the Allegheny was seen descending one 
 of the high hills : with furious and phrenzied step, lie en- 
 tered the circle, and waving his hand in token of silence, 
 
 the missionary saw with wonder, the salne tail chief who, 
 lour years before, had crossed him iu the Tuscarora for- 
 est. "The same panther skin hung o>er his shoulders, 
 the same tomahawk quivered in his hand, and the 
 iiery and malignant spirit burned in his red eye. H 
 dressed the awe-struck Indians, and the valley rung wit! 
 his iron voice. 
 
 "Red men of the woods, hear what the Great 
 says to his children, who have forsaken him. 
 
 "Through the wide regions that were once the in! 
 ance of my people, and where, for ages, they roved ;? 
 iree as the wild winds, resounds the axe of the white 
 man. The paths of your forefathers are polluted by their 
 steps, and your hunting fields are every day wiei ttcl 
 from you by their arts. Once, on the shores ot the migh- 
 ty ocean, your fathers were wont to enjoy nil the luxuri- 
 ant delights of the deep. Now you are exiles, in swanks- 
 or barren hills; and these wretched possessions you 
 enjoy by the precarious tenure of the white man's will. 
 The shrill cry of revelry or war, no more is heard oa the 
 majestic shores of the Hudson^ or the *nveet banks of the 
 silver Mohawk. There, where the Indian lived and died 
 free as the air he breathed, and chased the panther and 
 the deer from morn till evening rvon there, the chrk- 
 . tian slave cultivates the soil in undisturbed possession 5 
 and, as he whistles behind his plough, turns up the sa- 
 cred remains of your beloved ancestors. Have ye not 
 heard at evening, and sometimes in the dead of -night, 
 those mournful and melodious sounds, that steal through 
 the deep vallies or along the mountain sides, like the 
 song of echo. These are the wailings of the spirits 
 \vhose bones have been turned up by the sacrilegious la- 
 bours of the white men, and left to the mercy of the rain 
 and the tempest. They eall upon you to avenge them. 
 They adjure you by every motive that can rouse 1 he- 
 hearts of the brave, to wake from your long sleep, and, 
 by returning to these invaders of the grave, the long 
 arrears of vengeance, restore again, the tired and wan- 
 dering spirits to their blissful paradise, far beyond the 
 blue hills. 
 
80 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 These are the blessings you owe to the Christians. 
 They have driven your fathers from their ancient inher- 
 itance they have destroyed them with the sword and 
 poisonous liquors they have dug up their bones, and 
 there left them to bleach in the wind and now, they 
 aim at completing your wrongs, and ensuring your des- 
 truction, by cheating you into the belief of that 'Divinity,, 
 whose very precepts they plead in justification of all the 
 miseries they have heaped upon your race. 
 
 Hear me, 0, deluded people, for the last time! If 
 you persist in deserting my altars; if still you are de- 
 termined to listen, with fatal credulity, to the strange 
 pernicious doctrines of these Christian usurpers if you 
 are unalterably devoted to your new gods and new cus- 
 toms if you ivill be the friend of the white man, and 
 the follower of his God my wrath shall follow you. 
 1 will dart my arrows of forked lightning among your 
 towns, and send the warring tempests of winter to de- 
 vour you. Ye shall become bloated with intemperance; 
 your numbers shall dwindle away, until but a few wretch- 
 ed slaves survive, and these shall be driven deeper and 
 ^deeper int/o the wild, there to associate with the dastard 
 beasts of the forest, which once fled before the mighty 
 hunters of your tribe. The spirits of your fathers shall 
 curse you from the shores of that happy island in the 
 great lake, where they enjoy an everlasting season of 
 hunting, and chase the wild deer with dogs swifter than 
 the wind. Lastly, I swear, by the lighting, the thun- 
 der and the tempest, that in the space of sixty moons, 
 of all the Senecas, not one of yourselves or your poster- 
 ity, shall remain on the face of the earth."* 
 
 Port Folio. 
 
 31 Note, by the Compiler. The length of this interesting narrative^ 
 rendered it (inadvisable, consistent with the proposed size of the work, 
 to irsert it entire. It may be satisfactory to the reader to learn, that 
 notwithstanding all the machinations of this enterprising and dangerous 
 pretender lo the gifts of prophesy, the Senecas consented to receive the 
 doctrines of Christianity, and were induced, in the language of Red Jack- 
 et, one of their chiefs, to believe " That the Christian God was more 
 vise, just, beneficent and powerful than the Great Spirit ; and that the 
 missionary who delivered his precepts, ought to be cherished as their 
 best benefactor their guide to future happiness, 
 
NARRATIVE. 8f 
 
 Indian Hospitality. 
 Extract from Remarks concerning the Savages of North America. 
 
 CONIIAD "\VEISER, our interpreter, gave me the fol- 
 lowing instance of the hospitality of the Indians. He 
 had been naturalized among the Six Nations, and spoke 
 well the Mohawk language. In going through the In- 
 dian country, to carry a message from our Governor to 
 the Council at Onondaga, he called at the habitation of 
 Cannassetego, an old acquaintance, who embraced him, 
 spread furs for him to sit on, placed before him some boil- 
 ed beans and venison, and mixed some rum and water 
 for his drink. When he was well refreshed, and had lit 
 his pipe, Cannessetcgo began to converse with him ; ask- 
 ed him how he had fared the many years since they had 
 seen each other, whence he then came, what occasioned 
 the journey, &c. Conrad answered all his questions., 
 and when the discourse began to flag, the Indian, to con- 
 tinue it, said, Conrad, you have lived long among the 
 white people, and know something of their customs ; I 
 have been sometimes at Albany, and have observed, that 
 once in seven days, they shut up their shops, and assem- 
 ble all in the great house : tell me what it is for; what 
 do they do there ?" " They meet there," says Conrad, 
 " to learn and hear good things.** "I do not doubt." 
 said the Indian, "that they tell you so; they have told 
 me the same: but I doubt the truth of what they 
 and I will tell you my reasons. I went lately to Alba- 
 ny, to sell my skins, and buy blankets, knives, powder, 
 rum, &c. You know I used generally, to deal with : 
 Hanson; but I was a little inclined, this time, to try 
 some other merchants. However, I called first upon 
 Hans, and asked him what he would give for beaver. He 
 said he could not give more than four shillings a pound : 
 but, says he, I cannot talk on business now; this is the 
 day we meet together to learn good things, and I am go- 
 ing to the meeting. So I thought to myself, since I can- 
 not do any business to-day, I may as well go to the meet- 
 ing too, and I went with him. There stood up a man in 
 black, who began to talk to the people very angrily. I 
 Jid not understand what he said ; but perceiving that he 
 looked much at me, and at Hanson, I imagined he was 
 r,ngry at seeing me there : so I went out, sat do T vn near 
 
i REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 the house, struck fire, and lit my pipe, waiting till the 
 meeting should break up. I thought, too, that the man 
 had mentioned something of beaver, and I suspected it 
 might be the subject of their meeting. So, when they 
 came out, I accosted my merchant u Well, Hans," says 
 I, " I hope you agreed to give more than four shilllings a 
 pound." " No," says he, " I cannot give so much, I can- 
 not give more than three shillings and six-pence." I 
 then spoke to several other dealers, but they all sung the 
 same song, three and six -pence, three and six-pence. 
 This made it clear to me, that my suspicion was right: 
 and that whatever they pretended of meeting to learn 
 
 food things, the purpose was, to consult how to cheat In- 
 ians in the price of beaver. Consider but a little, Con- 
 rad, and you must be of my opinion. If they met so 
 often to learn good things, they would certainly have 
 learned some, before this time. But they are still ignor- 
 ant. You know our practice. If a white man, in travel- 
 ling through our country, enters one of our cabins, we all 
 treat him as I do you : we dry him if he is wet, we warm 
 him if he is cold, and give him meat and. drink, that he 
 may allay his thirst and hunger : and we spread soft furs 
 for him to rest and sieep on ; we demand, nothing in re- 
 turn. But if I go into a white man's house, at Albany, 
 and ask for victuals and drink, they say, Where is your 
 money, and if I have none, they say, Get out, you Indian 
 dog. You see they have not yet learned these little 
 good things, that we need i;o meetings to be instruct 
 ed in, because our mothers taught them to us when we 
 were children : and therefore, it is impossible that their 
 meetings should be, as they say, for any such purpose, 
 or have any such effect; they are only to contrive the 
 cheating of Indians in the price of beaver. 
 
 DJl. FRANKLIN. 
 
 Sufferings of a party of U. S. troops, on a voyage of dis- 
 covery through the ive&tern country. 
 
 AFTER showing the sergeant a point to steer for, the clot < 
 tor and myself proceeded on ahead, in hopes of kt iliac 
 A something, as we were again without victuals. Abov* 
 
NARRATIVE. 3 
 
 0116 oxlock it commenced snowing very hard : we re- 
 treated to a small copse of pine, where we constructed a 
 r.amp to shelter us, and as it was time the party should 
 arrive, we sallied forth to search for them. We sepa- 
 rated, and had not marched more than one or two miles, 
 when 1 found it impossible to keep any course without the 
 compass continually in my hand, and then not being able 
 to see more than ten yards. 1 began to perceive the dif- 
 ficulty even of finding the way back to our camp, and I 
 can scarcely conceive a more dreadful idea than remaining 
 on the wild", where inevitable death must have ensued. 
 it was with great pleasure I ajrain reached the camp, 
 M'here 1 found the doctor had arrived before me. We 
 lay down, and strove to dissipate the idea of hunger and 
 our misery, by the thoughts of our far distant homes and 
 relatives. 
 
 We salhecl out next morning, and shortly after perceiv- 
 ed our little band, marching through the snow (about two 
 and a half feet deep) silent and with downcast counten- 
 ances. We joined them, and learnt that they, finding 
 the snow to tall so thickly that it was impossible to pro- 
 seed, had encamped about one o'clock the p eceding 
 day. As I found all the buffalo had quitted the plains. I 
 determined to attempt the traverse of the mountains, in 
 which we persevered, until the snow became so deep, it 
 was impossible to proceed : when I again turned my face 
 to the plain, and for the first time during the voyage 
 found myself discouraged ; and for the first time I heard 
 a man express himself in a seditious manner : he ex- 
 claimed, ifc that it was more than human nature could 
 "bear,. to march three days without sustenance, through 
 " snows three feet deep, and carry burthens only fit for 
 horses," c. &c. 
 
 As I^knew very well the fidelity and attachment of 
 the majority of the men, and even of this poor fellow, 
 (only he could not endure fasting) and that it was in my 
 power to chastise him, when I thought proper, I passed 
 it unnoticed for the moment, determined to notice it at a 
 more auspicious time. We dragged our weary and ema- 
 ciated limbs along, until about fen oxlock, !*he doctor 
 and myself, who were in advance, discovered some buf- 
 falo on the plain, where we left our loads, and orders on 
 the snow, to proceed to the nearest woods to encamp. 
 W e went in pursuit of the buffalo, which were on the move. 
 
M REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 The doctor, who was then less reduced than myseh, 
 ran and got behind a hill, and shot one down, which stop- 
 ped the remainder. We crawled up to the dead one, 
 and shot from him as many as twelve or fourteen times 
 among the gang : when they removed out of sight. We 
 then proceeded to butcher the one we had shot ; and 
 after procuring each of us a load of the meat, we march- 
 ed for the camp, the smoke of which was in view. We 
 arrived at the camp to the great joy of our brave Iads 5 
 who immediately feasted sumptuously.' after our repast, 
 I sent for the lad who had presumed to speak "discontent- 
 edly in the course of the day, and addressed him to the 
 following effect : Broivn, you this day presumed to make 
 use of language which was seditious and mutinous ; I 
 then passed it over, pitying your situation, and attribut- 
 ing it to your distress, rather than your inclination, to 
 sow discontent amongst the party. Had I reserved pro- 
 visions for ourselves, whilst you were starving; had we 
 been marching along light and at our ease, whilst you 
 were weighed down with your burden; then you would 
 have had some pretext for your observations ; but when 
 we were equally hungry, emaciated, and charged with 
 burdens, which I believe my natural strength is less able 
 to bear than any man's in the party ; when we were always 
 foremost in breaking the roa:l, reconnoitering and the fa- 
 tigues of the chase; it was the height of ingratitude in 
 you, to let an expression escape which was indicative of 
 discontent; your ready compliance and firm persever- 
 ance I had reason to expect; as the leader of men and 
 my companions, in miseries and dangers. But your 
 duty as a soldier called on your obedience to your officer, 
 and a prohibition of such language, which for this time I 
 will pardon ; but I assure you, should it ever be repeat- 
 ed, by instant death, I will revenge your ingratitude and 
 punish your disobedience. I take this opportunity like- 
 wise to assure you, soldiers generally, of my thanks for 
 obedience, perseverance and ready contempt of every 
 danger, which you have generally evinced ; I assure you 
 nothing shall be wanting on my part, to procure you the 
 rewards of our government and the gratitude of your 
 countrymen." Fike's Expedition** 
 
V 
 
 NARRATIVE. 
 
 Death of General Montgomery. 
 
 An extract tVom Henry's account of the hardships ar,d sufferings of thai: 
 b md of heroes, who traversed the wilderness in the campaign against 
 Quebec, in 1775. 
 
 GENERAL MONTGOMERY had marched at the precise 
 time stipulated, and had arrived at his destined point of 
 attack, nearly about the time we attacked the first barrier. 
 He was not one that would loiter. Colonel Campbell, 
 x>f the New York troops, a large, good looking-man, who 
 was second in command of that party, and was deemed a 
 veteran, accompanied the army to the assault : his sta- 
 tion was rearward : general Montgomery, with his aids 
 \vere at the point of the column. 
 
 It is impossible to give you a fc^ir and complete idea, 
 <tf the nature and situation of the place, solely with the 
 pea the pencil is required. As by the special permis- 
 sion of government, obtained by the good offices of cap- 
 tain Prentiss, in the summer following, JJoyd, a few 
 others, and myself, reviewed the causes of our disaster; it 
 is therefore in my power, so far as my abilities will permit, 
 to give you a tolerable notion of the spot. Cape Dia- 
 mond nearly resembles the great jutting rock which is in 
 the narrows at Hunter's falls, on the Susquehanna. Tho 
 rock, at the latter place, shoots out as steeply, as that 
 at Quebec, but by no means forms so great an angle, 
 on the margin of the river, but is more craggy. There is 
 a stronger and more obvious difference in the compari- 
 son. When yqp surmount the hill at St. Charles, or the 
 St. Lawrence side, which, to the eye are equally high and 
 steep, you find yourself on Abraham's plains, and upon 
 an extensive champaign country. The bird's eye view 
 round Quebec, bears a striking, conformity to the sites of 
 Northumberland and Pittsburgh, in Pennsylvania ; but 
 the former is on a more gigantic scale, and each of the 
 latter wants the steepness and cragginess of the back 
 ground, and a depth of rivers, this detail is to instruct 
 you in the geographical situation of Quebec, and for the 
 sole purpose of explaining the manner of general Mont- 
 gomery's death, and the reasons of our failure. From 
 Wolfe's cove, there is a good beach, down to, and around 
 "Cape Diamond. 93 The bulwarks of the city came to 
 the edge of the hill, above that place. Thence down 
 the side of the precipice, slantingly to the brink o r 
 It 
 
ii HEPU13LICAN COMPILER. 
 
 the river, there was a stockade of strong posts, fifteen 
 or twenty feet high, knit together by a stout railing, 
 at bottom and top with pins. This was no mean de- 
 fence, and was at the distance of one hundred yards 
 from the point of the rock. Within this palisade, 
 and at a few yards from the very point itself, there 
 was a like palisade, though it did not run so high up the 
 hill. Again, within Cape Diamond, and probably at a 
 distance of fifty yards, there stood a block house, which 
 Deemed to take up the space between the foot of the hill, 
 and the precipitous bank of the river, leaving a cart way. 
 or passage, on each side of it. A block-house, if well 
 Constructed, is an admirable method of defence, which, 
 in the process of the war, to our cost, was fully expe- 
 rienced. In the instance now before us, (though the 
 house was not built upon the most approved principles,) 
 yet it was a formidable object. It was a square of per- 
 haps forty or fifty feet. The large logs neatly squared, 
 \vere tightly bound together by dove-tail work. If I am not 
 much mistaken, the lower story contained loop-holes for 
 inusquetry, so narrow, that those within could not be 
 harmed from without. The upper story had four or more 
 port-holes for cannon of a large callibre. These guns 
 were charged with grape or cannister shot, and were 
 pointed with exactness towards the avenue, at Cape 
 Diamond. The hero Montgomery came. The drowsy 
 or drunken guard did not hear the sawing of the posts of 
 the first palisade. Here, if not very erroneous, four posts 
 were sawed and thrown aside, so as to admit four men 
 abreast. The column entered with a mtuily fortitude. 
 Montgomery, accompanied by his aids, M'Pherson and 
 Cheeseman, advanced in front. Arriving at the second 
 palisade, the general, with his own hanas, sawed down 
 two of the pickets, in such a manner as to admit two men 
 abreast. These sawed pickets were close under the hill, 
 and but a few yards from the very point of the rock, out 
 of the view and fire of the enemy, from the block -house. 
 Until our troops advanced to the point, no harm could 
 ensue, but by stones thrown from above. Even now, 
 there had been but an imperfect discovery of the advanc- 
 ing of an enemy, and that only by the intoxicated guard. 
 The guard fled; the general advanced a few paces. A 
 drunken sailor returned to his gun, swearing he v 
 not forsake it while undischarged. This fact is re 
 
NARRATIVE. 87 
 
 from the testimony of the guard on the morning of our 
 capture, some of those sailors being our guard. Applying 
 the match, this single discharge deprived us of our excel- 
 lent commander. 
 
 Examining the spot, the officer who escorted us, pro- 
 fessing to be one of those who first came to the place, after 
 the death of the general, shewed the position in which 
 the general's body was found. It lay two paces from 
 the brink of the river, on the back ; the arms extended 
 Cheesman lay on the left, and M'Pherson on the right, 
 in a triangular position. Two other brave men lay near 
 them. The ground above described was visited by an 
 inquisitive eye ; so that you may rely, with some implicit- 
 ness, on the truth of the picture. As all danger from 
 without had vanished, the government hail not only per- 
 mitted the mutilated palisades to remain, without review- 
 ing the enclosure, but the very sticks, sawed by the hand 
 of our commander, still lay strewed about the spot* 
 
 Surrender of Lord Cormcallis. 
 
 AT two o'clock in the evening, the British army, led 
 by general O'Hara, marched out of its lines, with colors 
 cased, and drums beating a British march. 
 
 The author was present at this ceremony ; and certain- 
 ly no spectacle could be more impressive than the one 
 now exhibited. Valient troops yielding up their arms 
 after fighting in defence of a cause dear to them (because 
 the cause of their country) under a leader, who, through 
 out the war, in every grade and in every situation to 
 which he had been called, appeared the Hector of his 
 host. Battle after battle had he fought; climate after 
 climate had he endured ; towns had yielded to his man- 
 date ; posts were abandoned at his approach 5 armies were 
 conquered by his prowess; one nearly exterminated, 
 another chased from the confines of South Carolina, fee 
 yond the Dan, into Virginia. And a third severely chas - 
 tised in that state on the shores of James river. Bui 
 bore, even he, in the mid&t of his p! I fcmivd 
 
 his conqueror. 
 
83 KEPUBLICAN COMPILER 
 
 The road through which they marched was lined with 
 spectators, French and American. On one side the com- 
 mander in chief surrounded by his suite, and the Ameri- 
 can staff, took his station; on the other side, opposite to 
 him, wrfs the count Rocharnbeau, in like manner attend- 
 ed. The captive army approached, moving slowly in 
 column, with grace and precision. Universal silence 
 was observed amidst the vast concourse, and the utmost 
 decency prevailed : exhibiting in demeanor an awful 
 sense of the vicissitudes of human life, mingled with 
 commiseration for the unhappy. The head of the col- 
 umn approached the commander ^in chief O'Hara, mis- 
 taking the circle, turned to that on his left, for the pur- 
 pose of paying his respects to the commander in chief, 
 and requesting further orders : when quickly discovering 
 his error, with much embarrassment in his countenance, 
 he flew across the road, and advancing up to Washington, 
 asked pardon for his mistake, apologized for the absence 
 of lord Cornwallis, and begged to know his further plea- 
 sure. The general, feeling his embarrassment, relieved 
 it by referring him with much politeness to general Lin- 
 coln, for his government. Returning to the head of the 
 column, it again moved, under the guidance of Lincoln, 
 to the field selected for the conclusion of the ceremony. 
 
 Every eye was turned, searching for the British com- 
 mander in chief, anxious to look at that man, heretofore 
 so. much the object of their dread. AH were disappoint- 
 ed. Cornwailis held himself back from the humiliating 
 scene : obeying sensations which his great character 
 ought to have stifled. He had been unfortunate, not from 
 any false step or deficiency of exertion on his part, but 
 from the infatuated policy of his superior, and the united 
 force of his enemy, brought to bear upon him alone. 
 There was nothing with which he could reproach himself; 
 there was nothing with which he could reproach his brave 
 and faithful army : why not then appear at its head in the 
 day of misfortune, as he hail always done in the day of 
 triumph ? The British general, in this instance, deviated 
 from his usual line of conduct, dimming the splendour of 
 his long and brilliant career. 
 
 Lee's Memoirs of the Southern War. 
 
NARRATIVE *S 
 
 Massacres of the French, on the Mississippi and Ohio, 
 by the Indians. 
 
 M. DE CHOPART, the commandant of fort Rosalie, had 
 been guilty of such repeated acts of injustice, as to rentier 
 an investigation of his conduct indispensable; and, for 
 this purpose, he was ordered to New Orleans. This 
 event excited much joy among the Indians, but it was of 
 short duration. That officer appeared before M. Perier, 
 who at that time administered the government, and found 
 means to justify his proceedings in such a manner, as to 
 be re-instated in his command. On his return to -his', 
 post, he conceived himself at liberty tio indulge his maHce 
 against the Indians; partly on account of the trouble they 
 had given him. but much more on account of the satisfac- 
 tion manifested by them at the prospect of his disgrace. 
 As some gratification to his spite, he suddenly resolved 
 to build a town on the site of the village of the White 
 Apple, which covered a square of about three miles in 
 extent. 
 
 Accordingly, he sent for the Sun, a Chief of that vil- 
 lage, and directed him to clear the huts, and to plant 
 themselves in some other place. The Chief replied, 
 perhaps rather hastily, " that their ancestors had lived 
 there for many ages, and that it was good for their de- 
 scendants to occupy the same ground.'* This noble and 
 dignified language, served only to exasperate the haughty 
 commandant, and to extort from him the declaration, 
 *' that, unless the village was abandoned in a few days, 
 the inhabitants of it should repent of their obstinacy."' 
 The chief then returned to consult the old men, and to 
 hold a council. As a bloody conflict was inevitable, the 
 Indians resorted to such expedients as were calculated to 
 gain time. They wished to create an indissoluble union 
 among themselves, and to devise means adequate to the 
 end : one of these was the assistance of their allies, 
 which they deemed of infinite importance. They there- 
 fore represented to M. de Chopart, that their corn had 
 just come out of the ground; that their hens were laying 
 their eggs ; and that to abandon their village at that time, 
 would prove as injurious to the French as to themselves, 
 M. rle Chopart treated these reasons with disdain; and 
 menaced immediate destruction, unless his desires were 
 cd. The Indians ir> general are fruitful of expe- 
 
 21 2 
 
90 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 dients ; and the Natchez, who were well acquainted with 
 the avaricious disposition of their adversary, at last re- 
 sorted to one which for a while suspened his wrath. 
 They obtained permission to remain in their own houses 
 till after harvest, on condition, that each hut should pay 
 him a fowl and a basket of corn. 
 
 During this short interval the Natchez frequently and 
 privately assembled in council; and a plan of operations 
 was carefully concerted. They unanimously resolved to 
 make one great effort to preserve their independence, and 
 to defend the tombs of their fathers. They proceeded 
 with caution, and omitted nothing to ensure success. 
 They invited the Chickasaws to share in the arduous en- 
 terprize ; but by a strange fatality, occasioned by the 
 treachery of one of their own women, the latter were de- 
 ceived as to the time of die intended blow, and therefore 
 did not arrive in season to participate in the struggle. 
 The massacre of all the French was what they had in 
 view, and it was concluded to commence the work at the 
 time of presenting the tribute of corn and fowls. Not- 
 withstanding all their precaution, and the inducement 
 each one had to observe inviolable secrecy, yet one of 
 their chief women, suspected the plot; and, either of- 
 fended at the seclusion of her sex, at least of one of her 
 rank, from a knowledge of it, or influenced by private at- 
 tachment, communicated her suspicions to some soldiers 
 and others. Even just before the fatal catastrophe, M. 
 de Chopart was cautioned to be on his guard ; but his 
 evil genius led him to disregard the admonitions given 
 Mm, to punish those who prognosticated danger, and to 
 repose himself in criminal security. At length the fatal 
 period arrived, when the vengeance of the injured and 
 vindictive savages, was to burst on the devoted heads of 
 the French. Near the close of the last day of November 
 V729, the gram! Sun, with some warriors, repaired to the 
 fort with the tribute of corn atnd fowls agreed on. They 
 seized the gate and other passages, and the soldiers were 
 instantly deprived of the means of defence. Such was 
 their number and so well distributed, that opposition 
 was vain. Other parties repaired to thtir appointed ren- 
 dezvous, and the houses of the French about the country 
 were tilled with them. The massacre was general a; 
 the men ; the slaves, and some of the women and children 
 were spared. The chiefs and warriors, disdai-oin jto str.u 
 
NARRATIVE, 
 
 iheir hands with the blood of M. de Chopart, he fell by 
 one of the meanest of the Indians. This settlement con- 
 tained about seven hundred French, and very few of 
 them escaped to carry the dreadful news to the capitaL 
 The forts and settlements at the Yazoo and Washita, 
 shared the same fate. Thus these extensive possessions 
 of the French, which were gradually progressing to ma- 
 turity, and the most wealthy of any in the colony, pre- 
 sented a melancholy picture. They were first plunder- 
 ed and then exposed to the flames. 
 
 While the French were in possession of the country; 
 they built several forts. The one at Kaskaskia is almost* 
 wholly destroyed. They also had one on the Ohio, 
 about thirty-six miles from the Mississippi; the Indian:- 
 laid a curious stratagem to take it, and it answered their 
 purpose. A number of them appeared in the day time 
 on the opposite side of the river, each of whom was 
 covered with a, bear skin, and walked on all fours. The 
 French supposed them to be bears, and a party crossed 
 the river in pursuit of them. The remainder of the 
 Troops left their quarters, and resorted to the bank of the 
 river in front of the garrison, to observe the sport. In 
 the mean time, a large body of warriors, who were con- 
 sealed in the woods near by, came silently up behind the 
 tort, and entered it without opposition, and very few of 
 the French escaped the carnage. They afterwards built 
 another fort on the game ground, and called it Massac, 
 in memory of this disastrous event; and it retains this 
 name to the present day. 
 
 8toddard?B Sketches of Louisiana, 
 
 JIassacre by the Indians and retaliation by the Whites, 
 
 IN the year 1712. a dangerous conspiracy was formed 
 by the Indians of North Carolina against the settlers in 
 that quarter. The particular cause of ihe quarrel is un- 
 known ; probably they were offended at the encroach- 
 ments made on their hunting lands. The powerful tribes 
 of Indians, called Corees, Tuscororas, and some others, 
 united, and determined to murder or expel the European 
 invaders. They carried oa their bloody design with 
 
** REPUBLICAN COMPILE*. 
 
 amazing cunning and profound secrecy. They surround - 
 3d their principal town with a wooden breast-work fcr 
 the security of their own families. There the different 
 tribes met together, to the number of twelve hundred 
 bowmen and formed their horrid plot. From this place 
 of rendezvous they sent out small parties, who entered 
 the settlements under the mask of friendship, by different 
 roads. All of them agreed to begin their murderous 
 operations on the same night. When that night came 
 they entered the planters' houses, demanded provisions, 
 were displeased with them, and then murdered men, 
 women, and children, without mercy or distinction. 
 To prevent a communication of the alarm through the 
 settlement, they ran from house to house slaughtering 
 .the scattered families wherever they went. None of the 
 colonists knew what had befallen their neighbors before 
 the barbarians reached their own doors. About Koanoke, 
 one hundred and thirty-seven settlers fell a sacrifice to 
 savage fury in one fatal night. A Swiss baron and almost 
 all the poor Palatines who had lately come into the 
 country, were among the slain. Some, who had hid 
 themselves in the woods escaped, and by alarming their 
 neighbors prevented the total destruction of that colony. 
 Every family that survived was ordered instantly to as- 
 semble at one place, and the militia under arms kept 
 watch over them day and night until relief arrived. . 
 
 Governor Craven lost no time in forwarding a force to 
 their assistance. The assembly voted four thousand 
 pounds for the service of the war. A body of militia, 
 consisting of six hundred men, under the command 01 
 colonel Barn well, marched against the savages. Two 
 hundred and eighteen Cherokees, under the command of 
 captains Harford and Turston; seventy-nine Creeks, 
 under captain Hastings ; forty-one Cat aba ws, under cap- 
 tain Cantey; and twenty -eighty Yamassees, under cay* 
 tuin Pierce, being furnished with arms, joined the Caroli- 
 nians in tins expedition. Hideous and dreadf 
 wilderness through which colonel Rarnwell ha< ! 
 To reach North Carolina in time for the relief of thr 
 people, the utmost expedition was requisite. 1: 
 neither possible for his men to carry with them a ^ 
 ent quantity of provisions, together with arms an-' 
 munition, nor to have these things provided at clif 
 stages by the way, Tliero was uo road through- u** 
 
NARRATIVE. 93 
 
 woods upon which either horses or carriages could con- 
 veniently pass. His army had to encounter all manner 
 of hardships and dangers "from the climate, the wilder- 
 ness, and the enemy. In spite of every difficulty Earn- 
 well advanced, employing his Indian allies to hunt for 
 provisions on the way. At length, having come up with 
 the savages, he attacked them with great execution. In 
 the first battle he killed three hundred Indians, and took 
 about one hundred prisoners. After which the Tuscoro- 
 ras retreated to their town, within a wooden breast-work. 
 There they were surrounded ; many of them killed, and 
 the remainder forced to sue for peace. Some of Barn- 
 well's men being wounded, and others mivirig suffered 
 much by watching, hunger, and fatigue, the savages easily 
 obtained their request. In this expedition it was com- 
 puted that Barnwell killed, wounded, and captured near 
 a thousand Tuscororas. The survivors abandoned their 
 country and joined a northern tribe of Indians, on the 
 Ohio river. Of -Barn well's party, five Carolinians were 
 killed and several wounded. Of his Indians, thirty-six 
 were killed and between sixty and seventy wounded. 
 Never had any expedition, against the savages in Caroli- 
 na, been attended with such difficulties; nor had the 
 conquest of any tribe of them ever been more complete. 
 
 llamsaifs 1L 6'. Carolina. 
 
 Distressing situation of a detachment of American troops 
 in the campaign against Quebec, in 1775. 
 
 WE arose before day on the 9th October. The canoes 
 were urged suddenly into the water. It still rained hard, 
 and at daylight we* thought of breakfasting. Gracious 
 God! what was our fare? What could we produce for 
 such a least r Rummaging my breeches pockets, 1 found 
 ;i solitary biscuit and a"h inch" of pork. Half of the bis- 
 cuit was devoted to the breakfast, and so also by each 
 person, end that was consumed in the canoes as we 
 paddied over the lake. The rain had raised the lake, 
 and consequently, the outlets, about four feet. We 
 glided glibly along, over passages where a few days pre- 
 y we had toated our canoes. At the outlet "of the 
 
94 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 fourth lake, counting as we. came up, a small duck ap- 
 peared within shooting distance. It was a diver, well 
 known in our country a thing which we here contemn. 
 Knowing the value of animal food in our predicament, 
 several of us fired at the diver: Jesse Wheeler, however, 
 (who all acknowledged as an excellent shot) struck it with 
 his ball. A shout of joy arose : the little diver was safely 
 deposited in our canoe. We went on quickly, without 
 accident, till the evening; probably traversing a space of 
 more than forty miles. At night-fall we halted, weary 
 and without having tasted food since morning. Boyd 
 and Cunningham, who were right hand men on most oc- 
 casions, soon kindled a fire against a fallen tree. An oc- 
 currence this evening took place, which you will hardly 
 credit, but which (permit me to assure you) is sacredly 
 true. The company sat themselves gloomily around this 
 fire. The cooks, according to routine, (whether our chief 
 or others) picked the duck, and when picked and gutted, 
 it was brought to the fire side. Here it became a ques- 
 tion, how to make the most of our stock of provisions. 
 Finally, it wasconcluededto boil the duck in our camp; 
 kettle, together with each man's bit of pork, distinctly 
 marked by running a small skiver of wood through it, 
 with his particular arid private designation. That the 
 broth thus formed, should be the supper, and the duck on 
 the ensuing morning, should be the breakfast, and which 
 should be distributed by " whose shall be this." Strange 
 as this tale may appear to you. in these times, the agree- 
 ment was religiously performed. Being young, my ap- 
 petite was ravenous as that of a wolf, but honor bound 
 the stomach tightly, HENRY. 
 
 Ingenious stratagem of an American officer. 
 
 WHILE the allied army was engaged before Savannah^ 
 colonel John White of the Georgia line, conceived and ex- 
 ecuted an extraordinary enterprise. Captain French, 
 with a small party of British regulars, was stationed on 
 the Ogeechee river, about twenty-five miles from iv 
 nah. At the same place lay five British ve?iv 
 which four were armed, the largest mounting fo' 
 
NARRATIVE. 95 
 
 guns. White, having with him only captain Etholm and 
 three soldiers, kindled many fires, the illumination of 
 which was discernible at the British station, exhibiting, 
 by the manner of ranging them, the plan of a camp. To 
 this stratagem he added another : he and his four com- 
 rades, imitating the manner of the staff, rode with haste in 
 various directions, giving orders in a loud voice. French 
 became satisfied that a large body of the enemy were 
 upon him ; and, on being summoned by White, he surren- 
 dered (1st of October) his detachment, the crews of the 
 five vessels, forty in number, with the vessels, and one 
 hundred and thirty stand of arms. 
 
 Colonel White" having succeeded, pretended that he 
 must keep back his troops, lest their animosity, already 
 stilled by his great exertions, should break out, and indis- 
 criminate slaughter take place, in defiance of his author- 
 ity; and that therefore he would commit his prisoners to 
 three guides, who would conduct them safely to good 
 quarters. This humane attention on the part of White 
 was thankfully received. He immediately ordered three 
 of his attendants, to proceed with the prisoners* who 
 moved off with celerity, anxious to get away, lest the fury 
 of White's corps, believed to be near at hand, might 
 break out, much disposed as he himself was, to restrain it. 
 
 White, with the soldier retained by him, repaired, as 
 he announced to his guides and prisoners, to his troops, 
 for the purpose of proceeding in the rear. 
 
 He now employed himself, in collecting the neigborinoj 
 militia, with whom he overtook his guides, and their 
 charge, safe and happy in the good treatment they experi- 
 enced. Lee's Memoirs of the Southern War. 
 
 Proof of a Welsh nation existing in America. 
 
 A WELSHMAN, by the name of Griffith, was taken 
 prisoner, by the Shawnee Indians, about the year 1764, 
 and conducted to their towns. His adventures were 
 made public in 1804, from which the following particu- 
 lars are abridged. 
 
 Two years after the captivity of Griffith, five Shawnees 
 resolved to penetrate to the source of the Missouri, and 
 
96 REPUBLICAN COMPILER 
 
 they admitted him of the party. They had a long labori- 
 ous journey to the Shining Mountains, through which the 
 Missouri finds its way. In these mountains they acci- 
 dently met with three white men, in the Indian dress, 
 with whom they travelled for some time, when they arriv- 
 ed at their village, and found the whole nation of the same 
 complexion. A council was soon assembled, and the 
 question was debated for three days, What shall be 
 clone with the strangers ? It was finally concluded to put 
 them to death, especially as they appeared to belong to 
 a warlike nation, and were probably exploring the coun- 
 try to find out a suitable place for the future residence of 
 their friends. Griffith, whose presence created no sus- 
 picion, could remain silent no longer. He addressed the 
 council in Welsh, and explained the motives of their jour- 
 ney. It is needless to say that full confidence was re- 
 stored, and the strangers treated with kindnes. Nothing 
 could be ascertained of their history, except that their 
 forefathers came up the Missouri, from a very distant 
 country. There was not a black man in the nation, 
 which was pretty numerous. The party returned tr> the 
 Shawnee towns, after an absence of two years and six 
 months. Griffith soon made his escape, and joined his 
 friends in the back part of Virginia. 
 
 Stoddard's Sketches of Louisiana. 
 
 Mr. TFirt-s account of Patrick Henry's first speech^deliv- 
 ered at the bar of Hanover County, Virginia. 
 
 SOON after the opening of the court, the cause was cal- 
 led. It stood on a writ of enquiry of damages, no plea 
 having been entered by the defendants since the judge- 
 ment on the demurrer. The array before Mr. Henry's 
 eyes was now most fearful. On the bench sat more than 
 twenty clergymen, the most learned men in the colony, 
 and the most capable, as well as severest critics, before 
 whom it was possible for him to have made his debut. 
 The court house was crowded with an overwhelming mul- 
 titude, and surrounded with an immense and anxious 
 throng, who, not finding room to enter, were endeavouring 
 to listen without, in the deepest attention. But the:-. 
 
N \RR\TIVE. 97 
 
 was something still more awfully disconcerting than all 
 this; for in the chair of the presiding magistrate, sat no 
 other person than his own father. Mr. Lyons opened 
 the cause very briefly ; in the way of argument he did 
 nothing more than explain to the jury, that the decision 
 upon the demurrer had put the act of 1758 entirely out 
 of the way, and left the law of 1748 as the only standard 
 of their "damages ; he then concluded with a highly 
 wrought eulogium on the benevolence of the clergy. And 
 now came on the first trial of Patrick Henry's strength.- 
 No one had ever heard him speak, and curiosity was on 
 tip toe. He rose very awkwardly and faltered much in his 
 exordium. The people hung their heads at so unpromis* 
 ing a commencement ; the clergy were observed to ex- 
 change sly looks with each other ; and his father is de- 
 scribed as having almost sunk with confusion from his 
 seat. But these feelings were of short duration, and 
 soon gave place to others of a very different character. 
 For, now, were those wonderful faculties which he posses- 
 sed, for the first time developed ; and ROW was first wit- 
 nessed that mysterious and almost supernatural transfor- 
 mation of appearance, which the fire of his own eloquence 
 never failed to work in him. For as his mind rolled 
 along, and began to glow from its own action, all the 
 ejcuvice of the clown seemed to shed themselves spontane- 
 ously. His attitude, by degrees, became erect and lofty. 
 The spirit of his genius awakened all his features. His 
 countenance shsne with a nobleness and grandeur which 
 it had never before exhibited. There was a lightning in 
 his eyes, which seemed to rive the spectator. His action 
 became graceful, bold, and commanding ; and in the tones 
 of his voice, but more especially in his emphasis, there 
 was a peculiar charm, a magic, of which any one who ever 
 heard him will speak, as soon as he is named, but of 
 which no one can give any adequate description. They 
 can only say, that it struck upon the ear and upon the 
 heart, in a manner ichich language cannot tell. Add to 
 all these, his wonder-working fancy, and the peculiar 
 phraseology ia which he clothed his images ; for he 
 painted to the heart, with a force that almost petrified it 
 In the language of those who heard him on this occasion 
 " he made their blood run cold, and their hair to rise on 
 ?nd." 
 
9a REPUBLICAN COMPILE!*. 
 
 It will not be difficult for any one who ever heard this 
 most extraordinary man, to believe the whole account of 
 this transaction, which is given by his surviving hearers 5 
 and from their account* the court house of Hanover coun- 
 ty must have exhibited on this occasion, a scene as pic- 
 turesque as has ever been witnessed in real life. They 
 say, that the people, whose countenances had fallen as he 
 arose, had heard but a very few sentences before they 
 fregan to look up ; then to look at each other with surprise, 
 as if doubting the evidence of their own senses; then, 
 attracted by some strong gesture, struck by some majes- 
 tic attitude, fascinated by the spell of his eye, the charm 
 3f his emphasis, and the varied and commanding expres- 
 sion of his countenance, they could look away no more. 
 In less than twenty minutes, they might be seen in every 
 part of the house, on every bench, in every window, 
 stooping forward from their stands, in death-like silence; 
 their features fixed in amazement and awe 5 all their 
 senses listening and riveted upon the speaker, as if to 
 catch the last strain of some heavenly visitant. The 
 mockery of the clergy was soon turned into alarm ; their 
 triumph into confusion and despair ; and at one burst of 
 his rapid and overwhelming invective, they fled from the 
 bench in precipitation and terror. As for the father, 
 ?uch was his surprise, such his amazement, such his rap- 
 ture, that, forgetting where he was, and the character 
 which he was filling, tears of ecstacy streamed down his 
 :heeks, without the power or inclination to repress them. 
 
 The jury seem to have been so completely bewildered, 
 that they lost sight, not only of tire act of 1748, but that 
 of 1758 also; for, thoughtless even of the admitted right 
 of the plaintiff, they had scarcely left the bar, when they 
 jeturned with a verdict of one penny damages. A motion 
 was made for a new trial ; but the court too, had now 
 lost the equipoise of their judgement, and over-ruled the 
 .notion by an unanimous vote. The verdict and judge- 
 ment over-ruling the motion, were followed by redoubled 
 acclamations, from within and without the house. The 
 people, who had with difficulty kept their hands off their 
 champion, from the moment of closing his harangue, no 
 sooner saw the fate of the cause finally sealed, thai? the/ 
 seized him at the bar, and, in spite of his own exert 
 and the continued cry of" order" from the sheriff an- 
 6Urt 3 they bore him out of the court house, aiul ru 
 
NARRATIVE. 
 
 him on their shoulders, carried him about the yard, in a 
 kind of electioneering triumph. 
 
 ! what a scene was this for a father's heart ! so sud- 
 den ; so unlocked for; so delightfully overwhelming! 
 At the time, he was notable to give utterance to any sen- 
 timent ; but, a few days after, when speaking of it to Mr. 
 Winston,* he said, with the most engaging modesty, and 
 with a tremor of voice, which showed how much more he 
 felt than he expressed, " Patrick spoke in this cause near 
 an hour! and in a manner that surprised me ! and show- 
 ed himself well informed on a subject, of which 1 did not 
 think he had any knowledge !" 
 
 1 have tried much to procure a sketch of this celebrated 
 speech. But those of Mr Henry's hearers who survive, 
 seem to have been bereft of their senses. They can on- 
 ly tell you, in general, that they were taken captive ; 
 and so delighted with their captivity, that they followed 
 implicitly whithersoever he led them : that, at his bid- 
 ding, their tears flowed from pity, and their cheeks flush- 
 ed with indignation : that when it was over, they felt aa 
 if they had just awaked from some ecstatic dream, of 
 which they were unable to recall or connect the particu- 
 lars. It was such a speech, as they believe had never 
 before fallen from the lips of man ; and to this da)r, the 
 old people of that country cannot conceive that a higher 
 compliment can be paid to a speaker, than to say of him, 
 in their own homely phrase, " he is almost equal to Pat- 
 rick when he plead against the parsons." 
 
 Wirt's Life of Patrick Henry, 
 
 * The present judge Winston, 
 
POPULAR 
 
 Declaration of Independence, 
 
 WHEN, in the course of human events, it becomes no 
 cessary for one people, to dissolve the political bands 
 which have connected them with another, and to assume, 
 among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal 
 station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God, 
 entitle them, a decent respect to the opinion of mankind., 
 requires that they should declare the causes which impel 
 them to a separation. 
 
 We hold these truths to be self evident ; that all men 
 are created equal ; that they are endowed, by their Crea- 
 tor, with certain unalienable rights ; that among these are 
 life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure 
 these rights, governments are instituted among men, de- 
 riving their just powers from the consent of the governed , 
 that whenever any form of government becomes destruc 
 tive of these ends^ it is the right of the people to alter or 
 abolish it, and to institute anew government, laying it> 
 foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers- 
 in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect 
 their safety and happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dic- 
 tate, that governments long established, should not be 
 changed for light and transient causes ; and accordingly 
 all experience hath shown that ir./inkind are more dispos- 
 ed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right them- 
 selves by abolishing the forms to which they are accus- 
 tomed. 'But when a long train of abuses and u 
 
KEPUBUCAN COMPILER, 
 
 u :thly the same object, evinces a design fo 
 
 reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it 
 is their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide 
 new guards for their future security. Such has been the 
 faithful sufferance of these colonies ; and such is now the 
 necessity which constrains them to alter their former sys- 
 tem of government. The history of the present king of 
 Great Britain, is a history of repeated injuries and usur- 
 pations, all having in direct object, the establishment of 
 an absolute tyranny over these states. To prove this, let 
 facts be submitted to a candid world. 
 
 He has refused his assent to laws the most wholesome 
 and necessary for the public good. 
 
 He has forbidden his governors to pass laws of immedi- 
 ate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their 
 operations till his assent should be obtained ; and when 
 so suspended, he has entirely neglected to attend to 
 them. 
 
 He has refused to pass other laws for the accommoda- 
 tion of large districts of people, unless those people would 
 relinquish the right of representation in the legislature ; 
 a right inestimable to them, and formidable to tyrants 
 only. 
 
 He has called together legislative bodies at places, un- 
 usual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of 
 their public records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing 
 them into a compliance with his measures. 
 
 He has dissolved representative houses repeatedly, for 
 opposing with manly firmness, his invasions on the rights 
 of the people. 
 
 He has refused for a long time after such dissolutions,, 
 to cause others to be elected; whereby the legislative 
 powers, incapable of annihilation, have returned to the 
 people at large for their exercise; the state remaining in 
 the mean time exposed to the danger of invasions from 
 without, and convulsions within. 
 
 He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these 
 states ; for that purpose obstructing the laws for natural- 
 izati.n of foreigners ; refusing to pass others to encour- 
 age their emigration hither; and raising the conditions of 
 new appropriations of kinds. 
 
 He has obstructed the administration af justice, by 
 Fefusinghis assent to laws for establishing judiciary pow- 
 ers. 
 
POPULAR, 40$ 
 
 He has made judges dependent on his will alone, for 
 the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment 
 of their salaries 
 
 He has erected a multitude of new offices, and sent 
 hither swarms of officers, to harrass our people, and eat 
 out their substance. 
 
 He has kept among us, in times of peace, standing ar- 
 mies without the consent of our legislatures. 
 
 He has affected to render the military independent of, 
 and superior to, the civil power. 
 
 He has combined with others, to subject us to a ju- 
 risdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledg- 
 *d by our laws ; giving his assent to their acts of pretend- 
 ed legislation. 
 
 For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us : 
 For protecting them, by a mock trial, from punishment 
 for any murders which they should commit on the inhab- 
 itants of these states : 
 
 For cutting oft* our trade from all parts of the world : 
 For imposing taxes on us without our consent: 
 For depriving us, in many cases, of the benefits of trial 
 by jury. 
 
 For transporting us beyond seas to be tried for pre- 
 tended offences : 
 
 For abolishing the free system of English laws in a 
 neighboring province, establishing therein an arbitrary 
 government, and enlarging its boundaries, so as to ren- 
 der it at once an example and fit instrument for introduc- 
 ing the same absolute rule into these colonies : 
 
 For taking away our charters, abolishing our most 
 valuable laws, and altering fundamentally the form of our 
 governments : 
 
 For suspending our own legislatures, and declaring 
 themselves invested with power to legislate for us in ail 
 cases whatsoever. 
 
 He has abdicated, government here, by declaring us 
 out of his protection, and waging war against rs. 
 
 He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt 
 our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people. 
 
 He is at this time transporting large armies of foreign 
 mercenaries, to complete the works of death, deso^tion 
 and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of cruel- 
 ty and perfidity, scarcely parallelled in the most barbar- 
 
104 REPQBLICA^COMPILEH. 
 
 ous ages, and totally unworthy the heart of a civilized 
 nation. 
 
 He has constrained our fellow citizens taken captive on 
 the high seas, to bear arms against their country, to be- 
 come the executioners of their friends and brethren, or to 
 fall themselves by their hands. 
 
 He has excited domestic insurrection amongst us, and 
 has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our fron- 
 tiers, the merciless Indian savages, whose known rule of 
 warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, 
 sexes, and conditions. 
 
 In every stage of these oppressions we have petitioned 
 for redress, in the most humble terms : our repeated peti- 
 tions have been answered only by repeated injury. A 
 Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act 
 which may define a tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a 
 free people. 
 
 Nor have we been wanting in attention to our British 
 brethren. 
 
 We have warned them from time to time, of attempts, 
 by their legislature, to extend an unwarrantable jurisdic- 
 tion over us. 
 
 "We have reminded them of the circumstances of our 
 emigration and settlement here. 
 
 We have appealed to their native justice and magna- 
 nimity ; and we have conjured them, by the ties of our 
 common kindred, to disavow those usurpations, which 
 would inevitably interrupt our connections and corres- 
 pondence. They too have been deaf to the voice -ef jus- 
 tice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acqui- 
 esce in the necessity, which denounces our seperation, 
 and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, enemies 
 in war, in peace, friends. 
 
 We therefore, the representatives of the United States 
 of America in General Congress assembled, appealing to 
 the Supreme Judge of the world, for the rectitude of our 
 intentions, do, in the\ name, and by the authority of the 
 good people of these colonies, solemnly PUBLISH and DE- 
 CLARE, that these united colonies are, and of right ought 
 to be, FREE and INDEPENDENT STATES; and that they 
 are absolved from all allegiance to the British crown ; 
 and that all political connection between them and the 
 state of Great Britain, is, and ought to be, totally dissolv- 
 ed 5 and that* as Free and Independent states, they have 
 
POPULAR. 103 
 
 full po\ver to levy war, conclude peace, contract allian- 
 ces, establish commerce, and do all other acts and things 
 which independent states may of right do. And for the 
 support of this Declaration, \vithafirm reliance on Di- 
 vine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other, our 
 Ives, our fortunes, and our sacred honour. 
 
 JOHN HANCOCK. 
 (Signed by all the Members present. ) 
 JULY 4; 1776. 
 
 Eulogy on the illustrious GEORGE WASHINGTON, pro- 
 nounced at Milton, ZZd February, 1800: By Charles 
 Pinclcney Sumner. 
 
 INDUSTRY pauses from her once cheering labours 
 the solemn dirge takes place of the song of mirth ; our 
 country is in tears, her WASHINGTON is no more ! 
 
 This day, she would fondly have numbered sixty-eight 
 years, since propitious Heaven, regardful of her coming 
 trials, had given him to her aid : proud that he had ful- 
 filled his high destination, and still continued her faith- 
 ful defender, she would not have turned a melancholy 
 thought to the perils through which he had conducted 
 her. The lively cannon would have been but the faint 
 echo to '.er joy ; the festal board, the sparkling glass, and 
 pleasure-beaming eye, would have been but the feeble em- 
 blem of national hilarity. Henceforth, the night of his 
 death will be consecrated to sorrow, and shrouded in 
 gloom, congenial with the majesty of her grief. The an- 
 nual return of this once joyful day, will long be sacred 
 to her most tender, loved sensations; and the smile her 
 countenance may learn to resume, will receive a melting 
 charm from the tear she cannot suppress. 
 
 When fame, with swollen eye, first announced this 
 public calamity 5 we looked, we heard with a melancholy 
 sigh ; and because she trembled as she spoke, we induc- 
 ed ourselves to hope that report might prove illusive, 
 But this uncertainty, this painful uncertainty, was too 
 much to endure; the solemn knell, the deep and uni- 
 versal aspect of woe, soon placed beyond the reach of 
 hope, what our boding hearts feared but too true, 
 
106 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 Here is a subject, my friends, upon which you all can 
 be eloquent; it becomes the sacred place devoted to its 
 contemplation; it excites the best, and awakens the 
 noblest feelings of Americans : as they prize their coun- 
 try, they cherish the memory of her hero, and love 
 at a respectful, admiring distance, to follow him through 
 the vicissitudes of her fate. 
 
 With a mind expanded by the most liberal pursuits, a 
 heart enamoured with the charms of honour, devotion to 
 his country was his first, his ruling passion. From an 
 early military career, he retired with a blooming reputa- 
 tion, to the best well-earned enjoyment of life. With 
 easy dignity, he loses the soldier in the citizen, and 
 graces the arts of peace as well as war. Born for the 
 universe, a province is too small a theatre for the display 
 of his talents ; and the situation of our country, soon 
 opened the mightier field of his destiny. 
 
 With conscious pride,he gloried in the prosperity of 
 his king and country: but for colonial degradation and 
 subserviency, he had not drawn his ready, his victorious 
 sword. American patience had been put to the intoler- 
 able test ; the plain of Lexington had drank the blood 
 of its peaceful cultivators ; when from that illustrious 
 band of patriots, where first concentrated the wounded 
 sensibilities of our country is WASHINGTON commis- 
 sioned to marshal and direct the rising energies of free- 
 dom. 
 
 It is a needless, as it would be a painful task, to dwell 
 on facts all know too well ; or to resuscitate the feelings 
 that are better at rest. Suffice it to remind you, that 
 yonder hills, almost in sight, first received the American 
 hero to the toils of fame. 
 
 Retaining still the vestiges of war, they will lecture 
 succeeding generations, and teach them to guard their 
 native soil from every insidious, selfish friend, or haugh- 
 ty foe : their wounded fronts will frown on degeneracy, 
 if every hill in America does not rise like the Heights 
 of Dorchester, to expel invasion from our indignant 
 shores. 
 
 In the presence of WASHINGTON, resistance assumed 
 a formidable attitude ; confidence looked cheerful ; and 
 valour re-nerved the arm, still bleeding from the carnage 
 where WARREN fell. 'But the too transient duration of 
 patriotic fervour the genius of our valient thousands, 
 
POPULAR. 10V 
 
 too unfriendly to the restraints of discipline the pover- 
 ty and unpreparedness of the Colonies, to meet the in- 
 calculable extent of their object, created anxieties and 
 embarrassments, which very few were permitted to 
 share; which no one perhaps, who does not, like him, 
 combine in his character, the talents and feelings of the 
 statesman, the patriot, and the soldier, can duly appre- 
 ciate. 
 
 The hero's mind rose with the magnitude of his task. 
 Opposition and defeat itself, served only to confirm his 
 resolution, and call forth the resources of an exhaustless 
 mind. Independence was declared: and in the blackest 
 hours of disaster, WASHINGTON never despaired of his 
 country. Once, only, (forgive him freemen.) ere his 
 army had become inured to the well directed vollies 
 of discipline, the yielding ranks ot his retreating sol- 
 diery displayed the frightful impressions of a veteran en- 
 emy; for one painful moment, he thought all was lost; 
 that Americans were unworthy the freedom for which 
 they too feebly contended ; and, shocked to despera- 
 tion, wished by a fortunate, honourable death, to free 
 himself from the intolerable spectacle of his country en- 
 slaved. 
 
 When terror spread her darkest clouds over our land ; 
 when an unfed, unclothed army marked the ice and the 
 snow with the blood of their retreating footsteps; when 
 the sword of destruction seemed suspended only by a 
 hair; while rumour, with her hundred mouths, if possi- 
 ble, magnified our distresses ; and tortured, languishing 
 hope, almost breathed her last: the brilliant achieve- 
 ment at Princeton, turned aside the current of fate ; the 
 accomplished, too sanguine Burgoyne, is overwhelmed 
 in the rising tide of our fortune ; the close invested stan- 
 dards of York-Town droop submission to the allied 
 arms ; deluded despotism soon gave up the fruitless toils 
 of subjugation; the shattered remnants of baffled inva- 
 sion are withdrawn, and independence is confirmed. 
 
 The patriot army now felt the too scanty, delusive re- 
 compense for their heroic toils; seven years with joyful 
 obedience, had they heard the orders of their chief, thun- 
 der along the embattled line : the wounds of injured 
 bravery bled afresh; they recoiled at the idea of dissolu- 
 tion. Then might ambition have seen his time, and smil- 
 3d; then would have trembled the liberties of America* 
 
108 REPUBLICAN COMPILER 
 
 had WASHINGTON aspired to any other crown titan li*.-- 
 happiness. In language ardent as his heroism, tender as 
 his affection, he appeals to their untarnished honour; they 
 revere him as a father: the appeal was resistless. They 
 saw the conflicting emotions of his breast; those eyes 
 which had long witnessed their toils, which had often 
 smiled at their glory, and wept at their sufferings, with 
 keen anxiety, now pierced their souls ; they forgot them- 
 selves: a pearly tear steals down their cheek; the lat- 
 ent evil spark is quenched; their patriotism reflames; 
 with one heart and voice, they resolve to confide in the 
 justice of the country they had left all to serve, and give 
 the world the illustrious, rare example, of " an army vic- 
 torious over its enemies, victorious over itself." 
 
 His farewell interview with these, his dear-loved com- 
 panions, can now be faintly imagined : How he stood, 
 liow he looked, when each advanced to take the last 
 friendly impassioned embrace: when with a glass in his 
 hand, and tears glistening in his eyes, he wished to each, 
 his future life might be happy, as his past had been hon- 
 ourable; let those speak who have witnessed, let those 
 attempt to describe who feel themselves equal to the 
 melting scene. 
 
 The war-worn veteran, whose feelings have not rust- 
 ed with his sword, will relate the story to his listening 
 son ; smile to see his warm heart susceptive to the touch 
 of glory and fondly destine him for that profession, of 
 which no dalliance in the lap of ease, has obliterated 
 ihe charms, no reverse of fortune allayed his admira- 
 tion. 
 
 Americans, what a vast weight of your revolution did 
 this man sustain! Taxes were indeed great, were bur- 
 densome; but think how often your army was obliged to 
 evade a decisive blow; think of the complicated hard- 
 ships they endured, (the relation of which might make 
 you shudder) because the flame of public spirit too soon 
 died away, and the resources of the country had become 
 inaccessible. 
 
 What must WASHINGTON have often felt. Every eye 
 in America, in wondering, doubtful Europe, was fixt on 
 him. He was a man of humanity; not a centinei felt a 
 grievance he did not painfully com misse rate. He was 
 a man of consummate bravery; and to add to the full 
 measure of his calamity, the country whose fate war. 
 
POPULAR. 105 
 
 hourly in his hand, began to murmur, to reproach him 
 with "delay. Delicate situation! unconquerable great- 
 ness of soul ! Mis reputation, dearer to a soldier than 
 life, he sacrificed to your good. 
 
 Americans, the hostile cannon has ceased to shake your 
 houses and your hills ; the falling shell, no more with hor- 
 rid glare, swells the terrors of the night; (think one mo- 
 ment in peace, of the untold distresses that might, that 
 would have been your portion, had not your toils for free- 
 dom been crowned with success. The Rubicon was pass- 
 ed ; the hour of compromise elapsed. WASHINGTON! 
 the heart recoils at his fate, and resigns it to your own 
 imaginations. As for you you might have received his 
 majesty's most gracious pardon might have reposed in 
 the tranquil despair of subjugated India or been blest 
 with the liberty, fender which distracted, bleeding Ire- 
 land now groans; Cornwallis, might here, instead of 
 there, have been governing the Provinces his myrmidons 
 had ravaged; which his presumptuous imagination had 
 fondly marked out as an empire for himself! 
 
 Happy countrymen ! retire to your homes, however 
 humble; enjoy your peace, your competence and your 
 love ! kiss the children that throng around your knee, 
 and teach them to bless God, that they are not born to 
 the inheritance of slavery; nor doomecl to the horrors of 
 mutual destruction ! 
 
 Surrendering his commission, and bidding adieu to pub- 
 lic life, WASHINGTON, amid the gratulations of thousands 
 through ways strewed with flowers, retired to those peace- 
 ful shades, of which long absence and mighty cares had 
 heightened the enjoyment. 
 
 He retired ; but he did not retire within himself. His 
 mind was intent to bless his fellow -men. Unprotected 
 worth found in him a warm patron and friend. Poverty 
 repressed her sigh, forgot injustice, and smiled compla- 
 cent on the bounty of his soul. The public welfare was 
 still the darling object of his heart, and whatever could 
 promote it, it was his chief happiness to pursue. 
 
 The picture which our common country presented on 
 the attainment of peace, is fresh in every mind. Her 
 victory had secured her freedom, but such a freedom, as 
 secured too few of the blessings of social life, and 
 threatened to be of short duration. The states breathed 
 Uard from their struggle, and exhausted with the burden 
 
 K 
 
iiO REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 and heat of the revolutionary day, were divesting them- 
 selves of the bands of a too feeble confederation ; and 
 fast dissolving into imbecility and disgrace. Fdth was 
 worn out; credit had been swoln till it had burst; jus- 
 tice, not only blind, but deaf and dumb, with scales re- 
 versed and blunted sword, could neither help feer votaries 
 nor protect herself; the defenders of their country al- 
 most addressed themselves to her compassion ; the poor 
 soldier begged his bread through the land he had saved ; 
 and the fair, but trembling fabric of society, almost 
 threatened ruin to those it scarcely sheltered. 
 
 The prescient sage of Mount Vernonhad foreseen these 
 approaching evils, and early recommended to the several 
 states, the adoption of such general measures, as could 
 alone give permanence to the national felicity, that inde- 
 pendence put within their reach. 
 
 The body politic still survived healthful and strong in 
 the feelings, manners and principles, which immemorial 
 virtuous habit had incorporated into her nature. The 
 hectic of internal faction had scarcely enfeebled her vitals, 
 nor had foreign intrigue assumed the hardihood to se- 
 duce her from herself, and tear her limb from limb. 
 
 At length, " in order to form a more perfect union, 
 establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide 
 for the common defence, promote the general welfare, 
 and secure the blessing of liberty;" the Federal Consti- 
 tution of the United States, the result of his presiding 
 wisdom, was adopted, as it was formed in " a spirit of 
 amity, and of that mutual deference and concession, 
 which the peculiarity of our political situation rendered 
 Indispensable." God grant that in this spirit it be long 
 preserved, that so it may preserve those for whose boon 
 it was designed. 
 
 At the unanimous call of his fellow-citizens, which he 
 could never hear but with duty and respect, he relin- 
 quishes every private consideration to make a people 
 happy. Laborious days and sleepless nights are now his 
 welcome portion : the government of your choice com- 
 mences its auspicious operation, and WASHINGTON pre- 
 sides. Say, did not then every countenance look con- 
 tentment; every dwelling speak prosperity, and your 
 fields assume a more luxuriant smile ? Commerce, then 
 safe in her innocence, spread your rising name to the bor- 
 ders of the earthj and wafted you the productions of eveVy 
 
POPULAR > lit* 
 
 clime. You rapidly grew the envy of the world ; were 
 acknowledged happiest, as freest, of mankind, and 
 disappointed the doating wish of those, who seek with 
 eagle eye, in the miscarriage of republics, a pretext for 
 the enormities of despotism. 
 
 Americans, this is a trait of the enchanting picture 
 which Europe admired, confessed was yours, and kindled 
 into freedom, while she viewed. Will you disclaim it ? 
 does too close inspection and intimacy with the original 
 destroy its truth? is it too highly coloured? Alas! 
 WASHINGTON was not omnipotent ! Earth is not a para- 
 dise ! 
 
 For eight years he conducted the bark of state ; the 
 political sky was tempestuous; the winds and waves 
 were sometimes unhappily in adverse direction; her 
 path was untraversed, and various winds prevailing with 
 regard to her course; many seemed more disposed to 
 council the pilot than obey his orders. Strict justice was 
 the compass by which he steered ; he respected the 
 wishes of all, and never went counter to the advice of 
 those whom it was his duty to consult ; amid innumerable 
 difficulties, the way of safety was that of glory. Sedul- 
 ously regarding the interests of all, he relied with just 
 confidence on the attachment of an omnipotent majority. 
 With the conscious invulnerability of virtue, he pardoned 
 the harmless; expected aspersions of the unworthy ; and 
 pursued the firm resolve of his unbiassed, equal mind* 
 The arduous difficulties of republican elevation were at 
 length appreciated ; and all acquiesced in his decree. 
 Having navigated her through the dangers of her out set, 
 accustomed her powers to the gale, and done all tbat 
 human wisdom and integrity could effect, if not all that 
 extravagance could wish ; he gave affectionate farewell 
 advice to those on board, well calculated to make them 
 wise unto salvation; and resigning the helm to able, 
 faithful, experienced hands, sought the tranquil privacy 
 which a far spent glorious life, had rendered " as neces- 
 sary as welcome." 
 
 But his feelings were too keen for his happiness* Our 
 rich, unprotected commerce, on all sides, falling a devot- 
 ed prey ; our country meeting the indignity abroad, 
 which her upright, pacific policy had not deserved, and 
 compelled to assume a defensive posture; her WASHING- 
 TON is still himself. Though mighty cares had impaired his. 
 
312 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 strength, the venerable sage with ready hand resumes 
 his faithful swfrd that sword, whose unsullied justice 
 did "blind men with its beams, ? V-and, like that of Eden, 
 ame every way to guard invaded right America was 
 in array; for who would not throng the standard he 
 would raise who would not croud the ranks of war in 
 the cause for which WASHINGTON would contend ? 
 
 Here was the last stage of his loag career of renown. 
 The pride of his country, the wonder of mankind has, 
 like a soldier obeyed the high summons of the God of ar- 
 mies. His associates in the toils of glory were hourly 
 falling. He stood almost alone on the field of fame, and 
 was prepared for the expected stroke of fate. The calm 
 fortitude and presence of mind with which he had often 
 withstood the shock of battle, did not forsake him in his 
 last unequalled, triumphant conflict. 
 
 The worthy, disconsolate partner of his heart, we thank 
 for the life-long smile with which she smoothed his 
 brow ; and gave his magnanimous cares to the service of 
 his country. We wish her every consolation earth or 
 heaven can bestow. May the decline of her life's mild 
 day be gilded with the sunshine of the soul, and future 
 generations rise up and call her blessed ! Her fellow 
 labourers in war and peace, we thank for the persevering 
 fortitude and wisdom with which they aided our beloved 
 chief; they have claims on us which we cannot cancel, 
 but with glory 5 which grateful, admiring posterity will 
 be too proud to evade. Here he lived ; to these we re- 
 sign, with painful sympathy, the sad pre-eminence of 
 grief. But, my fellow-countrymen, we were all near 
 and dear to him and his memory shall endure -shall be 
 revered forever. 
 
 Epght must be the talents that presume to illustrate 
 one action of his life. The unanimity with which he 
 was twice elected President; the universal, deep-felt 
 regret, when he declined their future suffrages ; the con- 
 stant devoted ness to his fellow-citizens, which no period 
 of his life ceased to manifest ; and the deep aspect of sor- 
 row this day presents ; these all designate the man who, 
 mo&t pre-eminently, united all hearts; they; speak his 
 only adequate, exalted eulogy, and declare, in language 
 unequivocally loud, a nation's unabated confidence and 
 love. To praise him in any audience the world could pro- 
 duce, would be a dull display of arrogance ; with Anaeri 
 
30PULA& 113 
 
 cans it would be intolerable; for who does not love his 
 country and revere her best earthly benefactor? who can- 
 not see the sun in the firmament ? who cannot hear tlie 
 thunder of the sky ? The taper only deadens itself that 
 presumes to increase the splendour of noon-day. 
 
 What is the noble endowment he did not possess? 
 With an urbanity that treated with the most obliging re- 
 spect those from whose opinion he could not but dissent 5 
 and with a prudence that in any other character might 
 well have compensated the greatest moral deficiency, he 
 marshalled the phalanx of his virtues to the benefit of his 
 fellow-men. The spirit of republicanism almost resigned 
 to him the sceptre of your affections; he -ruled in your 
 hearts. Our history is scarcely more than his biography, 
 our freedom and happiness the noblest, we trust unfad- 
 ing, picture of his- services and virtues. 
 
 What was once WASHINGTON has been deposited 
 with every testimonial of gratitude our country can be- 
 stow : On this occasion only does she lament her republi- 
 can simplicity, unequal to her pomp of woe; but she 
 consoles herself, wherein her magnificence has been defi- 
 cient, her affection has been transcendant ; and that her 
 hero has departed with a lustre that kings may sigh ibiy 
 ')ut sigh in vain. 
 
 The Sun of Glory is set ; the hemisphere is darkened ; 
 smaller luminaries may now rise and shine: the Sun of 
 * riory is set : but his course is bright with inextinguisha- 
 ble beams. He has thrown light on most beclouded re- 
 gions, and taught mankind the dignity of man. Illustrious 
 nation, over whom he has shone, to whose temperament 
 his mild radiance was congenial;- happy those, who, in 
 other climes attempting to .move in his orbit, neither con- 
 sume themselves nor their country in the flame they 
 raise, but cannot controuK 
 
 Thrice blest mankind, whose liberty can wear a tear- 
 'ess smile, and virtue trust her constant friends. 
 
 The shades of Vernon, to remotest time, will be trod 
 with awe ; the banks of Potomac will be hallowed 
 ground.. The aged oak shall sigh plaintive in the breeze.* 
 The little skiff shall suspend the labouring oar, and m 
 soft melancholy twilight, glide in silence by the sacred 
 Spot, where drooping willows mark the sage's tomb. The 
 alert seaman, while his well trimmed. bark moves maje.s- 
 
114 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 tic on the moaning wave, shall with proud respect., strike 
 the topsail he has reared in every quarter of the globe. 
 
 In some far distant commercial port, our fellow-coun- 
 trymen hail this day with joy. The flags of all nations 
 lightly wave from a forest of masts ; all is gaity. Around 
 the bounteous board, they wish health and long life to him, 
 whose name on their sea-letter has served them instead 
 of cannon, insuring them respect wherever they display- 
 ed the American stars. Some neighbouring fortress 
 shakes the friendly coast with its responsive roar; the 
 sons of Columbia cast a long look of filial respect to their 
 native land, and unconscious of the mournful spectacle 
 she now presents, rejoice that her defender lives! 
 Good souls ! let them enjoy the passing hour of mirth, 
 " where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise." 
 
 Illustrious man ! in what region of the earth has not 
 thy name been heard with praise ? Posterity shall admire 
 and love thee : And if in the vast orb of thy glory, 
 our darkened optics can descry a spot, we trust it will, 
 like those of the sun, be soon absorbed in thy pure efful- 
 gence. The temporary clouds, which for thy country,, 
 thou hast permitted to obscure thy deeds, time will soon 
 dispel, and thy fame will brighten with the flight of 
 years. 
 
 Americans, for a life devoted to your service, what 
 does WASHINGTON deserve? The rising trophied co- 
 lumn shall from far attract the admiring eye. The en- 
 during statue with emulating care will present to rever- 
 ing posterity his august attitude and awtul form. His- 
 tory shall be immortal as just to his worth. Poesy shall 
 robe him in unborrowed charms. A city, after the ma- 
 jestic model of his mind, bearing his name, shall concen- 
 trate our national glory, as he does our affection. These 
 a grateful empire will voluntarily pay: but, he deserves 
 more ; he deserves the enly reward he would ever ac- 
 cept; he deserves that you would be faithful to your- 
 selves, that you be free, united and happy : that party as- 
 perity from this memorable day subside; and all, with 
 liberal eye, seek private interest in the common weal. 
 
 Thus shall your elective government, the true mirror 
 of the general will, present an image that can never be 
 disowned, and j^illions rise, a standing army in defence 
 of the constitonon and laws* by which they are blest. In - 
 surrectioD; from the qiuet sleep of deatn ? will pot rear 
 
POPULAK, 
 
 her devoted head 5 invasion never dream of your shores, 
 or be appalled at the view. Peace at home will insure 
 invincibility abroad. You shall fear no shock but that of 
 the universe. The old worthies, who, with WASHING 
 TON illumed and cherished the tempered, undying flame 
 of freedom, shall never shake their white locks, and sigh 
 that their labours have been in vain. Your union shall 
 subsist to everlasting generations, the best, the deserved 
 MONUMENT of his tame, who led the army that achieved 
 your independence 5 who presided in the councils that 
 commenced your endless career of happiness. 
 
 Eulogies and Orations, 
 
 Speech of Mr. Marshall, in the Congress of the United 
 States, on the death of General Washington. 
 
 THE melancholy event which was yesterday announce 
 ed with doubt, has been rendered but too certain. Our 
 Washington is no more. The hero, the patriot, and the 
 sage of America; the man on whom, in times of danger, 
 every eye was turned, and all hopes were placed, lives 
 now onfy in his own great actions, and in the hearts of an 
 affectionate and afflicted people. 
 
 If, sir, it had even not been usual openly to testify re- 
 spect for the memory of those, whom heaven has selected 
 as its instruments for dispensing good to man, yet, such 
 has been the uncommon worth, and such the extraordin- 
 ary incidents which have marked the life of him, whose 
 loss we all deplore, that the whole American nation, 
 impelled by the same feelings, call with one voice for a. 
 public manifestation of that sorrow, which is so deep and 
 universal. 
 
 More than any other individual, and as much as to one 
 individual was possible, has he contributed to found this 
 our wide spreading empire, and to give to the western 
 world, independence and freedom. 
 
 Having effected the great object for which he was placed 
 at the head of our armies,- we have seen hint convert the 
 sword into the plough-share and sink the soldier intu the 
 citizen. 
 
W REPUBLICAN COMHLEU. 
 
 When the debility of 'our federal system had become 
 manifest, and the bonds which connected this vast conti- 
 nent were dissolving, we have seen him, the chief of those 
 patriots who formed ibr us a constitution, which by pre- 
 serving the ur.ion, will, I trust, substantiate and perpe- 
 tuate those blessings which our revolution had promised 
 to bestow. 
 
 In obedience to the general voice of his country, call- 
 ing him to preside over a great people, we have seen him 
 once more quit the retirement he loved, and in a season 
 more tempestuous than war itself, with calm and wise 
 determination, pursue the true interests of the nation, and 
 contribute more than any other could contribute, to the 
 establishment of that system of policy, which will, I trust? 
 yet preserve our peace, our honour, and our independ- 
 ence. 
 
 Having been twice unanimously chosen the chief ma- 
 gistrate of a free people, we have seen him, at a time 
 when his re-election, with universal suffrage, could not 
 be doubted, afford to the world a rare instance of mode- 
 ration, by withdrawing from his station to the peaceful 
 walks of private life. 
 
 However the public confidence may change, and the 
 public affections fluctuate with regard to others, with 
 respect to him they have, in war and peace, in public 
 and in private life, been as steadv as his own firm rnind 7 
 and as constant as his own exalted virtues. 
 
 Let us, then, Mr. Speaker, pay the last tribute of re- 
 spect and affection to our departed friend. Let the 
 grand council of the nation display those sentiments 
 which the nation feels. For this purpose I hold in my hand 
 some resolutions, which I take the liberty of offering to 
 the house, Washington's Monuments of Patriotism.. 
 
 Extract from an Oration pronounced at Worcester} 
 (Mass.} July 4, 1796 5 by Francis Stake, Esqr. 
 
 . IN viewing the causes which led to the event of this 
 J,oyous anniversary ; in tracing the effects which itave re- 
 sulted to America; in searching for the principles which 
 impelled to the contest $ in recalling the feelings which 
 
POPULAR. 11? 
 
 supported us in the struggle ; it cannot fail to occur to 
 us, that the causes have not been confined to the limits 
 of our continent; that the effects have extended far be- 
 yond the boundaries of our nation ; that the glorious ex- 
 ample, with electrical rapidity, has flashed across the 
 Atlantic 5 that, guided by the same principles, conducted 
 by the same feelings, the people who so gallantly fought 
 and bled for the security of our lives and our liberties, 
 are now fighting and bleeding in defence of their own. 
 
 On this day, therefore, religiously devoted to the con- 
 secration of our independence, it becomes us, as the 
 votaries of freedom, as friends to the rights of man, and 
 bound to support them whenever invaded, to turn our at- 
 tention, with a grateful enthusiasm, to the scenes of their 
 sufferings, their revolt, and their victories. While exult- 
 ing in the full enjoyment of peace and tranquility, shall 
 not a tear for the unexampled distresses of this magnani- 
 mous nation, check, for a moment, the emotions of our 
 
 J? ? 
 
 They have sworn that they will live FREE or DIE ! 
 TV ey have solemnly sworn, that the sword, which has been 
 drawn in defence of their country, shall never be return- 
 ed to its scabbard, till it has secured to them victory and 
 freedom. Let us then breathe forth a fervent ejaculation 
 to Heaven, that their vows may be remembered ; that the 
 cause of our former allies may not be deserted, till ~they 
 have scourged their invaders, till they have driven them 
 back in confusion to the regions of terror, from whence 
 they emerged. 
 
 While we remember, with horror, the continued effu- 
 sion of blood which darkened the morning of their revo- 
 lution, let us not forget that their vengeance was roused 
 by the champions of despotism, whose lives have since 
 justly atoned for the crimes they committed. While we 
 lament the sanguinary scenes, which clouded its pro- 
 gress, let it not be forgotten that they arose from <he 
 bloody manifesto of a band of tyrants, combined for the 
 hellish purpose of again rivetting the chains they hatte 
 broken. 
 
 The league of Pilnitz, like the league of Satan and his 
 angels, revolting against the majesty of heaven, was pro- 
 fessedly fabricated, to arrest forever the progress of free- 
 dom ; to usurp the dominion of France, and divide the 
 spoil among'this band of royal plunderers. Have we not 
 
REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 heard, that the noble, the generous, the grateful monarch 
 of the forest, that fawned at the feet of Androcles, when 
 remembering his former friendship, will even turn with 
 fury on his pursuers; and when robbed of his whelps* 
 rests not till his fangs are crimsoned in the blood of the 
 aggressor ? 
 
 Shall then the fervour of our friendship be abated, bj re> 
 membering the transitory phrenzj of a people distracted 
 with the enthusiasm of freedom, and irritated to madness 
 by the dreadful prospect of losing what they had enjoyed 
 but for a moment ? Let it never be said of u~s, as of Rome 
 and of Athens, that ingratitude is the common vice of re- 
 publics. Was it to the cnnvned monarch Louis the six- 
 teenth, or to the people of France, that we were indebt- 
 ed for the blood and treasure that were so profusely 
 lavished in our cause ? Shall then their services be for- 
 gotten in the remembrance of their momentary excesses ? 
 or shall we refuse our most cordial concurrence in the 
 feelings which impel them to the present contest with 
 the ruffian potentates of Europe ? Can we doubt, for a 
 moment, which is the cause we are bound to support with 
 our sanction, when we behold the winds and the seas, 
 those dreadful ministers of Heaven's vengeance, commis- 
 sioned to advance their* progress and deluge their ene- 
 mies ? When we behold Ariel, with his attendant spirits, 
 gently hovering over their navies, and wafting them to 
 victory on the bosom of the ocean ; while Neptune and 
 Boreas have combined against the league of their oppres- 
 sors, to overwhelm in the deep these deluded followers 
 of Pharoah ! Have we not seen them fed, as with manna, 
 from heaven ; the waters divided, and the walls of Jeri- 
 cho falling before them, while the fair prospect of liberty 
 has led them in triumph through the wilderness, as a 
 cloud by day and a pillar of iire by night ! 
 
 AMERICANS ! Let us join in 'fervent supplications, 
 that the sacred charters of humanity, which we have 
 once sealed with our blood, may be forever preserved 
 from the deadly grasp of tyrants. 
 
 FRENCHMEN! Be firm; be undaunted in the strug- 
 gle you have thus miraculously supported. Evince to 
 the world, now gazing with admiration at your exploits 
 in thc'field of battle, that you have virtue equal to your 
 courage; that you are friends to the friends of humani- 
 ty ; that your arms are nerved only against the enemies of 
 
POPULAR. 119 
 
 man. Let not the*sacred name of LIBERTY be polluted 
 by the phrenzy of licentious passions; but may your 
 present glorious constitution, while it protects your free- 
 dom from the unhallowed ravages of tyranny, remain an 
 unshaken bulwark against the destructive fury of fac- 
 tion. 
 
 TYRANTS ! Turn from the impious work of blood in 
 which your hands are imbrued, and tremble at the despe- 
 ration of your revolting subjects! Repent in sackcloth 
 and ashes. For behold, ye, who have been exalted up to 
 heaven, shall, ere long, be cast down to hell ! The final 
 period of your crimes is rapidly approaching. The grand 
 POLITICAL MILLENIUM is at hand 5 when tyranny shall 
 be buried in ruins; when all nations shall be united in 
 ONE MIGHTY REPUBLIC ! when the four angels, " that 
 stand on the four corners of the globe," shall, with one 
 accord, lift up their voices to heaven ; proclaiming PEACE 
 
 ON EARTH AND GOOD WILL TO ALL MEN. 
 
 Columbian Orator. 
 
 Iffrewell Address of General Washington, to the Armies 
 of the United States. 
 
 Rocky Hill, near Princeton, Nov. 2d, 1 783. 
 
 THE United States, in congress assembled, after giv- 
 ing the most honourable testimony to the merits of the 
 federal armies, and presenting them with the thanks of 
 their country, for their long, eminent and faithful service, 
 having thought proper, by their proclamation^ bearing, 
 date the 1 8th of October last, to discharge such part of 
 the troops as were engaged for the war, and to permit the 
 officers on furlough to retire from service, from and after 
 to-morrow; which proclamation having been communi- 
 cated in the public papers, for the information and gov- 
 ernment of all concerned, it only remains for the Com- 
 mander in Chief to address himself once more, and that 
 for the last time, to the armies of the United States, how 
 ever widely dispersed individuals who compose them 
 may be, and to bid them an affectionate, along farewell. 
 
 But before the commander in chief takes his final leave 
 of those he holds most dear, he wishes to indulge himself 
 
120 RfePUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 a few moments, in calling to mind a slight view of the 
 past. He will then take the liberty of exploring, with his 
 military friends, their future prospects $ of advising the 
 general line of conduct, which, in his opinion, ought to be 
 pursued ; and he will conclude the address, by express- 
 ing the obligations he feels himself under for the spirited 
 and able assistance he has experienced from them, in the 
 performance of an arduous omce. 
 
 A contemplation of the complete attainment, at a peri- 
 od earlier than could have been expected, of the object 
 for which we contended, against so formidable a power, 
 cannot but inspire us with astonishment and gratitude. 
 The disadvantageous circumstances on our part, under 
 which the war was undertaken, can never be forgotten, 
 The signal interposition of Providence, in our feeble con- 
 dition, was such as could scarcely escape the attention of 
 the most unobserving ; while the unparalleled persever- 
 ance of the armies of the United States, through almost 
 every possible difficulty and discouragement, for the space 
 of eight long years, was little short of a standing mira- 
 cle. 
 
 It is not the meaning, nor within the compass of this 
 address, to detail the hardships peculiarly incident to our 
 service, or to describe the distresses which, in several 
 instances, have resulted from the extremes of hunger and 
 nakedness, combined with the rigours of an inclement 
 season ; nor is it necessary to dwell on the dark side of 
 our past affairs. 
 
 Every American officer and soldier must now console 
 himself, for any unpleasant circumstance which may 
 have occurred, by a recollection of the uncommon scene's 
 in which he has been called to act no inglorious part, and 
 the astonishing events of which he has been a witness ; 
 events which have seldom, if ever, before taken place on 
 the stage of human action ; nor can they probably ever 
 happen again. For who has before seen a disciplined ar- 
 my formed at once from such raw materials ? who that 
 was not a witness, could imagine, that the most violent 
 local prejudices would cease so soon, and that men who 
 came from the different parts of the continent, strongly 
 disposed by the habits of education, to despise and quar- 
 rel with one another, would instantly become but one 
 patriotic band of brothers ? or, who that was not on the 
 spot, can trace the steps by which such a wonderful rev 
 
POPULAJ3 
 
 olution has been ejected, and such a glorious period put 
 to all our warlike toils ? 
 
 It is universally acknowledged, that the enlarged pros 
 |>ects of happiness, opened by the confirmation of our in- 
 dependence and sovereignty, almost exceed the power ol 
 description ; and shall not the brave men who have contri 
 buted so essentially to these inestimable acquisitions, 
 retiring victorious from the field of war to the field ol 
 agriculture, participate in all the blessings which have 
 been obtained. In such a republic, who will exclude them 
 from the rights of citizens and the fruits of their labours f 
 In such a country, so happily circumstanced, the pursuits 
 of commerce, and the cultivation ofthesoil, will unfold to 
 industry the certain road to competence. To those hardy 
 soldiers, who are actuated by the spirit of adventure, the 
 fisheries will afford ample and profitable employment; 
 and the extensive and fertile regions of the west, will 
 yield a most happy assylum to those who, fond of domes- 
 tic enjoyment, are seeking personal independence. Nor 
 is it possible to conceive that any one of the United 
 States will prefer a national bankruptcy, and the dissolu- 
 tion of the union, to a compliance with the requisitions of 
 Congress, and the payment of its just debts; so that the 
 officers and soldiers may expect considerable assistance, 
 in recommencing their civil occupations, from the sums 
 due to them from the public, which must and will most in- 
 evitably be paid. 
 
 In order to effect this desirable purpose, and remove 
 the prejudices, which may have taken possession of the 
 minds of any of the good people of the states, it is earn- 
 estly recommended to all the troops, that, with strong; at- 
 tachment to the union, they should carry with them into 
 civil society, the most conciliating dispositions, and that 
 they should prove themselves not less virtuous and useful 
 as citizens, than they have been victorious as soldiers. 
 What, though there should be some envious individuals, 
 who are unwilling to pay the debt the public has contract- 
 ed, or to yield the tribute due to merit ; yet, let such un- 
 worthy treatment produce no invective, or any instance? 
 of intemperate conduct. Let it be remembered, that the 
 unbiased voice of the free citizens of the United States* 
 has promised thejust reward, and given the just applause. 
 Let it be known and remembered, that the reputation ol 
 (be federal armies is established beyond the reach of ma- 
 T. 
 
22 REPUBLICAN COMPILER 
 
 levolence; and let a consciousness of their achievement 
 and fame, still excite the men who composed them, to 
 honourable actions, under the persuasion that the private 
 virtues of economy, prudence and industry, will not be 
 less amiable in civil life, than the more splendid quali- 
 ties of valour, perseverance and enterprize, were in the 
 field. Every one may rest assured, that much, very 
 much of the future happiness of the officers and men, 
 will depend upon the wise and manly conduct which 
 shall be adopted by them, when they are mingled with 
 the great body of the community. 
 
 And, although the General has so frequently given it as 
 his opinion, in the most public and explicit manner, that 
 unless the principles of the federal government were 
 properly supported, and the powers of the union increas- 
 ed, the honour, dignity and justice of the nation, would 
 be lost forever; yet, he cannot help repeating, on this 
 occasion, so interesting a sentiment, and leaving it as his 
 last injunction, to every officer and every soldier, who 
 may view the subject in the same serious point of light, 
 to add his best endeavours to those of his worthy fellow- 
 citizens, toward effecting these great and valuable pur- 
 poses, on which our very existence as a nation so materi- 
 ally depends. 
 
 The Commander in Chief, conceives little is now want- 
 ing, to enable the soldier to change the military charac- 
 ter into that of the citizen, but that steady, decent ten- 
 our of behaviour, which has generally distinguished, not 
 only the army under his immediate command, but the 
 different detachments and armies through the course of 
 the war. From their good sense and prudence, he anti- 
 cipates the happiest consequences; and while ho con- 
 gratulates them on the glorious occasion which renders 
 their services in the field no longer necessary, he wishes 
 to express the strong obligations he feels himself under, 
 for the assistance he has received from every class, and 
 :>!> every instance. He presents his thanks, in the most 
 serious and affectionate manner, to the general officers, 
 as well for their counsels on many interesting occasions, 
 as for their ardour in promoting the success of the plans 
 he had adopted ; to the commandants of regiments and 
 corps, and to the other officers, for their zeal and atten- 
 tion in carrying his orders promptly into execution; to 
 the staff? for their alacrity and exactness in performing 
 
POPULAR. 123 
 
 the duties of their several departments; and to the non- 
 commissioned officers and private soldiers, for their ex- 
 traordinary patience and suffering, as well as ther invin- 
 cible fortitude in action. To the various branches of the 
 army, the General takes this last and solemn opportuni- 
 ty of professing his inviolable attachment and friendship, 
 He wishes more than bare professions were in his power $ 
 that he was really able to be useful to them all in future 
 iife. He flatters himself, however, they will do him the 
 justice to believe, that whatever could with propriety be 
 attempted by him, has been done. 
 
 And being now about to conclude these, his last pub- 
 lic orders, to take his ultimate leave in a short time of 
 the military character, and to bid a final adieu to the ar- 
 mies he has so long had the honour to command, he can 
 only again offer, in their behalf, his recommendations to 
 their grateful country, and his prayers to the God of ar- 
 mies. May ample justice be done them here, and may 
 the choicest of Heaven's favours, both here and hereaf- 
 ter, attend those who, under the Divine auspices, have 
 secured innumerable blessings for others. With these 
 wishes, ai?d this benediction, the Commander in Chief 
 is about to retire from service. The curtain of separa- 
 tion will soon be drawn, and the military scene to him, 
 be closed forever. 
 
 Washington's Monuments of Patriotism. 
 
 Extract from the Speech of Governor Rutledge, to the 
 Legislature of South Carolina, at their first meeting, 
 after the re-establishment of the Federal Government, 
 after the evacuation of that State by the British, dur- 
 ing the American Revolution. 
 
 Honorable Gentlemen of the Senate, Mr. Speaker, 
 
 and Gentlemen of the House of Representatives, 
 
 SINCE the last meeting of a general assembly, the good 
 people of this state, have not only felt the common ca- 
 lamities of war, but from the wanton and savage manner 
 in which it has been executed, they have experienced 
 
'^4 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 inch severities as are unpractised, and will scarcely be 
 iHted by civilized nations. 
 The enemy, unable to make any impression on the 
 
 northern states, the number of whose inhabitants, and 
 the strength of whose country, had baffled their repeated 
 efforts, turned their views to the southern, vhich, differ- 
 ence of circumstances afforded some expectation of con- 
 quering, or at least of distressing. After a long resist- 
 ance, the reduction of Charleston was effected by the 
 vast superiority of force with which it had been besieged. 
 The loss of that garrison, as it consisted of the continen- 
 tal troops of Virginia and the Carolinas, and of a number 
 of militia, facilitated the enemy's march into the coun- 
 try, and the establishment of strong posts on the upper 
 and interior parts of it 5 and the unfavourable issue of the 
 action near Camden, induced them vainly to imagine, 
 i:i at no other army could be collected, which they might 
 r.ot easily defeat. The militia commanded by the briga- 
 diers Marion and Sumpter, whose enterprising spirit and 
 unremitted perseverance, under many difficulties, are 
 deserving of great applause, harrassed, and often defeat- 
 ed large parties : but the numbers of those militia were 
 too few to contend effectually, with the collected strength 
 of the enemy. Regardless, therefore, of the sacred ties 
 of honour, destitute of the feelings of humanity, and de- 
 termined to extinguish, if possible, every spark of free- 
 dom in this country, they, with the insolent pride of con- 
 querors, gave unbounded scope to the exercise of their 
 tyrannical despotism, infringed their public engagements, 
 and violated the most solemn capitulations. Many of 
 our worthiest citizens, were, without cause, long and 
 closely con lined, some on board of prison ships, and oth- 
 ers in the town and castle of St. Augustine. 
 
 But I can now congratulate you, and I do so most cor 
 dutily. on the pleasing change of affairs, winch, under 
 the blessing of God, tlie wisdom, prudence, address and 
 bravery of the great and gallant general Greene, and the 
 intrepidity of the officers ami men under his command, 
 has been happily effected. A general, who is justly en- 
 fitJed, from his many signal services, to honorable and 
 jiunal marks of your approbation and gratitude. His 
 successes have been more rapid and complete than the 
 most sanguine could have expected. The enemy coir, 
 pelled to surrender or evacuate every post ^vhich 
 
POPULAR. 135 
 
 field in the country; frequently defeated and driven 
 irom place to place, are obliged to seek refuge under 
 the walls of C: -., or in the islands in its vicinity. 
 
 Vie. have no-* the full and absolute possession of ev- 
 ery other part of tie state; and the legislate execu- 
 tive and judicial powers, are in the free exercise, of their 
 respective authorities. The interest and honour, the 
 satvty T;d happiness of our country, depend so much 
 on the result of your deliberations, that 1 flatter myself 
 you will proceed in the weighty business before you, 
 with firmness and temper, with "vigour., unanimity and 
 despatch. Lees 9 Memoirs of the Southern War. 
 
 Extract from Mr. Jlmes* Speech on the British Treaty 
 
 IF any should maintain that the peace with the Indians 
 will be stable without the posts, to them I will urge 
 another reply. From arguments calculated to produce 
 conviction, I w : ll appeal directly to the hearts of those 
 who hear me, and ask whether it Is not already planted 
 there ? I resort especially to the convictions of the wes- 
 tern gentlemen, whether, supposing no posts and no 
 treaty, the settlers will remain in security ? Can they 
 take it upon them to say, that an Indian peace, under these 
 circumstances, will prove firm? No. Sir, it will not be 
 peace, but a sword; it will be no bettor than a lure to 
 draw victims within the reach of the tomahawk. 
 
 On this theme, my emotions are unutterable. If I 
 could find words for them, if my powers bore any pro- 
 portion to my zeal, I would swell my voice to such a note 
 of remonstrance, it should reach every log-house beyond 
 the mountains. I would say to the inhabitants, wake 
 from your false security. Y'our cruel dangers, your mora 
 cruel apprehensions are soon to be renewed : The wounds 
 yet unhealed, are to be torn open again. In the day time 
 your path through the woods will be ambushed. The 
 darkness of the night will glitter wit!* the blaze of your 
 dwellings. You are a father the blood of your sons 
 shall fatten your corn-field. You' are a mother the war 
 whoop shall wake the sleep of the cradle, 
 
:# UKPUBLICAN COMPILED 
 
 On this subject you need not suspect any deception' en 
 your feelings. It is a spectacle of horror which cannot be 
 over-drawn. If you have nature in your hearts, they 
 will speak a language, compared with which, all I have 
 said, or can say, will be poor and frigid. 
 
 Will it be whispered, that the treaty has rfca-Je me a 
 a new champion for the protection of the frontiers; it is 
 known that my voice, as well as vqte, have been unifoinv 
 ly given in conformity with the ideas 1 have expressed. 
 Protection is the right of the frontiers 5 it is our duty to 
 give it. 
 
 Who will accuse me of wandering out of the subject? 
 Who will say that I exaggerate the tendencies of our 
 measures ? Will any one answer by a sneer, that all this 
 is idle preaching ? Would any one deny that we are 
 bound, and I would hope to good purpose, by the mqst 
 solemn sanctions of duty, for the vote we give"? Are re- 
 publicans unresporisible ! Have the principles on which 
 you ground the reproach, upon cabinets and kings, no 
 practicable influence, no binding force ? Are they merely 
 themes of idle declamation, introduced to decorate the 
 morality of a newspaper essay, or to furnish pretty topics 
 of harangue from the windows of that state house ? I 
 trust it is neither too presumptuous, nor too late to ask. 
 Can you put the dearest interest of society at risk, with- 
 out guilt, and without remorse ? 
 
 It is vain to offer as an excuse, that public men are not 
 to be reproached for the evils that may happen to ensue 
 from their measures. This is very true, where they are 
 unforeseen or inevitable. Those I have depicted are not 
 unforeseen ; they are so far from inevitable, we are going 
 to bring them into being by our vote. We choose the 
 consequences, and become as justly answerable for them 
 as for the measure that we know will produce them. 
 
 By rejecting the posts, we light the savage tires, we 
 bind the victims This day we undertake to render ac- 
 count to the widows and orphans whom our decision wiH 
 make, to the wretches that will be roasted at the stake, 
 to our country, and I do not deem it too serious to say, 
 to conscience and to God, we are answerable; and if 
 duty be any thing more than a- word of imposture, if 
 conscience be not a bugbear, we are preparing to make 
 ourselves as wretched *s our country. 
 
POPULAR. **f 
 
 There is no r.u>:tukt in tin* ta?e, there cat; be mme. 
 lExnerience ks already been the prophet of events, and 
 tho* cries of our future \ieiims have alrea<ly reached us-.. 
 The western inhabitants are not asiit-nt and uncon;; 
 ing sacrifice. The voice of humane from tie 
 
 shade oi the wilderness. It exclaims that while one 
 is held up to reject this treaty, the other pasps a : 
 hawk. It summons our imagination to the scenes that 
 will open. It is no great eviurt of the imagination io 
 conceive that events so near are already begun. I can 
 fancy that 1 listen to the veils of savage > >\ and 
 
 hrieks of torture. Already they betm to 
 -'rn wind: already they mingle with ; 
 'v the mountains. *iwerican '- / 
 
 Speech of Mr. Noland, in the Virginia L , 
 
 the passage of the Bill to suppress '' 
 
 MR. SPEAKEU The bill which has l.een read, is one 
 which claims the serious attention . >use: it i,^ 
 
 one in wliich every member of this body, in which every 
 citizen of Virginia, is deeply interested. The |:ra 
 of duelling seems to me but an liiiiiaturril raft oi 
 rourage, growing out of a barbarous age : fur \^e bnd 
 t wus first introduced by tSie Goths ar^d Vandals, di. 
 the days of their ignorance and barbarism. The ;, 
 ;ind polished nations of Greece and Rome, who wer 
 ever prodigal of their blood, when in defence of their 
 country's rights, knew nothing of this detestable practice, 
 which appears to me to be built on an infinity of absurdi- 
 ties : because, while it seems to suppose that a man's 
 honour ought to be dearer to him than his life, it at th: 
 same time supposes, that his honour is in the power of 
 every unprincipled villain that can invent, or tell a lie, 
 or every careless or ill-bred person, that may jostle hiru 
 in his way : it supposes that "a lie may become true arid 
 honourable, provided the person who tells it is willing to 
 tight in support of it; and that any crime whatever may 
 become honourable, by fighting in its defence: it sup- 
 poses that the man who is covered with guilt, who has 
 wounded the peace of his friend, by staining the ciiarac- 
 
.^ IIEI'UBLICAN COMPILED, 
 
 ter of his wife, or of big daughter, becomes at once an 
 honourable man. by heroically' washing out their stains in 
 ihc blood of the husband or the lather: it farther sup- 
 poses, that it is better for a man to be condemned by his 
 own conscience, and by the virtuous and rational part of 
 mankind, than to suffer one moment in the opinion of the 
 advocates for duelling; finally, that steel and gui, 
 powdey are the true diagnosticks of innocence and moral 
 excellency. If Sir, having seized the villain who had 
 violated my wife, 1 should bring him before a tribunal oi 
 justice, what would be your opinion of the judge who 
 should order that I, the innocent, injured man, must cast 
 ots with the guilty, which of us must die. Would not 
 your heart chill at such a sentence ? Would not you pro- 
 nounce it contrary to reason, to common sense and jug- 
 ;ice? You surely would In the case" of duelling, the 
 public is the judge. 1 receive an injury for which nothing 
 but life can atone, I do not appeal to the public; no, Sir, 
 the public officiously interferes and condemns me under 
 the penalty of perpetual disgrace, to cast lots with the 
 aggressor, which of us must die. Was there ever any 
 thing more preposterous ! More abominably absurd ! It 
 is the opinion of many, Sir, that dueling is an evil which 
 will correct itself; while others say, it is of little concern 
 to the rational and virtuous part of mankind, in what 
 manner knaves and fools may think proper to rid the 
 world of each other, as it will not deprive society of one 
 valuable member ; but daily experience convinces us, that 
 both these opinions are incorrect : for while the evil is 
 growing to an enormous height, we find that some of our 
 best citizens have exposed their individual lives, while 
 ethers have fallen victims to this abominable practice 5 
 and will the collected wisdom of this commonwealth 
 make no effort to suppress this sanguinary and growing 
 evil? Will the enlightened Hgislature of Virginia make 
 no stand- against the current of pifblic opinion ? I hope ~ 
 1 trust they will. Sir, so long as it is belived, that the 
 practice cf duelling is sanctioned by public opinion, there 
 is no man. who is anxious to maintain his social standing, 
 can refuse, what is called an honourable call. No mat- 
 ter how much his moral and religious principles may be 
 opposed to the practice : no matter, though he may nave 
 a wife and children depending on his exertions for their 
 daily bread f no matter how grept claims his country may 
 
OPCJLAR. 
 
 have on his talents, in critical and trying times; he 
 loses sight of all in the dreadful idea of being stigmatized 
 as a coward Pejusque htho Jtagitiun timtt he seizes 
 the fatal weapon he marches to the combat, receives 
 the fatal wound, and leaves a disconsolate widow and a 
 number of helpless orphans, to mourn their irreparable 
 loss. This, Sir, is not fancy, these are scenes which 
 frequently, very frequently, pass in review before us. 
 Pass this bill. Sir, and you put a stop to the evil pass 
 this bill and you place a shield between the man of xeel- 
 ing and the public opinion you raise a barrier in the road 
 to honour and preferment, at which the ambitious man 
 will pause and reflect, ere he rashly engages in a duel 
 pass this bill, and I will venture to predict, that you will 
 preserve the lives of many, very many valuable citizens. 
 Had a similar law passed at your last session, Mr. 
 Speaker, it would have been attended with the best of 
 consequences. We should not now be lamenting the 
 loss of a Pope, a Hooe, and a Smith. On us, in part, rests 
 the blame of robbing society of those able and useful 
 members on us, 8ir, in part, rests the blame of prepar- 
 ing affliction for the widow's heart, of filling the orphan's ^ 
 eye with tears, and bringing trouble and misfortune on 
 numerous relatives. As fathers, then, as brothers, as men 
 and as legislators, I call on this house to suppress an evil 
 which strikes at you in all those tender relations I calU 
 on you to raise your hands against a crime, the disgrace 
 of tne land and the scourge of our peace I call on you 
 to set an example worthy of yourselves and of those you 
 represent; and should this bill not have the desired' ef- 
 fect, you will enjoy the satisfaction of having performed 
 your duty. Before I sit down I give notice, I shall call 
 for the ayes and noes. I iun anxious to have my name 
 recorded on this question. I wish to enter my protest 
 against duelling. There are some gentlemen, Mr. Speak- 
 er, far be it from me to insinuate that there are any in 
 this assembly, who, though opposed to the principle of 
 duelling, do not wish to proclaim their sentiments to the 
 world, lest they should be suspected of a want] of forti- 
 tude : T, Sir, have no such fears : for I, never did suppose 
 the fighting of a duel a mark of fortitude : No, Sir, true 
 fortitude is a cardinal virtue, depending on. and inseper- 
 able from other virtues it is that firm ,man!y intrepidity 
 of soul, which enables us to meet danger in critics! and 
 
130 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 trying situations it is the virtuous man's shield, by 
 wliich he defends himself from the evils of the world it 
 is the anchor which keeps him steady amidst the storms 
 and hurricanes of life. The intrepidity or courage of a 
 duellist, although it seems to imitate, "cannot be said to 
 be a virtue ; because it is not the object of moral virtue. 
 
 Ibid* 
 
 Final Speech of DR. FZJNKLIN, in the late Federal Con 
 mention. 
 
 MR. PRESIDENT, 
 
 I CONFESS that I do not entirely approve of this con- 
 stitution at present: but, Sir, I am not sure I shall never 
 approve it; for having lived long, I have experienced 
 many instances of being obliged by better information, 
 or further consideration, to change opinions even on im- 
 portant subjects, which I once thought right, but found 
 to be otherwise. It is therefore, that the older T grow, 
 the more apt am 1 to doubt my own judgement, and pay 
 more respect to the judgement of others. Most men, 
 indeed, as well as most sects of religion, think themselves 
 in possession of all truth, and that whenever others differ 
 from them, it is so far error. Steel, a protestant,in a de- 
 dication, tells the Pope, "that the only differencebctween 
 our two churches, in their opinions, of the certainty of 
 their doctrines, is the Roman church is infallible and the 
 church of England never in the wrong." But, though 
 many private persons think almost as highly of their own 
 infallibility as of that of their own sect, few express it to 
 naturally as a certain French lady, who in a little dispute 
 with her sister, said, I dont know how it happens, but I 
 meet with nobody but myself that is always in the right. 
 II tfy a que moi qui a tdujours raison. In these senti- 
 ments, Sir, I agree to this constitution, with all its faults, 
 if they are such ; because I think a general government 
 necessary for us. and there is no form of government but 
 what may be a blessing, if we! I administered, and I be- 
 lieve farther, that this is likely to be well administered 
 for a course of years, and can only end in despotism, as 
 other forms have done before it, v ! eu the people shall be- 
 
POPULAR, 
 
 come so corrupted as to need despotic government, being 
 incapable of any other. 1 doubt, too, whether any other 
 convention we can obtain, may be' able to make a better 
 constitution. For when you assemble a number of men, 
 to have the advantage of their jeint wisdom, you assem- 
 ble with those men, all their prejudices, their passions, 
 their errors of opinion, their local interests, and their 
 selfish views. From such an assembly, can a perfect pro- 
 duction be expected ? Jt therefore astonishes me, Sir, to 
 find this system approaching so near to perfection as it 
 does ; andf I think it will astonish our enemies, who are 
 waiting with confidence, to hear that our councils are 
 confounded, like those of the builders of Babylon, and 
 that our states are on the point of separation, only to 
 meet hereafter for the purpose of cutting each other's 
 throats. 
 
 Thus, I consent. Sir, to this constitution because I ex- 
 pect no better, and because I am not sure that this is not 
 the best. The opinion I have had of its errors, I sacrifice 
 to the public good. I have never whispered a syllable of 
 them abroad. Within these walls they were born ; arid 
 here they shall die. If every one of us, in returning to 
 our constituents, were to report the objections he has had 
 to it, and endeavour to gain partizans in support of them, 
 we might prevent its being generally received, and there- 
 by lose all the salutary effects and great advantages re- 
 sulting naturally in o*ur favour among foreign nations,, as 
 well as among ourselves, from our real or apparent una- 
 nimity. Much of th strength and efficiency of any govern- 
 ment, in procuring and securing happiness to the people, 
 depend on opinion 5 on the general opinion of the good- 
 ness of tiiat government, as well as of the wisdom and in- 
 tegrity of its governors. 
 
 I hope, therefore, that for our own sakes, as a part of 
 the people, and for the sake of our posterity, we shall act 
 heartily and unanimously in recommending this constitu- 
 tion, wherever our influence may extend, and turn our 
 future thoughts and endeavours to the means of having it 
 well administered. 
 
 On the whole. Sir. I cannot help expressing a wish, that 
 every member of the convention, who may still have ob- 
 jections, would with me, on this occasion, doubt a little 
 of his own infallibility, and to make manifest our una- 
 nimity, put his name to this instrument. 
 
 Life of Franklin. 
 
REPUBLICAN COMPILE!',, 
 
 Speech of PATRICK IfENxr, delivered in the house of 
 delegates of Virginia, in support of his motion to put 
 the colony in a state of defence against the encroach- 
 ments of Great Britain, March, 1775. 
 
 No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, 
 as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who 
 have just addressed the house> But different men often 
 see the same subjects in different lights, and therefore, I 
 hope, it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentle- 
 men, if I should speak my sentiments freely and without 
 reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The question 
 before the house is one of awful moment to this country 
 for my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a 
 question of freedom or slavery. In proportion to the 
 magnitude of the subject, ought to be the freedom of the 
 debate It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive 
 at truth, and fulfil the great responsibility which we hold 
 to God and our country. Should I keep back my opin- 
 ions, at such a time, through fear of giving offence, I 
 should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my 
 country, and of an act of disloyalty towards the majesty 
 of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings. 
 
 MR. PRESIDENT, it is natural to man to indulge in 
 the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes 
 against a painful truth, and listen to the song of th'at 
 syren, till she traduces our judgements. Is it the part of 
 wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for 
 liberty f Are we disposed to be of the number of those, 
 who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the 
 things which so nearly concern our temporal salvation ? 
 For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it might cost, I 
 am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, 
 and to provide for it. I have but one lamp by which my 
 feet are guided, and that is tiie lamp of experience. I 
 know of no way of judging of the future, but by the past ; 
 and, judging by the past, I wish to know what there has 
 been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last 
 ten years, to justify those hopes, with which gentlemen 
 have been pleased to solace themselves and the house ? 
 Is it that insidious smile with which our petition lias been 
 lately received ? Trust it not. Sir, it will prove a snare 
 f,o your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed 
 with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception 
 af our petition, comports with 'those warlike preparations 
 
-.'vPULAR, M* 
 
 which cover our waters and darken our land ? Are fleets 
 and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation ? 
 Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, 
 that force must be called in to win back our love ? Let 
 us not deceive ourselves, Sir. These are the implements 
 of war and subjugation the last arguments to which 
 kings resort. I ask, gentlemen, Sir, what means this mar- 
 tial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission ? 
 Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it ? 
 Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, 
 to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies ? 
 No, Sir, she has none: they are meant for us: they can 
 be meant for no other purpose they are sent over to 
 bind and rivet upon us those chains, which the British 
 ministry have been so long forging. And what have we 
 to oppose to them ? Shall we try argument ? Sir, we have 
 been trying that for the last ten years. Have we any 
 thing new to offer upon the subject P Nothing. We have 
 held the subject up in every light of which it is capable, 
 but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty 
 and humble supplication? What terms shall we findf, 
 which have not been already exhausted ? Let us not, I 
 beseech you. Sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have 
 done every thing that could be done, to avert the storm 
 which is now coming on. We have petitioned we have 
 remonstrated we have supplicated we have prostrated 
 ourselves before the throne, and have implored its inter- 
 position, to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and 
 parliament. Our petitions ha ve been slighted; our re- 
 monstrances have produced additional violence and in- 
 sult ; our supplications have been disregarded ; and we 
 have been spurned, with contempt, from tjie foot of the 
 throne. 
 
 In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond 
 hope of peace and reconciliation. There is nu longer 
 any room for hope. If we wish to be free if we mean 
 to preserve inviolate, those inestimable privileges for 
 which we have been so long contending if we mean not 
 basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have 
 been so long engaged, and which we hare pledged our- 
 selves never to abandon until the glorious object of our 
 contest shall be obtained we must fight ! I repeat it, Sir, 
 we must fight An appeal to arms and to the God of 
 Hosts, is all that is left us. 
 
 M 
 
i34 REPUBLICAN COMP1LEH. 
 
 They tell us, Sir, that we are weak unable to cope with 
 60 formidable an adversary. But when shall we be 
 stronger ? Will it be the next week, or the next year ? 
 Will it be when we are totally disarmed ; and when a 
 British guard shall be stationed in our house ? Shall we 
 gather strength by irresolution and inaction ? Shall we ac- 
 quire the means of effectual resistance, by lying supinely 
 on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom ot hope, 
 until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot ? 
 Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those 
 means which the God of nature hath placed in our power 
 three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of Lib- 
 erty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are 
 invincible by any force which our enemy can send against 
 us. 
 
 Sir, v/e shall not light our battles alone. There is a 
 jiist God, who presides over the destinies of nations, and 
 will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The bat- 
 tle, Sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, the 
 active, the brave. Besides, Sir, we have no election. If 
 ^ve were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to re- 
 tire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submis- 
 sion and slavery ! Our chains are forged : their clank- 
 Ing might be heard on the plains of Boston ! The war is 
 inevitable and let it come ! ! I repeat it, Sir, let it 
 come ! ! ! 
 
 It is in vain, Sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen 
 may cry, peace, peace but there is no peace ! The war 
 is actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the 
 north, will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! 
 Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here 
 idle? What is it that* gentlemen wish ? What would 
 they have ? Is life so dear or peace so sweet, as to be 
 purchased at the price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it, 
 Almighty God ! I know not what course others may 
 take; but as for me, GIVK MB LIBERTY, OR GIVE ME 
 DEATH ! Orations, 
 
BIO&RAPHICAL. 
 
 DR. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 WAS born at Boston, 1706, and placed at a very early 
 age, under one of his brothers, who was a printer, where 
 he made a rapid progress in that art, so useful to man- 
 kind, and contracted an attachment for the press, which 
 continued as long as he lived. Scarcely emerged from 
 infancy, Franklin was a philosopher, without being con- 
 scious of it; and by the continued exercise of his genius, 
 prepared himself for those great discoveries, which in 
 science have since associated his name with that of New- 
 ton, and for those political reflections, which have placed 
 him by the side of a Solon and a Lycurgus. 
 
 Soon after his removal from Boston to Philadelphia, 
 Franklin, in concert with some other young men, esta- 
 blished a small club, where every member, after his work 
 was done, and on holidays, brought his stock of ideas, 
 which were submitted to discussion. 
 
 This society, of which the young printer was the soul, 
 has been the source of every useful establishment in that 
 state, calculated to promote the progress of science, the 
 mechanical arts, and particularly the improvement of 
 the human understanding. Higher employments, how- 
 ever, at length called him from his country, which he 
 was destined to serve more effectually as its agent iii En- 
 gland, whither he was sent in 1757, 
 
13 REPUBLICAN COMPILED 
 
 The stamp act, by \vhich the British minister wished 
 io familiarize the Americans to pay taxes to the mother 
 country, revived that love of liberty which had led their 
 forefathers to a country at that time a desert ; and the 
 colonies formed a congress, the first idea of which had 
 been communicated to them by Franklin, at the con- 
 ferences at Albany 5 in 1754. The war that was just ter- 
 minated, and the exertions made by them to support it, 
 had given them a conviction of their strength ; they op- 
 posed this measure, and the minister gave way, but he 
 reserved the means of renewing the attempt. Once cau- 
 tioned however, they remained on their guard ; liberty* 
 cherished by tlieir alarms, took deeper root, and the rapid 
 circulation of ideas, by means of newspapers, for the in- 
 troduction of which they were indebted to the printer of 
 Philadelphia, united them together to resist every fresh 
 enterprize. In the year 1 766, this printer, called to the 
 bar of the house of commons, underwent that famous in- 
 terrogatory, which placed the name of Franklin as high 
 in politics, as it was in natural philosophy. From that 
 time he defended the cause of America with a firmness 
 and moderation, becoming a great man, pointing out to 
 the ministry all the errors they had committed, and the 
 consequences they would produce, till the period when 
 the tax on tea, meeting the same opposition as the stamp 
 act had done, England blindly fancied herself capable 
 of subjecting by force 3,000,000 of men, determined to be 
 free, at a distance of 1000 leagues. Every man is ac- 
 quainted with the particulars of that war, but every man 
 lias not equally reflected on the bold attempt of Franklin 
 as a legislator. Having asserted their independence, asd 
 placed themselves in the rank of nations, the di fie rent 
 colonies, now the United States of America, adopted 
 each its own form of government, and retaining, almost 
 universally, their admiration for the British constitution, 
 framed them from the same principles, variously mo- 
 delled. Franklin alone, disengaging the political engine 
 from those multiplied movements and admired counter- 
 poises that rendered it so complicated, proposed the 
 reducing it to the simplicity of a single legislative body. 
 This grand idea startled the legislators of Pennsylvania ; 
 but the philosopher removed the fears of many, and at 
 length determined them to the adoption cf his principle. 
 Having given laws to his country, Franklin undertook 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL, 137 
 
 again to serve it in Europe, not by representation to the 
 metropolis or answers at the bar of the house of commons ; 
 but, by treaties with France, and successively with ether 
 powers. 
 
 From France he returned to America in 1735, and 
 lived five years after this period : for three years he was 
 president of the general assembly of Pennsylvania; he 
 was a member of the convention that established the new 
 form of federal government; and his last public act was 
 a grand example for those who are employed in the legis- 
 lation of their country. In this convention he had dif- 
 fered in some points from the majority ; but when the art 
 ttcles were ultimately decreed, he said to his colleagues, 
 " we ought to have but one opinion ; the good of our 
 country requires that the resolution should be unanimous" 
 and he signed. He died, April 1 7, 1 790. As an author, 
 he never wrote a work of any length. His political 
 works consist of letters or short tracts ; but all of them, 
 even those of a humourous nature, bear the marks of his 
 observing genius and mild philosophy. He wrote many 
 for that rank of people who have no opportunity for study, 
 and whom it is yet of so much consequence to instruct 5 
 and he was well skilled in reducing useful truths to 
 maxims, easily retained, and sometimes to proverbs or 
 little tales, the simple and natural graces of which ac- 
 quire a new value when associated with the name of 
 their author. The mast voluminous of his works is the 
 history pf his own life, which he commenced for his son, 
 and which reaches no farther than 1757. He speaks of 
 himself, as he would have done of another person, deline- 
 ating his thoughts, his actions, and even his errors and 
 faults ; he describes the unfolding of his genius and tal- 
 lents with the simplicity of a great man. who knows how 
 to do justice to himself, and with the testimony of a clear 
 conscience void of reproach. In short, the whole life 
 of Franklin, his meditations and his labours, have all 
 been directed to public utility ; but the grand object that 
 he had always in view, did not shut his heart against pri- 
 vate friendship : he loved his family, and his friends, and 
 was extremely beneficent. In society he was sententious, 
 but not fluent; a listener rather than a talker; an in- 
 forming, rather than a pleasing companion : impatient of 
 interruption, he often mentioned the custom of the Indi- 
 ans, who always remain silent sometime before they give 
 
135 REPUBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 an answer to a question which they have heard attentive- 
 ly; unlike some of the politest societies in Europe, 
 where a sentence can scarcely be finished without in- 
 terruption. In the midst of his greatest occupations for 
 the liberty of his country, he had some physical experi- 
 ment always near him in his closet; and the sciences, 
 which he had rather discovered than studied, afforded 
 him a continual source of pleasure. He made various 
 bequests and donations to cities, public bodies and indi- 
 viduals ; and requested that the following epitaph, which 
 he composed for himself some years ago, might b in- 
 cribed on his tombstone : 
 
 The body of 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, 
 
 Printer, 
 (Like the covering of an old book, 
 
 Its contents torn out, 
 And stript of its lettering and gilding,) 
 
 Lies here food for worms ; 
 'fee the work itself shall not be lost, but \vill 5 - 
 
 (as he believed,) 
 
 Appear once more in a new. and more 
 Beautiful edition, corrected and amended 
 
 by 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Biographical Dictionary 
 
 NATHANIEL GREENE, 
 
 A MAJ-OH GENERAL of the army of the United State? > 
 <was born in Warwick, Rhode Island, about the year 1740 
 His parents were Quakers. His father was an anchor 
 smith, who was concerned in some valuable iron works^ 
 and transacted much business. While he was a boy, he 
 learned the Latin language, chiefly by his own unassist- 
 ed industry. Having procured a small library > his mind 
 was much improved, though the perusal of military his-t 
 t^ry occupied a considerable share of his attention. Such 
 was the estimation in which his character was held, that 
 he w^Sj at au early period of his life^ chosen a member of 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL, ;3 
 
 the assembly of Rhode Island. After the battle of Lex- 
 ington had enkindled at once the spirit of the Americans, 
 throughout the whole continent, Mr. Greene, though edu- 
 cated in the peaceful principles of the friends, could 
 uot extinguish the martial ardor which had been ex- 
 cited in his own breast. Receiving the command of three 
 regiments with the title of brigadier general, he led them 
 to Cambridge ; in consequence of which, the Quakers re- 
 nounced all connexion with him as a member of their reli- 
 gious body. On the arrival of Washington at Cambridge, 
 ne was the first who expressed to the commander in 
 chief his satisfaction in his appointment, and he soon 
 gained his entire confidence. He was appointed by con- 
 gress major general in August, 1776. In the battles of 
 Trenton, on the twenty-sixth of December following, 
 and of Princeton, on the third of January, 1777, he was 
 much distinguished. He commanded the left wing of 
 the American army at the battle of Germantown, on ther 
 fourth of October. In March, 1778, he was appointed 
 quarter master general, which office he accepted on con- 
 dition that his rank in the army should not be affected 3 
 and that he should retain his command in time of action. 
 This right he exercised on the twenty -eight of June, at 
 Monmouth. His courage and skill were again displayed 
 on the twenty-ninth of August, in Rhode Island. He 
 resigned, in this year, the office of quarter master gen- 
 eral, and was- succeeded by col. Pickering. After the 
 disasters which attended the American arms in South 
 Carolina, he was appointed to supersede Gates, and he 
 look the command in the southern department, Decem- 
 ber 8, 1780. Having recruited the army, whiah had 
 been exceedingly reduced by defeat and desertion, he 
 sent out a detachment under the brave general Morgan^ 
 who gained the important victory at the Cowpens, Janu- 
 ary 17, 1781. Greene effected a junction with him on 
 the seventh of February, but on account of the superior 
 numbers of Corn wallis, he retreated with great skill to 
 Virginia, Having received an accession to his forces, 
 he returned to North Carolina, and in a battle at Guild- 
 ford, on the 15th of March, was defeated. The victory, 
 however, was dearly bought by the British, for their loss 
 was greater than that of the Americans, and no advan- 
 tages were derived from it. In a few days, Cornwallis 
 fregan to march towards Wilnaington, leaving many of hia 
 
140 REPUBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 wounded behind him, which had the appearance of a re* 
 treat, and Greene followed him, for some time. But 
 altering his plan, he resolved to re-commence offensive 
 operations in South Carolina. He accordingly marched 
 directly to Camden, where on the 25th of April, he was 
 engaged with lord Rawdon. Victory inclined for some 
 time to the Americans; but the retreat of two companies 
 occasioned the defeat of the whole army. Greene retreat- 
 ed in good order, and took such measures as effectually 
 prevented lord Rawdon from improving his success, and 
 obliged him, in the beginning of May, to re tire beyond the 
 Saritee. While he was in the neighbourhood of Santee, 
 Greene hung in one day eight soldiers, who had deserted 
 from his army. For three months afterwards no instance 
 of desertion took place. A number of forts and garrisons 
 in South Carolina now fell into his hands. He commenc- 
 ed the seige of seventy -six on the twenty-second of May, 
 but was obliged, on the approach of lord Rawdon, in June, 
 to raise the siege. The army, which had been highly en- 
 couraged by the late success,\vasnow reduced to the mel- 
 ancholy necessity of retreating to the extremity of the 
 state. The American commander was advised to retire 
 to Virginia 5 but to suggestions of this kind, he replied, 
 I will recover South Carolina, or die in the attempt.' 7 
 Waiting till the British forces were divided, he faced 
 about, and lord Rawdon was pursued in his turn, and was 
 offered battle after he reached his encampment at Bange- 
 burgh, but he declined it. On the eighth of September, 
 Greene covered himself with glory, by the victory at the 
 Eutaw Springs, in which the British, who fought with the 
 utmost bravery, lost eleven hundred men, and the Amer- 
 icans about half that number. For his good conduct in 
 this action, congress presented him with a British stand- 
 ard and a golden medal. This engagement may be con- 
 sidered as closing the revolutionary war in South Caroli- 
 na. During the remainder of his command, he had to 
 struggle with the greatest difficulties from the want of 
 supplies for his troops. Strong symptoms of mutiny ap- 
 peared, but his firmness and decision completely quelled 
 it. 
 
 After the conclusion of the way, he returned to Rhode 
 Island, where the greatest dissensions prevailed, and his 
 endeavours to restore harmony were attended with suc- 
 cess. In October, 1785 ? he sailed to Gecr^h; where he 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL. 141 
 
 had a considerable estate, not far from Savannah. Here 
 he passed his time as a private citizen, occupied by do- 
 mestic concerns. \Vhile walking without an umbrella, 
 the intense rays of the sun overpowered him and occasion- 
 ed an inflamation of the brain, of which he died, June 
 1 9th 1786, in the forty -seventh year of his age. In Au- 
 gust following, congress ordered.a monument to be erect- 
 ed to his memory at the seat of the federal government. 
 
 General Greene possessed a humane and benevolent 
 disposition, and, abhoring the cruelties and excesses, of 
 which partizans of both sides were guilty, he uniformly 
 inculcated a spirit of moderation. Yet he was resolutely 
 severe, when the preservation of discipline rendered se- 
 verity necessary. In the campaign of 178 1 , lie displayed 
 the prudence, the military skill, the unshaken firmness, 
 and the daring courage, which are seldom combined, and 
 which place him in the first rank of American officers. 
 His judgement was correct, and his self-possession never 
 once forsook him. In one of his letters he says, that he 
 \vas seven months in the field without taking oft* his 
 clothes for a single night. It is thought that he was the 
 most endeared to the commander in chief of all his asso- 
 ciates in arms. Washington often lamented his death 
 with the keenest sorrow. Ibid. 
 
 ALEXANDER HAMILTON, 
 
 FIRST Secretary of the treasury of the United States, 
 was a native of the island of St. -Croix, and was born in 
 1 757. His father was the younger son of an English fam- 
 ily, and his mother was an American. At the age of six- 
 teen, he accompanied his mother to New-YorkJand en- 
 tered a student of Columbia college, in which he continu- 
 ed about three yeara. While a member of this institution, 
 the first buddings of his intellect, gave presages of his fu- 
 ture eminence. .The contest with Great Britain called 
 forth the first talents on each side, and his juvenile pen 
 asserted the claims of the colonies against very respecta- 
 ble writers. His papers exhibited such evidence of intel- 
 lect and wisdom, that they were ascribed to Mr. Jay, and 
 when the truth was discovered, America saw, with astan-- 
 
1*2 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 ishment, a lad of seventeen in the list of her able advo- 
 cates. At the age of eighteen, he entered the American 
 army, as an officer of artillery. The first sound of war 
 awakened his martial spirit, and, as a soldier, lie soon con- 
 ciliated the regard of his brethren in a'rms. It was not 
 long before he attracted the notice of Washington, who 
 in 1777, selected him as an aid, with the rank of lieuten- 
 ant colonel. His sound understanding, comprehensive 
 views) application and promptitude, soon gained him the 
 entire confidence of his patron. In such a school, it was 
 impossible but that his genius should be nourished. By 
 his intercourse with Washington, by surveying his plans, 
 observing his consummate prudence, and by a minute in- 
 spection of the springs of national operations, he became 
 fitted for command. Throughout the campaign, which 
 terminated in the capture of lord Cornwallis, colonel 
 Hamilton commanded a battallion of light infantry. At 
 the siege of York, in 1781, when the second parallel was 
 opened, two redoubts, which flanked it, and were advanc- 
 ed three hundred yards in front of the British works, ve- 
 ry much annoyed the men in the trenches. It was re- 
 solved to possess them, and to prevent jealousies, the at- 
 tack of the one was committed to the Americans, and of 
 the other to the French. The detachment of the Amer- 
 icans was commanded by the Marquis de la Fayette ; 
 and colonel Hamilton, at his own earnest request, led the 
 advanced corps, consisting of two battallions. Towards 
 the close of the day, on the fourteenth of October, the 
 troops rushed to the charge without firing a single gun. 
 The works were assaulted with irresistable impetuosity, 
 and carried with but little loss. Eight of the enemy fell 
 in the action ; but. notwithstanding the irritation lately 
 produced by the infamous slaughter in fort Griswold, not 
 a man was killed who ceased to resist. 
 
 Soon after the capture of Cornwallis, Hamilton sheath- 
 ed his sword, and, being incumbered with a family, and 
 destitute of funds, at the age of twenty -five, applied to 
 the study of the law. In this profession he soon rose to 
 distinction. But his private pursuits could not detach 
 him from regard to the public welfare. The violence 
 which was meditated against the property and persons of 
 all who remained in the city during the war, called forth 
 his generous exertions, and by the aid of governor Clinton s 
 the faithless and revengeful scheme was defeated. In a 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL, tt3 
 
 few years, a more important affair demanded his talents. 
 After witnessing the debility of the confederation, he was 
 fully impressed with the necessity of an efficient general 
 government, and he was appointed, in 1778, a member of 
 the federal convention for New -York. He assisted in 
 forming the constitution of our country. It did not, in- 
 deed, completely meet his wishes. He was afraid that it 
 did not contain sufficient means of strength for its own 
 preservation, and that, in consequence, we should share 
 the fate of many other republics, and pass through anarchy 
 to despotism. He was in favour of a more permanent 
 executive and senate. He wished for a strong govern- 
 ment, which would not be shaken by the conflict of differ- 
 ent interests, through an extensive territory, and which 
 should be adequate to all the forms of national exigency* 
 He was apprehensive, that the increased wealth and pop- 
 ulation of the states, would lead to encroachments on the 
 union ; and he anticipated the day, when the general gov- 
 ernment, unable to support itself, would tall. These 
 were his views and feelings, and he freely expressed them. 
 But the patriotism of Hamilton was not of that kind, 
 which yields every thing, because it cannot accomplish 
 all that it desires. Believing the constitution to be in- 
 comparably superior to the old confederation, he exerted 
 all his talents in its support, though it did not rise to his 
 conception of a perfect system. By his pen, in the pa- 
 papers signed Publius, and by his voice in the council of 
 New-York, he contributed much to its adoption. When 
 the government was organized in 1789, Washington 
 placed him at the head of the treasury. In the new 
 demands, which were now made upon his talents, the re- 
 sources of his mind did not fail him. In his reports he 
 proposed plans for funding the debt of the union, and for 
 assuming the debts of the respective states ; for establish- 
 ing a bank and mint, and for procuring a revenue. He 
 wished to redeem the reputation of his country, by satis- 
 fying her creditors ; and to combine with the government 
 such a monied interest, as might facilitate its operations. 
 But, while he opened sources of wealth to thousands, by 
 establishing public credit, and thus restoring the public 
 paper to its original value, he did not enrich himself. 
 He did not take advantage of his situation, nor improve 
 the opportunity he enjoyed for acquiring a fortune. 
 Though accused of amassing wealth, he did vest a dollar 
 
14* HE PUBLIC AN COMPILER. 
 
 in the public funds/ He was exquisitly delicate in re- 
 gard to his official character, being determined, if possi- 
 ble, to prevent the impeachment of his motives, and pre- 
 serve his integrity and good name unimpaired. 
 
 In June, 1804, colonel Burr, vice-president of the 
 United States, addressed a letter to general Hamilton, 
 requiring his acknowledgment or denial of the use of an 
 expression, derogatory to the honour of the former. 
 This demand was deemed inadmissable; and a duel was 
 the consequence. After the close of the circuit court, 
 the parties met at Hoboken. on the morning of Wednes- 
 day, July the eleventh, and Hamilton fell on the same 
 spot, where his son, a few years before, had fallen, in 
 obedience to the same principle of honour, and in the 
 same violation of the laws of God and of man. He was 
 carried into the city, and being desirous of receiving 
 the sacrament of the Lord's supper, he immediately sent 
 for the Rev. Dr. Mason. As the principles of his church 
 prohibited him from administering the ordinance in pri- 
 vate, this minister of the gospel informed general Hamil- 
 ton, that the sacrament was an exhibition and pledge of 
 the mercies which the Son of God had purchased, and 
 that the absence of the sign did not exclude from the 
 mercies signified, which were accessible to him by faith 
 in their gracious Author. He replied " I am aware of 
 that. It is only as a sign that I wanted it." In the con- 
 versation which ensued, he disavowed all intention of 
 taking the life of colonel Burr, and declared his abhor- 
 rence of the whole transaction. When the sin of which 
 he had been guilty was intimated to him, he assented 
 with strong emotion ; and when the infinite merit of the 
 Redeemer, as the propitiation for sin, the sole ground of 
 our acceptance with God, was suggested, he said with 
 emphasis : " I have a tender reliance on the mercies of 
 the Almighty, through the merits of the Lord Jesus 
 Christ." The Rev. Bishop Moore was afterwards sent 
 for, and, after making suitable inquiries of the penitence 
 and faith of general Hamilton, and receiving his assur- 
 ance that he would never again, if restored to health, be 
 engaged in a similar transaction, but would employ all 
 his influence in society to discountenance the barbarous 
 custom, administered to him the communion. After 
 this his mind was composed. He expired about two 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL. 
 
 o'clock, on Thursday, July 12, 1804, aged about forty- 
 seven years. 
 
 General Hamilton possessed very uncommon powers of 
 mind. To whatever subject he directed his attention.^. 
 lie was able to grasp it; and in whatever lie engaged, in 
 that he excelled. So stupendous were his talent^, and 
 so patient was his industry, that no investigation present- 
 ed difficulties which he could not conquer. In the class 
 of men of intellect he held the first rank. His eloquence 
 was of the most interesting kind ; and when new excr- 
 Hons were required, he rose in new strength, and touch- 
 ing at his pleasure every string of pity or terror, of indig- 
 nation or grief, he benHhe passions of others to his pur* 
 pose. At the bar he gained the first eminence. Ibid 
 
 WILLIAM PENN, 
 
 AN eminent writer among the Quakers, and the plant- 
 er and legislator of Pennsylvania, was born at London, 
 the 14th of October, 1644. In 1660, he was entered a gen- 
 tleman commoner of Christ Church, in Oxford, where, hav- 
 ing before received an impression from the preaching of 
 one Thomas Loe, a Quaker, withdrew, with sone other 
 students, from the national worship, and held private 
 meetings, for prayer and preaching. This gave great of- 
 fence to the heads of the colleges, and Mr. Penn ? though 
 but 16 years of age, was fined for non-conformity, and 
 still continuing his religious exercises, was at length ex- 
 pelled his college. Upon his return home, he was, for 
 the same reason, treated with great severity by his fa- 
 ther, who at last turned him out of doors : but his resent- 
 ment abating, he sent him to France, with some persons 
 of quality, where he continued a considerable time, and 
 returned not only well skilled in the French language, 
 but a polite and accomplished gentleman. About the 
 year 1666, his father committed to his care a considera- 
 ble estate in Ireland ; but being found in one of the 
 Quaker meetings in Cork, he with many others, was 
 thrown into prison, but on his writing to the earl of Or- 
 rery, was soon discharged. However his father being in- 
 formed of this, sent for him to England, and finding him 
 N 
 
REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 inflexible to all his arguments, turned him out of doors a 
 second time. About 1668, he became a public preacher 
 among the Quakers, and that year was committed close 
 prisoner to the Tower, where he wrote several treatises, 
 and being discharged after seven months imprisonment, 
 v.erit tcTireland, where he also preached amongst the 
 Quakers. Returning to England, he was, in 1670, com- 
 mitted to Newgate, for preaching in Grace Church-Street 
 meeting-house, London, but being tried at the sessions - 
 house in the Old Bailey, he was acquitted. On the 16th 
 of September, the same year, his father, who was then 
 perfectly reconciled to him, died, and left him a plenti- 
 ful fortune ; but his persecutions were not yet at an end ; 
 for the 5th of February, 167 1, he was committed to New- 
 gate, for preaching at a meeting in Wheeler-Street, Lon- 
 don, and during his imprisonment, which lasted six 
 months, he wrote several treatises. After his discharge, 
 he went into Holland aad Germany; and, in 1672, mar- 
 ried, and settled with his family at Rick mans worth, in 
 Hart ford shire. The same year he published several 
 pieces, and particularly one against lleeve and Mug- 
 gleton. 
 
 In 1677, he 'again travelled into Holland and Ger- 
 many, to propagate his opinions. In 1681, Charles II. 
 in consideration of the several debts due from the crown, 
 to Mr. Penn's family, granted him and his heirs the pro- 
 vince lying on the west side of the river Delaware, whic-i 
 from tfience obtained the name of Pennsylvania ; upon 
 "vhichMr. Penn published a brief account of that pro- 
 vince, with the kings patent, and proposing an easy pur- 
 chase of lands, and good terms of settlement, for such as 
 were inclined to remove thither ; many came over, when 
 he appointed commissioners to purchase the land he had 
 received from the king, of the native Indians, and con- 
 cluded a peace with them. The city of Philadelphia was 
 planned and built; and he himself drew up the funda- 
 mental constitutions of Pennsylvania in twenty-four ar- 
 ticles. In 1681 he was elected a member of the Royal 
 Society; and the next year embarked for Pennsylvania, 
 \vhere he continued about two years, and then returned 
 to England. Upon the accession of kin; James to the 
 throne, he was taken into great favour with his majesty, 
 which exposed him to the imputation of being a papist ; 
 and Dr. Tillotson, among others, having entertained a 
 
B1C GRAPHICAL. 147 
 
 suspicion of him, Mr. Penn, fully vindicated himself > 
 however, upon the revolution, he was examined before 
 the council, in December, 1688, and obliged to give se- 
 curity on the first day of term, which was afterwards 
 continued. He was several times discharged and ex- 
 amined ; and at length warrants being issued out against 
 him, he was obliged to conceal himself for two or three 
 years ; however, being at last permitted to appear before 
 the king and council, he represented his innocence so ef- 
 fectually that he was acquitted. 
 
 In 1 699, he, with his wife and family, embarked for 
 Pennsylvania, whence he returned itf 1701, in order to 
 vindicate his proprietary right, which was attacked dur- 
 ing his absence. 
 
 Upon queen Anne's accession to the crown, he was in 
 great favour with her ; but, in 1707, he was involved in a 
 law-suit with the executors of a person who had formerly 
 been his steward : but though he was generally thought 
 to be aggrieved, the court ot chancery did not think pro- 
 per to relieve him, in consequence of which, he was 
 obliged to live within the rules of the fleet for several 
 months, till the matter in dispute w r as accommodated. 
 He died, at his seat, at Troyford, in Buckinghamshire, 
 30th of July, 1718. in the 74th year of his age. Mr. 
 Penn's generous and pacific spirit, joined to his great 
 abilities, deservedly procured him respect from the most 
 distinguished persons, and made him universally beloved, 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Sketch of the life of Major General Arthur St. Clair y 
 by Gen. Wilkinson. 
 
 I REMAINED with the brigade on Mount Independence, 
 until the beginning of September, when brigadier-general 
 de Roche Fernioy took command of it, and I was trans- 
 ferred to that able, but unfortunate officer. General St. 
 Clair, to whose instruction I am much indebted for my 
 principles of service and knowledge of details. He hai 
 Deen introduced at an early age, into the Royal American 
 or 60th British regiment, and during the seven years* 
 war, had seen a great deal of active service under di*- 
 
148 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 tinrguished commanders. He served at the taking of 
 Louisburg under General Amherst, and the next cam- 
 paign carried a pair of colours on the plains of Abraham, 
 the day General Wolfe bartered his life for deathless re- 
 nown. The native ingenuity, liberal education, literary 
 taste, and polished address of Ensign St. Clair, could not 
 escape the observation of the conqueror of Canada, and 
 his able coadjutors^ Siorcton, Townshend, and Murray; 
 and the circumstance of their attentions, enlarged his 
 sphere of information, and gave scope to his genius and 
 dispositions. After the peace of ? 6S, he sold out and en- 
 tered into trade, for which the generosity of his nature 
 utterly disqualified him ; he, of course, soon became dis- 
 gusted with a profitless pursuit, and, having married, after 
 several vicissitudes of fortune, he located himself in Li- 
 gonier valley, west of the Allegheny mountain, and near 
 the ancient route from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh. In 
 this situation the American revolution found him, sur- 
 rounded by a rising family, in the enjoyment of ease and 
 independence, with the fairest prospects of affluent for- 
 tune, the foundation of which had been already establish- 
 ed by his diligence, industry, and enterprize. From this 
 peaceful abode, these sweet domestic enjoyments, and 
 the flattering prospects which accompanied them, he w as 
 drawn by the claims of a troubled country. A man 
 known to have been a military officer, and distinguished 
 for knowledge and integrity, could not, in those times, be 
 concealed even by his favourite mountains, and therefore, 
 without application or expectation on his part, he receiv- 
 ed the commission of a colonel in the month of December, 
 1775, t(joether with a letter from President Hancoc '*, 
 pressing him to repair immediately to Philadelphia. He 
 obeyed the summons, and took lea*ve riot only of his wife 
 and children, but in effect, of his fortune, to embark in 
 the cause of liberty and the united colonies. In six 
 weeks he completed the levy of a regiment of 750 men 5 
 six companies of which marched in time to join our troops 
 before Quebec; he followed with the other four in May. 
 and after the unlucky affair at Three Rivers, by his 
 counsel to General Sullivan at Sorel, he fcaved the army 
 ve had in Canada. Subsequently to these events, he 
 rose to the rank of major -general, and was honoured with 
 the confidence and friendship of General Washington to 
 ay of his death. At Trenton he saved the army by 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL. U9- 
 
 rue flank movement to the right, which he recommended 
 in council on the night of the second January, 1777; and 
 at Ticonderoga, in the same year, I beheld him rising 
 superior to the selfish obligations which fetter mankind ; 
 and, by preferring the safety of the army confided to his 
 charge, to the bloody honours which were within his reach, 
 he voluntarily plunged himself into the gulph of popular 
 detraction. 'Well do I remember his reply to me, when, 
 deploring the necessity of our retreat: " It must be so, 
 my boy. 'Tis not in mortals to command success, but 
 weHl do more, ive will deserve it. I know I could save 
 my character by sacrificing the army ; but were I to do 
 so, I should forfeit that which the world could not restore, 
 and which it cannot take away, the approbation of my 
 conscience" 
 
 DAVID KIT TENHOUSE, L. L. D. F. R. S. 
 
 AN eminent philosopher, was descended from ances- 
 tors who emigrated from Holland and was born in Ger- 
 mantown, Pennsylvania, April 8, 1735. The early part 
 of his life was spent in agricultural employments ; and his 
 plough, the fences, and even the stones of the field were 
 marked with figures, which denoted a talent for mathe- 
 matical studies. A delicate constitution rendering him 
 unfit for the labours of husbandry, he devoted himself to 
 the trade of a clock and mathematical-instrument-maker. 
 In these arts he was his own instructor. During his re- 
 sidence with his father in the country, he made himself 
 master of Newton's Principia, which he read in the En- 
 glish translation of Mr. Mott. Here also he became ac- 
 quainted with fluxions, of which sublime invention, he 
 believed himself, for some time, the first author. He did 
 not know for some years afterwards, that a contest had 
 been carried on, between Newton and Leibnitz, for the 
 honour of that great discovery. At the age of t'venty- 
 three, without education and without advantages, he be- 
 came the rival of the two greatest mathematicians in 
 Europe. 
 
 In his retired situation, while working at his trade, he 
 planned and executed an orrery, by which he represerit- 
 
150- REPUBLIC VN COMPILER, 
 
 ed the revolutions of the heavenly bodies, more corn 
 pletely than ever before had been done. This master 
 piece of mechanism was purchased by the college of New 
 Jersey. A second was made by him after the same mo- 
 del, for the use of the college of Philadelphia, where it has 
 commanded, for many years, the admiration of the inge- 
 nious and learned. In 1770, he was induced, by the 
 urgent request of some friends, who knew his merit, to 
 exchange his beloved retirement for a residence in Phila- 
 delphia. 
 
 In this city he continued his employment for several 
 years; and his clocks had a high reputation, ad his 
 mathematical instruments were thought superior to those 
 Imported from Europe. His first communication to the 
 Philosophical Society of Philadelphia, of which he was 
 elected a member, was a calculation of the transit of 
 Venus, as it was to happen June 3, 1769. He was one 
 of those appointed to observe it in the township of Norri- 
 ton. This phenomenon had never been seen but twice' 
 before, by any inhabitants of our earth, and would never 
 be seen again by any person then living. The day ar- 
 lived, and there was no cloud in the horizon ; the observ- 
 ers, in silent and trembling anxiety, waited for the pre- 
 dicted moment of observation ; it carrte, and in the in- 
 stant of contact between the planet and sun, an emotion 
 of joy, so powerful, was excited in the breast of Mr. Hit- 
 tenhouse, that he fainted. On the ninth of November 
 following, he observed the transit of Mercury. An ac- 
 count of these observations was published in the trans- 
 actions of the Society. In 1775 he was appointed one 
 of the commissioners, for settling a territorial dispute 
 between Pennsylvania and Virginia; and. to his talents, 
 moderation, and firmness, was ascribed, in a great de- 
 gree, its satisfactory adjustment, in 1 785. He assisted in 
 determining the western limits of Pennsylvania, in 1784? 
 and the northern line of the same state, in 1786. He 
 ^,vas also called upon to assist in fixing the boundary line 
 between Massachusetts and New York, in 1787. In his 
 excursions through the wilderness, he carried with him 
 his habits of inquiry and observation. Nothing in our 
 mountains, soils, rivers, and springs, escaped his notice. 
 But the only records of what he collected are private let- 
 ters and the memories of his friends. In 1791, he was 
 chosen president of the Philosophical Society, as succes- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL. 151 
 
 gor to Br. Franklin, and was annually re-elected till his 
 death. His unassuming dignity opened to him respect. 
 Soon after he accepted the president's chair, lie made the 
 Society a donation of three hundred pounds. He held 
 the office of treasurer of Pennsylvania, by an annual and 
 unanimous vote of the legislature, from 1787 to 1789 a 
 In this period he declined purchasing the smallest por- 
 tion of the public debt of the state, lest his integrity 
 should be impeached. In 1792, he accepted the office of 
 director of the mint of the United States ; but his ill state 
 of health induced him to resign it in 1795. When the 
 solitude of his study was rendered less agreeable by hi* 
 indisposition than in former years, he passed his even- 
 ings in reading or conversing with his wife and daughters. 
 In his last illness, which was acute and short, he retain- 
 ed the usual patience and benevolence of his temper. 
 He died June 26th, 179G, in the sixty -fifth year of 
 his age, in the full belief of the Christian religion, and in 
 the anticipation of clearer discoveries of the perfections 
 of God, in the eternal world. He was a man oi exten- 
 sive knowledge. Being intimately acquainted with the 
 French, German, and Dutch languages, he derived from 
 them the discoveries of foreign nations. His mind was 
 the repository of all ages and countries. He did not en- 
 joy, indeed, the advantages of a public education, but his 
 mind was not shackled by its forms, nor interrupted in 
 its pursuit of greater objects, by the claims of subjects 
 minute and trifling. In his political sentiments he was a 
 republican; he was taught by his father to admire an 
 elective and representative government: he early pre- 
 dicted the immense increase of talents and knowledge, 
 which would be infused into the American minds, by 
 our republican institutions; and he anticipated the bless- 
 ed effects of our revolution, in sowing the seeds of a new 
 order of things in other parts of the world. He believed 
 political, as well as moral evil, to be intruders in- 
 to the society of man. In the more limited circles of 
 private life, he Commanded esteem and affection. His 
 house and manner of living exhibited the taste of a philo- 
 sopher, the simplicity of a republican, and the temper of 
 a Christian. His researches into natural philosophy gave 
 him such ideas of the Divine perfections, for his mind was 
 not pre-occupied in early life with the fictions of ancient 
 poets and the vices of the heathen gods, But he did not 
 
1 50 HEP JB LIC AN COMPILER. 
 
 confine himself to the instructions of nature ; he believed 
 the Christian revelation. He observed, as an argument 
 in favour of its truth, that the miracles of our Saviour 
 differed from all pretended miracles in being entirely of 
 a benevolent nature. The testimony of a man, possessed 
 of so exalted an understanding, outweighs the declara- 
 tions of thousands. He died, believing in a life to come * 7 
 and his body was interred beneath his observatory, near 
 his house. He published an oration delivered before the 
 Philosophical Society, 1775, the subject of which is the 
 history of astronomy ; and a few memoirs or astronomi- 
 cal and mathematical subjects, in the first four volumes 
 of the transactions of the Society. Ibid. 
 
 JOHN RUTLEDGE 
 
 WAS born in the year 1759, and was the son of Dr. 
 John Rutledge, who, with his brother Andrew, both na 
 tives of Ireland, arrived in Carolina about the year 1735, 
 and there practised, the one law and the other physic, 
 Dr. Rutledge married Miss Hext, who in the 15th year 
 of her age gave birth to the subject of this memoir. At 
 a very early period she was left a widow, and added one 
 to the many examples of illustrious matrons who, devot- 
 ing their whole attention to their orphan offspring, have 
 brought forward distinguished ornaments of human na- 
 ture. 
 
 The early education of John Rutledge was conducted 
 by David Rhind, an excellent classical scholar, and one 
 of the most successful of the early instructors of youth 
 in Carolina. After he had made considerable progress 
 n the latin and greek classics, he entered on the study 
 of law with James Parsons, and was afterwards entered 
 a student in the temple, and proceeding barrister, came 
 out to Charleston, and commenced the practice of law 
 in 1761. One of the first causes in which he engaged, 
 was an action for breach of a promise cf marriage. The 
 subject was interesting, and gave an excellent opportu- 
 nity for displaying his talents. It was improved? and 
 his eloquence astonished all who heard him, 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL. 153 
 
 Instead of rising by degrees to the head of his profes- 
 sion, he burst forth at once the able lawyer and accom- 
 plished oratdr. Business flowed in upon him. He was 
 employed in the most difficult causes, and retained with 
 the largest fees that were usually given. The client in 
 whose service he engaged, was supposed to be in a fair 
 way of gaining his cause. He was but a short time in 
 practice, when that cloud began to lower which, in the 
 course often or twelve years, burst forth in a revolution- 
 ary storm. In the year 1764, Governor Boone refused 
 to administer to Christopher Gadsden the oaths which 
 the law required everv person returned as a member in 
 the commons house of assembly to take before he enter- 
 ed on his legislative functions. This kindled the indig- 
 nation of the house, as being an interference with their 
 constitutional privileges, as the sole judges of the quali- 
 fications of their own members. In rousing the assem- 
 bly and the people to resist all interferences of the royal 
 governors, in deciding who should, or who should not be 
 members of the commons house of assembly, John Rut- 
 ledge kindled a spark which has never since been extin- 
 guished. 
 
 This controversy was scarcely ended when the memo- 
 rable stamp act was passed. The British colonies were 
 then detached from each other, and had never acted in 
 concert. A proposition was made by the assembly of 
 Massachusetts to the different provincial assemblies for 
 appointing committees from each to meet in congress as 
 it rallying point of union. To this novel project, many 
 objections were made } some doubted its legality others 
 its expedience, and most its efficiency. To remove ob- 
 jections to conciliate opposition, and to gain the hearty 
 concurrence of the assembly and the people, was no easy 
 matter. In accomplishing these objects, the abilities of 
 John Rutledge were successfully exerted. Objections 
 varnishedprejudices gave way before his eloquence. 
 The public mind was illuminated, and a more correct 
 mode of thinking took place. A vote for appointing dep- 
 uties to a continental congress was carried in South-Car- 
 olina at an early day, and before it had been agreed to 
 by the neighboring states. Christopher Gadsden, Thorn- 
 as Lynch and John Rutledge were appointed. The last 
 was the youngest, and had very lately began to tread the 
 threshold of manhood. When this first congress met in 
 
154 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 New-York in 1765, the members of the distant provinces 
 were surprised at the eloquence of the young member 
 from Carolina. In the means of education, that pro- 
 vince was far behind those to the northward. Of it little 
 more was known or believed than that it produced rice 
 and indigo, and contained a large proportion of slaves, 
 and a handful of free men, and that most of the latter 
 were strangers to vigorous health all self-indulgent, and 
 none accustomed to active exertions either of mind or 
 body. From such a province, nothing great was expect- 
 ed. A respectable committee of its assembly, and the 
 distinguished abilities of one of them, who was among 
 the youngest members of the congress, produced at this 
 first general meeting of the colonies, more favorable ideas 
 of South-Carolina than had hitherto prevailed. 
 
 After the repeal of the stamp act, John Rutledge was 
 for some years no further engaged in politics than as a 
 lawyer and a member of the provincial legislature. In 
 both capacities he was admired as a public speaker. His 
 ideas were clear and strong his utterance rapid but dis- 
 tinct his voice, action, and energetic manner of speak- 
 ing, forcibly impressed his sentiments on the minds and 
 hearts of all who heard him. At reply he was quick 
 instantly comprehended the force of an objection and 
 saw at once the best mode of weakening or repelling it. 
 He successfully used both argument and wit for invalid- 
 ating the observations of his adversary : by the former he 
 destroyed or weakened their force ; by the latter he plac- 
 ed them in so ludicrous a point of light that it often con- 
 vinced, and scarcely ever failed of conciliating and pleas- 
 ing his hearers. Many were the triumphs of his elo- 
 quence at the bar and in the legislature ; and in the for- 
 mer case, probably more than strict impartial justice 
 would sanction ; for judges and juries, counsel and audi- 
 ence, hung on his accents. 
 
 In or after the year 1774, a new and more extensive 
 fleld was opened before him. When news of the Boston 
 port-bill reached Charleston, a general meeting of the 
 inhabitants was called by expresses sent over the state. 
 After the proceedings of the British parliament were 
 stated to this convention of the province, sundry propo- 
 sitions were offered for consideration. To the appoint- 
 ment of delegates for a general congress, no objec- 
 tion was made. But this was followed by propositions 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL. 152 
 
 for instructing them how far they might go in pledging 
 the province to support the Bostonians. Such a discord- 
 ance of opinion was discovered as filled the minds of the 
 friends of liberty with apprehensions that the meeting 
 would prove abortive. In this crisis, John Rutledge, in 
 a most eloquent speech, advocated a motion which he 
 brought forward to give no instructions whatever; but to 
 invest the men of their choice with full authority to con- 
 cur in any measure they thought best; and to pledge the 
 people of South -Carolina to abide by whatever they would 
 agree to. He demonstrated that any thing less than pie- 
 nary discretion to this extent, would be unequal to the 
 crisis. To those who, after stating the dangers of such 
 extensive powers, begged to be informed what must be 
 clone in case the delegates made a bad use of their un- 
 limited authority to pledge the state to any extent, a la- 
 conic answer was returned: "Hang them." An im- 
 pression was made on the multitude. Their minds were 
 subdued by the decision of the proposed measure, and 
 the energy with which it was supported. On that day, 
 and by this vote, the revolution was virtually accomplish- 
 ed. By it the people of Carolina determined to be free, 
 deliberately invested five men of their choice as their 
 representatives, with full powers to act for them, and to 
 take charge of their political interests. Royal govern- 
 ment received a mortal wound, and the representative 
 system was planted in its stead. The former lingered 
 for a few months, and then expired. The latter instant- 
 ly took root, and has ever since continued to grow and 
 flourish. An election immediately followed. The mov- 
 er of this spirited resolution, his brother Edward Rut- 
 ledge, Christopher Gadsden, Thomas Lynch and Henry 
 Middleto^ were elected. Furnished with such ample 
 powers, tney took their seats in Congress under great 
 advantages, and by their conduct, justified the confid- 
 ence reposed in them. John Rutledge was continued 
 by successive elections a member of Congress till the 
 year 1776. He returned to Charleston in the begin- 
 ning of that year, and was elected president and com- 
 mander in chief of Carolina, in conformity to a constitu- 
 tion established by the people on the 26th of March, 
 1776. His duties henceforward were executive. He 
 employed himself diligently in arranging the new gov- 
 ernment, and particularly in preparing for the defence of 
 
150 REPUBLICAN COAfPILER. 
 
 the state against an expected invasion by the British , 
 Their attack on Sullivan's island, has been already relat- 
 ed. On this occasion, John Kutledge rendered his coun- 
 try important service. General Lee, who commanded 
 the continental troops, pronounced Sullivan's island to 
 be a "slaughter pen," and either gave orders or was dis- 
 posed to give orders for its evacuation. The zeal of the 
 state, and the energy of its chief magistrate, prevented 
 this measure. Carolina had raised troops before Con- 
 gress had declared independence. These remained sub- 
 ject to the authority of the state, and were at this early 
 period not immediately under the command of the offi- 
 cers of Congress. To prevent the evacuation of the fort 
 on Sullivan's island, John Rutledge, shortly before the 
 commencement of the action on the 28th of June, 1776, 
 wrote the following laconic note to general Moultrie, who 
 commanded on the island. "General Lee wishes you 
 to evacuate the fort. You will not without an order from 
 me. I would sooner cut off* my hand than write one. 
 
 J. RUTLEDGE." 
 
 The successful issue of the defence has been already 
 related. The consequences which would probably have 
 followed from the evacuation of the fort, may in some 
 measure be conjectured from the events of 1780; when 
 the British, grown wiser, passed the same fort without 
 engaging it. 
 
 John Rutledge continued in the office of president till 
 March, 1778, when he resigned. The occasion and rea- 
 sons of his resignation, are matters of general history. 
 This did not diminish his popularity. Of this, the legis- 
 lature gave the strongest proof; for the next election he 
 was reinstated in the executive authority of the state, 
 but under a new constitution, and with the name of gov- 
 ernor substituted in the place of president. He had 
 scarcely entered on the duties of this office, when the 
 country was^invaded by the British general Prevost. 
 The exertions made by governor Rutledge to repel this 
 vasion to defend Charleston in the years 1779, 
 1780 to procure the aid of Congress, and of the adja- 
 cent states to drive back the tide of British conquest 
 to recover the state and to revive its suspended legis- 
 lative and judicial powers, have all been particularly 
 related in their proper places. On the termination of 
 his executive duties in 1782, he was elected and served 
 
BIOGR \PIIICAL. 13f 
 
 *e u member of Congress till 1783. In this period, he 
 was called upon to perform an extraordinary duty. The 
 surrender of Lord Cornwallis in October, 1781, seemed 
 to paralyze the exertions of the states. Thinking the 
 war and all danger to be over, they no longer acted witli 
 suitable vigor. Congress, fearing that this languor would 
 encourage Great Britain to recommence the war, sent 
 deputations of their members to rouse the states to a sense 
 of their danger and duty. On the 22d of May, 1782, 
 Joan Kutledge and George Clymer were sent In this 
 character, and instructed " to make such representation 
 to the several states southward of Philadelphia, as were 
 best adapted to their respective circumstances, and the 
 present situation of public affairs; and as might induce 
 them to carry the requisitions of Congress into effect 
 with the greatest despatch." They were permitted to 
 make a personal address to the Virginia assembly. In 
 the execution of this duty, John Rutledge drew such a 
 picture of the United States, and of the danger to which 
 they were exposed, by the backwardness of the particu- 
 lar states to comply with the requisitions of Congress, as 
 produced a very happy effect. The addresser acquitted 
 himself with so much ability, that the Virginians, who, 
 not without reason, are proud of their statesmen and or- 
 ators, began to doubt whether their Patrick Henry, or 
 the Carolina Rutiedge was the most accomplished public 
 speaker. 
 
 Soon after the termination of Mr. Rutledjre's congres- 
 sional duties, he was appointed minister plenipotentia- 
 ry from the United States to Holland, but declined to 
 serve. 
 
 In the year 1784, he was elected a judge of the court 
 of chancery in South -Carolina. The events of the late 
 war, had greatly increased the necessity for such a court. 
 John Rutledge ^draughted the bill for organizing it on a 
 new plan, and in it introduced several of the provisions 
 which have been already mentioned, as improvements on 
 the English court of the same name. Me. Rutledge 's 
 public duties hitherto had been either legislative or exec- 
 utive They were henceforward judicial. If compari- 
 sons were proper, it might be added that he was most at 
 home in the latter. His knowledge of the law was pro- 
 found ; but the talent which pre-eminently fitted him for 
 dispensing justice, was a comprehensive mind, which 
 O 
 
i08 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 could at once take into view all the bearings and Dela- 
 tions of a complicated case. When the facts were all 
 fairly before him, he promptly knew what justice requir- 
 ed. The pleadings of lawyers gratified their clients, but 
 rarely cast any light on the subject, which had not alrea- 
 dy presented itself to his own view. Their declama- 
 tions and addresses to the passions, were lost on him. 
 Truth and justice were the pole-stars by which his de- 
 cisions were regulated, He speedily resolved the most 
 intricate cases pursued general principles through their 
 various modifications, till they led to the fountain of jus- 
 tice. His decrees were so luminous, and the grounds of 
 them so clearly expressed, that the defeated party was 
 generally satisfied. 
 
 In the year 1787 he was called upon to assist in fram- 
 ing a national constitution, in lieu of the advisory sys- 
 tem of the confederation. In arranging the provisions of 
 that bond of union, and in persuading his countrymen to 
 accept it, he was eminently usefuL As soan as it was in 
 operation, he was designated by president Washington, 
 as first associate judge of the supreme court of the Unit- 
 ed States. In this office, he served till 1791, when he 
 was elected chief justice of South-Carolina. He was af- 
 terwards appointed chief justice of the United States. 
 Thus, for more than thirty years, with few arid short in- 
 tervals, he served his country in one or other of the de- 
 partments of government; and in all, with fidelity and 
 ability In the friendly competitions of the states, for the 
 comparative merits of their respective statesmen and or- 
 ators, while Massachusetts boasts of her John Adams 
 Connecticut of her Ellsworth New-York of her Jay- 
 Pennsylvania of her Wilson Delaware of her Bayard 
 Virginia of her Henry South-Carolina rests her claims 
 on the talents and eloquence of John Rutledge. This 
 Illustrious man, closed his variegated career in the year 
 1800, Mamsei/s History of South-Carolina, 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL. ISO 
 
 Sketch of the lifeofCapi. Meriwtther Lewis, by Thomas 
 Jefferson, Esq. iaiz l're*>idmt oj'the United States. 
 
 MERIWETKER LEWIS, late governor of Louisiana, was 
 bora on tlie ei- ileeiitii of Adjust, 1774, near the town of 
 Charlottsviile, in the county of Albemaile, -in Virginia, of 
 one of the distinguished families of that state. John 
 Lewis, one of his father's uncles, was a member of the 
 king's council before the revolution. Another of their,. 
 Fielding Lewis, married a sister of general Washington- 
 His father, William Lewis, was the youngest of five sons 
 of col. Rebert Lewis, of Albemarle, the fourth of whom, 
 Charles, was one of the early patriots who stepped for- 
 ward in the commencement of the revolution, and com- 
 manded one of the regiments first raised in Virginia, 
 and placed on continental establishment. Happily situ- 
 ated at home, with a wife and young family, and a for- 
 tune placing him at ease, he left all to aid in the libera- 
 tion of his country from foreign usurpations, then first 
 unmasking their ultimate end and aim. His good sense, 
 integrity, bravery, enterprize, and remarkable bodily 
 powers, marked him as an officer of great promise ; but 
 fie unfortunately died early in the revolution. Nicholas 
 Lewis, the second of his father's brothers, commanded a 
 regiment of militia, in the successful expedition of 177G 9 
 against the Cherokee Indians ; who, seduced by the agents 
 of the British goverment, to take up the hatchet against 
 us, had committed great havoc on our southern frontier, 
 by murdering and scalping helpless women and children, 
 according to their cruel and cowardly principles of war- 
 fare. The chastisement they then received, closed the 
 history of their wars, and prepared them for receiving the 
 elements of civilization, which, zealously inculcated by 
 the present government of the United States, have ren- 
 dered them an industrious, peaceable and happy people* 
 This member of the family of Lewises, whose bravery 
 V.MS so usefully proved on this occasion, was endeared to 
 all who knew him by his inflexible probity, courteous dis- 
 
 -.Uion, benevolent heart, and engaging modesty and 
 manners. He was the umpire of all the private differen- 
 ces of his county selected always by both parties. He 
 was also the guardian of Merhvether Lewis, of whom we 
 are now to speak, and who had lost his father at an early 
 age. He continued for some years under the 
 
^0 REPUBLICAN COMPILED. 
 
 care of a tender mother, of the respectable family of Mod- 
 wethers, of the same county: and was remarkable, even 
 in infancy, for enterprize, boldness, and discretion. 
 When only eight years of age, he habitually went out, in 
 the dead of night, alone with his dogs, into the forest to 
 hunt the raccoon and opossum, which, seeking their food 
 in the night, can then only be taken. In this exercise, 
 no season or circumstance could obstruct his purpose 
 plunging through the winter's snows and frozen streams, 
 in pursuit of his object. At thirteen he was put to the 
 Latin school, and continued at that till eighteen, when he 
 returned to his mother, and entered on the cares of h s 
 farm; having, as well as a younger brother, been left by 
 his father with a competency for all the correct and 
 comfortable purposes of temperate life. His talent for 
 observation, which had led him to an accurate knowledge 
 of the plants and animals of his own country, would have 
 distinguished him as a farmer; but at the a*ge of twenty, 
 yielding to the ardor of youth* and a passion for more 
 dazzling pursuits, he engaged as a volunteer in the body 
 of militia which were called out by general Washington, 
 on occasion of the discontents produced by the excise 
 -taxes in the western parts of the United States ; and 
 from that situation he was removed to the regular service 
 as a lieutenant in the line. At twenty -three he was pro* 
 inoted to a captaincy ; and, always attracting the fist at- 
 tention when punctuality and fidelity were requisite, he 
 was appointed paymaster to his regiment. About this 
 time a circumstance occurred winch, leading to the trans- 
 action which is the subject of this book, will justify a re- 
 currence to its original idea. While I resided in Pari^ 
 John Ledyard,of Connecticut, arrived there, well known 
 in the United States for energy of body and mind. He 
 had accompanied captain Cook, on his voyage to the Pa- 
 cific ocean; and distinguished himself Qp that voyage by 
 his intrepidity. Being of a roaming disposition, he was 
 panting for some new enterprize. His immediate object 
 at Paris was to engage a mercantile company in the fur- 
 t ade of the western coast of America, in which, however, 
 lie failed. I then proposed to him to go by land to Kam?~ 
 chatka, cross in some of the Russian vessels to Nootk;, 
 Sound, fall down into the latitude of the Missouri, and 
 penetrate to, and through, that to the United States. 
 Ke eagerly seized the idea, and only asked to be assured 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL. irft 
 
 of the permission of the Russian government. I inter- 
 ested in obtaining that M. de Simoulin, minister pleni- 
 potentiary of the empress at Paris, but more especially 
 the barori de Grimm, minister plenipotentiary of Saxe- 
 Goth a, her more special agent and correspondent there 
 in matters not immediately diplomatic. Her permission 
 was obtained, and an assurance of protection, while the 
 course of the voyage should be through her terri- 
 tories. Ledyard set out from Paris, and arrived at St. 
 Petersburg!! after the empress had left that place to pass 
 the winter, I think, at Moscow, His finances not peiv 
 niitting him to make unnecessary stay at St. Petersburgh, 
 he left it, with a passport from one of the ministers ; and 
 at two hundred miles from Kamschatka was obliged to take 
 up his winter quarters. He was preparing, in the spring, 
 to resume his journey, when he was arrested by an offi- 
 cer of the empress, who by this time had changed her 
 mind, and forbidden his proceeding. He was put into a 
 close carriage, and conveyed day and night, without 
 ever stopping till they reached Poland ; when he was set 
 down and left to himself. The fatigue of this journey 
 broke down his constitution; and when he returned to 
 Paris his bodily health was much impaired. His mind, 
 however, remained firm, and he after this undertook his 
 journey to Egypt. I received a letter from him full of 
 sanguine hopes, dated at Cairo, the fifteenth of Novem- 
 ber, 1788, the day before he was to set out for the head^ 
 of the Nile ; on which day however, he ended his career 
 and life: and thus failed the first attempt to explore the 
 western part of our western continent. 
 
 In 1792, I proposed to the American Philosophical So- 
 ciety, that we should set on foot a subscription, to engage 
 some competent person to explore that region in the op- 
 posite direction; that is, by ascending the Missouri, 
 'crossing the Stony Mountains, and descending the near- 
 est river to the Pacific. Captain Lewis being then sta- 
 tioned at Charlottesville, on the recruiting service, warm- 
 ly solicited me to procure for him the execution of that 
 object. I told him it was proposed that the person en- 
 gaged should be attended by a single companion only, to 
 avoid exciting alarm among the Indians. This did not 
 deter him ; but Mr. Andrew Michaux, a professed botan- 
 ist, author of the Flora Boreali Americana, and of the 
 Historic De$ Chesnes d'Jlmerume, offering his services, 
 o 2* 
 
163 REPUBLICAN COM HI 
 
 they were accepted. He received his instructions, and 
 when he had reached Kentucky in the prosecution of his 
 journey, he was overtaken by an order from the minister 
 of France, then at Philadelphia, to relinquish the expedi- 
 tion, and to pursue elsewhere the botanical inquiries ou 
 which he was employed by that government : and thus 
 failed the second attempt for exploring that region. 
 
 In 1803, the act for establishing trading houses with 
 the Indian tribes being about to expire, some modifica- 
 tions of it were recommended to congress by a confiden- 
 tial message of January 18th, and an extension of its 
 views to tne Indians on the Missouri. In order to pre- 
 pare the way, the message proposed the sending an ex- 
 ploring party to trace the Missouri to its source, to cross 
 the Highlands, and follow the best water communication 
 which offered itself from thence to the Pacific ocean. 
 Congress approved the proposition, and voted a sum ot 
 money for carrying it into execution. Captain Lewis, 
 who had then been near two years with me as private se< 
 " retary, immediately renewed his solicitations to have the 
 direction of the party. I had now had opportunities of 
 knowing him intimately. Of courage undaunted ; pos- 
 sessing a firmness and perseverance of purpose, which 
 nothing but impossibilities could divert from its direc- 
 tion ; careful as a father of those committed tofih charge ? 
 yet steady in the maintenance of order and discipline ; 
 intimate with the Indian character, customs, and princi 
 pies; habituated to the hunting life; guarded, by exact 
 observation of the vegetables and animals of his own- 
 country, against losing time in the description of object* 
 already possesed ; honest, disinterested, liberal, of sound 
 understanding, and a fidelity to truth so scrupulous, that 
 whatever he should report would be as certain as if seen 
 by ourselves ; with all these qualifications, as if selected 
 and implanted by nature in one body for this express pur- 
 pose, I could have no hesitation in confiding the enter- 
 prize to him. To fill up the measure desired, he wanted 
 nothing but a greater familiarity with the technical lan- 
 guage of the natural sciences, and readiness in the astron- 
 omical observations necessary for the geography of his 
 route. To acquire these he repaired immediately to 
 Philadelphia, and placed himself under the tutorage of 
 the distinguished professors of that place, who with a 
 zeal and emulation, enkindled by an ardent devotion t>> 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL. ;:,'* 
 
 science, communicated to him freely the information re- 
 quisite for the purposes of his journey. AY bile attending 
 too, at Lancaster, the fabrication of the arms with which 
 he chose that his n;en should be provided, he had the ben- 
 efit of daily communication with Mr. Andrew Ellicot, 
 whose experience in astronomical observations, and prac- 
 tice of it in the woods, enabled him to apprize Captain 
 Lewis of the wants arid difficulties he would encounter, 
 and of the substitutes and resources offered by a woodland 
 and uninhabited country. 
 
 Deeming it necessary he should have some per- 
 son with him of known competence to the direction of 
 the enterprise, in the event of accident to himself, he pro- 
 posed William Clarke, brother of General Kogers Clarke, 
 who was approved, and, with that view, received a com- 
 mission of captain. 
 
 In April, 1803, a draught of his instructions was sent to 
 captain Lewis, and on the twentieth of June they were 
 signed in the following form.* 
 
 While these things were going on here, the country of 
 Louisiana, lately ceded by pain to France, had been the 
 subject of neoociation at Paris between us and this last 
 power; and had actually been transferred to us by trea- 
 ties executed at Paris on the thirteenth of April. This 
 information, received about the first day of July, increased 
 infinitely the interest we felt in the expeditwn, and less- 
 ened the apprehensions of interruption from other powers 
 Everj r thing in this quarter being now prepared, Captain 
 Lewis left Washington on the fifth of July, 1803, and 
 proceeded to Pittsburgh, where other articles had been 
 ordered to be provided for him. The men too were to be 
 selected from the military stations on the Ohio. Delays 
 of preparation, difficulties of navigation down the Ohio, 
 and other untoward obstructions, retarded his arrival at 
 Cahokia, until the season was so far advanced, as to ren- 
 der it prudent to suspend his entering the Missouri before 
 the ice should break up in the succeeding spring. 
 
 From tins time his journal, now published, will give the- 
 history of his journey to and from the Pacific ocean, until 
 Jiis return to St. Louis on the twenty -third of September, 
 J 806. Never did a similar event excite more joy through 
 the United States. The humblest of its citizens had ta- 
 
 * Instructions omitted. 
 
164 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 ken a lively interest in the issue of this journey, and look- 
 ed forward with impatience for the information it would 
 furnish. Their anxieties too for the safety of the corps 
 had been kept in a state of excitement by lugubrious ru- 
 mours, circulated from time to time on uncertain author- 
 ities, and uncontradicted by letters, or other direct in- 
 formation, from the time they had left the Mandan towns, 
 on their ascent up the river in April of the preceding 
 year, 1805, until their actual return to St. Louis. 
 
 It was the middle of February, 1807, before captain 
 Lewis, with his companion captain Clarke, reached the 
 city of Washington, where congress was then in session. 
 That body granted to the two chiefs and their followers, 
 the donation of lands which they had been encouraged to 
 expect in reward of their toil and dangers. Captain 
 Lewis was soon after appointed governor of Louisiana, 
 and captain Clarke a general of its militia, and agent of 
 the United States for Indian affairs in that .department. 
 
 A considerable time intervened before the governor's 
 arrival at St. Louis. He found the territory distracted 
 by feuds and contentions among the officers of the gov- 
 ernment, and the people themselves divided by these in- 
 to factions and parties. He determined at once to take 
 no side with either ; but to use every endeavour to conci- 
 liate and harmonize them. The even-handed justice he 
 administered to all soon established a respect for his per- 
 son and authority; and perseverance and time wore 
 down animosities and re-united the citizens again into one 
 family. 
 
 Governor Lewis had, from early life, been subject to 
 hypochondriac affections. It was a constitutional dispo- 
 sition in all the nearer branches of the family of his name, 
 and was more immediately inherited by him from his fa- 
 ther. They had not, however, been so strong as to give 
 uneasiness to his family. While he lived with me in 
 Washington, I observed at times sensible depressions of 
 mind : but knowing their constitutional source, I estimat- 
 ed their course by what I had seen in the family. During 
 his western expedition, the constant exertion which that 
 required of all the faculties of body and mind, suspended 
 these distressing affections ; but after his establishment 
 at St. Louis in sedentary occupations, they returned up- 
 on him with redoubled vigour, and began seriously to 
 alarm his friends. lie was in a paroxysm of one of these ? 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL. IG5 
 
 when liis affairs rendered it necessary for him to go to 
 Washington. He proceeded to the Chickasaw Bluffs, 
 -where he arrived on the sixteenth of September, U09, 
 with a view of continuing his journey thence by water. 
 Mr Neely, agent of the United States with the*Chicka~ 
 saw Indians, arriving there two days after, found him ex- 
 tremely indisposed, and betra>ing at times some symp- 
 toms of a derangement of mind. The rumours of a war 
 with England, and apprehensions that he might lose the 
 papers he was bringing on, among which were the vouch- 
 ers of his public accounts, and the journals and papers of 
 his western expedition, induced him to change his rnind r 
 and to take his course by land through the" Chickasaw 
 country. Although he appeared somewhat relieved Mr. 
 Neely kindly determined to accompany and watch over 
 him. Unfortunately at their encampment, after having 
 passed the Tennessee one day's journey, they lost twe 
 norses, which obliged Mr. Neely to halt for their recovery, 
 the governor proceeded, under a promise to wait for him 
 at the house of the first white inhabitant on his road. He 
 stopped at the house of a Mr. Grinder, who, not being at 
 home, his wife, alarmed at the symptoms oi derangement 
 she discovered, gave him up the house and retired to rest 
 herself in an out-house, the governor's and Neely's ser- 
 vants lodging in another. About three o'clock in the 
 night he did the deed which plunged his friends into af- 
 fliction, and deprived his country of one of her most valu- 
 ed citizens, whose valour and intelligence wouUl have 
 been now employed in avenging the wrongs of his country, 
 and in emulating by land, die splendid deeds which have 
 nonoured her arms on the ocean. It lost too to the na- 
 tion, the benefit of receiving from his own hands, the nar- 
 rative now offered them, of his sufferings and successes, 
 in endeavouring to extend for them the boundaries of sci- 
 ence, and to present to their knowledge that vast and fer- 
 tile country, which their sons are distined to Jill with arts, 
 with science, with freedom and happiness. 
 
 To this melancholy close of the life of one, .whom pos- 
 ierity will declare not to have lived in vain, I have, only 
 to add. that all the facts I have stated are either known 
 to myself, or communicated by his family or others, foi 
 whose truth I have no hesitation to make myself respon- 
 sible, LEWIS AND CLAHKE* 
 
4C6 IH3PUBLTCAN 'COMP1LLK- 
 
 FRANCIS MARION, 
 
 CORONET, in the regular service, and brigadier in" the 
 militia of -s>wtli Carolina, was born at his father's planta- 
 iio.i, ni tae vicinity of Georgetown, in South Carolina, 
 in year I75i>. His ancestors were Hugunots, who fled 
 IV -i France to British America, upon the revocation of 
 the edict of Nantz. 
 
 They settled on Cooper river, near Charleston, from 
 whence the father of general Marion moved to the neigh- 
 bourhood of Goergetown, -where he resided during his 
 life, occupied in the cultivation of his plantation. 
 
 He had five sons, of whom Francis was the youngest; 
 who, with his brothers, received only a common country 
 education. As his three eldest sons arrived at the age 
 of manhood, they successively obtained a portion of their 
 father's property, after which the old gentleman became 
 embarrassed in his affairs, and was, in consequence, de- 
 prived of the means of extending similar aid to his two 
 youngest sons. They had to depend upon their own ex- 
 ertions for support and comfort. 
 
 Francis, at the age of sixteen, entered on board a ves- 
 sel bound to the West Indies, with a determination to fit 
 himself for a seafaring life. On his outward passage, the 
 vessel was suddenly upset in a gale of wind, when the 
 crew took to their boat, without water or provisions, it 
 being impracticable to save any of either. A dog jump- 
 ed into the boat with the crew, and upon his flesh, eaten 
 raw, did the survivors of these unfortunate men subsist 
 for seven or eight days; in which period, several died of 
 hunger. 
 
 Amongj the few who escaped, was young Marion. Af- 
 ter reaching land, Marion relinquished his original plan 
 of life, and engaged in the labours of agriculture. In 
 this occupation^ he continued until 1759, when he be- 
 came a soldier, and was appointed a lieutenant in a com- 
 pany of volunteers, raised for an expedition against the 
 Cherokee Indians, commanded by captain William Moul- 
 trie, (since general Moultrie.) This expedition was con- 
 ducted by governor Lyttleton : it was followed in a year 
 or two afterwards, by another invasion of the Cherokee 
 country by colonel Grant, who served as major general 
 in our war, under Sir William Howe, 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL* 
 
 111 this last expedition, lieutenant Marion also served; 
 having been promoted to the rank of captain. 
 
 As soon as the war broke out between the colonies and 
 mother country, Marion was called to the command of as 
 company in the first corps raised by the state of South 
 Carolina. He was soon after promoted to a majority, 
 and served in that rank under colonel Moultrie, in his 
 intrepid defence of fort Moultrie against the combined 
 attack of Sir Henry Clinton and Sir H. Parker, on ther 
 nd of June, .770. He was afterwards placed at the 
 head of a regiment as lieutenant colonel commandant; 
 in which capacity he served i.uring the siege oi Charles- 
 ton; when, having fractured his leg by some accident, 
 he became incapable of military duty, and fortunately 
 for his country, escaped the captivity to which the garri- 
 son was, in the sequel, forced to submit. 
 
 When Charleston fell into the enemy's hands, lieu- 
 tenant colonel Marion abandoned his state, and took 
 shelter in North Carolina. The moment he recovered 
 from the fracture of his leg, he engaged in preparing the 
 means of annoying the enemy, then in the flood -tide of 
 prosperity. With sixteen men only, he crossed the San- 
 tee, and commenced that daring system df warfare which 
 has been related in the course of the preceding me- 
 moirs. 
 
 General Marion was in stature of the smallest size, 
 thin, as well as low. His visage was not pleasing, and 
 his manners not captivating. He was reserved and si- 
 lent, entering into conversation only when necessary, 
 and then with modesty and good sense. 
 
 He possessed a stropg mind, improved by its own re- 
 flections and observations, not by books or "travel. His 
 dress was like his address plain, regarding comfort and 
 decency ouiy In his meals, he was abstemious, eating 
 generally of one dish, and drinking water mostly. 
 
 He was sedulous and constant in his attention to the 
 duties of his station, to which every other consideration 
 yielded. Even the charms of the fair, like the luxuries 
 of the table, and the allurements of wealth, seemed to be 
 lost upon him. 
 
 The procurement of subsistence for his men, and the 
 continuance of annoyance to his enemy, engrossed his 
 entire mind. He was virtuous all over; never, even iu 
 manner, much less in reality, did he trench upon right. 
 
iGa REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 Beloved by his friends, and respected by his enemies, 
 he exhibited a luminous example of the beneficial effects 
 to be produced by an individual, who, with only small 
 means at his command, possesses a virtuous heart, a 
 strong head, and a mind devoted to the common good. 
 After the war, the general married, but had no issue. He 
 died in February, 1795, leaving behind him an indisput- 
 able title to the first rank among the patriots and soldiers 
 of our revolution. 
 
 Lee 9 8 Memoirs of the Southern 
 
EPISTOLARY. 
 
 ten. Washington's Letter, on his accepting the command 
 of the American army,in 1798. 
 
 Mount Vcrnon, Ja!y 13, 1703. 
 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 I had the honour, on the evening of the 1 1th instant, 
 to receive from the hand of the secretary of war, your 
 favour of the 7th, announcing that you had, with the ad- 
 vice and consent of the senate, appointed me " Lieuten- 
 ant general and commander in chief of all the armies 
 raised, or to be raised, for the service of the United 
 States." 
 
 I cannot express how greatly affected I am at this new 
 proof of public confidence, pad the highly flattering man- 
 ner in wnich you have been pleased to make the commu- 
 "nieation; at the same time, I must not conceal from you 
 rny earnest wish, that the choice had fallen upon a man, 
 less declined in years, and better qualified to encounter 
 the usual vicissitudes of war. 
 
 You know, Sir, what calculation I bad made relative to 
 fhe probable course of events, on my retiring from office, 
 and the determination I had consoled my self with, of 
 closing the remnant of my days in my present peaceful 
 abode ; you will, therefore, be at no loss to conceive anil 
 Appreciate the sensations I must have experienced, to 
 
? UEPUBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 bring my mind to any conclusion, that would pledge me, 
 at so late a. period of life, to leave scenes I sincerely love, 
 to enter upon the boundless field of public action, inces- 
 sant trouble, and high responsibility. 
 
 It was not possible for me to remain ignorant of, or in- 
 different to, recent transactions. 
 
 The conduct of the directory of France towards our 
 country 5 their insidious hostility to its government ; 
 their various practices to withdraw the affections of the 
 people from it ; the evident tendency of their acts, and 
 those of their agents, to countenance and invigorate op- 
 position ; their disregard of solemn treaties and the laws 
 of nations ; their war upon our defenceless commerce ; 
 their treatment of our ministers of -peace ; and their de- 
 mands amounting to tribute ; could not fail to excite in 
 me corresponding sentiments, with those my countrymen 
 have so generally expressed in their affectionate addresses 
 to you. Believe me, Sir, no one can more cordially ap- 
 prove of the wise and prudent measures of your admin- 
 istration. They ought to inspire universal confidence, 
 and will, uo doubt, combined with the state of things, call 
 from congress such laws and means as will enable you to 
 meet the~fu.ll force and extent of the crisis. 
 
 Satisfied, there fore, that you have sincerely wished and 
 endeavoured to avert war, and exhausted, to the last 
 drop, the cup of reconciliation, we can, with pure hearts, 
 appeal to heaven for the justice of our cause; and may 
 confidently trust the final result to that kind Providence, 
 who has heretofore, and so often, signally favoured the 
 people of the United States. 
 
 Thinking in this manner, and feeling how incumbent 
 it is upon every person, of every description, to contribute 
 at all times to his country's welfare, especially in a mo- 
 ment like the present, when every thing we hold dear and 
 sacred is so seriously threatened ; 1 have finally deter- 
 mined to accept the commission of commander in 
 chief of the armies of the United States ; with this .re- 
 serve only, that I shall not be called into the field until 
 the army is in a situation to require my presence, or it 
 becomes indispensable by the urgency of circumstances. 
 
 In making this reservation, I beg it maybe understood 
 
 that I do not mean to withhold any assistance to arrange 
 
 and organize the army, which you think I can afford. I 
 
 '. fake the liberty also to mention, that I must decline hav- 
 
EPISTOLARY. <~* 
 
 ing my acceptance considered as drawing after it any 
 immediate charge upon the public; or that I can receive 
 any emoluments annexed to the appointment, before 
 entering into a situation to incur expense. 
 
 The secretary of war being anxious to return to the 
 6eat of government, I have detainee: him no longer than 
 was necessary to a full communication upon the several 
 points he had'in charge. 
 
 With very great respect and consideration, I have die 
 honour to be, dear sir, your most obedient, humble ser- 
 vant. 
 
 G. WASHINGTON. 
 
 JOHN ADAMS, 
 
 President of the United States. 
 
 Richmond, October 1C. 
 
 , thy d.ear S , on an excursion through 
 the counties which lie along the eastern side- of in? ~Ch;a 
 Ridge. A general description of the country and its in- 
 habitants may form the subject of a future letter. For 
 the present "l must entertain you with an account of a 
 most singular and interesting adventure which I met with^ 
 in the course of the tour. 
 
 It was one Sunday, as I travelled through the county 
 of Orange, that my eyes were caught by a cluster of hor- 
 ses tied near a ruinous, old,, wooden house, in the forest, 
 not far from the road side. Having frequently seen 
 such objects before, in travelling through these states, I 
 had no difficulty in understanding that this was a place 
 of religious worship. 
 
 Devotion alone should have stopped me, to join in the 
 duties of the congregation; but I must confess, that cu- 
 riosity, to hear the preacher of such a wilderness, was not 
 the least of my motives. On entering, I was struck with 
 his preternatural appearance. He was a tall and very 
 spare old man ; his head, which wa? covered with a white 
 linen cap, his shrivelled hands, and his voice, were ail 
 shaking under the influence of a palsy ; and a few mo- 
 ments ascertained to me that he was perfectly blind, 
 
1*3 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 The first emotions which touched my heart, were those 
 of mingled pity and veneration. But ah ! sacred God ! 
 kow soon were all my feelings changed ! The lips of 
 VL to were never more worthy of a prognostic swarm of 
 bees, than were the lips of this holy man ! It was a day 
 ef the administration of the sacrament; and his subject, 
 of course, v/as the passion of our Saviour. I had heard 
 the subject handled a thousand times : I had thought it 
 exhausted long ago. Little did I suppose, that in the wild 
 woods of America, I was to meet with a man, whose el- 
 oquence would give to that topic, a new and more sub- 
 lime pathos than 1 had ever witnessed. 
 
 As he descended from the pulpit to distribute the mys- 
 ilc symbols, there was a peculiar, a more than, human 
 rolemnity in his air and manner, which made my blood 
 run cold, and my whole frame shiver. 
 
 He then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Saviour; 
 hi 3 trial before Pilate ; his ascent up Calvary; his cru- 
 cifixion and his death. I knew the whole history; but 
 never, until then, had I heard the circumstances so se- 
 lected, so arranged, so coloured 1 It was all new ; and I 
 seamed to have heard it for the first time in my life. 
 His enunciation was so deliberate, that his voice trem- 
 bled on every syllable ; and every heart in the assembly 
 trembled in unison. His peculiar phrases had that force 
 of description, that the original sense appeared to be, at 
 that moment, acting before our eyes. We saw the very 
 faces of the Jews : the staring, frightful distortions of 
 malice and rage We saw the buffet: my soul kindled 
 with a flame of indignation ; and my hands were invol- 
 untarily and convulsively clenched. 
 
 But when lie came to touch on the patience, the for- 
 giving meekness of our Saviour ; when he drew, to the 
 HO, his blessed eyes streaming in tears to heaven ; his 
 voice breathing to God, a soft and gentle prayer of par- 
 don on his enemies, " Father forgive them, for they know 
 not what they do." The voice of the preacher which had 
 all along faltered, grew fainter and fainter, until his ut- 
 terance, being entirely obstructed by the force of his 
 feelings, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and burst 
 into a loud and irrepressible flood of grief. The effect is 
 inconceivable. The whole house resounded with the 
 mingled groan?, and sobs, and shrieks of the congrega- 
 tion. 
 
EPISTOLARY. 273 
 
 It was some time before the tumult had subsided so far 
 as to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging by the usu- 
 al, but fallacious standard of my own weakness, I began 
 to be very uneasy for the situation of the preacher ; for 
 I could not conceive, how he would be able to let his au- 
 dience down from the height to which he had wound ther.i, 
 without impairing the solemnity and dignity of his sub- 
 ject, or perhaps shocking them by the abruptness of the 
 fall. But no : the descent was as beautiful and sublime 
 as the elevation had been rapid and enthusiastic. 
 
 The first sentence with which he broke the awful si- 
 lence, was a quotation from Rousseau : " Socrates died 
 like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ like a God !" 
 
 I despair of giving you any idea of the effect produced 
 by this short sentence, unless you could perfectly conceive 
 the whole manner of the man as well as the peculiar crisis 
 in the discourse. Never before, did I completely under- 
 stand what Demosthenes meant by laying such stiess on 
 delivery' You are to bring before you the venerable 
 figure of the preacher; his blindness, constantly recal- 
 ling to your recollection old Homer, Ossian, ami Milton, 
 and associating with his performance the melancholy 
 grandeur of their geniuses ; you are to imagine, that you 
 near his slow, solemn, well accented enunciation, and^his 
 voice of affecting, trembling melod v ; you are to remem- 
 ber the pitch of passion and enthusiasm to which the con- 
 gregation were raised; and then the fe^ minutes of por- 
 tentous, death-like silence, which reigned throughout the 
 house : the preacher removing his white handkerchief 
 from his a^red face, (even yet wet from tKe recent torrent 
 of his tears) and slowly stretching forth the palsied hand 
 which held it, begins the sentence, Socrates died like a 
 philosopher" then pausing, raising Ins other hand, pres- 
 sing them both, clasped together, with warmth and ener- 
 gy to his breast, lifting his sightless balls" to heaven, 
 and pouringhis whole soul into his tremulous voice "but 
 Jesus Christ like a God!" If he had been indeed and 
 in truth an angel of light, the effect could scarcely have 
 been more divine. 
 
 Whatever I had been able to conceive of the sublimity 
 of MassiUon, or the force of Bourdaloue, had fallen far 
 short of the power which I felt from the delivery of this 
 simple sentence. The blood, which just before liad rush- 
 ed in a hurricane upon my brain, and, in the violence and 
 p 2 
 
m REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 agony of my feelings, had held my whole system in sts 
 pense, now ran back into my heart, with" a sensation 
 which I cannot describe: a kind of shuddering, delicious 
 horror ! The paroxysm of blended pity and indignation, 
 to which I had been transported, subsided into the deep 
 eat self-abasement, humility and adoration. 1 had nisi; 
 been lacerated and dissolved by sympathy, for our Sa 
 viour as a fellow-creature ; but now, with fear and trem- 
 bling, I adored him as " a God." 
 
 If this description give you the impression, that tins 
 Incomparable minister had any thing of shallow, theatri- 
 cal trick in his manner, it does him great injustice. I 
 have never seen, in any other orator, such an union ot 
 simplicity and majesty. He has not a gesture, an atti- 
 tude, or an accent, to which he does not seem forced by 
 the sentiment which he is expressing. His mind is 
 too serious, too earnest, too solicitous, and, at the same 
 time, too dignified to stoop to artifice. Although as far 
 removed from ostentation as a man can be, yet it is clear 
 from the train, the style and substance of his thoughts, 
 that he is, not only a very polite scholar, but a man of 
 extensive and pro found erudition. I was forcibly struck 
 with a short, yet beautiful character, which he drew of 
 our learned and amiable countryman. Sir Robert Boyle: 
 he spoke of him as if " his noble mind had, even before 
 death, divested herself of all influence from his frail ta- 
 bernacle of flesh," and called him, in his peculiarly em- 
 phatic and impressive manner, "a pure intelligence: 
 the link between men and angels. " 
 
 This man has, been before my imagination almost ever 
 since. A thousand times, as I rode along, I dropped the 
 reins of my bridle, stretched forth my hand, and tried to 
 imitate his quotation from Rousseau : a thousand times I 
 abandoned the attempt in despair, and felt persuaded that 
 his peculiar manner and power arose from an energy of 
 soul, which nature could give, but which no human being 
 could justly copy. In short, he seems to be altogether a 
 being of a former age, or of a totally different nature from 
 the rest of men. As I recall, at this moment, several of 
 his awfully striking attitudes, the chilling tide, with 
 %'/hich my blood begins to pour along my arteries, reminds 
 tne of the emotions produced by the iirst sight of Gray's 
 introductory picture of his bard* 
 
EPISTOLARY. 1*5 
 
 ' On a rock, whose haughty brow, 
 .*' Frowns o'er old Conwui's foaming flood^ 
 ' Robed in the sable garb of woe, 
 " With haggard eyes the poet stood : 
 ** (Loose his heard and hoary hair 
 " Streamed like a meteor to the troubled air :} 
 " And with a poet's hand and prophet's fire, 
 " Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre." 
 
 Guess my surprize, when, on my arrival at Richmond, 
 and mentioning the name of this man, I found not one 
 person who had ever before heard of James Waddell ! Is 
 it not strange, that such a genius as this, so accomplished 
 a scholar, so divine an orator, should be permitted to lan- 
 guish and die in obscurity, within eighty miles of the me- 
 tropolis of Virginia ? To me it is a conclusive argument* 
 either that the Virginians have no taste for the higher 
 strains of the most sublime oratory, or that they are des- 
 titute of a much more important quality, the love of gen- 
 uine and exalted religion. British Spy, 
 
 Richmond, December 10* 
 
 IN one of my late rides into the surrounding country, I 
 stopped at a little inn, to refresh myself and my horse : 
 sind, as the landlord was neither a Boniface, nor" mine 
 host of the garter," I called for a book, by way of killing 
 time, while the preparations for my repast were going 
 forward. He brought me a shattered fragment of the se- 
 cond volume of the Spectator, which he told me was the 
 only book in the house, for " he never troubled his head 
 about freadino;," and byway of conclusive proof, he fur- 
 ther informed me, that this fragment, the only book in the 
 house, had been sleeping unmolested in the dust of his 
 roantlepiece, for ten or fifteen years. I could not meet 
 yny venerable countryman, in a foreign land, and in this 
 humiliating plight, nor hear of the inhuman and gothic 
 contempt with which he had been treated, without the 
 liveliest emotion. So, 1 read my host a lecture on the 
 subject, to which he appeared to pay as little attention, as 
 be had before done to the Spectator, and with the sang 
 froid ot a Dutchman, answered me in the cant of the 
 country, that * he had other fish to fry," and left me, 
 
i~6~ REPUBLICAN COMPILE*. 
 
 It had been so long since I had had an opportunity of 
 opening that agreeable collection, that the few numbers, 
 which were now before me, appeared almost entirely 
 new 5 and I cannot describe to you, the avidity and de- 
 light with which I devoured those beautiful and interest- 
 ing speculations. 
 
 Is it not strange, my dear S , that such a work 
 
 should ever have lost an inch of ground? A style so sweet 
 and simple, and yet so ornamented! a temper so bene- 
 volent, so cheerful, so exhilarating! a body of knowledge, 
 and of originalthought. so immense and various ! so strik- 
 ingly just, so universally useful I What person, of any 
 age, sex, temper, calling, or pursuit, can possibly con- 
 verse with the Spectator, without being conscious of im- 
 mediate improvement ? 
 
 To the spleen, he is as perpetual, and never-failing an 
 antidote, as he is to ignorance and immorality. No matter 
 for the disposition of mind in which you take him up; 
 you catch, as you go along, the happy tone of spirits which 
 prevails throughout the work ; you smile at the wit, 
 laugh at the drollery, feel your mind enlightened, your 
 heart opened, softened, and refined ; and when you lay 
 him down, you are sure to be in a better humour, both 
 with yourself and every body else. I have never men- 
 tioned the subject to a reader of the Spectator, who did 
 tiot admit this to be the invariable process ; and in such 
 a world of misfortunes, of cares, and sorrows, and guilt, 
 as this is, what a prize would this collection be, if it 
 \vere rightly estimated ! 
 
 Were I the sovereign of a nation, which spoke the En- 
 glish language, and wished my subjects cheerful, virtu- 
 ous and enlightened, I would furnish every poor family 
 in my dominions (and see that the rich furnished them- 
 selves) with a copy of the Spectator ; and ordain that the 
 parents or children should read four or five numbers, aloud, 
 every night in the year. For one of the peculiar perfec- 
 tions of the work is, that while it contains such a mass of 
 ancient and modern learning, so much of profound wis- 
 dom and of beautiful composition, yet there is scarcely a 
 number throughout the eight volumes, which is not level 
 to the meanest capacity. Another perfection is, that the 
 Spectator will never become tiresome to any one whose 
 taste and whose heart remain uncormptcd. 
 
EPISTOLARY irr 
 
 1 do net mean that this author should be read to the 
 exclusion of others; much less that he should stand in 
 he way of the generous pursuit of science, or interrupt 
 the discharge of social or private duties. All the coun- 
 sels of the work itself have a directly reverse tendency* 
 It furnishes a store of the clearest arguments, and of the 
 most amiable and captivating exhortations, " to raise the 
 genius and to mend the heart." 1 regret only, that such 
 a book sjiould be thrown by, and almost entirely forgot- 
 ten, while the gilded blasphemies of infidels, and " the 
 noontide trances" of pernicious theorists, are nailed with 
 rapture, and echoed around the world. For such, I 
 should be pleased to see the Spectator universally substi- 
 tuted ; and, throwing out of the question its morality, its 
 literary information, its sweetly contagious serenity, and 
 the pure and chaste beauties of its style ; and consider- 
 ing it merely as a curiosity, as concentrating the brilliant 
 vSports of the finest cluster of geniuses, that ever graced 
 the earth, it surely deserves perpetual attertion, respect 
 and consecration, British Spy. 
 
 ON EARLY MARRIAGES. 
 
 Letter from Dr. Franklin, to John JUleyne esq. 
 
 DEAR JACK, 
 
 You desire, you say, my impartial thoughts on the 
 subject of an early marriage, by way of answer to the 
 numberless objections that have been 'made by numerous 
 persons to your own. You may remember, when you 
 consulted me on the occassion, that I thought youth' on 
 both sides to be no objection. Indeed, from the mar- 
 riages that have fallen under my observation, I am rather 
 inclined to think that early ones stand the best chance of 
 affording happiness. The' temper and habits of the young 
 are not yet become so stiff and uncomplying, as when 
 more advanced in life ; they form more easily to each 
 other, and hence many occasions of disgust are removed. 
 Arid if youth has less of that prudence which is necessary 
 to manage a family, yet the parents and elder friends of 
 young married persons are generally at band to offer their 
 
irs REPUBLICAN COMPILE. 
 
 advice, which amply supplies that defect ; and by early 
 marriage, youth is sooner formed to regular anci useful 
 life ; and possibly some of those accidents or connections, 
 that might have injured the constitution, or reputation, 
 or both, are thereby happily prevented. Particular cir- 
 cumstances of particular persons, may possibly some- 
 times make it prudent to delay entering into that state ; 
 but in general, when nature has rendered our bodies fit 
 for it, this presumption is in nature's favour, that she has 
 not judged amiss in making us desire it. Late marriages 
 are often attended, too, with this further inconvenience, 
 that there is not the same chance that the parents shall 
 live to see their offspring educated. " Late children,'* 
 says the Spanish proverb, "are early orphans." A 
 melancholy reflection to those whose case it may be ! 
 With us in America, marriages are generally entered 
 into in the morning of life; our children are therefore 
 educated and settled in the world by noon ; and thus, our 
 business being done, we have an afternoon and evening 
 of leisure to ourselves, such as our friend at present en* 
 joys. By those early marriages we are blessed with. 
 more children ; and from the mode among us, founded 
 by nature, of every mother suckling and nursing her own 
 child, more of them are raised. Thence the swift pro- 
 gress of population among us nnparallelled in Europe. In 
 fine, I am glad you are married, and congratulate you 
 most cordially upon it. You are now in the way of be- 
 coming a useful citizen : and you have escaped the un- 
 natural state of celibacy for Hie the fate of many here 
 who never intended it, but who having too long postponed 
 tiio change of their condition, find at length, that it is toe 
 late to think of it, and so live all their lives in a situation 
 that greatly lessens a man's value. An odd volume of 
 a set of books bears not the value of its proportion to the 
 set : what think you of the odd half of a pair of scissors ? 
 it cannot well cut any thing; it may probably serve to 
 scrape a trencher. Fray, make my compliments and best 
 wishes acceptable to your bride. " 1 am old and heavy, 
 or I ghould ere this have presented them in person, I 
 shall make but small use of the old man's privilege, that 
 of giving advice to younger friends. Treat your wife 
 always with respect ; it will procure respect to you, not 
 only from her, but from all who observe it. Never use 
 a slighting expression to her, even in jest) for slights in 
 
EPISTOLARY. 
 
 jest, after frequent bandy ings, are apt to end in anger and 
 earnest. Be studious in your profession, and you will be 
 learned. Be industrious and frugal, and you will be 
 rich. Be sober and temperate, and you will be healthy, 
 Be in general virtuous, and you will be happy. At least 
 you will by such conduct, stand the best chance for such 
 consequences. I pray God to bless you both, being ever 
 your affectionate friend. Life of Franklin. 
 
 From, the same, to the late Z>r. Mather, of Boston. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 I received your kind letter, with your excellent 
 advice to the United States, which I read with great: 
 pleasure, and hope it will be duly regarded. Such writ 
 ings, although they may be lightly passed over by many 
 readers, yet if they make a deep impression on one active 
 mind in a hundred, the effects may be considerable. 
 Permit me to mention one little instance, which, though 
 it relates to myself, will not be quite uninteresting to you. 
 When I was a boy, I met with a book entitled, " Kssays 
 to do good," which 1 think was written by your father a 
 It had been so little regarded by a former possessor, that 
 several leaves of it were torn out ; but the remainder led 
 me into such a train of thinking, as to have an influence 
 on my conduct through life : for 1 have always set a 
 greater value on the character of a doer of good, than 
 any other kind of reputation ; and if! have been, as you 
 seem to think, a useful citizen, the public owes the advan- 
 tage of it to that book. 
 
 You mention your being in your seventy-eighth year, 
 I am in my seventy -ninth. We are grown old together. 
 It is now more than sixty years since 1 left Boston ; but I. 
 remember well both your father and grand-father, having 
 heard them both in the pulpit, and seen them in their 
 houses. The last time I saw your father was in the be- 
 ginning of 1724, when I visited him after my first trip to 
 Pennsylvania : he received me in his library ; and on my 
 taking leave, shewed me a shorter way out of the house, 
 through a narrow passage, which was" crossed by a beam 
 overhead. We were still talking as I withdrew, he ac - 
 
ISO REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 companying tne behind, and I turning hastily towards him, 
 when he said hastily, "stoop, stoop !" I did not under- 
 stand him till I felt my head hit against the beam. He 
 was a man who never missed any occasion of giving in- 
 structions, and upon this he said to me : " You are young, 
 and have the world before you : Stoop as you go through 
 it, and you will miss many hard thumps. This advice, 
 thus beat into my head, has frequently been of use to me ; 
 and I often think of it, when 1 see pride mortified, and 
 misfortunes brought upon people by their carrying their 
 heads too high. 1 long much to see again my native 
 place ; and once hoped to lay my bones there. I left it 
 in 1723. I visited it in 1733, 1743, 1753, and 1763; 
 and in 1773, 1 was in England. In 1775, 1 had a sight 
 of it, but could not enter, it being in possession of the 
 enemy. I did hope to have been there in 1783, but could 
 not obtain my dismission from this employment here 5 
 and now I fear I shall never have that happiness. My 
 best wishes however attend my dear country, " esto per- 
 petua " It is now blest with an excellent constitution ; 
 tnay it last forever ! 
 
 This powerful monarchy continues its friendship for 
 the United States. It is a friendship of the utmost im- 
 portance to our security, and should be carefully cul- 
 tivated. Britain has not yet well digested the loss of her 
 dominion over us ; and has still, at times, some flattering 
 hopes of recovering it. Accidents may increase those 
 hopes, and encourage dangerous attempts*. A breach be- 
 tween us and France would infallibly bring the English 
 again upon our backs ; and yet we have some wild beasts 
 among our countrymen, who are endeavouring to weaken 
 that connection. 
 
 Let us preserve our reputation, by performing our en- 
 gagements; our credit by fulfilling our contracts ; and 
 our friends by gratitude and kindness; for we know not 
 bew soon we may a-ain have occasion for all of them. 
 
 Ibid. . 
 
EPISTOLARY, 
 
 On modern innovations on the English language, and in 
 printing. 
 
 From Ae same, to Noah Webster, junr. esq. at Hartford!. 
 
 DEAR Sin, 
 
 I received, some time since, your Dissertations on 
 tiie English language. It is an excellent work, and wiR 
 be very useful i7i turning the thoughts of our countrymen 
 to correct writing. Please to accept my thanks for it, as 
 well as for the great honour you nave done me in its 
 dedication. I ought to have made this acknowledgment 
 sooner, but much indisposition prevented me. 
 
 I cannot but applaud your zeal for preserving the pu- 
 rity of our language, both in its expression and pronun- 
 ciation, aucl correcting the popular' errors which several 
 of our states are continually falling into with respect to 
 both. Give me leave to mention some of them, though 
 possibly they may have already occurred to you. I wish, 
 however, that in" some future publication of yours, you 
 would set a discountenancing mark upon them. The 
 iirst I remember is the word improved. When I left 
 New England, in the year 1723, this word had never 
 been used among us, as far as I knew, but in the sense 
 of ameliorated,, or made better, except once in a very old 
 book of Dr. Mather's, entitled, Remarkable Providences. 
 As that man wrote a very obscure hand, I remember that 
 when I read that word in his book, used instead of the 
 word employed, I conjectured that it was an error of the 
 printer, who had mistaken a short / in the writing for an 
 r, and a y with too short a tail, for a r, whereby employed , 
 was converted into improved ; but when I returned to 
 Boston in 1733,1 found this change had obtained favour, 
 and was then became common ; for I met with it often 
 in perusing the newspapers, where it frequently made an 
 appearance rather ridiculous. Such, for instance, as the 
 advertisement of a country house to be sold, which had 
 been many years improved .as a tavern 5 and in the char- 
 acter of a deceased country gentlemen, that he had been 
 for more than thirty years, improved as a justice of the 
 peace. The use of the word improved is peculiar to New 
 England, and not to be met with among any other speak- 
 ers of English, either on this or the other side of the wa- 
 ter. 
 
183 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 During my late absence in France, I find that several 
 other new words have been introduced into our parlia- 
 mentary language. For example, I find a verb farmed 
 from the substantive notice. 1 should not have noticed 
 this were it not that the gentlemen, <*c. Also, another 
 verb, from the substantive advocate : The gentleman who 
 advocates, or who has advocated that motion, <J*c. Ano- 
 ther from the substantive progress, the most awkward and 
 abominable of the three : Tlie committee having progress- 
 ed, resolved to adjourn. The word opposed, though not 
 anew word, I find used in a new manner, as the gentle- 
 men who are opposed to this measure, to which 1 have al- 
 so myself always been opposed. If you should happen to 
 be of my opinion with respect to these innovations, you 
 will use your authority in reprobating them. 
 
 The Latin language, long the vehicle used in distribut- 
 ing knowledge among the different nations of Europe, is 
 daily more and more neglected ; arid one of the modern 
 tongues, viz. French, seems in point of universality, to 
 have supplied its place. It is spoken in all the courts of 
 Europe 5 and most of the literati, those, even who do not 
 speak it, have acquired a sufficient knowledge of it to en- 
 able them easily to read the books that are written in it. 
 This gives a considerable advantage to that nation. It 
 enables its authors to inculcate and spread through other 
 nations, such sentiments & opinions, on important points, 
 as are most conducive to its interests, or which may con- 
 tribute to its reputation, by promoting the common inter- 
 ests of mankind. It is, perhaps, owing to its being writ- 
 ten in French, that Voltaire's Treatise on Toleration, has 
 had so sudden and so great an effect on the bigotry of 
 Europo, as almost entirely to disarm it. The general use 
 of the French language has likewise a very advantageous 
 effect on the profits of the bookselling branch of commerce, 
 it being well known, that the more copies can be sold, 
 that arc struck off from one composition of types, the 
 profits increase in a much greater proportion than they 
 do in making a greater number of pieces in any other kind 
 of manufacture. And, at present, there is no capital town 
 In Europe without a French bookseller's shop correspond- 
 ing with Paris. Our English bids fair to obtain the second 
 place. The great body of excellent printed sermons in our 
 language, as the freedom of our writings on political sub- 
 jects? have induced a great number of divisions of differed 
 
EPISTOLARY. 183 
 
 sects of nations, as well as gentlemen concerned in pub- 
 lic affairs to study it, so far at least as to be able to read 
 it. And if we were to endeavour to facilitate its progress, 
 the study of our tongue might become much more gene- 
 ral. Those who have employed some part of their time 
 in learning a new language, must have frequently observ- 
 ed, that while their acquaintance with it was imperfect, 
 difficulties, small in themselves, operated as great ones 
 in obstructing their progress. A book, for example, ill 
 printed, or a pronunciation in speaking not well articula- 
 ted, would render a sentence unintelligible, which, from 
 a clear print, or a distinct speaker, would have been im- 
 mediately comprehended. If therefore, we would have 
 the benefit of seeing our language more generally known 
 amowg mankind, we should endeavour to remove all the 
 difficulties, however small, that discourage the learning 
 of it : but I am sorry to observe, that of late years, those 
 difficulties, instead of being diminished, have been aug- 
 mented. 
 
 In examining the English books that were printed be- 
 tween the restoration and the accession of George the 
 second, we may observe, that all substantives were begun 
 with a capital, in which we imitated our mother tongue, 
 the German. This was more particularly useful to those 
 who were not well acquainted with the English, there be- 
 ing such a prodigious number of our words that are both 
 verbs and substantives, and spelt in the same manner, 
 though often accented differently in pronunciation. This 
 method has, by the fancy of printers, of late years, been 
 entirely laid aside ; from an idea, that suppressing the 
 capitals shews the character to greater advantage ; these 
 letters, prominent above the line, disturbing its even, re- 
 gular appearance. The effect of this change is so consid- 
 erable, that a learned man in France, who used to read 
 our books, though not perfectly acquainted with our 
 language, in conversation with me on the subject of our 
 authors, attributed the greater obscurity he found in our 
 modern books, compared with those written in the period 
 above mentioned to change of style for the worse in our 
 writers; of which mistake I convinced him, by marking 
 for him each substantive with a capital, in a paragraph, 
 which he then easily understood, though before he could 
 not comprehend it. This shews the inconvenience of 
 that pretended improvement. 
 
li'4 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 From the same fondness for an uniform and even ap- 
 pearance of characters in the line, the printers have of 
 !ate banished also the Italic types, in which words of im- 
 portance to be attended to- in the sense of the sentence) 
 iml words on which an emphasis should be placed in read- 
 ing, used to be printed. And lately another fancy has 
 induced other printers to use the round s instead of the 
 long one, which formerly served well to distinguish a 
 word readily by its varied appearance. Certainly the 
 omitting this permanent letter, makes a line appear- 
 more even % but renders it less immediately legible ; as the 
 pairing of all men's noses might smooth'and level their 
 laces, but would render their physiognomies less distin- 
 guishable. Add to all these improvements backwards, 
 another modern fancy, thai grey printing is more beauti- 
 ful than black. Hence the English new books are prin- 
 ted in so dim a character, as to be read with difficulty by 
 old eyes, unless in a very strong light and with good 
 glasses. Whoever compares a volume of the Gentleman's 
 Magazine, printed between the years 1T31 and 1740, 
 with one of those printed in the last tea years, will be 
 convinced of the much greater degree of perspicuity giv- 
 en by the black than bjr the grey. Lord Chesterfield 
 pleasantly remarked this difference to Faulkener, the 
 printer of the Dublin Journal, who was vainly making en- 
 comiums on his own paper, as the most complete of any 
 in the world. " But, Mr. Faulkener," says my lord, 
 " don't you think it might be still farther improved, by 
 using paper arid irrk not quite so near of a colour." For all 
 these reasons, I cannot but wish that our American prin- 
 ters would, in their editions, avoid these fancied improve- 
 ments, and thereby render their works more agreeable to 
 foreigners in Europe, to the great advantage of our book- 
 selling commerce. 
 
 Farther, to be more sensible of the advantage of clear 
 and distinct printing, let us consider the assistance it af- 
 fords in reading aloud to an auditory. In so doing, the 
 eye generally slides forward three or four words before 
 the voice. If the sight clearly distinguishes what the 
 coming words are, it gives time to order the modulation 
 of th<j voice, to express them properly. But if they are 
 obscurely printed, or disguised by omitting the capitals 
 and long s's, or otherwise, the reader is apt to modulate 
 tvreng, and finding he has done so, he is obliged to go 
 
EPISTOLARY. 185 
 
 back and begin the sentence again, which lessens the 
 pleasure of the hearers. This leads me to mention an 
 old error in our mode of printing. We are sensible 
 that when a question is met with in the reading, there is 
 a proper variation to be used in the management of the 
 voice. We have, therefore, a point, called an interroga- 
 tion, affixed to the question in order to distinguish it. - 
 But this is absurdly placed at its end, so that the reader 
 does not discover it till he finds that he has wrongly mod- 
 ulated his voice, and is therefore obliged to begin again 
 the sentence. To prevent this, the Spanish printers, 
 more sensibly, place an interrogation at the beginning as 
 well as at the end of the question. We have another er- 
 ror of the same kind in printing plays, where something 
 often occurs that is marked as spoken aside. But the 
 word aside, is placed at the end of the speech, when it 
 ought to precede it, as a direction to the reader, that he 
 may govern his voice accordingly. The practice of our 
 ladies, in meeting five or six together, to form little busy 
 parties, where each is employed in some useful work, 
 while one reads to them, is so commendable in itself, that 
 rt deserves the attention of authors and printers to make 
 it as pleasing as possible, both to the readers and hearers, 
 My best wishes attend you, being, with sincere esteem, 
 Sir, your most obedient and very humble servant. 
 
 * Life of Franklin , 
 
 .-I 
 
 LETTERS OF GENERAL GREHNE, 
 
 His Excellency the President of Congress. 
 
 Philadelphia, Nov. 1, 1780, 
 SIR* 
 
 The impossibility of employing an army to advan- 
 tage, in winter operations, without being clothed, makes 
 me very anxious to try every way and means to provide 
 for the southern army, as it is more than probable the 
 troops will be out all winter. 
 
 To take men into the field without clothing, is doing 
 violence to humanity, and can be attended with nothing 
 but disgrace, distress, and disappointment 5 and congress 
 
REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 will baburthened with all the expense of a well-appoint - 
 jy, without the least advantage from their service : 
 :hi persuaded the expense of the hospital depart - 
 ,vili nearly equal that of the clothiers'; sustaining, 
 esj t'.io loss of a great number of valuable soldiers. 
 Youiig troops that are hastily drawn together, and who 
 jeen accustomed to all that domestic indulgence 
 prevails among the inhabitants of this coun- 
 try, arc altogether unfit to be exposed to a winter cam- 
 paign, even in the southern states, without being clothed, 
 and I am well persuaded that all such as shall be called 
 into the field, without clothing, will, before they have 
 ; liied a month's service, be transferred from the 
 army to the hospital. To avoid this evil, as well as put 
 the southern army in a condition to contend with the 
 enemy., on ar> equal footing, I beg leave to propose en.- 
 :; the merchants of this city to furnish five thousand 
 suits of clothing for the troops, which they will agree to 
 provide and have in readiness in one month from this 
 time, and will also agree to take bills oa France in pay- 
 ment. 
 
 The object is so important, and the necessity so greafr, 
 that I am persuaded no arguments are necessary to in- 
 duce congress to adopt the measure, if it can be done 
 consistent with the general interest of these states. 
 
 I had a meeting, with some of the principal merchants 
 of this city yesterday upon this business, and have taken 
 the liberty to suggest this mode of providing clothing? 
 from an earnest desire that the troops which are to be 
 mder my command may be put in a condition to be as ex- 
 censively useful as possible. 
 
 1 could wish to know the sentiments, of congress upon 
 ;he business as soon as possible, as I propose- to leave 
 ;Ms city in the morning. 
 
 I h?*ve the honour to be, &C* Port Folio. 
 
 To General Gates: 
 
 Camp Charlotte, Dec. 6, 1780. 
 
 IB, 
 
 Agreeably to- m^instruetions, I have taken the opin- 
 ion of the general and other principal officers of the army, 
 the practicability of holding a court of enquiry into 
 
EPISTOLARY. 187 
 
 your conduct, during your command in this department. 
 They are unanimous in the opinion that it is not practica- 
 ble, agreeable to the tenor of my instructions, and that 
 it would not be prudent to call baron Steubeu, from Vir- 
 ginia without further information from that quarter; and 
 the circumstances of this army would not admit of the 
 inquiry being made,. even if the baron was here. 
 
 Your earnest desire to have the court held, would have 
 induced me to call the baron to this army, had the officers 
 been of opinion that our circumstances would admit of 
 the inquiry bein^ made, unless t!:^ operations of the 
 enemy in Virginia had rendered his continuance there 
 very essential, in which case, Iain persuaded, you would 
 neither wish nor expect it- 
 
 I flatter myself you are fully convinced that I am 
 equally anxious with yourself for having the court con- 
 vened, and no less desirous of giving you an early oppor- 
 tunity of justifying yourself to the world, than you are 
 of submitting your conduct to an impartial inquiry. As 
 aoon as the state of this army will admit of my convening 
 a court, agreeable to the tenor of my instructions, I will 
 give you immediate notice thereof. 
 
 I am, with esteem, &c. Ibid. 
 
 To the right honourable the Earl Cornwallis, Lieutenant 
 General, <Jfc. <$c. <$c. 
 
 MY LORD, 
 
 Your lordship's letter of the 1st instant, addressed to 
 major general Gates, I had the honour to receive, he hav- 
 ing left this department before it came to hand. 
 
 I have written general Sumpter respecting the violation 
 of the flag mentioned in your letter, and am persuaded 
 he will take such measures as will be satisfactory to 
 your lordship, as well for restoring the honours of the 
 flag in the present instance, as for preserving it inviolate 
 in future. 
 
 I am too much a stranger to the transactions of Gil- 
 berttown to reply fully on that subject. They must 
 have been committed before my arrival in the depart- 
 ment, and by persons under the character of volunteers, 
 who were independent of the army. However, if there 
 was any thing done in that affair contrary to the princi- 
 
1S8 REPUBLICAN" COMPILER. 
 
 pies of humanity and the law of nations, and for which 
 tliey had not the conduct of your army as a precedent^ 
 I shall be ever ready to testity my disapprobation of it. 
 
 The first example was furnislied on your part, as ap- 
 pears by the list of unhappy sufferers which I have the. 
 honour to enclose, and it might have been expected that 
 the friends of the unfortunate persons would follow it. 
 
 Punishing capitally for breach cf a military parole ig 
 a severity that the principles of modern war will not au- 
 thorize, unless the inhabitants are to be treated as a con- 
 quered people, and subject to all the rigour of military 
 government. 
 
 The feelings of mankind will forever decide when the 
 rights of humanity are invaded. I leave them to judge 
 of the nature amf tendency of your lordships orders to 
 lieut. colonel Balfour, after the action near Camden, of 
 lord Rawdon's proclamation and lieut. colonel Tarle- 
 ton's conduct in laying waste the country and distressing 
 the inhabitants, who were taught to expect protection 
 and security if they observed but a neutrality. 
 
 Sending the inhabitants of Charlestown, to St. Au- 
 gustine, contrary to the articles of capitulation, is a 
 violation which I have also to represent, and which I 
 hope your lordship will think yourself bound to redress. 
 It is my wish to soften the rigours of war as much as 
 possible, and it shall be my study to render the sufferings 
 of the unfortunate on either side as light as may be. For 
 this purpose, I should be happy to promote an exchange 
 of prisoners on just and equal principles; and where ex- 
 changes cannot immediately take place, to grant paroles 
 to the officers in captivity. 
 
 I am, my lord, your lordship's most obedient, humble 
 servant. Ibid* 
 
 To his Excellency General Washington. 
 
 West Point, Oct. 19th, 1770. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 Your excellency's favour of the 18th, was delivered 
 me this afternoon. [ had given up the thoughts of going 
 home before the receipt of your letter, even if I could 
 have been indulged with your permission. My affairs 
 
EPISTOLARY. 1S 1 3 
 
 require it; but I was afraid it would take up too much 
 time, considering the critical state of affairs to the south- 
 ward. 
 
 The day that I marched from Tappan, I wrote for Mrs. 
 Greene, and expect her here every hour. When I wrote 
 for liberty to go home, it was my intention to have stop- 
 ped her on the road, and turned her back ; but if I should 
 Get out before her arrival, the disappointment, added to 
 the shock of my going to the southward, I fear will have 
 some very disagreeable effect upon her health, especial- 
 ly as her apprehensions were very lively on the subject, 
 Defore there was even a probability of my going. 
 
 J see the necessity for setting out, and feel the neces- 
 sity for staying. 1 must beg your excellency's indul- 
 gence for one day longer; alter which, if IVIrs. Greene 
 don't arrive, I shall immediately set out for head -quar- 
 ters. My baggage sets off to-morrow, if I am not disap- 
 pointed in getting horses, which colonel Hughes promis- 
 es me shall rot be the case. Nothing shall detain me 
 longer than a couple of days from head -quarters, unless 
 I am very unwell indeed. 
 
 I thank your excellency for the double assurance you 
 give me ot support, and long to be on my journey, to 
 meet lord Coruwallis, before he advances too far into the 
 heart of North Carolina. 
 
 I am, with great respect and esteem, your excellen- 
 cy's most obedient, humble servant Port Folio. 
 
 Letter from General St. Clair to the Hon. John Jay, r<> 
 lative to his evacuation of Ticcndsroga* 
 
 Moses' Creek, July 25th, 1727, 
 
 SIR, 
 
 GENERAL SCHUYLER was good enough to read to 
 me part of a letter he received last night from you. I 
 cannot recollect that any of my officers ever asked my 
 reasons for leaving Ticonderoga; but as I have found 
 the measure much decried, I have often expressed my- 
 self in this manner: " That as to myself, I was perfect- 
 ly easy; I was conscious of the uprightness arid proprie- 
 ty of my conduct, and despised the vague censure of an 
 
190 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 uninformed populace ;" but had no allusion to an order 
 from general Schuyler for my justification, because no 
 such order existed. 
 
 The calumny thrown on general Schuyler, on account 
 of that matter, has given me great uneasiness. I assure 
 you, Sir, there never was any tiling more cruel and un- 
 just: for he knew nothing of the matter until it was over, 
 more than you did at Kino-ston. It was done in conse- 
 quence of a consultation with the other general officers, 
 without the possibility of general Schuyler's concur- 
 rence : and had the opinion of that council been contra- 
 ry to what it was, it would nevertheless have taken place, 
 because 1 knew it to be impossible to defend the post 
 with our numbers. 
 
 In my letter to Congress, from fort Edward, HI which 
 I gave them an account of my retreat, is this paragraph: 
 "It was my original design to retreat to this place, that 
 I might be betwixt general Burgoyne and the inhabit- 
 ants, and that the militia might have something in this 
 quarter to collect to." It is now effected, and the mili- 
 tia are coming in, so that I have the most sanguine hopes 
 that the progress of the enemy will be checked, and I 
 may have the satisfaction to experience, that, although I 
 have lost a post, I have eventually saved a state. 
 
 Whether my conjecture is right or not, is uncertain* 
 but had our army been made prisoners, which it certainly 
 would have been, the state of New York would have beea 
 much more exposed at present. 
 
 I proposed to general Schuyler, on my arrival at fort 
 Edward, to have a note sent to the printer, to assure the 
 people, he had no part in abandoning what they consid- 
 ered their strong holds : he thought it was not so proper 
 at that time ; but it is no more than what I owe to truth 
 and to him, to declare, that he was totally unacquainted 
 with the matter; and I should be very glad that this let- 
 ter, or any part of it you may think proper to communi- 
 cate, may convince the unbelieving. 
 
 Simple unbelief is easily and soon convinced ; but when 
 malice or envy occasions it, it is needless to attempt con- 
 viction. Wilkinson's " Memoirs of his am times." 
 
EPISTOLARY. 
 
 Letter from General Washington to Major Lee, respect" 
 ing a proposed attempt to capture General Arnold. 
 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 The plan proposed for taking A d, (the outlines 
 
 of which are communicated in your letter, which was 
 this moment put into my hands without date) has every 
 mark of a good one. I therefore agree to the promised 
 yewards ; and have such entire confidence in your man- 
 agement of the business, as to give it my fullest approba- 
 tion, and leave the whole to the guidance of your own 
 judgement, with this express stipulation and pointed in- 
 junction, that he, (A -d.) is brought tome alive. 
 
 No circumstance whatever, shall obtain my consent to 
 his being put to death. The idea which would accompa- 
 ny such an event, would be, that ruffians had been hired 
 to assassinate him. My aim is to make a public example 
 of him ! and this should be strongly impressed upon those 
 who are employed to bring him off. The sergeant must 
 be very circumspect ; too much zeal may create suspi- 
 cion and too much precipitancy may defeat the project. 
 The most inviolable secrecy must be observed on all 
 hands. I send you five guineas ; but 1 am riot satisfied 
 of the propriety of the sergeants appearing with much 
 specie. This circumstance may also lead to suspicion, 
 as it is but too well known to the enemy, that we do not 
 abound in this article. 
 
 The interviews between the party in and out of the 
 citjr, should be managed with much caution and seeming 
 indifference ; or else the frequency of their meetings, 
 &c. may betray the design, and involve bad consequen- 
 ces; but I am persuaded you will place every matter in 
 a proper point of view to "the conductors of this interest- 
 ing business, and therefore, I shall only add, that I am, 
 dear Sir, &c. &c. 
 
 Lee's Memoirs of the Southern War* 
 
192 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 Humorous letter from Dr. Franklin to a young lady 
 
 London, September 26th, 1773. 
 
 DEAR Miss, 
 
 I lament with you, most sincerely, the unfortunate 
 death of poor Mungo. Few squirrels were better ac- 
 complished 5 for he had had a good education, had tra- 
 velled far, and seen much of the world. As he ifad the 
 honor of being, for his virtues, your favorite, he should 
 not go like common skuggs, without an elegy or an epi- 
 taph. Let us give him one, in a monumental style and 
 measure, which, being neither prose nor verse, is perhaps 
 the properest for grief, since to use common language, 
 would look a3 if we were not affected, and to make 
 rhymes, would seem trifling in sorrow. 
 
 JZLAS* PQORMUJYGQ? 
 
 Happy v/ert thou, hadst thou known 
 
 Thy own felicity! 
 Remote from the fierce Bald-Eagle^ 
 
 Tyrant of thy native woods, 
 .o*j hadst nought to fear from his piercing talons: 
 Nor from the murdering gun 
 Of the thoughtless sportsman. 
 
 Safe in the wire castle, 
 
 Grimalkin never could annoy thee. 
 
 Bally wert thou fed with the choicest viands, 
 
 Bv the fair hand 
 Of an indulgent mistress; 
 
 But discontented, thou wouldst have more freedom. 
 Too soon, alas ! didst thou obtain it : 
 
 And wandering, 
 
 Fell by the merciless fangs 
 
 Of wanton, cruel Hanger. 
 
 Learn here, ye who blindly wish more liberty, 
 
 Whether subjects, sons, squirrels' or daughters, 
 
 That apparent restraint may be real protection. 
 
 Yielding peace, plenty, and security. 
 
EPISTOLARY. IS;: 
 
 You see how much more decent and proper this brok- 
 en style, interrupted as it is with sighs, is for the occa- 
 sion, than if one were to say, by way of epitaph, 
 
 Here Skugg 
 Lies snug 
 As a bug 
 In a rug. 
 
 And yet, there are people in the world, of so little 
 feeling, as to think that would be a good enough epitaph 
 for our poor Mungo. 
 
 If you wish it, I shall procure another to succeed him ; 
 but perhaps you will now choose some other amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 Remember me respectfully to all the good family ; and 
 believe me ever, your affectionate friend. 
 
 Port Folio. 
 
 n 
 
.MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Jl Mirror for the Petit Maitres* 
 
 A skipping, dancing, worthless tribe, you are, 
 
 Fit only for yourselves : you herd together ; 
 
 And when the circling glass warms jour vain hearts, 
 
 You talk of beauties that you never saw, 
 
 And fancy raptures that you never felt. Kowfc. 
 
 IN all collections of essays,! invariably find some pa- 
 per addressed to the women, that is either ottered as a 
 lecture of advice or levelled at them with all the severity 
 of satire; while the men, the lords of the creation ! are 
 suffered to grovel on in vice, or to sneak through the world 
 as ignorant or worthless characters. Why are the eyes 
 of these authors shut against the follies of their own sex ? 
 Why will the learned mind labour to seduce woman 
 again to taste of the Tree of Knowledge, only to make 
 her sec the nakedness of those around her ? How many 
 youth may blush at the wilful neglect of their understand - 
 ings ! blush, when they recollect the high, the sublime 
 nature of the soul. Good Heaven ! can a modern fine, 
 gentleman suppose himself in the same class of being 
 with an Essex, or a Sydney, the ornaments of the six- 
 teenth century? To mention the sacred names of a 
 Newton or a Locke, would be to draw a comparison be- 
 tween the feeble glimmer of a glow-worm and the eftul 
 gence of the sun, 
 
1U6 REPUBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 The first emotion of the human heart is a strong'desire 
 of happiness ; and, in minds of any worth, an ambition to 
 be eminent in something, form two biasses, which em- 
 phatically work the grandeur and immortality of the soul; 
 and, if properly directed, would raise man to the highest 
 perfection of which his frail nature is capable. The am- 
 bition of a manly soul ought to soar to intellectual attain- 
 ments a perfect gentleman must not be ignorant on any 
 subject. To be uninformed of the histories of Greece 
 and Rome, setting aside that of our country, isabsolutely 
 shameful : yet two thirds of our Jeusd'JKsprits would rub 
 their vacant foreheads, if you happened to ask them any 
 questions about either of the Gracchii, but hint in their 
 ears, the names of Alcibiades or Phocion, and perhaps 
 they will think you are talking of some old clothes-inan! 
 
 I have heard mistakes made by fashionable young men, 
 that a school boy of ten years old would blush to be caught 
 in. I will take the liberty of giving two or three exam- 
 ples. Some ladies, in company with one gentleman, 
 y/ere expressing their approbation of the graceful manner 
 iu which Helen leaves her loom to go to Paris after his 
 Might from Menelaus " Ah ladies !" says he, " it is fine 
 in Pope ; but I have read it in the original Latin, and 
 there it is beautiful !" " In Latin, Sir," said a female 
 friend of mine who was present : " 1 beg your pardon, but 
 Homer was a Greek poet." " No, no, madam !" he has- 
 tily replied, " you mean Horace, I assure you Homer 
 was a Roman, for I have read him !" 
 
 One evening, I was with some other ladies, in a room 
 with three young men. How the subject came into their 
 heads, I know not, because I was not listening to their 
 conversation : but my attention was arrested, by one of 
 them saying, rather loudly " Mark Anthony was made 
 king of one of the Assyrian provinces" " Perhaps so : 
 but I am sure" replied a second " he was Csesar's son" 
 " You both mistake," interrupted the third " he was one 
 of the villains who helped Brutus to kill Csesar !" 1 was 
 astonished and speechless with surprize, gazed at the 
 three " gay charming fellows !" who, in my opinion, bet- 
 ter deserved the appellation of the blockhead triumvir- 
 ate. 
 
 Are these illiterate, shamelessly ignorant animals, cf 
 that noble species, Man! that super-eminent creature, 
 whose form was shaped to gaze on the heavenS| and the- 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. i*7 
 
 faculties of whose soul, were expanded by his Creator, 
 that he might count the stars ! And how does he now em- 
 ploy his time? Not even in walking the plain track of 
 literature not in comparing the histories of republics, 
 kingdoms and empires ; and while he reads conversing 
 with wise lawgivers and holy patriarchs ! not in search- 
 ing through the labyrinths of the human mind with Locke 5 
 nor in reading the "stars, and making the vast tour of the 
 universe, in company with the divine Newton ! No, 
 these are not his pursuits; he reads no books, save now 
 and then a flimsy play, that has nothing but its novelty 
 to recommend it and perhaps the history of some popular 
 divorce. Besides the theatre, that inestimable fountain 
 from whence he derives all his classical knowledge, a 
 slight acquaintance with the geography of France, just 
 sufficient to enable him to understand the news of the 
 day, is all the learning he aspires after. Talk of the 
 stars to him, and he will say he never looks at any, but 
 those in a woman's face. Talk of the soul, friendship, 
 mind, &c. and he will interrupt you by saying, that is a 
 jargon he does not understand. There is one science, I 
 believe the whole of his sex are perfectly conversant in 
 that of eating and drinking ; on the subject of which they 
 could outtalk Apicices himself. And 1 will do them the 
 justice to say, that even the most stupid of them could 
 reduce it to a system, in a very elaborate treatise on tarts 
 and custards. 
 
 Many of our youth are so monstrously barren, that I 
 can positively affirm, that there are not eight out of ten 
 who can spell an epistle of one page in length without the 
 immediate aid of a dictionary. As to their accomplish- 
 ments in the most delightful of all studies, the works of 
 the poets, I can say little or nothing to their advantage. 
 The swift, though tender ray of Apollo's halo cannot pen- 
 etrate their opake brows. Ignorance, if not vitious har- 
 diment, has shielded their brazen foreheads ; and to their 
 dull ear the " concord of sweet sounds" is charmless. 
 
 I know that there are some who have skimmed the sur- 
 face of literature ; and being swelled with the little pre- 
 eminence they have over their companions, they are wild 
 to show their superiority over common sense. Flinging 
 reason behind them, they set up for men of extraordina^ 
 ry genius ; and like the Persian glass-man, in his foolish 
 Ji 2 
 
t8 REPUBLICAN COMPIL 
 
 vision, they kick about their earthly happi s . nope* 
 
 of future felicity, with a real lunatic fuYy. 
 
 Yet there are others of our young men who are an hon- 
 our to their country who join, with all the charms of & 
 beiiiuifui form, the more attracting, the more fascinating 
 graces, of a richly cultivated understanding, and a poeti- 
 cal and delicate taste ; whose society will always be 
 saught after with eagerness; and when absent, the re- 
 membrance o.f their virtues and accomplishments will 
 play a lambert flame around our hearts, and no time cati 
 erase their lovely ideas from our memories. How differ- 
 ent are the sensations which agitate the bosom of a fe- 
 male, in the company of a thoughtless coxcomb ! 
 
 She lets the poor little butterfly flutter round her and 
 buz its empty nothings in her ear ; and when it takes its 
 flight, thinks no more of it than of those insects which 
 sparkle in the summer's blaze. 
 
 I am v/Qll aware that if this ever meets the eye of those 
 to whom I address it, they will set me down as a disap- 
 pointed ugly old maid. But I deny the charge I 
 am not old, for I have not yet lived twenty-two years 
 I think 1 am not ugly, provided I may believe the daily 
 rhapsodies of at least" half a dozen (if .these popingays ; 
 and I know I am rich. So I make out that 1 am neither 
 'he disappointed, the ugly, nor the old. 
 
 Freemasons' Magazine. 
 
 The way to make money plenty in every man's pocket* 
 
 AT this time, when the general complaint is that" 
 ney is scarce," it will be an act of kindness to inform the 
 moneyless how they may reinforce their pockets. I will 
 acquaint them with the true secret of money -catching 
 the certain way to fill empty purses, and how to keep 
 them always full. 
 
 Two bimple rules, well observed, will do the business, 
 
 First, let honesty and industry be thy constant compan- 
 g ; and, 
 
 Secondly, spend one penny less than thy clear gains. 
 
 Then shall thy hide-bound pocket, soon begin to thrive. 
 v/ill never again cry with the empty belly-ache ; 
 
'MISCELLANEOUS il# 
 
 neither will creditors insult thee, nor want oppiess. no: 
 hunger bite, nor nakedness freeze tiiee. The whole hem * 
 isphere will shine brighter, and pleasure spring up in ev- 
 ery corner of thy heart. Now, therefore, embrace these 
 rules and be happy. Banish the bleak winds of sorrow 
 from thy mind, and live independent. Then shalt thou 
 be a man, and not hide thy face at the approach of the 
 rich, nor sutler the pain of feeling little when the sons of 
 fortune walk at thy right hand : for independency, wheth- 
 er with little or much is good fortune, and placeth thee on- 
 even ground with the proudest of the golden fleece. Oh 
 then, be wise, and let industry walk with thee in the 
 morning, and attend thee until thou readiest the evening 
 hour for rest. Let honesty be as the breath of thy soul, 
 and never forget to have a penny when all thy expences 
 are enumerated and paid ; then shalt thou reach the sum- 
 mit of happiness, and independence shall be thy shield 
 and buckler, thy helmet and crown ; then shall thy soul 
 walk upright, nor stoop to the silken wretch because he 
 hath riches, nor pocket an abuse because the hand which 
 
 s it. wears a ring set with diamonds. 
 
 DR. FRANKLIN* 
 
 Obadiah Olive's Complaint. 
 
 MR. EDITOR, 
 
 I am one of those unfortunate tradesmen who are 
 plagued with a reading wife, who, according to my no- 
 tion, is a very great evil in a house. My wife does hard- 
 ly any one earthly thing, but read, read, read, almost 
 from the time that she gets up, to the time that she goes 
 to bed. Howsomever, I should not value her reading so 
 much neither 5 though, to be sure, as she is a bookish wo- 
 man, she is of very little service to me in my business, 
 did she not very often oblige me to hear her, when I had 
 touch rather be looking over my own books ; which, bv the 
 way, I would not charge, no, that I would not, for all hers, 
 notwithstanding she make* such a confounded route about 
 them, so that my ears and my head are disturbed at the 
 same time. For my part, I read only the papers in order to 
 ses how the nation goes on 5 and what chance there is 
 
CCD REPUBLICAN COMPILE?.. 
 
 for pushing business. But the worst of the affair Is to come. 
 My wife has lately been very fond of a book full of hard 
 words ; and will persist in reading out of it to me when 
 ever she can catch me at leisure. Now, to tell you the 
 truth, I don't take in one word in ten which comes out 
 of her mouth; and there is ito pleasure, you know, in 
 hearing what you can make neither head nor tail of, I 
 am often forced to say to her, " I can ? t for the soul of me, 
 tell what the author would be at ; he is a confounded 
 puzzling fellow, I am sure." 
 
 We had a terrible brush t'other day, Sir: upon her 
 coming out with a plagued hard word", I said to her, 
 " lookee here, Mrs. Olive, it don't signify three farthings, 
 I can't bear no longer, to sit and hear what I don't un- 
 derstand. I should be glad to know," says I, " what lan- 
 guage you are reading ?" 
 
 " Why English, to be sure," says she r looking fiercely 
 at me as if she would eat me. 
 
 " The dogs a bit," says I : " such English as that there 
 you have been reading, I never heard in all my born 
 days." 
 
 The answer, though I spake it as cool as a cucumber, 
 put her into a violent passion her eyes struck fire, and 
 she coloured like a turkey-cock at the sight of a red hand- 
 kerchief. After she had clapt down her boo,k on the ta- 
 ble in such a manner, that I thought verily she had mao^ 
 v/ork for the joiner, she said, " your want of erudition 
 is insupportable I pity from my heart the paucity of your 
 ideas ; you are the lowest of terrestrial beings, and it 
 shocks me to death to find you so incapable of relishing 
 the compositions of a man, who for the universality of his 
 genius, the vivacious ebullitions of his fancy, and the ex- 
 uberance of his imagination ; for the diversity of his 
 matter, the subtilty of his reasoning, and the melody of 
 his diction, is incontrovertibly one of the brightest lumina- 
 ries in the literary world." 
 
 Luckily, to my no small satisfaction, I was just then 
 called down stairs to receive orders from one of my best 
 country customers, by which means, I was not under a 
 necessity at that time of making an answer to a speech 
 which was indeed quite out of my spere : and as s0on as 
 I had done that job, I went and bought Johnson's Dic- 
 tionary, that I might be able to understand my wife a lit- 
 tle better ; but, to my great mortification,, I have thrown 
 
MISCELLANEOUS, fiOi 
 
 away my money 5 for, when I look for the meaning of one 
 of Mrs. Olive's crank words, I am often as much, if not 
 more, puzzled than I was afore. 
 
 My wrongheaded wife, not contented with talking her- 
 self not to be understood by such a plain man as Iain, 
 brings up her daughter to have a taste for the same kind 
 of language, which, I am sure, is not fit for common use. 
 According to my notion now, neither tradesmen, nor 
 tradesmen's wives, nor any body belonging to them, have 
 any business to talk like skotards. But I was going to 
 tell you about my daughter. Why, Polly, Sir, is^ clever 
 girl enough, I must own, and old enough, (for she will be 
 nineteen in about ten days) to know better than to fol- 
 low her foolish mother in what only makes her be laughed 
 at by all her acquaintance behind her back. Polly has 
 already lost a good match, a very good match, by her 
 nonsensical behaviour ; and if she takes after her moth- 
 er, will never get a husband worth hanging. A storekeep- 
 er in the neighbourhood, an industrious young fellow, 
 courted her, and I do verily believe would have married 
 her in a little while ; but she found so much fault one day 
 when he came to make her a present of some ribbons, 
 with his phraseology and pronunciation, telling him that 
 he had a barbarous assemblage of expressions, and deliv- 
 ered them with a tiorrid incorrectness, that he took nphis 
 hat, not caring, I suppose, to be treated like a school- 
 boy, for which, I confess, I can't blame him, and has ne- 
 ver darkened my door since. 
 
 1 hope all unmarried tradesmen, when thev have read 
 this letter, (for your Magazine will undoubtedly fall into 
 the hands of many such people) will take special care how 
 they venture oh a bookish woman. For my part, I am 
 sick of all books, but those belonging to my shop. 
 
 Freemasons* Jlla- 
 
202 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 Beauty destroyed by Affectation. 
 
 The brightest forms through Affectation fade 
 
 To strange new tilings, which nature never made : 
 
 Frown not, ye fair, so much your sex we prize, 
 
 We hate those arts which take you from our eyes. 
 
 In Aibucinda's natlye grace is seen, 
 
 What you, who labour at perfection mean : 
 
 Short is the rule and to be learnt with ease ; 
 
 Remain your gentle selves, and you must please. YOUNG. 
 
 The graces, all three sisters, all extremely pretty la- 
 dies, and maids of honour to the goddess Venus, the all- 
 powerful queen of love lived together, for a long time, in 
 the strictest bonds of affection and friendship one to- 
 wards another, which is somewhat extraordinary, indeed 
 iis they were such near relations, such uncommon beau- 
 ties, and such distinguished favourites at court. 
 
 In process of time, however, pride and ambition sowed 
 the seeds of jealousy among them. Each began to plume 
 herself on her own imaginary charms; and each insisted 
 on her precedence, as having the most fire in her eyes, the 
 most resistless arts of pleasing in conversation, and the 
 surest and most enchanting ways of making captives of 
 her beholders. The contest, "in short, grew so warm, 
 that they entertained thoughts of making their appeal to 
 their mistress Venus, on so important & critical an affair. 
 
 " For my part," said Miss Euphrosyne, with a smile of 
 indifference and disdain, " I desire no better judge, since 
 no one will be more impartial; and we are all sensible that 
 no one can possibly be better qualified to settle and ad- 
 just the merit and prize of beauty. Let us lay, my dear 
 sisters, all animosities aside, and at once, without more 
 ado, agree to refer our cause to her decision. Let her de- 
 clare which of us is in reality possessed of the most pre- 
 vailing charms, the most resistless arts of pleasing; but 
 then, let us unanimously agree, likewise, to make no fur- 
 ther appeals; let us acquiesce in, and subscribe to her 
 sentence, as final and conclusive. 55 ' 
 
 "Subscribe to her yourself, if you please, 95 replied 
 Miss Thalia, not a little nettled, and visibly chagrined at 
 her sister's seeming confidence in the merit of her cuusr. 
 
 " Without any further words or dissension between 
 us," said Miss Aglaia, " I highly approve of the proposal. 
 I .don't care, sisters, for my part, how soon our pretty cor. 
 troversy is drawn to a final conclusion." 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 10 5 
 
 This emulation of theirs soon reached the ears of their 
 mistress Venus, who summoned them all immediately to 
 make their personal appearance in court ; and accord- 
 ingly assumed the bed of justice with such a grace, and 
 such an air of complacency, as is beyond the power of 
 \vords to express ; reflecting, with a secretjpleasure, how 
 in time past, upon a dispute of a like nature, the golden 
 apple was adjudged to herself by the shepherd Paris, in 
 preference both to Juno and Minerva. 
 
 The court being set, and all the contending parties pre- 
 sent, Venus directed each of them to exert her peculiar 
 talents, and secret arts of incantation, to which she laid a 
 peculiar claim. 
 
 Each accordingly prepared to obey her orders: all of 
 them equally fired with a fond desire and resistless hope 
 of being pronounced the best qualified charmer, with 
 equal pleasure and cheerfulness practised their studied 
 arts and stratagems to please before her. But those re- 
 sistless hopes, those fond desires of approbation with 
 v/luch they were all embarrassed, perfectly baffled their 
 ambitious views, & turned out to their equal disadvantage. 
 
 One screwed up her mouth in so prim a form, that she 
 made the most frightful and disagreeable figure that could 
 well be conceived ; the second, through an inordinate 
 ambition to shew her fine row of teeth, distorted every 
 feature of her face ; and the last, proud of her black 
 sparkling eyes, rolled them about to such a violent de- 
 gree, that, in the eye of her female and impartial judge, 
 she appeared perfectly to squint. 
 
 " Are these your arts ?" said Venus. "Are these your 
 -studied charms"? Fye, ladies, fye ! I almost blush for 
 
 [>u. How dare you put on such artful airs before me ? 
 et out of court : go home directly. Consult your res- 
 pective minors with impartiality, and let me hear no more 
 of your unnatural contentions. If you arc desirous of re- 
 suming your former title, I mean that of the graces and 
 my favourite attendants ; if you are actually eager and 
 fond of pleasing, never study any of those killing airs, I 
 beseech you. As the least thought of that nature is too 
 much, never think of your charms at all ; for it is a max- 
 im with me that will admit of no exception, that 
 -he who is solicitous of pleasing over much, inevita- 
 bly gives disgust. In a word" Affectation is the bane 
 of Beautv." ibid, 
 
'204 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 GOSSIPPING. 
 *2 JJialogue from Life. 
 
 Mrs. L. Ah ! Mrs. B. I am glad to see you. How do 
 you do, ma'am ? 
 
 Mrs. B. Why, ma'am, not very well. I have had a 
 cold for several days. Last Thursday night I went to pay 
 a visit to our new neighbour, and did'nt put on a shavvl| 
 you know the weather was quite cool, and Mr. B. advis- 
 ed me to put on one ; but I says to him, says I 
 
 Mrs L. (), ma'am did you know Sammy Wiffet is go ] 
 ing to be married to his rich cousin at last? I always 
 told you it would be a match. The family, I knew, 
 would never let such a fine fortune go out of it. I am 
 told they are going to live at her father's on the North 
 River. I pity her, poor thing, for that. The old lady, 
 I understand, has not the best temper in the world. Be- 
 sides, I am told, she is not heartily for the match. She 
 thinks the girl and boy are too young for marriage ; and, 
 ? pon my word, I think so too. I do assure you, she is no 
 more than fifteen ; and he, I can't tell his age exactly, 
 but I remember he was born about the time of my Jem- 
 my's marriage ; and that is, let me see, next November 
 
 will be pray, (looking out at the window) whose 
 
 coach is that ? 
 
 Mrs. B. Why, ma'am, I don't know ; some upstarts, 
 I dare say ; but my cold is so distressing, and I have not 
 been out of the house these five days, and hav'nt seen a 
 soul at home, and just run over to have a little chat with 
 you, though Mr. B. was much against my going out till 
 I'm quite recovered. " If you must go," says he " be 
 sure to put on a shawl." So I says to Betty, Betty" 
 
 savs I " do run up to my room and bring 
 
 "Mrs. L. Ah, ma'am, now I think of it, let me ask 
 you've heard whether theCalthorpes are going to stay io 
 their house this year ? I'm told they're going to give it 
 up, and going to live in the country. So they give out : 
 but I understand the true reason is, Mr. Calthorpe's af- 
 
 f a i rs . But I beg you'll not mention this again as 
 
 coming from me; it's mere report and I dare say an 't 
 true; but I just tell you what I've heard : it was whis- 
 pered to me as a great ecret, by Mrs. Pry, who told me 
 not to mention it to any body, and I wouldn't, except to 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 a particular friend who will keep it to herself. Mr. Cal- 
 thorpe's affairs are quite deranged, and he leaves town 
 to prevent his ruin ; and that, [ think, is quite prudent. 
 To be sure, he's lived in too high a style since his marriage, 
 His wife had no fortune ; he married her a poor ga?al, 
 an orphan, poor thing, and living altogher on her aunt, 
 who brought her up. Pray ma'am, have you heard any 
 thing of their affairs ? 
 
 Mrs. B. Why, uia'am, now you put me in mind, I 
 think I did hear something of these folks. A gentle- 
 man, an acquaintance of my husband's, a Mr , I 
 
 declare, I've forgot his name, a tail, portly man. Mr. B. 
 Invited him to dine with us on Sunday, and told me his 
 name. The day before, he says to me, says he, Let's 
 
 have something nice to-morrow, for I've asked Mr. 
 
 I can't think of his name, I wonder I'm so forgetful ; but 
 my cold is so troublesome, that I don't remember nothing, 
 I wanted to take advice, but Mr. B. laughed me out of it. 
 < ; Wouldn't it be as well," says I, " my dear, to send for 
 Dr. Bolus ? I'm afraid," says I," this shocking cold will 
 settle on my lungs." This was on Friday night, about 
 dusk; and just as I was speaking, who should ^o by but 
 the doctor himself. So my husband called him in and 
 
 Mrs. L. Ah, ma'am, that puts me in mind of some- 
 thing I wanted to ask you. I'm told Dr. Bolus is really 
 engaged to widow Waddle, and that they're to be mar- 
 ried very shortly. The widow, I understand, has a pret- 
 ty snug estate, and no children, and the doctor's practice, 
 they tell me is lessening every day, since that uniortunate 
 mistake of his with Polly PepperilTs child. I suppose 
 you've heard of this story. The poor child was drooping 
 for some time, -and the tloctcr was called, and he said it 
 v/as the measles, and that no time wasn't to be lost; and 
 he physiek'd and physick'd till the poor child actually 
 died. Twas a sad mistake, indeed of the doctor's. I'm 
 told the family was very angry, and the doctor hasn't held 
 up his head since. It's high time the doctor was mar- 
 ried, if he means to be at all ; though, for my part, I 
 can't say I'm over-fond of late marriages. What do 
 you think ma'am ? 
 
 Mrs. B. Why, ma'am, I must needs say I don't like 
 them at all. I was married myself at seventeen, and I'm 
 sure I've no reason in the world to repent that I wa? 
 8 
 
3*5 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 married so early. Mr. B. was four years older thaw I 
 was : but twenty-one you know ma'am is quite young for 
 a man : and Mr. B. was in a good way of business to main- 
 tain a family : and to be sure, we've had a family to main- 
 tain ; for Mr. B's sisters were dependent on him. They 
 lived at our house till they were married. When Jemmy 
 Mather courted Patty, who was the last, I was heartily 
 ^lad; for you can't think ma'am, how disagreeable it is 
 to have many mistresses in a family. When the wed- 
 ding was fixed, " I'm sure," says I to Mr. B. " I'm glad 
 on r t. The poor girl will get a husband, at last," says J, 
 ^and that's what she's wanted" says I, a long time." 
 Patty was quite too fine a lady for me 5 and she greatly 
 imposed upon her brother's good -nature. She used to 
 teaze him for tickets to the play and the assemblies, 
 One nigHt we made up a party 
 
 Mrs. L. Ah, ma'am, now you talk of maiden sisters, 
 what, I wonder, will become of Betsey Bolus, if her bro- 
 ther marries ? I am told she's no friend to the match. 
 The widow, I understand, made it a condition with the 
 doctor, that Betsey should live some where else. She is 
 quite of your opinion, that one mistress in a family is 
 enough. And Betsey, they tell me, is a little of the old 
 maid in her temper: peevish as the duce ; always quar- 
 relling with the maids. The doctor can't keep a" servant 
 more than a month. The girl who lives with me lived 
 with them sometime, and tells odd stories of Miss. Bet- 
 sey's peevishness. 
 
 ~Mrs. B. Odear! it's clouded up, I see. It looks 
 very like for rain. I must run home before it wets, or 
 I shall only increase my cold. Mr. B. made me promise 
 to come home if there was the least sign of rain ; so, 
 good niglit, ma'am. Pray come over soon ; it's a long 
 time since you've called, and I hope you'll come shortly. 
 
 Good night. 
 
 Mrs. L. La, ma'am, what's your hurry ? Do stay a 
 little longer and take tea : it's just coming in. 
 
 Mrs. B. Can't indeed ma'am. Good night, good 
 
 tight. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 2CT 
 
 False Wit. 
 
 All fools have still an itching to deride, 
 And fain would be upon the laughing side. 
 
 MONSIEUR ROCHEFOUOAULT, tell us somewhere in 
 his memoirs, that the Prince of Conde delighted much in 
 ridicule, and used frequently to shut himself up for hall 
 a day together, in his chamber, with a gentleman \vho 
 was his favourite, purposely to divert liimself with ex- 
 aminingwhat was the foible, or ridiculous side of every 
 noted person in the court. That gentleman said after- 
 wards in some company, that he thought nothing was 
 wore ridiculous in any body, than this same humour in 
 the prince ; and I am somewhat inclined to be of this 
 opinion. The general tendency there is among us to 
 this embelishment, (which 1 fear has too often grossly 
 imposed upon my loving countrymen instead of wit,) and 
 the applause it meets with from a rising generation, fill 
 me with fearful apprehensions for the future reputation of 
 my country : a young man of modesty, (which is the most 
 certain indication of large capacities) is hereby discour- 
 aged from attempting to make any figure in life : his ap- 
 prehensions of being out-laughed, will force lii in to con- 
 tinue in a restless obscurity, without having an opportuni- 
 ty of knowing his own merit himself, or discovering it to 
 the world, rather than venture to expose himself in a 
 place, where a pun or a sneer shall pass for wit, noise 
 for reason, and the strength of the argument be judged by 
 that of the lungs. Among those witty gentlemen, let us 
 take a view of Kidentius : what a contemptible figure does 
 he make with his traia of paltry admirers. This Might 
 shall give himself an hour's diversion with the cock of a 
 man's hat, the heels of his shoes, an unguarded expression 
 in his discourse, or even some personal defect; and the 
 height of his low ambition is to put some OTIC of the com- 
 pany to the blush, who, perhaps, must pay an equal share 
 of the reckoning with himself. If such a fellow makes 
 laughing the sole end and purpose of his life, if it is ne- 
 cessary to his constitution, or if he has a great desire of 
 growing suddenly fat, let him eat; let him give public- 
 notice where any dull stupid rogues may set a quart of 
 four-penny for being laughed at; but it is barbarously- 
 unhandsome, when friends meet for the benfit of 
 
SOS REPUBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 sation, and a proper relaxation from business, that one 
 should be the butt of the company, and four men made 
 merry at the cost of the fifth. 
 
 How different from this character is that of the good- 
 natured, gay Eugenius ! who never spoke yet, but with 
 a design to divert and please; and who was never yet 
 baulked in his intention. Eugenius takes more delight 
 in applying the wit of his friends, than in being admired 
 himself; and if any one of the company is so unfortunate 
 as to be touched a little too nearly, he will make use tif 
 some ingenious artifice to turn the edge of ridicule another' 
 way, chusing rather to make himself a public jest*, than 
 endure the pain of seeing his friend in confusion. 
 
 Among the tribe of laughers, I reckon the pretty gen- 
 tlemen, who write satires, and carry them about in their 
 pockets, reading them themselves in all company they 
 nappen to be in ; taking an advantage of the ill taste of 
 the town, to make themselves famous for a pack of 
 paltry, low nonsense, for which they deserve to be kicked 
 father than admired, by all whoiiave the least tincture 
 of politeness. These 1 take to be the most incorrigible of 
 all my readers ; nay, I expect they will be squibbing at 
 the Busy -Body himself However /the only favor he begs 
 of them is this, that if they cannot control their overbear- 
 ing itch of scribbling, let him be attacked in downright 
 biting lyricks; for there is no satire he dreads half so 
 much as aa attempt towards a panegyrick. 
 
 Dll. FRANKLI!'. 
 
 Poiver of 
 
 How irresistible is the power of conscience! It is t. 
 viper which twines itself round the heart, and cannot be 
 shook off. It lays fast hold of us : it lies down with us* 
 and preys upon our vitals. Hence, ancient moralists 
 compared an evil conscience to a vulture, feeding upon 
 the liver, and the pangs that are felt by the one, to the 
 throes of the other; supposing at the same time, the vul- 
 ture's hunger to be insatiable^ and this entrail to be most 
 exquisitely sensible of pain ; and to grow as fast as it is 
 devoured. What can be a stronger representation of thf 
 
& 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 1^69 
 
 most lingering and most acute corporeal pains? Yet, 
 strong as it is, it falls greatly short of the anguish of a 
 guilty conscience. Imagination, when at rest, cannot 
 conceive the horrors which, when troubled, it can excite, 
 ur the tortures to which it can give birth. 
 
 What must have been the state of mind of Bessus, a 
 native of Pelponia, in Greece, when he disclosed the fol- 
 lowing authenticated fact! His neighbours, seeing him 
 one day extremely anxious in pulling down some birds' 
 nests, and passionately destroying their young, could 
 not help taking notice of it, and" upbraiding him with his 
 ill nature and cruelty to poor creatures, that by nestling 
 so near him, seemed to court his protection and hospi- 
 tality : he replied, that their voice was to him insupport- 
 able, as they never ceased twitting him with the murder 
 of his father. 
 
 This execrable villainy, had lain concealed many 
 years, and had never been suspected. In all probabil- 
 ity it never would have come to light, had not the aveng- 
 ing fury of conscience drawn, by these extraordinary 
 means, a public acknowledgment of it, from the parri- 
 cide's own mouth. 
 
 Bessus is not the only person that has stood self-con- 
 victed. Though the discovery has not been distinguish- 
 ed by such a strange circumstance, many have made a 
 voluntary confession, and sought for a refuge from the 
 torments of conscience, in death. What a lesson for all 
 meu to keep a conscience void of offence. 
 
 Dramatic Censor, 
 
MISC- ELL ANEOUS POST Ji 
 
 AMERICAN HEROES, 
 
 I** front firm Washington superior shone, 
 
 His eye directed to the half-seen sun; 
 
 As through the cloud the bursting splendours glow 
 
 And light the passage to the distant foe. 
 
 His waving steel returns the living day. 
 
 And points, through unfought fields, tnc warrior's way ^ 
 
 His valourous deeds to be confined no more, 
 
 Monongahela to thy desert shore. 
 
 Matured with years, with nobler glory warm, 
 
 Fate in his eye, and empire on his arm, 
 
 He feels his sword the strength of nations wield? 
 
 And moves before them with a broader shield. 
 
 Greene rose beside him, emulous in arms, 
 
 His genius brightening as the danger warms, 
 
 In counsel great, in every science skilled, 
 
 Pride of the camp, and terror of the field. 
 
 With eager look, conspicuous o ? er the crowd, 
 
 And port majestic, brave Montgomery strode, 
 
 Bared his tried blade, with honour's call elate, 
 
 Claim'd the first field, and hastened to his fate. 
 
 Lincoln, with force unfolding as he rose, 
 
 Scoped the whole war, and measured well the foes 9 
 
 Calm, cautious, firm, for frugal counsels known, 
 
 Frugal of others' blood, but liberal of his own, 
 
212 REPUBLICAN COMPILEIl. 
 
 Heath for impending toil his falchion draws, 
 And fearless Wooster aids the sacred cause $ 
 Mercer advanced an early death to prove, 
 Sinclair and Mifflin swift to combat move; 
 Here stood stern Putnam, scord with ancient scars^ 
 The living records of his country's wars; 
 "Wayne like a moving tower assumes his post, 
 Fires the whole field, and is himself a host; 
 Undaunted Stirling, prompt to meet his foes. 
 And Gates and Sullivan for action rose ; 
 Macdougal, Clinton, guardians of the state 
 Stretch the nerv'd arm to pierce the depth of fate ; 
 Marion with rapture seiz'd the sword of fame, 
 Young Laurens grac'd a father's patriot name ; 
 Moultrie and Sumpter lead their banded powers, 
 Morgan in front of his bold riflers' towers ; 
 His host of keen-ey'd marksmen skill'd to pour 
 Their slugs unerring from the twisted bore. 
 ]S(o sword, no bayonet they learn to wield, 
 They gall the flank, thev skirt the battl'ing field, 
 Cull out the distant foe in full horse speed, 
 Couch the long tube and eye the silver bead, 
 Turn as he turns, dismiss the whizzing lead, 
 And lodge the death ball in his heedless head. 
 
 Eulogy on Laughing. 
 
 Delivered at an Exhibition by a Young Lady. 
 
 LIKE merry Momus, while the Gods were quailing, 
 
 I come to give an eulogy on laughing ! 
 
 True, courtly Chesterfield, with critic zeal, 
 
 Asserts that laughing's vastly ungenteel ! 
 
 The boist'rous shake, lie says, distorts fine faces* 
 
 And robs each pretty feature of the graces! 
 
 But yet this paragon of perfect taste, 
 
 On other topics was not over cJiaste ; 
 
 He like the Pharisees in this appears, 
 
 They ruin'd widows, but they made long prayers. 
 
 Tithe, anise, mint, they zealously affected : 
 
 But the law's weightier matters lay neglected; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY, 
 
 And while an insect strains their squeamish caul, 
 
 Down goes a monstrous camel bunch and all ' 
 
 Yet others, quite as sage, with warmth dispute 
 
 Man's risibles distinguish him from brute ; 
 
 While instinct, reason, both in common own, 
 
 To laugh is man's prerogative alone! 
 
 Hail rosy laughter ! thou deserv'dst the bays ! 
 
 Come with thy dimples, animate these lays, 
 
 Whilst universal peals attest thy praise, 
 
 Daughter of joy ! thro' thee we health attain, 
 
 The Esculapian recipes are vain. 
 
 Let sentimentalists ring in our ears 
 
 The tender joy of grief the luxury of tears 
 
 Keraclitus may whine and oh ! and ah !- 
 
 I like an honest, hearty, ha, hah, hah ! 
 
 It makes the wheels of nature gliblier play ; 
 
 Dull care suppresses ; smooths life's thorny way ; 
 
 Propels the dancing current through each vein; T 
 
 Braces the nerves; corroborates the brain; 
 
 Shakes ev'ry muscle, and throws of the spleen. J 
 
 Old Homer makes yon tenants of the skies, 
 
 His Gods, love laughing as they did their eyes ! 
 
 It kept in them good humour, hushed their squabbles s 
 
 As fro ward children are appeas'd by baubles ; 
 
 Kv'n Jove, the thund'rer, dearly lov'd a laugh. 
 
 When of fine nectar he had taken a quaflT! 
 
 It helps digestion when the feast runs high, 
 
 And dissipates the fumes of potent Burgundy. 
 
 But, in the main, tlio' laughing I approve. 
 
 It is not ev'ry kind of laugh I love 5 
 
 For many laughs e'en candour must condemn! 
 
 vSome arc too full of acid, some of phlegm ; 
 
 The loud horse laugh (improperly so stil'd,) 
 
 The idiot pimper, like the slumbering child, 
 
 Th' affected laugh, to show a dimpled chin, 
 
 The sneer contemptuous, and broad vacant griit, 
 
 Are despicable all as Strephon's smile, 
 
 To show his ivory legions, rank and file. 
 
 The honest laugh, unstudied, uriacquir'd. 
 
 By nature prompted, and true wit inspird ; 
 
 Such as Quin felt, and Fallstaff knew before. 
 
 When humour set the table in a roar ; 
 
 Alone deserves th' applauding muse's grace: 
 
 Vhe rest is all contortion and griraace. 
 
214 REPUBLICAN COMPILER., 
 
 But you exclaim " Your Eulogy's too dry; 
 
 " Leave dissertation and exemplify I 
 
 " Prove by experiment, vour maxims true ; 
 
 < And what you praise so highly, make us. do." 
 
 In truth, I hop'd this was already done, 
 
 And Mirth and Momus had the laurel won ! 
 
 Like honest Hodge, unhappy should I fail, 
 
 Who to a crowded audience told his tale, 
 
 And laugh'd and sniggerd all the while himself 
 
 To grace the story, as he thought, poor elf! 
 
 But not a single soul his suffrage gave 
 
 While each long phiz was serious as the grave ! 
 
 Laugh! laugh! cries Hodge, laugh loud, (no halting,} 
 
 I thought you all, ere this, would die with laughing ! 
 
 This did the feat; for, tickled at the whim, 
 
 A burst of laughter, like the electric beam, 
 
 Shook all the audience but it was at him ! 
 
 Like Hodge, should ev'ry stratagem and wile 
 
 Thro' my long story not excite a smile, 
 
 I'll bear it with becoming modesty; 
 
 But should my feeble efforts move your glee, 
 
 Laugh if you fairly can but not at ME ! 
 
 " 
 
 First J&nerican Congress. 
 
 COLUMBUS look'd ; and still around them spread 
 
 From south to north the immeasurable shade ; 
 
 At last the central darkness burst away, 
 
 And rising regions open'd on the day. 
 
 Once more bright Delaware's commercial stream 
 
 And Penn's throng'd city cast a cheerful gleam 5 
 
 The dome of state as conscious of his eye. 
 
 Now seem'd to silver in a loftier sky. 
 
 Unfolding fair its gates; when lo, within 
 
 The assembled states in solemn Congress shine. 
 
 The sires elect from every province came, 
 
 Where wide Columbia bore the British name, 
 
 Where Freedom's sons their high-born lineage trac(% 
 
 And home-bred bravery still exalts the race : 
 
 Her sons who plant each various vast domain 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. t SI* 
 
 That Che&apeak's uncounted currents drain ; 
 
 The race who Roanoke's clear stream bestride, 
 
 Who fell the fir on Apalachia's side, 
 
 To Albemarle's wide wave who- trust their store. 
 
 Who deck proud Pamlico's unstable shore, 
 
 Whose groaning barks overload the long Santee, 
 
 Wind through the realms and labour to the sea, 
 
 fTheir cumbrous cargoes to the sail consign'd 
 
 Seek distant worlds and feed and clothe mankind :) 
 
 The race whose rice fields suck Savanna's urn, 
 
 Whose verdant vines Oconee's banks adorn 
 
 Who freight the Delaware with golden grain, 
 
 Who tame their steeds on Monmouth's flowery plain, 
 
 From huge Tocannok's hills who drag their ore, 
 
 And sledge their corn to Hudson's quay -built shore. 
 
 Who keel Connecticut's long meadowy tide, 
 
 With patient plow his fallow plains divide, 
 
 Spread their white flocks o'er Narraganset's vale 
 
 Or chase to each chill pole the monstrous whale ; 
 
 Whose venturous prows have borne their fame afar, 
 
 Tamed all the seas and steerM by every star, 
 
 Dispensed to earth's whole habitants there store 
 
 And with their biting flukes have harrow'd every shore. 
 
 The venturous delegates behold with pain 
 
 The hostile Britons hovering o'er the main, 
 
 Lament the strife that bids two worlds engage, 
 
 And blast their annals with fraternal rage ; 
 
 Two worlds in one broad state ! whose bounds bestride, 
 
 Like heaven's blue arch the vast Atlantic tide, 
 
 By language, lav/s and liberty combined, 
 
 Great nurse of thought, example to mankind. 
 
 Columbia rears her warning voice in vain, 
 
 Brothers to brothers call across the main; 
 
 Britannia's patriots lend a listening ear, 
 
 But kings and courtiers push their mad career; 
 
 Dissension raves, the sheathless falchions glare, 
 
 And earth and ocean tremble at the war. 
 
 Thus with stern brow, as worn by cares of state 3 
 
 His bo&om big with dark unfolding fate, 
 
 High o'er his lance the sacred Eagle spread, 
 
 And eartli's whole crown still resting on his head ? 
 
 Rome's hoary Genius rose and mournful stood 
 
 On roaring Rubicon's forbidden flood, 
 
 When Csesar's ensigns swept the Alpine air, 
 
21$ REPUBLICAN COMPILER 
 
 Led their long legions from the Gallic war, 
 Paused on the opposing bank with wings unfurPti, 
 And warred portentous o'er the shuddering world. 
 The god with outstretcht arm and awful look, 
 Cali'd the proud victor and prophetic spoke> 
 Arrest, my son, thy parricidious fate, 
 Pass not the stream nor stab my filial state, 
 Stab not thyself, thy friends, thy total kind 
 And worlds and ages in one state combined. 
 The chief, regardless of the warning god, 
 Kein'd his rude steed and headlong past the flood, 
 Cried, farewell Peace! took Fortune for his guide, 
 ,And o'er his country poured the slaughtering tide. 
 
 Columbia^. 
 
 To ike Memory o$ Baron Trench , 
 
 HAIL injured Shade ! who nobly did'st despise 
 
 The utmost malice fortune couid devise ! 
 
 Enur'd to bear variety of pain, 
 
 A dungeon's horrors, and a tyrant's chain ! 
 
 What eye thy mighty sufferings can peruse 
 
 Nor tears of sympathy that eye suffuse, 
 
 Ponder the cruel wrongs thou did'st sustain, 
 
 Nor indignation boil in ev'ry vein? 
 
 Thy dauntless valour contemplate, thy zeal, 
 
 And not accumulated courage feel ? 
 
 Thy manly, god-like fortitude behold, 
 
 And from those brows the martyr's crown withhold ? 
 
 Thy candour, justice, moderation, scan, 
 
 Nor glory in the dignity of man ? 
 
 As I revolve thy various turns of fate, 
 
 What struggling passions in this breast debate ? 
 
 Love, pity, indignation, take their turn, 
 
 Then horror, and vindictive vengeance burn 
 
 What coward vengeance in thy foes ? in thee 
 
 What unexampled magnanimity'? 
 
 Ye who another's agonies have felt! 
 
 Whom rage can redden, or compassion melt! 
 
 See the brave vet'ran drag his dungeon-chain, 
 
 The blood fast trickling from each spouting vein ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY, 
 
 I feel life's current from its channels swerve, 
 
 While keen vibrations rack each tortur'd nerv- 
 
 Exalted suflPrer ! thou shalt charm a world, 
 
 When thrones and sceptres, are in ruins hurl'd. 
 
 And their proud owners, moulder'd and forgot. 
 
 They and their hated memories shall rot. 
 
 From thee shall suff'ring virtue feel new springs. 
 
 Rise with recruited strength and prime her wings. 
 
 And vice, abash'd beneath thy potent spell, 
 
 Sink down a (frighted to her native hell. 
 
 Thy memorable annals leave behind 
 
 An everlasting lesson to mankind, 
 
 To place no confidence on states or kings. 
 
 Nor trust the shadow of a tyrant's wings. 
 
 The pageantry of courts, each fool and knave, 
 
 The cruel despot, and the cringing slave ; 
 
 The judge suborn'd, tlr ungrateful, treach'rous friend, 
 
 The fawning sycophant, the subtle fiend ; 
 
 The lurking spy, each harpy of the gown, 
 
 The vengeful levite and the rev'rend drone ; 
 
 Touch'd by thy pen as by Itheurii's spear 
 
 In all their vile deformity appear 
 
 Thee youth shall study, lir'd with thoughts sublime, 
 
 And the steep paths of honour dauntless climb. 
 
 The cheerless captive learn from thee to bear, 
 
 And, hVd by thy example, scorn despair. 
 
 Thy race, the guardian care of Providence, 
 
 Shall live respected, crown'd with innocence ; 
 
 And those just rights proud despots thee deny'd, 
 
 With sev'e n-fold honours be by them enjoy 'd : 
 
 To teach base miscreants Virtue's not mere name, 
 
 But surest passport to immortal fame. 
 
 Now PRUSSIA'S DKSPOT, crouching at thy feet. 
 
 Beholds thee thron'd in some distinguisli'd seat. 
 
 And ROBESPIKRE, to make thy ghost amends. 
 
 Howls in the lowest dungeon of the fiends, 
 
 Whilst thou in peace, no tyrant to annoy, 
 
 With blooming Hebe quaff 'st perpetual joy. 
 
 And some illustrious bard of future days/ 1 
 
 Fir'd by thy mighty name shall tune the lays, L 
 
 And grow immortal in thy deathless praise". J 
 
 SB WALL, 
 T 
 
21$ REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 Epilogue to the Tragedy of Catu. 
 
 Written in 1778. 
 
 You sec mankind the same in ev'ry age : 
 
 Heroic fortitude, tyrannic rage, 
 
 Boundless ambition, patriotic truth, 
 
 And hoary treason, and untainted youth, 
 
 Have deeply mark'd all periods and all climes : 
 
 The noblest virtues, and the blackest crimes ! 
 
 Britannia's daring sins, and virtues both, 
 
 Perhaps once mark'd the Vandal and the Goth, 
 
 And what now gleams with dawning ray at home, 
 
 Once blaz/d in full orb'd majesty at ROME. 
 
 Did Caesar, drunk with pow'r, and madly brave, 
 
 Insatiate burn, his country to enslave ? 
 
 Did he for this, lead forth" a servile host, 
 
 \nd spill the choicest blood that Rome could boast? 
 
 Our British Csesar too has done the same, 
 
 And damn'd this age to everlasting flame. 
 
 Columbia's crimson'd fields still* smoke with gore ! 
 
 Her bravest herpes cover all the shore ! 
 
 The fiow'r of Britain too in martial bloom, 
 
 In one sad year sent headlong to the tomb ! 
 
 Did Rome's brave senate nobly strive t' oppose, 
 
 The mighty torrent of domestic foes? 
 
 And boldly arm the virtuous few, and dare 
 
 The desp'rate perils of unequal war? 
 
 Our senate too, the same bold deed has done, 
 
 And for a CATO, arm'd a WASHINGTON ! 
 
 A chief in all the ways of battle skill'd, 
 
 Great in the council, glorious in the field ! r 
 
 Thy scourge, O Britain ! and Columbia's boast, 
 
 The dread, and admiration of each host ! 
 
 Whose martial arm, and steady soul, alone 1 
 
 Have made thy legions quake, thy empire groan, . X 
 
 And thy proud monarch tremble cm his throne. J 
 
 What now thou art. oh ! ever may'st thou be, 
 
 And death the lot of any chief but thee ! 
 
 We've had our DECIUS too, and HOWE can say 
 
 Health, pardon, peace, GEORGE sends America ! 
 
 Yet brings destruction for the olive-wreath. 
 
 For health contagion, and for pardon death. 
 
 Jn brave FAYETTE young JUBA lives again, 
 
 And many a MAHCUS bleeds on yonder plain. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. 
 
 Like POMPEY, WARREN fell in martial pride. 
 
 And great MONTGOMERY like SCIPIO died ! 
 
 In GREENE, the hero, patriot, sage we see, 
 
 And Lucius, JUBA, CATO, shine in thee ! 
 
 When Rome received her last decisive blow, 
 
 Had'st thou, immortal GATES, been Csesar s foe, 
 
 All-perfect discipline had check'd his sway. 
 
 And thy superior conduct won the day. 
 
 Freedom had triumph 'd on Pharsalian ground, 
 
 Nor Saratoga's heights been more renown'd ! 
 
 Long as heroic deeds the soul enflame, "} 
 
 Eternal praise bold STARK will ever claim, 
 
 Who led thy glorious way, and gave thee half thy fran. < 
 
 See persevering A proudly scale 
 
 Canadia's alpine hills, a second HANNIBAL. 
 In Csesar's days had such a daring mind 
 With WASHINGTON'S serenity been joln'd, 
 The tyrant then had bled, great Cato KvM, 
 And Rome in all her majesty surviv'd. 
 What praise, what gratitude are due to thee, 
 Oh brave, experienced, all-accomplish'd LEE ! 
 The sword, the pen thou dost alternate wield, 
 Nor JULIUS' self, to thee would blush to yield. 
 And while SEMPRONIUS- " bellowings stun the car. 
 
 I see the traitor C ? his thunders hear. 
 
 But all was false, and hollow, tho' his tongue 
 
 Propt manna," with the garb of reason hung. 
 
 Ere long the wily SYPHAX may advance, 
 
 And AFRIC faith be verify'd in FRANCE, 
 
 How long, deluded by that faithless pov/T* 
 
 Will ye dream on, nor seize the golden hour ? 
 
 In vain do ye rely on foreign aid, 
 
 By her own arm and heav'n's Columbia must be froed- 
 
 Rise then, my countrymen ! for fight prepare, 
 
 Gird on your swords, and fearless rush to war ! 
 
 For your griev'd country nobly dare to die, 
 
 And empty all your veins for LIBERTY, 
 
 No pent-up Utica contracts your pow'rs, 
 
 But the whole boundless continent is yours ! 
 
 " Rouse up, for shame ! your brethren slain in war, 
 
 Or groaning now in ignominious bondage, 
 
 " Point at their wounds and chains, and cry aloud 
 
 " To battle ! WASHINGTON impatient mourns 
 
 " His scanty legions and demands your aid. 
 
220 REPUBLICAN COMPILER 
 
 " Intrepid LEE still clanks his galling fetters ! 
 
 " MONTGOMERY complains that we are slow ! 
 
 " And ^YAIl ! I^EN's ghost stalks unreven<j'd among us!" 
 
 SEWALL, 
 
 On the gloomy prospects of 1 776 ; 
 
 Written with allusion to part of the II th chapter of Job, 
 
 C.VNST thou, by searching the OMNISCIENT find ? 
 
 Or to perfection scan the ETFRNAL MJNI>? 
 
 Vain aim ! its height the heav'n of heav'ns transcends, 
 
 Deeper than hell, the urifathom'd line descends ! 
 
 'Tis longer than the earth's unmeasured plain, 
 
 And broader than th 9 illimitable maine. 
 
 If HE in wrath, shut up a guilty land, 
 
 Or fierce consume them with his red right hand : 
 
 Humbled in dust beneath almighty power, 
 
 Trembling they groan, bow prostrate, and adore : 
 
 Then, touched with pity, he their prayer receives, 
 
 Kepents him of the evil, and forgives*. 
 
 Thus oft doth GOD what pow r r can stay his hand* 
 
 Who Iris fix'd counsels question or withstand ? 
 
 He knows vain man ! no thought escapes his eye?, 
 
 And canst thou stand if wrath eternal rise? 
 
 Yet dares proud dust presumptuously revolt, 
 
 To folly born, like the wild ass's colt. 
 
 Oh, then learn wisdom, much-enduring land ! 
 
 Implore thy GOD to stay his wasting hand ? 
 
 He r ll not be deaf, if humbly thou prepare 
 
 Thine heart, and stretch thine hands in fervent prayer^ 
 
 If in them v/rath or wickedness be found, 
 
 If pride, extortion, violence, abound, 
 
 Far, far remove them, let no guilty stain. 
 
 The tabernacle of thy GOD profane. 
 
 To him with filial confidence repair, 
 
 He'll lift thee up, nor suffer thee to fear. 
 
 Thy mis'rics shall be all forgot, or seem 
 
 Lilte gliding waters, or an empty dream. 
 
 Then shall thy light be as the morning ray, 
 
 Thine age more glorious than meridian day. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. 
 
 Cenfirm'd by hope, thy terrors all shall cease, 
 And 'midst contending worlds thou shalt have 
 Thy sons, reposing in Almighty aid, 
 Shall dwell securely, none to make afraid. 
 Before thee BRITAIN shall abash'd retire, 
 And mightiest nations deprecate thine ire ; 
 Thy favour court, from thy just vengeance flee, 
 And for their great example, copy thee. 
 Resembling in their morals, laws, police, 
 The glorious Kingdom of the PRINCE or PEACE 
 Then faith shall triumph, envy rage in vain, 
 Oppression tremble, slavery drop her chain, 
 To law proud rapine, fraud to justice yield. 
 Fierce discord raging, bathe no more the field ; 
 But perfect love, joy, harmony and peace, 
 Crown thy millenium with transcendent blis-s. 
 
 The. Force of Nature. 
 
 TWAS on a cliff, whose rocky base 
 
 Baffled the briny wave, 
 Whose cultured heights their verdant 
 
 To many a tenant gave ; 
 A mother, led by rustic cares, 
 
 Had wandered with her child, 
 Unwean'd the babe : yet on the grass 
 
 He frolick'd and he smil'd. 
 With what delight the mother glow'd 
 
 To mark her infant joy, 
 How oft would pause, amid her toil. 
 
 To view her beauteous boy. 
 At length, by other cares estrang'd, 
 
 Her thoughts the child forsook, 
 Careless, he wandered o'er the grass ? 
 
 Nor drew his mother's look. 
 Cropt was each flower that caught his eye ; 
 
 When wandering o'er the green ; 
 He sought the cliff's uncertain edge, 
 
 And pleas'd^ survey'd the scene. 
 
REPUBLICAN COMPILED 
 
 'Twas then, the mother from her toil 
 
 Turn'd to behold her child 
 The Urchin gone ! her cheek was flush ? J% 
 
 Her wandering eye was wild. 
 She saw him on the cliff's rude brink 
 
 Now careless peeping o,er, 
 He turn'd, and on his mother smil'd, 
 
 Then sported as before. 
 Sunk was her voice, 'twas vain to flyv 
 
 'Twas vain the brink to brave 5 
 Oh Nature ! it was thine alone 
 
 To prompt the means to save 5 
 She tore the 'kerchief from her breast, 
 
 And laid her bosom bare : 
 He saw, delighted, left the cliff, 
 
 And sought the banquet there. 
 
 Freemason's Ma 
 
 Star-Light An Elegy, 
 
 Now night serene, and solemn silence reign j 
 The stars" dim twinkling, shed a dubious light 
 On the smooth bosom of the swelling main, 
 And give its billows faintly to the sight. 
 ""The barque light-bounding, cuts the silver wave, 
 As the stern sailor plies the bending oar; 
 Sweet Echo leaves her solitary cave, 
 And murm'ring winds along the pebbled shore c 
 While from the east a gentle evening breeze, 
 Wafting the fragrance of the varied year, 
 Wild and melodious, through the sighing trees, 
 Breaks, in soft whispers, on the charmed ear. 
 No jarring sound the tranquil hour alarms 5 
 No clash of elements the mind assails 5 
 No brazen irumpet harshly brays to arms, 
 Nor widow'd fair, ker murder'd love bewails. 
 All Nature, lull'd in solemn stillness, seems 
 To cheer the mind which care and grief oppress? 
 Mild and beneficent, Hope's star-light beams 
 Seen streaming forth, to soothe the soul's distress 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. 
 
 Ah ! what have I with scenes like this to do! 
 No placid calm my troubled bosom feels; 
 Me, rude Misfortune's eager fiends pursue^ 
 No hope one scene of future joy reveals, 
 To me more dear the wildly- wasting storm 
 Howls dreadful 5 and the whirlwind's sullen roar, 
 Swelling with rage, each beauty to deform, 
 And earth to chaos once again restore. 
 Ah ! why forever in my heart must reign 
 Utynumber'd cares, which time will ne'er assuage ? 
 Why must I find no short recess of pain, 
 Nor joy one moment, all my soul engage ? 
 O thou, whose power the raging tempest sways, 
 Whose will alike the troubled mind can calm; 
 Deign hence to drive Despair's dull lurid blaze, 
 And o'er my soul to shed Religion's holy balm. 
 
 Port Folio- 
 
 Paper A Poem. 
 
 SOME wit of old such wits of old there were 
 Whose hints show'd meaning, whose allusions, care> 
 By one brave stroke to mark all human kind, 
 Call'd clear blank paper every infant mind ; 
 When still, as opening sense her dictates' wrote} 
 Fair virtue put a seal, or vice a blot. 
 
 The thought was happy, pertinent, and true^ 
 Methinks a genius might the plan pursue. 
 I, (can you pardon my presumption r) I, 
 No wit, no genius, yet for once will try. 
 
 Various the papers, various wants produce, 
 The wants of fashion, elegance, and use. 
 Men are as various ~ and, if right I scan, 
 Each sort of paper represents some man. 
 
 Pray note the fop ; half powder and half lace $ 
 Nice, as a band-box were his dwelling-place ; 
 He's the gilt paper, which apart you store, 
 And lock from vulgar bauds in the scr 
 
224 REPUBLICAN COMPILED 
 
 Mechanics, servants, farmers, and so forth. 
 Are copy paper of inferior worth ; 
 Less priz'd, more useful, for your desk decreed; 
 Free to all pens, and prompt at ev'ry need. 
 
 The wretch, whom av'rice bids to pinch and spare r 
 Starve, cheat and pilfer, to enrich an heir, 
 Is coarse brown paper, such as pedlars choose 
 To wrap up wares, which better men will use,- 
 
 Take next the miser's contrast, who destroys 
 Health, fame, and fortune, in a round of joys. 
 Will any paper match him ? Yes, throughout, 
 He's a true sinking paper, past all doubt. 
 
 The retail politician's anxious thought 
 
 Deems this side always right and that stark naught; 
 
 He foams with censure ; with applause he raves, 
 
 A dupe to rumours, and a tool of knaves ; 
 
 He'll want no type his weakness to proclaim^ 
 
 While such a tiling as fools-cap has a name. 
 
 The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high ? 
 Who picks a quarrel if you step awry, 
 Who can't a jest, or hint, or look endure : . 
 What's he ?' What ? Touch-paper to be sure;* 
 
 What are our poets, take them as they fall, 
 Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all ? 
 Them and their works in the same class you'll find ; 
 They are the mere waste-paper of mankind* 
 
 Observe the maiden, innocently sweet, 
 She's fair white paper ', an unsullied sheet; 
 On which the happy man, whom fate ordains, 
 May write his name, and take her for his pains* 
 
 One instance more, and only one I'll bring ; 
 
 5 Tis the great man who scorns a little thing ; 
 
 Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whose maxims are his owfc ; 
 
 Form'd on the feelings of his heart alone : 
 
 True genuine royal paper is his breast; 
 
 Of all the kinds; most precious, purest, best. 
 
 DE, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS P0ETRY. 
 Power of Music. 
 
 SUMMER'S dun cloud, that, slowly rising, holds 
 The sweeping tempest in its rushing folds, 
 Though o'er the ridges of its thundering breast, 
 The King of Terrors lifts his lightning crest ; 
 Pleas'd we behold when, those dark folds we find 
 Fring'd with the golden light, that glows behind. 
 So when one language bound the I mm an race, 
 Oa Shinar's plain, round Babel's mighty base, 
 Gloomily rose the minister of wrath; 
 Dark was his form, destructive was his path; 
 That tower was blasted, by the touch of Heaven ; 
 That bond was burst that race asunder driven : 
 Yet round the Avenger's brow, that frown'd above. 
 PlayM Mercy's beams the lambent lights of love. 
 All was not lest, though busy Discord nung 
 Repulsive accents, from each jarring tongue; 
 All was not lost; for Love one tie had twin'd 
 And Mercy dropt it, to connect mankind : 
 One tie, that winds, with soft and sweet control, 
 Its silken fibres round the yielding scul; 
 Binds man to man, sooths Passion's \vildest strife? 
 And, through the mazy labyrinths of life, 
 Supplies a faithful clue, to lead the lone 
 And weary wanderer, to his Father's throne. 
 That tie is Music. How supreme her sway ! 
 How lovely is the Power, that all obey ! 
 3)umb matter trembles at her thrilling shock ; 
 Her voice is echoed by the desert rock ; 
 For her, the asp withholds the sting of death, 
 And bares his fangs, but to inhale her breath ; 
 The lordly lion leaves his lonely lair, 
 And crouching, listens when she treads the air; 
 And man, by wilder impulse driven to ill, 
 Is tamed, and led by this Enchantress still. 
 Who ne'er has feltYier hand assuasive steal 
 Along his heart. That heart will never feel. 
 'Tis her's to chain the passions, sooth the soul, 
 To snatch the dagger, and to dash the bowl 
 From Murder's hand ; to smooth the couch of Care, 
 Extract the thorns, and scatter roses there ; 
 Of Pain's hot brow, to still the bounding throb, 
 Despairs long sigh and Grief's convulsive sob- 
 
226 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 How vast her empire! Turn through earth, through air, 
 
 Your aching eye, you find her subjects there ; 
 
 Nor is the throne of heaven above her spell, 
 
 Nor yet beneath it is the host of hell. 
 
 To her Religion owes her holiest flame : 
 
 Her eye looks heaven-ward, for from heaven she came 
 
 And when Religion's mild and genial ray, 
 
 Around the frozen heart begins to play,, 
 
 Music's soft breath falls on the quivering light ; 
 
 The fire is kindled, and the flame is bright ; 
 
 And that cold mass, by either power assail'd, 
 
 Is wann'd made liquid and to heaven exhaPd. 
 
 cf Palestine. 
 
 Sacred Music at Midnight'* 
 
 *Tis night again : for Music loves to steal 
 
 Abroad at night; when all her subjects kneel 
 
 In more profound devotion at her throne : 
 
 And, at that sable hour, sh'li sit alone, 
 
 Upon a bank, by her sequestered cell, 
 
 And breathe her sorrows through her wreathed shell * 
 
 Again 'tis night the diamond lights on high, 
 
 Burn bright, and dance harmonious through the sky; 
 
 And silence leads her downy footed hours, 
 
 Hound Sion's hill and Salem's holy towers. 
 
 The Lord of Life with his few faithful friends, 
 
 DrownM in mute sorrow, down that hill descends. 
 
 They cross the stream that bathes its foot, and dashes 
 
 Around the tomb, where sleep a monarch's ashes ; 
 
 And climb the steep, where oft the midnight air 
 
 Received the sufferer's solitary prayer. 
 
 There, in dark bowers embosomed, Jesus flings 
 
 His hand celestial o'er prophetic strings ; 
 
 Displays his purple robe, his bosom gory, 
 
 His crown of thorns, his cross, his future glory ; 
 
 And, while the group, each hallowed accent gleaning, 
 
 On pilgrim's start*, in pensive posture leaning, 
 
 Their reverend beards, that sweep their bosoms, wet 
 
 With the chill dews of shady Olivet 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. 227 
 
 Wonder and weep, they pour the song of sorrow, 
 With their lov'd Lorcf, whose death shall shroud the 
 
 morrow. 
 
 Heavens ! what a strain was that ! those matchless tones, 
 That ravish " Princedoms, Dominations, Thrones ;" 
 That, heard on high, had hush'd those peals of praise, 
 That seraphs swell, and harping angels raise, 
 Soft, as the wave from Siloa's brook that flows, 
 Through the drear silence of the mountain rose. 
 How sad the Saviour's song ! how sweet ! how holy ! 
 The last he sung on earth: how melancholy ! 
 Along the valley sweep the expiring notes. 
 On Kedron's wave the melting music floats : 
 From her blue arch, the lamp of evening flings 
 Her mellow lustre as the Saviour sings ; 
 The moon above, the wave beneath is still, 
 And light and music mingle on the hill. 
 The glittering guard, whose viewless ranks invest 
 The brook's green margin and the mountain's crest, 
 Catch that unearthly song, and soar away, 
 Leave this dark orb for fields of endless day, 
 And round the Eternal's throne on buoyant pinions play, 
 Ye glowing seraphs, that enchanted swim 
 In seas of rapture as ye tune the hymn, 
 Ye bore from earth. say ye choral quires, 
 Why in such haste to make your golden lyres r 
 Why, like a flattering, like a fleeting dream, 
 Leave that lone mountain and that silent stream : 
 Say, could not then the " Man of Sorrows" claim 
 Your shield of adamant, your sword of flame ? 
 Hell forc'd a smile, at your retiring wing, 
 And man was left to crucify your King, 
 
 Ibid- 
 
 The Maniac, 
 
 HARK ! the Maniac fiercely raging. 
 Howls his sorrows to the wind, 
 Nought his frantic grief assuaging, 
 Nought can ease his phrenzied mind. 
 
228 REPUBLICAN COMPILE 
 
 View him bounding now with anguish. 
 While his eyes in terror roll, 
 Now they soften, now they languish, 
 Marking thus his varied soul. 
 
 Hear the far fetch'd groans of horror, 
 Issuing from his throbbing breast, 
 See those pallid cheeks of sorrow, 
 And those limbs which know no rest. 
 
 Once, those eyes were fraught with pleasure, 
 Once, those cheeks were coral red, 
 But bereft of the mind's treasure. 
 Those more treacherous beauties fled. 
 
 Once, proud Fortune on him smiled, 
 And bright Hope his thoughts did train ; 
 When alas! of both beguiled, 
 " Maddening fury" seiz'd his brain. 
 
 Now he roams poor and unfriended, 
 None his wayward steps to guide. 
 All his wishes unattended, 
 All his wants are unsupply'd. 
 
 So speak those tatter'd garments on him, 
 And his shaggy matted hair, 
 O do not with disgust turn from him, 
 He was once as you now are. 
 
 Port Folio. 
 
 On the Powers of the Human Understanding, 
 
 This human mind ! how grand a theme : 
 Faint image of the Great Supreme, 
 
 The universal soul, 
 
 That lives, that thinks, compares, contrives . 
 From its vast self all power derives 
 
 To manage or controul. 
 
:>nSCELLANEOUS POETRY, 
 
 What energy, O soul is thine ; 
 How you reflect, resolve, combine 5 
 
 Invention all your own ! 
 Material bodies changed by you, 
 New modes assume, or natures ne\v s 
 
 From death or chaos won. 
 
 To intellectual powers, though strong, 
 To moral powers a use belong 
 
 More noble and refined ; 
 These lift us to the power who made 5 
 Illume what seems to us all shade, 
 
 The part to man assigned. 
 
 Both nurtured in the heart of man, 
 Serve to advance his social plan, 
 
 And happier make his race ; 
 Hence Reason takes her potent sway ? 
 And grovelling passions bids obey, 
 
 That harm us and debase. 
 
 O ye, who long hare walked obscure; 
 Forever must those clouds endure 
 
 Which darken human bliss ? 
 Though for some better state design'^; 
 Is there not vigour in the mind 
 
 To make a heaven of this. 
 
 Eternal must that progress be, 
 Which nature through futurity 
 
 Decrees the human soul ; 
 Capacious still, it still improves, 
 As through the abyss of time it moves 5 
 
 Or endless ages roll. 
 
 Its knowledge grows by every change ; 
 Through science vast we see it range, 
 
 That none may here acquire ; 
 The pause of death must come between 
 And nature gives another scene, 
 
 More brilliant to admire. 
 
 Thus decomposed, or recoinbined, 
 To slow perfection moves the mind. 
 And may at last attain 
 
 U 
 
REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 A nearer rank with that first cause. 
 Which distant, though it ever draws, 
 Unequalled must remain. 
 
 Its moral beauty thus displayed. 
 In moral excellence arrrayed, 
 
 Perpetually it shines : 
 Its heaven of happiness complete. 
 The mass of souls united meet 
 
 In orbs that heaven assigns. 
 
 PRENAU. 
 
 Lines on a Distrest Orator. 
 
 At a Public Exhibition. 
 
 Six weeks and more he taxed his brain, 
 And wrote petitions to the Muses 
 Poor orator ! 'twas all in vain, 
 For what they lent your memory loses 
 Now hear the culprit's self confess, 
 In strain of woe his sad distress : 
 
 I went upon the public stage, 
 
 ** I flounc'd and floundered in a rage, 
 
 " I gabbled like a goose : 
 *< I talk'd of custom,fame 9 and fashion, 
 * Of moral evil, and compassion, 
 
 "And pray what more ? 
 
 'ft My words were few, I must confess, 
 " And very siily my address, 
 
 " A melancholy tale ! 
 " In short 1 knew not what to say 
 " I squinted this and the other way, 
 
 " Like Lucifer. 
 
 " Alack a day ! my friends, quoth I, 
 " I guess you'll get no more from me 
 
 " In troth I have forgot it ! 
 " O my Oration ! thou art fled ; 
 t " And not a trace within my head 
 
 Remains to me ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. i 
 
 What could be done ? I gaped once mora 
 * And set the audience in a roar, 
 
 44 They laughed me out of face 
 4 I turned my eyes from north to south 
 ' I clapt my lingers in my mouth 
 
 " And down I came !" PRENAU 
 
 The Eagle and the Cat, 
 
 From a Fable in prose by doctor Frankliih 
 
 ONE morning, as grimalkin sat 
 
 Hard by a barn to watch a rat. 
 
 An eagle soaring high in air, 
 
 There spied him squatting like a hare. 
 
 Thank Jove !" said she " good cheer at last, 
 
 Upon a hare I'll break my fast" 
 
 Then cow'ring from the clouds she came 
 
 Headlong, and pounc'd upon her game, 
 
 In both her talons seiz'd the prey, 
 
 And for the mountains bore away* 
 
 Grimalkin to a rude attack 
 
 Was never known to turn his back. 
 
 With foremost claws he fiercely clirigr. 
 
 Forthwith on both the eagles wings, 
 
 About her sides the hinder ply, 
 
 At ev'ry stroke the feathers ny. 
 
 " Ah, cease dear puss ! a truce I crave ; w 
 
 Exclaimed the bird" Thy life I'll save" 
 
 No !" said the cat " your carcase shall 
 
 From this great height now break my falL 
 
 Unless you ease me to ground, 
 
 And leave me just where I was found." 
 
 Then at her throat he forward sprung, 
 
 And like a fury, there he hung. 
 
 The bird of Jove, though sadly torn, 
 
 To yield the fight had still forborne ; 
 
 But what avail'd her strength of sight, 
 
 Her rapid wing or skill in fight; 
 
 These erst her pride ; were now decreed 
 
 To fail her in the time of need ? 
 
235 KEPtfBLICAN COMPILER; 
 
 1^9 choice was left her but to chokcv 
 Or bend her neck beneath the yoke. 
 For reasons warriors often give; 
 A prudent choice she made to live 
 To live ! and breathe the vital air, 
 And to her young extend her care. 
 So, stooping from a fearful height, 
 She downward tamely takes her flight; 
 And leaves grimalkin free to roam 
 About the barn, his ancient home. 
 
 Port Folia. 
 
 True Beauty. 
 
 r ris not the auburn locks of hair, 
 That play in ringlets round the fair : 
 'Tis not her cheeks, o'erspread with smiles j 
 ^Tis not her voice which care beguiles; 
 'Tis not her lips with roses dress'd, 
 Where vagrant bees would fondly rest : 
 *Tis not her blue eyes' thrilling glance ; 
 *Tis not her feet that thrid the dance ; 
 'Tis not the grace with which they move s 
 That warms^iiy heart with ardent love, 
 But 'tis her finely poiish'd mind, 
 By virtue's rarest rules refin'd ; 
 Like Hesper at the eve of day, 
 When Sol emits his faintest ray. 
 Modest and meek, without pretence 
 To other charms than charms of sense 
 To charms which shine when Beauty fade* 
 And wrinkled Age the form invades 
 To these a lovely maid aspires, 
 -And these awake my bosom's fires ; 
 For they can warm my throbbing heart. 
 Without the aid of Fancy's art. 
 When Time uplifts his palsying hand, 
 And strikes the visage with his wand : 
 When cheeks no more with ardour glow. 
 Aud silver'd curls resemble snow j 
 
MSCELLANEOUS POETRY. 23S' 
 
 When eyes have lost their humid blue, 
 And lips have chang'd their roseate hue ; 
 Ah ! then how weak is beauty's power, 
 To charm the slowly passing hour ! 
 
 Port Folio. 
 
 Destruction of Caraccas by an Earthquake e 
 
 THE morning dawn'd, the sun its splendours shed, 
 And o'er heaven's arch a clear effulgence spread; 
 The warbling songster tuned the note of love, 
 And echo trill'd it through the shady grove. 
 In God's high temple swell'd devotion's song, 
 The winding aisles the sacred sounds prolong; 
 To one Supreme the solemn crowds add rest 
 An incense rising from a people's breast ! 
 While thus Caraccas sought the Godhead's care y 
 And fervent thousands bent in earnest prayer, 
 Earth shook, terrific glow'd the flaming skies, 
 Wild horror reign'd and rent the air with cries j 
 The crashing edifice in ruin spread, 
 Entomb'd alike the living and the dead : 
 From earth's abyss electric flashes pour'd, 
 Death frown'd where'er the gushing- torrent roard. 
 How cliang'd the scene ! how still the spacious street 
 Where busy circles oft were wont to meet ! 
 With souls adventurous sketched mercantile views, 
 Told some shrewd joke, or eager ask'd the news i 
 How changed the closing from the opening day! 
 No more the warbling carol wakes the spray ; 
 The song of mirth, the busy hum is o'er 
 And thousands sleep, alas } to wake no more. 
 The wretched widow wanders wild and lone, 
 Seeks her dear lord with agonizing moan, 
 Tosses her arms, her lovely tresses rends, 
 Hies to each corse and silent o'er it bends; 
 Alas ! disconsolate, dejected fair. 
 Vain all your search, vain all your tender care ; 
 Where spread around your shatter'd turret fell, 
 Beneath lies crush'd the form you loved so wsljk 
 
234 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 Along the pile with quick and hurried pace, 
 
 With vacant stare, and pale averted face, 
 
 Methinks I see some lovely damsel tread 
 
 The ruin'd mass and mark the heaps of dead $ 
 
 Each half-choked avenue she vainly tries, 
 
 O'er yon dismantled dome, your arclrd roof flies. 
 
 Hastes to the lofty chapel's shatter'd walls, 
 
 On her lost lover, her Alonzo calls $ 
 
 Lists for a moment : all is mute and still ! 
 
 Save the shrill echo from the neighboring hill. 
 
 She calls again ! -no answering voice she hears, 
 
 Beats her white breast, and seeks in vain for tears ? 
 
 lieckless she roams, and raves with frantic pain, 
 
 Clasps her soft hands, and binds her burning brain e 
 
 Hope for a moment with illusive wile, 
 
 Points the poor mourner to yon steepy pile; 
 
 a 'Tis he" the wretched girl delerious cries 
 
 And then to clasp the airy phantom tries $ 
 
 hshe can no more ; and with one pitious shriek 
 
 Nature resigns ! her aching heartstrings break* 
 
 How oft, by fortune's dangerous gifts beguiled, 
 
 We plough the ocean, pierce the desert wild. 
 
 Sad was his fate in that tremendous hour, 
 
 Who left his friends, and left his native shore, 
 
 Whelm'd in the common lot with strangers dies, 
 
 Where no dear hand might close his friendless eyes. 
 
 No more Caraccas, shall thy city raise 
 
 The lofty promise of its former days $ 
 
 O'er all thy domes, and o'er this wretched race, 
 
 With ivy bimnd, stern ruin waves his mace. 
 
 The 
 
 Burning of the Richmond Theatre* 
 
 THE curtain rose ! attention fix'd her eyes. 
 And saw the varied scenery arise ; 
 The generous plaudit cheer'd the actor's heart, 
 And louldly spoke he well perform'd his part. 
 The play went eft*: the closing curtain fell, 
 Unbroke the charm, unbroke the fatal spell, 
 
MISCELLAJv^OUS POETRY. 2$ 
 
 What though the cup of pleasure sparkling flows, 
 
 Its soothing sweets are dash'd with cruel woes ! 
 
 See o'er the scenes, the flaming deluge rage, 
 
 While flakes of fire bestrew the tragic stage. 
 
 Confusion reigns ! horror and wild affright ! 
 
 Throngs press on throngs and swell the dismal sight' 
 
 In vain they fly, in vain, alas ! retire 3 
 
 More swiftly sweep relentless floods of fire; 
 
 Near and more near the glowing volumes press, 
 
 Curl o'er the vault and pierce the deep recess ; 
 
 The narrow entry choked, advance denies, 
 
 Block'd up by crowds, and fill'd with shrieks and cries., 
 
 They tug, they strive, the compact body moves, 
 
 But stands unbroke and every effort braves. 
 
 The heated smoke in suffocating clouds 
 
 Kolls on and spreads its dense and sable shrouds ; 
 
 Despair nerves every arm, all struggling strive 
 
 The close wedged column of their friends to rive* 
 
 The element completes the work of death, 
 
 Enters each nook with calorific breath ; 
 
 On the parch'd tongue expires the piercing scream, 
 
 Each gushing mouth inhales the noxious stream. 
 
 One effort more : the fastened crowd divides. 
 
 To different points roll on the desperate tides, 
 
 That tumbles headlong down the winding stair, 
 
 By torment stung and goaded by despair. 
 
 Many, alas ! a crueldeath there meet, 
 
 Thrust down by friends, and trampled by their feet-? 
 
 Dismay drives on ! nor heeds the sufferer's moan. 
 
 The piteous shriek, and agonizing groan ; 
 
 All cling to life, cool judgement yields its sway ? 
 
 While fear and phrenzy shout away, away ! 
 
 This to the window bends its awful flight, . 
 
 And madly plunges from the dizzy height. 
 
 Few, few* escaped, who from that window fell, 
 
 The dreadful story of the night to tell. 
 
 The veil of silence, and the tears that flow. 
 
 More fitly paint the horrid scene of woe. 
 
 Wind then, my muse ! regret's sad cypress wreatb 
 
 Around the victims of remorseless 
 
3: TIEPUHLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 Progress of Time. 
 
 TIME ! sweeps his pinions, speeds his rapid course, 
 
 Crushes the weak, and breaks the giant's force ; 
 
 Raises his fateful glass with threatening hand, 
 
 And meets our fleeting moment^\vith his sand. 
 
 Crowns, sceptres, thrones, the chieftain's dazzling crest. 
 
 Fall at his beck and bow to his behest : 
 
 His dread command alike extends to all, 
 
 Builds up one nation, bids another fall; 
 
 Yet there are moments wrested from his flight. 
 
 Bright moments flashing through oblivion's night. 
 
 Oft has the pen its magic power essay 'd. 
 
 The canvas oft has lofty worth portray 'd ; 
 
 With glorious deeds historic annals teem, 
 
 Where truth's clear mirror casts its sacred beam, 
 
 Though gloomy rolls the dark and sullen wave, 
 
 The swans of verse preserve the just and brave 5 
 
 IB till give some tablet to immortal fame, 
 
 Stampt with the sage's or the hero's name, 
 
 When despot-pomp, in purple robes array'd, 
 
 Before the test of years to come shall fade ; 
 
 When the "stern leader wakes no more the war, 
 
 And time's sharp scythe shall cleave the sword and spear. 
 
 The pen will live ; immortal and sublime. 
 
 Triumphant victor of subjected time. Ibid, 
 
 Tlie Grave of the Tear. 
 
 Lines written for the 31st of December. 
 
 BE composM ev'ry toil and each turbulent motimi, 
 
 That encircles the heart in life's treacherous snares 5 
 And the hour that invites to the calm of devotion, 
 
 Undisturb'd by regrets unencumbered with cares, 
 How cheerless the late blooming face of creation i 
 
 Weary Time seems to pause in his rapid career, 
 And f align ? d with the work of his own desolation, 
 
 Looks behind with a smile on the grave of the year. 
 Hark ! the wind whistles rudely the shadows are closing^ 
 
 That enwrap hi3 broad path 'in the mantle of night $ 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. 237 
 
 While pleasure's gay sons are in quiet reposing, 
 
 Undismay'd at the wrecks that have number'd his flight. 
 From yon temple where fashion's bright tapers are lighted, 
 
 Her vot'ries in crowds, deck'd with garlands appear; 
 And (as yet their warm hopes by no spectres affrighted) 
 
 Assemble to dance round the grave of the year. 
 Oh I hate the stale cup which the idlers have tasted 
 
 When I think on the ills of life's comfortless day ; 
 How the flow'rs of my childhood their verdure have wasted 
 
 And the friends of my youth have been stolen away >! 
 They think not how fruitless the warmest endeavour, 
 
 To recall the kind moments, neglected when near- 
 When the hours that oblivion has cancel'd forever, 
 
 Are interr'd by her hand in the grave of the year* 
 Since the last solemn reign of this day of reflection, 
 
 What throngs have relinquish'd life's perishing breath J 
 How many have shed their last tear of dejection 
 
 And closed the dim eye in the darkness of death ,* 
 Uow many have sudden their pilgrimage ended, 
 % Beneath the low pall that envelopes their bier ; 
 Or to death's lonesome valley have gently descended; 
 
 And made their cold beds with the grave of the year* 
 5 Tis the year that so late, its hew beauties disclosing, 
 
 Rose bright on the happy, the careless and gay, 
 Who now on their pillow of dust are reposing, 
 
 Where the sod presses damp on their bosoms of clay, 
 Then talk not of bliss while her smile is expiring, 
 
 disappointment still drowns it in misery's tear; 
 Ileflect and be wise for the day is retiring, 
 
 And to-morrow will dawn on the grave of the yean 
 Yet a while and no seasons around us will flourish, 
 
 ^But silence for each her dark mansion prepare ; 
 Where beauty no longer her roses shall nourish, 
 
 Nor the liily overspread the wan cheek of despair. 
 But the eye shall with lustre unfading be brightened, 
 
 When it wakes to true bliss in yon orient sphere ; 
 By the sunbeams of splendour immortalenlightened, 
 
 Which no more shall go d<r,va on the grave of a year, 
 
 MQNTGAENIKH. 
 
38 REPUBLICAN COMPILE*, 
 
 Ode to Night. 
 
 SPIRIT of Night, to melancholy dear, 
 
 Hail to thy magic spell that binds the heart^ 
 
 Hail to thy shadowy hour of fear ; 
 
 But yet the hour to touch the heart sincere, 
 And sadly sorrowing fancies to impart. 
 
 Spirit of Night, I hail thy <sole manpower, 
 
 Thy melancholy influent o'er the mind ; 
 O ! let me wander in thy twilight hour, 
 Near some sequestered glen or fairy bower, 
 
 And list their music wild that sighs upon the wind- 
 
 Qh guide me where in moonlight dell, 
 
 Some fairy music on the breeze shall sigh, 
 
 Like that which wakes the soul like vesper swell ; 
 
 Like that which breathes on night from cloisterd cell, 
 And bursts upon the soul like sounds of heavenly 
 melody. 
 
 Those wildering sounds that charm the ear 
 
 Are like the trembling swell of convent shrine 
 That speed the immortal soul to realms of light, 
 That raise the thoughts to worlds on high so bright* 
 As virgin's holy chant their hymn's divine. 
 
 Oh lead me to some murmuring stream, 
 
 On whose shadowy banks the moonbeams play ^ 
 There let me muse on some romantic theme, 
 Or sketch in fancy's eye some visional dream, 
 
 And think on hours of hope, though far remov'd awayt 
 
 Lead where dark the forest frowns, 
 
 And where " the pine woods wave on high," 
 
 Whose branches make a murmuring sound, 
 
 That throw a spell so sad around, 
 
 And breathe on ear of night a sweetly plaintive sigK. 
 
 Or guide me in thy lonely hour, 
 
 Through some wild path or solitary haunt, 
 'Where dark the clouds of heaven do lower, 
 Which dimly seen by fleeting moonbeam's power, 
 And where pale spectres raise the midnight chant, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY, 239 
 
 Or near some mouldering abbey's ruins gray. 
 
 Where taper lights are seen to burn so pale. 
 Where sounds unearthly shadowy minstrels play, 
 That, born on breeze of Night, flit far away, 
 And sadly breathes as sighs the evening gale. 
 
 In hour of Night, when clouds obscure the sky, 
 Oh lead me, Fancy, to some rocky shore, 
 
 On whose rough breast the tempest winds do sig$ ? 
 
 That speak in sorrow that a storm is nigh, 
 And wildly foaming mountain waves do roar. 
 
 Or let me wander on the cliff, whose brow 
 Bends in solemn darkness o'er the deep ; 
 
 List to the storm that murmuring sighs below, 
 
 And Autumn's winds that hoarsely blow, 
 
 As o'er the rocks with sadly sorrowing sound they 
 sweep. 
 
 There let me pause and contemplate the scene, 
 
 And list to sounds that on the blast are driven ; 
 Watch the slow clouds as gleams the moon between^ 
 That gives a glimpse of calmer skies serene, 
 
 And sheds o'er earth the beauteous light of heaven. 
 
 Oh let me pause there, Spirit of lonely Night, 
 As speaks the thunder in an hour of storms, 
 Mark fancied scenes as bursts the pale moonlight, 
 No dark amid the clouds, whose edges bright 
 
 Give scenes of Fancy's power and wildering forms. 
 
 The Sea Nymph. 
 
 WHAT forms are those that seamen dimly view, 
 
 By star of night upon the wave, 
 Whose bosom of the darkest blue, 
 Changing oft in varying hue, 
 
 Permit them thfts in sport their limbs to lave ? 
 
 Why hangs that sea boy o'er her bow, 
 Does magick dwell within the deep ? 
 What voice is that that sighs belov/, 
 
SW REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 Is it the murmuring winds that blow, 
 And dash the resisting waves with furious svPeep ? 
 
 What forms are those that rise and disappear, 
 As on the vessel by the blast is driven ? 
 
 What sounds are those that seamen oft do hear ? 
 
 What music's that that charms the listening ear, 
 And floats along the deep like sound of harp of heaven? 
 
 That music wild that floats along the deep, 
 
 Is breathed by minstrel of no mortal form ! 
 So light, so airy, of such magic sweep, 
 And now so sad 'twould cause the soul to weep, 
 As " sighs the spirit of the coming storm." 
 
 What spell is that that breathes with Mermaid song, 
 
 And lingers witching on the ear of Even ? 
 What forms are those, as bounds the bark along, 
 Are heard in mountain wave with magic tongue, 
 
 To warble forth their notes like holy choir of heaven ? 
 
 Those forms are seen alone in midnight hour, 
 
 When the pale moon sheds her uncertain light ; 
 They dwell amid the deep in coittl bovver, 
 They sport upon the wave with fairy power, 
 
 And seem to Sailors' eye like band of angels bright, 
 
 They warn the Mariner when they cannot save. 
 
 When the vessel by the blast is torn, r 
 
 Yet, when 'tis lost they plunge amid the wave, 
 And bear their corses to a sea-green grave, 
 
 And o'er his cold remains with sorrowing tears do 
 mourn. 
 
 'That music wild, that sighs upon the deep, 
 
 And seems like minstrel harp of Spirit blest, 
 Beneath the dark blue wave where Sailors sleep, 
 Is Sea Nymph voice, who oft his fate does weep, 
 And sweetly chants a sorrowing requiem for his rest 
 
 And oft the Neried song which seamen hear, 
 As bounds the vessel through the foaming wave, 
 
 Causes to rush the startling tear, 
 
 For well they know where Mermaid forms appear > 
 Is some departed brother's watery grave. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. Cii 
 
 Qn the Death of an Infant. 
 
 Yet His human to weep but the tears that \ye shed 
 Are unting'd with the poison of infidel pain : 
 
 We grieve that our fair bow of promise is iled, 
 But we feel it has melted in heaven again. 
 
 Oh, yes ! when the dark dream of life is all o'er, 
 And the heart stricken Mother has gone' to her rest, 
 
 The kiss of her daughter shall greet her once more, 
 And the sweet thing who died cling again to her breast ! 
 
 And the Father! who hung, with a close trembling grasp, 
 To the arm of his friend as he lean'd o'er her tomb, 
 
 Shall feel round his neck the fair innocent clasp, 
 And his lip press a cheek that forever shall bloom. 
 
 Oh ! curse on the cold-hearted sceptic, who tries 
 To blind the rapt gaze, that looks up thro' the sky > 
 
 And says to the mourner when all he lov'd dies 
 " 'Tis the doom of mortality ever to die." 
 
 But 'tis false, and the Being, whose bountiful breath 
 Gives the winter-nip'd flower to lift its sweet 
 
 Shall waken the early-nip'd blossom from death, 
 To bioom wlren creation itself shall be dead. 
 
 The Star-Spangled Banner. 
 
 0! say can you see by the dawn's early light, 
 
 What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleam- 
 ing? 
 Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous 
 
 fight, 
 
 O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly stream- 
 ing! 
 
 And the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 
 Gave proof through the night that our Hag was still there, 
 O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave, 
 O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? 
 
 W 
 
242 REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 On the shore, dimly seen, through the mists of the deep, 
 Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, 
 
 What is that, which the breeze o'er the towering steep, 
 As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? 
 
 Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, 
 
 In full glory reflected now shines on the stream, 
 
 'Tis the star-spangled banner, O! long may it wave, 
 O'er the land of tHe free and the home of the brave. 
 
 And where is that band who so vauntingly swore, 
 That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, 
 
 A home and a country should leave us no more ? 
 
 Their blood has wash'd out their foul footstep's pollu- 
 tion. 
 
 No refuge could save the hireling and slave, 
 
 From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave ; 
 And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave, 
 O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 
 
 O ! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 
 Between their lov'd home, and war's desolation, 
 
 Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n rescued land, 
 Praise the Power that hath made, and preserv'd us a 
 nation ! 
 
 Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, 
 
 And this be our motto " In God is our trust/' 
 
 And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave, 
 O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 
 
 Misery, vs. Glory. 
 
 Written by Miss Lydia Huntley, of Connecticut 
 
 WAFT not to me the blast of fame, 
 That swells the trump of victory : 
 
 For to my ear it gives the name 
 Of slaughter and of misery. 
 
 Boast not so much of honour's sword, 
 Wave not so high the victor's plume : 
 
 They point me to the bosom gor'd, 
 
 They point me to the blood stain'd tomlv 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. 
 
 The boastful hour, the revel loud; 
 
 That strive to drown the voice of pain, 
 What are they but the fickle crowd 
 
 Rejoicing o^'er their brethren slain! 
 
 And ah! through glory's fading blaze, 
 
 I see the cottage taper pale, 
 Which sheds its faint and feeble rays, 
 
 Where unprotected orphans wail ; 
 
 Where the sad widow weeping stands, 
 As if her day of hope was gone ; 
 
 Where the wild mother clasps her hands, 
 And asks the victor for her son. 
 
 Where the lone maid in secret sighs, 
 O'er the last solace of her heart, 
 
 As prostrate in despair she lies. 
 And feels her tortured life depart. 
 
 Where, 'midst that desolating land. 
 The sire lamenting o'er his son, 
 
 Extends his weak and powerless hand, 
 And finds his only prop is gone. 
 
 'See how the hands of war and woe 
 Have rifled sweet domestic bliss; 
 
 And tell me if your laurels grow, 
 And flourish in a soil like this ? 
 
 CHRYSTALINA. 
 
 A Fairy Tale by an American. 
 
 TOWARDS the palace, silent and alone 
 
 The hero mov'd- afar the fabric shone 
 
 Like gorgeous clouds that throng the setting sun ; 
 
 But ere he reach'd that Palace, huge and bright, 
 
 A glorious scene detainM the wand 'ring Knight - 
 
 A pearly River ! whose melodious tide 
 
 Lav'd golden shores 1 -whose banks were beautified 
 
f|l REPUBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 With trees witte waving Paradisian bow'rS 
 
 And all the gaudy multitude of flow'rs. 
 
 That on Spring's lap the liberal Flora show'rs. 
 
 This stream, dividing, roll'd its branches twain, 
 
 In circling sweep around a flow'ry plain, 
 
 Thro' vocal groves, then fondly met again. 
 
 The Islet fair, so form'd, arose between, 
 
 With dome-like swell, array 'd in richest green ; 
 
 So fair it was, so smooth, so heav'nly sweet, 
 
 It scem'ci made only for angelic feet. 
 
 On this green Isle the Palace stood, 
 
 And rain-bow bridges arch VI the pearly flood 
 
 A fairer bow fair Juno ne'er display 'd 
 
 In vernal -skies, tho' not like Juno's made. 
 
 Of subtile sun-beams, but of solid gems, 
 
 Such as adorn imperial diadems. 
 
 Its blue was solid sapphire. Its gay green 
 
 Was massy emerald.. The ruby sheen 
 
 Form'd its bright curve of rich and rosy red j 
 
 Its yellow hue the golden Topaz shed. 
 
 Seem'd either end on snow-w hi te clouds to lie 
 
 They were not clouds, but sculptur'd ivory ! 
 
 And now a bugle breath'd a silver sound, 
 
 Whose notes with soft reverberations, round 
 
 Rang sweet and long; now silently unfold 
 
 The diamond gates on hinge of polish'd gold ; 
 
 And now rode out a fairy cavalcade, 
 
 In order'd inarch, with banners bright displayed, 
 
 With diamond lances and with golden helms, 
 
 And shields of gold embossed with sparkling gems, 
 
 Advaric'd the pageant; proud beneath each knight 
 
 O'er grassy levels pranc'd their steeds milk-white, 
 
 Whose ivory hoofs in glitt'ring; silver shod, 
 
 With nimble grace on blusing fiow'rets trod, 
 
 Prancing they came, and as the trumpets blow, 
 
 They neigh'd for pride and arch'd their necks of snow ; 
 
 Toss'd their proud heads indignant of the rein, 
 
 Champ'd their foam'd bits and pawed the trembling plain.. 
 
 Warrior and steed array 'd for battle shone, 
 
 Whose burnish'd mail and bright caparison 
 
 Illum'd, far round, the flow'r enwoven field, 
 
 And restless splendors flash VI from shield to shield. 
 
 Loud in the van the wreathed bugle spoke, 
 
 Till woods and floods with martial clamors shook* 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. Sli 
 
 in tke midst, enring'd by many a knight* 
 And thron'd conspicuous on his chariot bright, 
 Rode Oberon forth, in proud, imperial state, 
 And, by his side, his queen Titania sate. 
 In proud procession the refulgent host 
 O'er the gay bridge, the pearly River cross'd ; 
 The rain -bow arch beneath the measur'd tread 
 Of prancing steed, harmonious clangor made. 
 
 Lines, addressed to a very interesting and intelligent 
 little Girl, deprived of the faculties of speech and hear- 
 ing: In consequence of reading this question, propos- 
 ed to one of Mbe Sicard's pupils : " Jive the deaf and 
 dumb unhappy?" 
 
 By Miss LYDIA HUNTLEY, of Connecticut. 
 
 OH, could the kind enquirer gaze 
 Upon thy brow with feeling fraught, 
 
 Its smile, like inspiration's rays, 
 
 Would give the answer to his thought, 
 
 And could he see thy sportive grace 
 
 Soft blending with submission due, 
 And note thy bosom's tenderness, 
 
 To every just emotion true $ 
 
 And when the new idea glows 
 
 On the pure altar of thy mind. 
 Observe th ? exulting tear that flows, 
 
 In silent : ectacy refin'd ; 
 
 Thy active life ; thy look of bliss ; 
 
 The sparkling of thy magic eye ; 
 He would his sceptic doubts dismiss., 
 
 And lay his useless pity by ; 
 
 . 
 And bless the ear that ne'er has knowrv 
 
 The voice of censure, pride, or art 5 
 Or trembling at that sterner tone, 
 
 That, while it tortures, chilis the heart ^ 
 
24i> REPUBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 And hless the lip that ne'er can tel! 
 
 Of human woes the vast amount, 
 Nor pour those idle words that swell 
 
 The terror of our last account. 
 
 For sure the stream of silent course 
 May flow as deep, as pure, as blest, 
 
 As that which rolls in torrents hoarse, 
 Or murmurs o'er the mountain's breastc 
 
 As sweet a scene, as fair a shore, 
 As rich a soil, its tide may lave; 
 
 Then joyful and accepted pour 
 Its tribute to the mighty wave. 
 
 The Wilderness. 
 
 THERE is a wilderness more dark 
 Than groves of fir on Huron's shore 5 
 
 And in that cheerless region, hark 
 
 What serpents hiss, what monsters roar ! 
 
 It is not in the untrodden isles 
 Of vast Superior's stormy lake, 
 
 Where social comfort never smiles, 
 
 Nor sun-beams pierce the tangled brake j 
 
 Nor is it in the deepest shade 
 Of India's tiger-haunted wood $ 
 or western forests unsurvey'd, 
 Where crouching panthers lurk for blood ? 
 
 'Tis in the dark uncultur'd soul, 
 
 By education unrefin'd 
 Where hissing malice, vices foul, 
 And all the hateful passions prowl > 
 
 The fcigMful wwerneti of mint. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. 
 
 Winter. 
 
 HOARSE howls the chilling northern blast, 
 The sun's obscur'd the sky's o'ercast 
 The lightning glares o'er depths profound? 
 While pealing thunders roll around 
 The ocean heaves with furious roar 
 And tempests whirl from shore to shore. 
 Those murmuring sounds ye heard afar, 
 Precede old winter's icy car, 
 Proclaim his bellowing whirlwinds high, 
 His elemental warfare nigh; 
 While thron'd on clouds his awful fornt, 
 Expels the furious midnight storm. 
 
 Marked ye yon vessel's fainting band, 
 Strive hard to gain their native strand ? 
 Saw ye the shiv'ring. hapless few, 
 The sport of every wind that blew ? 
 Now o'er the liquid mountains tost, 
 With desperate hand, in vain they guide 
 Their shatter'd bark along the tide. 
 That dreadful shriek that dismal yell, 
 Rings out the seaman's funeral knell ; 
 All hopes are gone no power can save, 
 They perish in the briny wave 1 
 
 Ah ! never more their hearts shall burn 
 With friendship's joys, or love's return 5 
 No partner's fond embrace shall meetj 
 No humble home no blest retreat. 
 That lengthen'd groan that piercing sigh?- 
 That little infant's plaintive cry; 
 That frantic burst, and maniac look. 
 That frame by pangs convulsive shook, 
 Too truly speak the sad reverse 
 Too plain the woful tale rehearse 
 They* prospects, dim 'd by horror's gloom^ 
 Lie buried in. the watery tomb! 
 
 Yet think not scenes of woe and pain 
 Alone distinguish winter's reign, 
 Though desolation's hand is high * 
 What social pleasures hoyer nigh! , 
 
REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 The comforts of the blazing hearth, 
 The kindling smile of harmless mirth, 
 The soft expressive look of love 
 That e'en the rudest heart would move,. 
 The Inspired Volume's sacred lore, 
 The historic page instruction pour, 
 While genuine wit will brightly flow, 
 And every face with rapture glow! 
 
 Then hail, stern winter ! monarch hoar ! 
 And all thy rushing torrents pour 
 More dear to me their echoes shrill, 
 Than summer's softly tinkling rill, 
 Thy mountain gale and piercing air, 
 Than zephyrs breath 'd through gardens fair, 
 Yon wild heath clad in spotless snow, 
 Yon giant cliff's imperious brow, 
 Around whose summit lightnings flash. 
 At whose dark base the surges dash. 
 Than all the summer's gaudy scene, 
 Oppressive heat and verdure green. 
 
 A 'Night View of the Field of Raisin, after the Battle 
 
 THE battle's o'er, the din is past, 
 Night's shadow on the field is cast ; 
 The moon, with pale and sickly beam, 
 Looks pensive on the bloody stream ; 
 The Indian yell is heard no more. 
 And silence reigns on Erie's shore* 
 
 Now is the tipae, my friend, to tread 
 The field on which our warriors bled ; 
 To raise the wounded Chieftain's crest, 
 And warm with tears his clay cold breast ; 
 To treasure up his last command. 
 And bear it to his native land 
 It may one ray of joy iuipart 
 To a fond parents bleeding heart, 
 Or, for a moment, it may dry 
 The tear drops in the widowV eye; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. 
 
 Vain hope, away ! The widow ne'er 
 Her hero's dying wish shall hear ! 
 The zephyr bears no passing sigh, 
 No straggling Chieftain meets the eye 
 Sound is his sleep by Raisin's wave, 
 Or Erie's waters are his grave. 
 
 O! send, sweet moon, one ray of light, 
 
 Across the dusky brow of night, 
 
 That I may know each warrior's form, 
 
 Who sunk beneath the battle storm. 
 
 Gradual, the heavy clouds give way 
 
 The moon beams on the waters play j 
 
 See, on the brink a soldier lies ! 
 
 Pale is his visage, dim his eyes, 
 
 And, like a stranded vessel's sail, 
 
 His red locks wanton on the gale : 
 
 It is the gay and gallant MEAD 
 
 In peace, mild as the setting beam 
 
 That guides the tranquil summer stream $ 
 
 In war, the fiery battle steed. 
 
 The foe no more shall dread his arm, 
 
 His mirth no more the ear shall charm 5 
 
 But on his low and silent grave, 
 
 The laurel fresh and green shall wave. 
 
 But who is he, so pale and low, 
 Stretch'd on his bloody bier of snow, 
 Beside the water's silent flow ? 
 The fierce fire of his eye is dead, 
 The ruddy glow his cheek has fied ; 
 Yes fair in death his corpse appears, 
 Smooth is his brow and few his years. 
 For tlice, sweet youth ! the sigh shall start 
 In thy fond mother's anguish 'd heart ; 
 For thee, some virgin's cheek shall feel 
 At midnight hour, the tear-drops steal ; 
 And playmates of thy childhood's hour, 
 Pour o'er thy grave grief's warmest show'r. 
 Could modest merit ever save 
 Its dear possessor from the grave, 
 Thy corpse, MONTGOMERY, had ne'er lain 
 Upon this wild unhallow'd plain ! 
 
REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 But what were modest merit here ? 
 Or what were virtue's pleading tear ? 
 The hand that laid that hero low, 
 The eye that saw his lite-blood flow, 
 Could gaze, unmov'd, on scenes'of woe. 
 Then sleep, sweet youth, tho' far away 
 From home and friends, thy lifeless clay, 
 Yet oft on fancy's pinions born, 
 Friendship shall seek thy lowly urn ; 
 There shall the zephyr softly blow, 
 There shall the billows gently flow ; 
 There shall the wild flow'r love to bloom, 
 And shed its fragrance on thy tomb. 
 
 pon 
 
 Death calmly sat and sweetly smil'd; 
 Yet seem'd his eye of tender blue, 
 Moisten'd with pity's pearly dew; 
 *Tis thus the infant sinks to rest, 
 Serenely tm its mother's breast : 
 Yes, pity was his better part, 
 Pity and friendship form'd his heart, 
 Nor oft was heart so good and kind, 
 United with such noble mind. 
 
 Here, venturous muse, thy flight restrain ; 
 No farther go the task is vain 
 Here GRAVES and ALLEN meet the eye, 
 And SIMPSON'S giant form is nigh! 
 And EDMONSTON, a warrior old, 
 And HART, the boldest of the bold, 
 These and their brave compatriot band, 
 Ask the sedate Historian's hand - 
 Mine only strews the fading flow'rs 
 Which mem'ry culls from friendship's 
 His shall entwine immortal bays, 
 Which brighter glow thro 7 future days* 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY, 251 
 
 cc it is for man to perform great actions 
 ** *Tis for woman to inspire them." 
 
 OH I cold is the ice-drop that clings to the willow, 
 
 When winter lias sprinkled his hoar-locks with snow ; 
 And chill is the sigh of Ontario's billow 
 
 That bursts from his wave-beaten caverns below; 
 But colder's the eye where no kindness sits beaming 
 
 To him who unvalued tind friendless remains, 
 And the heart-frozen sigh where no warm wish is teeming, 
 
 More chill than the lake-tempest breathes o'er the 
 plains. 
 
 When the bark hutted savage alone by his fountain, 
 
 Sits sadly at night on the leaf-covered clod, 
 And watches the arctic-light stream o'er the mountain, 
 
 Whose top in the chase he so often has trod : 
 Oh solitude blest ! where no footstep approaches 
 
 Of wonder or mem'rv the spell to dethrone, 
 To that on which man every moment encroaches 
 
 When the heart tho' surrounded is yet more alon?> 
 
 Say, lives there an IDA, thus brightly revealing 
 
 A spirit so gentle a bosom so pure, 
 And a heart ever faithful to nature and feeling, 
 
 That dares for her lover one sorrow endure? 
 Oh! point to her dwelling; in love's warm devotion, 
 
 An OSMYN in haste to her feet should be borne. 
 That by her roused to greatness, each noble emotion 
 
 Might burst from the torpor-cold chains it has worn. 
 
 Sand Hill Scene, at the head of Congaree Creek. 
 
 O FOR the harp that wildly rung 
 Scotland's fairy vales among; 
 O for the hand that swept the lyre, 
 And woke its notes with ardent fire, 
 Bade Rokeby's halls before us rise 
 Array 'd in fancy's gorgeous dyes : 
 
 O for the touching strain, 
 That gave to Bernard's darksome towers 
 Wild Throsgil's shade Matilda's bowers*-; 
 
$52 REPUBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 The Tee's stream, and Wilfred's love ? 
 A charm the powers of time above 
 
 A glorious, an immortal name. 
 
 Then Cong'ree's limpid flow, 
 And the rude scenes that round it spread* 
 Gloomy as mansions of the dead, 
 
 No common fame should know* 
 Sweet briar all around its banks, 
 And lady fern, in clustered ranks, 
 
 In wild profusion grow : 
 The silver-leaf and trumpet weed, 
 The water-lily, rush and reed, 
 
 Wave in its gentle flow : 
 While thick'ning groves of evergreen, 
 The fragrant bay, and laurel sheen, 
 And Juniper, that towers between, 
 Deeply shade the limpid stream, 
 
 And form a cool retreat, 
 Where naiads may pursue their dance, 
 In airy whirls, recede, advance, 
 Secure from all intrusive glance, 
 
 Around their mystic seat. 
 Beneath the close embow'ring shade, 
 By their entangling branches made, 
 
 In the translucent wave, 
 The fairest sylvan goddess may, 
 Secluded from the beams of day, 
 
 Her polished members lave. 
 The chaste Diana need net fear 
 Th' intrusion of an Acteeon here ; 
 
 Beneath this verdant canopy, 
 Her spotless charms her image pure 
 Were as protected, as secure, 
 
 As warrior in his panoply. 
 
 But soon this wild on either hand 
 Changes its features gay and bland': 
 Around it spreads a rueful scene, 
 Of barren hill and pine tree green ; 
 Majestic pines, whose rugged forms 
 Have stood the brunt of winter storms; 
 Whose branches proudly wave on high, 
 And brave each blast that thunders by 5 
 
MISCELLANEOUS VOETUY. 233 
 
 Whose rugged heads they still uprear, 
 Despite the rage of hundred years, 
 And 'scape unscathed the flashing levin, 
 And every thunderbolt of heaven : 
 Hilis barren, dreary, bare and wild, 
 Where nature bland has never smiled; 
 Where in her sternest surliest mood, 
 She frowns o'er dingle, hill and wood : 
 They're steep and dingy, bleak and bare 5 
 The wild deer finds no covert there : 
 They seem as if apart they're riven, 
 By some convulsion wildly driven : 
 No birds are there, that sweetly sing, 
 But wasps and hornets whet their sting, 
 And drowsy bats in clusters cling ; 
 Incautious footsteps then will wake 
 The vengeful anger of the snake ; 
 While with the dismal hoot of owl 
 Mingles the grim wolf's nightly howl. 
 
 One tender flow'ret yet is here, 
 This barren wilderness to cheer ; 
 Doomed, like some beauteous cloister'd maid, 
 Unseen unknown, to bloom and fade : 
 
 Her charms unseen her worth unknown^ 
 Unfelt the genial influence 
 Of beauty, virtue, innocence 
 
 Except by monks and nuns alone. 
 Tis cold and tender, pure and pale, 
 Like beauty's cheek at sorrow's tale :* 
 So pure, so tender, so serene, 
 It suits but ill so rude a scene. 
 Amid the objects sad and drear, 
 That spreads around it far and near? 
 
 Its tender beauties glow, 
 Like fallen hope amid the ill, 
 Destined this mortal world to fill 
 
 With misery and woe. 
 But soon the winter's howling blast 
 And blighting storm will gather fast, 
 And round the waste its leaves will cast; 
 Its beauties gone its season past 
 
 * Gaiour. 
 
 X 
 
354, RE PUBUC A NT COMPILER. 
 
 Frail being of a day ! 
 5 Twill leave a gloom upon the wild, 
 Where erst it sweetly bloomed and smiled, 
 Such as would shroud terrestrial things. 
 Should the archangel's radiant wings 
 
 Sweep suns and stars away. 
 
 Rocks too in wild confusion lie, 
 That once perhaps were to the sky 
 
 In storms sulphurious driven ; 
 By belching flames right upwards hurl'd; 
 The ruins of a tortured world 
 
 Against the breast of heaven. 
 Their forms fantastic sable front- 
 Show -they have stood some fiery brunt, 
 Whose smoke in eddying volumes rolled, 
 In sable clouds involv'd each pole, 
 Blotted the sun's effulgent light, 
 And turn'd the day to gloomy night. 
 Here in some dark portentous hour, 
 Nature has felt the rending power 
 Of the tremendous sons of fire ; 
 Earthquake dread eruption dire ; 
 Convulsive shock sulphurious storm; 
 That oft her fairest scenes deform. 
 Of these, the awful signs still linger, 
 Undimmed by time's effacing finger : 
 They'll linger still while nature lasts^- 
 The monuments of ruin past. 
 In distant times, the musing sage 
 Shall view this scene of strife and rage, 
 
 And elemental war; 
 And tell in words with wonder fraught, 
 The awful ruin they have wrought 
 
 On wood and wold and scaur. 
 
 Here many an Indian, nature's child 
 Nursed 'mid the gloom of desart wild, 
 With nerve well braced, and nimble feek> 
 Pursued the course of wild deer fleet; 
 Or chace being o'er, sunk to repose, 
 Kegardless of to-morrow's woes. 
 O wilding scene ! what warriors bold 
 Have roamed thy wood, thy hill, thy wold ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRT, 
 
 With daring soul and courage high, 
 And dauntless heart, and falcon eye, 
 Have marked where hated foemen lay. 
 Then rushed like tiger on their prey ; 
 Or prowled like wolf in fen and brake. 
 And stung their foe like venomed snake. 
 The pale moon beams that o'er thee glance, 
 Have lighted oft their midnight dance: 
 Those rocks that round them scattered He, 
 Have witnessed oft their revel high ; 
 The murdering feast the piercing yell, 
 That woke the echoes of the dell; 
 Frightened the grim wolf in his den, 
 And roused the dun deer in his glen ; 
 Hushed the lonely whip-poor-will ; 
 The raven heard it and was still ; 
 Silenced the owlets mournful cry, 
 And woke the eagle's slumber high : 
 The rapture fierce, a savage knows, 
 Exulting o'er his vanquished foes ; 
 The keen resentment flaming high. 
 That swears to be revenged or die ; 
 Of grief and woe the frantic strain, 
 For brothers, friends, in battle slain; 
 Or all in rout and tumult tost, 
 For adverse fate and battle lost. 
 Here did the victim oft expire, 
 By torments slow and wasting fire ; 
 When lit was fire and victim bound, 
 And clenched was knife to give the wound. 
 An foes insulting crowded round; 
 His eye, while they keen pangs invent, 
 And on inflicting them are bent, 
 Flashed a fiercer hardiment. 
 On his swart brow and sallow cheek, 
 Glowed sternly contempt's deepest streak j 
 His quiv'ring lip and nostril curled, 
 Spoke stern defiance on the world. 
 Their furious rage their torments dire; 
 The flaying knife and scorching fire ; 
 All their inventions to subdue 
 His soul to sternest virtue true ; 
 Compel him meanly to complain ; 
 Extort one single look of pain, 
 
255 REPUBLIC \N COMPILEK. 
 
 Or wring one solitar- s.f;h, 
 Passed like a breeze unheeded by. 
 
 Where are those monarchs of the wood, 
 
 Whose pride was war whose glory, blood 5 
 
 Those heroes fierce, of giant might, 
 
 Of haughty mien, and piercing sight, 
 
 Beneath whose look the coward quailed, 
 
 Whose foot the tiger's den assailed, 
 
 Whose yell as up the chase they led 
 
 Wolf, wildcat, fox and dun deer fled 5 
 
 Of daring soul and callous brow, 
 
 Those heroes fierce where are they now ; 
 
 They're gone as all things earthly must. 
 
 And mingled with their parent dust. 
 
 The wintry blast will ruin bring 
 
 On every tender flower of spring; 
 
 Yet spring; returns the flower will rise ; 
 
 But death's cold skep has closed their eyes. 
 
 High towers the oak but winter's blast 
 
 Will crush its mighty form at last: 
 
 High towered their souls but time's cold hand 
 
 Has swept these heroes from the land. 
 
 A few rude piles of shattered stones 
 
 Form the investment of their bones : 
 
 *Tis all that love, that friendship gave, 
 
 From blank oblivion to save, 
 
 The glorious actions of the brave. 
 
 Vain monuments of human pride ! 
 
 Ye tell that some one lived and died; 
 
 But who he was, or what his name> 
 
 Is blotted from the rolls of fame. 
 
 The trophies bright he may have won t 
 
 And all his deeds of glory done, 
 
 Have now no place beneath the sun, 
 
 No Peean's lofty strain was rung; 
 
 No harp to wildest rapture stru ng ; 
 
 No grey -haired minstrel gave his name 
 
 To the perennial wing of fame ; 
 
 But all his deeds of glory bright 
 
 Are shrouded in eternal night. 
 
 Like tints that tinged an evening scene? 
 
 Or flower that bloomed in copsewood green; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. 257 
 
 Like northern blast that whistled by, 
 Or stars that blazed athwart the sky, 
 They've had their course they've had their day. 
 And passed forevermore away. 
 
 Village Greatness. 
 
 In every country village where 
 
 Ten chimney smokes perfume the air. 
 
 Contiguous to a steeple ; 
 Great gentle folks are found a score, 
 Who can't associate any more, 
 
 With common " country people." 
 
 Jack Fallow, born among the woods, 
 From rolling logs, now roils in goods, 
 
 Enough a while to dash on 
 Tells negro stories, smokes segars, 
 Talks politics, decides on wars, 
 
 Brinks rum and lives in fashion. 
 
 Tim Oxgad, lately from the plough, 
 A polish'd gentleman is now, 
 
 And talks of country fellows, 
 But ask the fop what oooks he's read, 
 You'll find the brain pan of his head, 
 
 As empty as a bellows. 
 
 Miss Faddle lately from the wheel, 
 Begins quite lady like to feel, 
 And talks affectedly genteel, 
 
 And sings some tasty songs too : 
 But my veracity impeach, 
 If she can tell what part of speech 
 
 Gentility belongs to. 
 
 Without one speech of wit refin'd 
 Without one beauty of the mind. 
 
 Genius or education ; 
 Or family or fame to boast, 
 To see such gentry rule the toast. 
 
 Turns patience to vexation. 
 
REPUBLICAN COMPILER, 
 
 Amidst the rubbish of the earth, 
 Should real genius, mental worth, 
 
 The aid of science lend you ; 
 You might as well the stye refine; 
 Or cast your pearls before the swine. 
 
 They'd only turn and rend you. 
 
 Ode for the New Fear 1817. 
 
 L 1. 
 
 WITH pinions yet uritir'd for flight, 
 Time wildly speeds adown the storm of years, 
 And still his banner dark uprears 
 
 Through joy's ecstatic reign, and sorrow^s night. 
 Empires may fall, and states decay, 
 Earth's proudest glories fade away, 
 But time holds on his unmolested" course, 
 Sweeping through the tempests hoarse ; 
 "With unrelenting hand, destroying wide 
 The pomp and boast of human pride, 
 And dooming to one common grave, 
 The great in soul, the fair, the virtuous and the brave! 
 
 I. 2. 
 
 Youth hails him as he hastens on, 
 And chides his tedious flight and long delay ; 
 Age mourns the evening of the day, 
 
 When all its former joys shall soon be gone. 
 And he, the dark destroyer, flings 
 Upon the v/inds his rapid wings, 
 Unmark'd, so sudden and so swift, his flight ? 
 By the dim and dizzy sight; 
 Till o'er the closing drama, death enfold 
 His misty curtain, d,rear and cold, 
 And youth's fond dream, and age's sigh, 
 At once entomb'd and lost, in lonely silence lie I 
 
 1. 3. 
 
 There in common rest shall sleep 
 Hearts that joy. and eyes that weep; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY, . Q& 
 
 , 
 
 Beauty's all entrancing light , / 
 Shall oe forever quench'd in night?^- 
 
 In slumber mild, but deep! 
 And there shall rest the child of glory. 
 Valor's fire, and wisd onv hoary ; 
 There the bard's enraptur'd pinion > 
 
 Stills its plumes Yorever more, 
 Doom'd no more to dare dominion 
 
 On fond fancy's pictur'd shore. 
 While sadly scatter 'd round, in many a heap, 
 
 Proud temples own the awful march of time, 
 Crumbling in melancholy silence deep, 
 
 On every shore, in every age and clime; 
 In speechless grandeur, their dark ruins lie, 
 Memorials sad and stern of his dominion high; 
 
 II. 1. 
 
 And still doth year succeed to year, 
 And still Time's murmur moans along the blast -~ 
 Do we regard him till o'erpast ? 
 
 Do we his hasty voice of warning hear ? 
 We pluck the transient flowers of earth. 
 Forgetting those of purer birth, 
 feegardless of the heritage above, 
 Lost to purity and love ! 
 
 Oh man ! vain man ! why wilt thott weave thy doom $ 
 Why wilt thou hurry to the tomb, 
 And madly rush, and wildly dare 
 The darkest frowns of death, the terrors of despair? 
 
 II. 2. 
 
 Then weave the melancholy strain ; 
 Another year to join the past has flown; 
 Hark to its sad and passing moan, 
 
 Ere yet it joins the past departing train!" 
 It tells of wildly wasted hours, 
 Of sorrows pale and wither'd flowers, 
 Perchance of blasted hopes and broken peace ? 
 Shifting scenes of earthly bliss, 
 Of disappointment chill, when, heaven forgot, 
 Earth seem'd a sad aad dreary spot, 
 And the vile heart refused the ray 
 Of hope and comfort sweet, from heavVs unfailing day, 
 
260- REPUBLICAN COMPILER. 
 
 II. 3. 
 
 Yet in measures soft and sweet, 
 
 Hark ! the lyre's fond accents greet 
 Him that comes in new-born bloom. 
 And spreads fresh morning o'er the gloom. 
 
 With swift advancing feet. 
 Gay hope his hasty step is hailing, 
 Loud the song of pleasure swelling 5 
 When his lovely form ascending, 
 
 Sparkles on the ravish 'd gaze, 
 Youth and beauty gently blending 
 
 In a burst of dazzling rays ! 
 Bright opes the morn, and fair the prospect seems, 
 
 Hope smiles in triumph, o'er the gilded reign; 
 Evening perhaps a<>;ain may chase her dreams, 
 
 And teach fond man that all of earth is vain; 
 Another year may roll its ebbing tide, 
 And leave him still the mock of passion and of pride? 
 
 III. 1. 
 
 "Religion, with a steady eye, 
 Alone can mark the sweeping flood of years; 
 She wipes away the falling tears, 
 
 And fixes every hope upon the sky; 
 And hails each year that rolls away. 
 Since nearer to th' eternal day, 
 She treads the mazes of this mortal life ; 
 There* when years have ceas'd their strife, 
 To live in long communion with the blest, 
 In bowers of happiness and rest, 
 And join the chorus of the song 
 That heav'n, through all its realms, forever shall prolong 
 
 III. 2. 
 
 And oh! throughout the wide spread world, 
 May this new year extend IMMANUEL'S reign 3 
 On every shore and every plain, 
 
 In triumph be his banner bright unfurl'd! 
 The dread, disastrous form of war, 
 Has diinm'd awhile its baleful star, 
 And peace delightful spreads her sceptre gay 5 
 O'er the ocean's trackless way, 
 A<nd o'er the barren sand and howling waste? 
 The servants of the Saviour haste, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. 
 
 To pour the beams of gospel light 
 
 O'er horror's darkest den, and superstitions night. 
 
 III. 3. 
 
 Hail thee, then, thou new-born year. 
 
 Bursting in thy youug career ! 
 May'st thou bring resplendent flowers, 
 To bless the tide of fleeting hours, 
 
 With heav'n and glory near ! 
 And oh ! from earth, if death us sever, 
 Ere thou wing'st thy flight forever, 
 May our souls in rapture soaring, 
 
 Claim and find a blest abode, 
 Mid unnumber'd crowds adoring 
 
 At the awful throne of GOD : 
 Oh! be thou glorious in the march of years, 
 
 Thy journey strew'd with softest roses sweet $ 
 And mid the music of revolving spheres, 
 
 May thy Hosanna heav'n's blue concave meet; 
 To sing the triumphs of redeeming love, 
 And mount on wing sublime, to Zion's hill above. 
 BRISTOL, (R. I.) JAN. 1, 1817. 
 
 O curas homnum I quantum est in rebus inane .' 
 
 PER. SAT. 
 
 OH ! 'twas a parting serene sublime and bright^ 
 
 As when the sun sinks on the tearful sight 
 
 In floating clouds of blue and liquid gold I 
 
 She died F what recks it now if told 
 
 Her virtues loveliness and grace ? 
 
 The bright expressions of the form and face ? 
 
 The open spirit and the pride of truth ? 
 
 The hopes of pleasure and the joys of youth P 
 
 She died! and these are past and gone 
 
 Why weep then o'er the unforgotton one 
 
 Who wakes no more to grieve her given birth, 
 
 And the cold changes of a wayward earth! 
 
 The last good night 5 ' fell from her dying tongue 
 
 We gazed and o'er the feeble sufferer weeping hung 
 
 She pass'd and yet we gaz'd and wept 
 
 We could not think her dead but that she slept. 
 
262 REPUBLICAN CGMPfLfeR. 
 
 The bloom nad faded from her cheek so fa*r 
 
 And the'hot tears she shed had frozen there 
 
 The face was yellow as the autumn leaf 
 
 The dark eye glazed and closed and closed in grief. 
 
 It would have seemed had not the parting smile 
 
 Play'd round the mouth denying it the while 
 
 Her fingers closely clasp'd as though in prayer 
 
 The mind had been but not the clasping of despair > 
 
 Oh ! 'twas a sight but all have seen the sight, 
 
 That sight of sorrow and of strange delight! 
 
 Ah! what is life? embrace a vision cloud 
 
 Light the red torch, and place it on a shroud. 
 
 Yes ! there was something in that farewell hour 
 
 Which shew'd the pride of mind its hope and power, 
 
 9 Twas not the dreadful and uncertain chill, 
 
 The trembling fear that flutters and is still, 
 
 The fear that tells the soul it soon must cease 
 
 (A tale of fear and doubt, but none of peace) 
 
 To be and mingle with the wakeless dead, 
 
 In the dark slumbers of a darker bed. 
 
 Oh no ! her's was the hope and beam of heaven 
 
 Redeeming grace and love and sins forgiven : 
 
 Of better worlds than this, unchanging, fair, 
 
 Where the glad spirit floats on wings of air. 
 
 Sweeping tlie harp of God in softest tone, 
 
 In praise of Him who sits upon the throne. 
 
 Jl Reflection. 
 
 I'VE seen the dark ship proudly braving, 
 With high sails set and streamers waving, 
 
 The tempest roar and battle pride : 
 I've seen those floating streamers shrinking 
 The high sail rent the proud ship sinking 
 
 Beneath the ocean tide ; 
 And heard the seaman farewell sighing 
 His body on the dark sea lying 
 
 His death prayer to the wind ! 
 But sadder sight the eye can know, 
 Than proud bark lost and seaman's wo- 
 Or battle fire and tempest cloud 
 Or prey birds shriek and oceans shroud 
 
 The shipwreck of the Mind. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. M$ 
 
 The author of the fallowing beautiful, feeling and pious production, wm 
 Mr. FRANCIS COPE, a young gentleman of Philadelphia, who, like 
 our lamented Biakely, has been lately snatched, by the greedy waters. 
 from the hopes of his friends, and the pursuit of virtuous fame. He 
 was drowned at sea, in his 20th year. Many fine specimens of earlf 
 genius are in the possession of his friends but the following is most re- 
 markable as being the production of a young won, and as breathing 
 not only the fervent spirit of real poetry but of true religion. The 
 foss of such a youth is a national calamity. STAB, 
 
 When adverse winds right keenly blow; 
 When stern affliction's grasp we know ; 
 Her torch when persecution whirls ; 
 When Rnvy lifts her snaky curls ; 
 
 Thrice happy he whose soul resign'd, 
 Unmov'd can see the torrent run ; 
 Can say, his eye to Heaven inclined, 
 "Thy will be done." 
 
 O life, thy roses thorns unfold ; 
 O death, thy grasp is fearful cold, 
 With riches come unnumbered cares. 
 With poverty ten thousand snares. 
 
 Then where can happiness be found r 
 Nor in the cot, nor purple throne, 
 Herein doth happiness abound, 
 " Thy will be done." 
 
 When blasting winds blow cold and bleak. 
 
 With longing eye and sunken cheek, 
 
 When haggard famine stalks around ; 
 
 When war triumphant stains the ground ; 
 When the sad mother beats her breast, 
 To see her babe's last sigh is drawn 5 
 O what can sooth her soul to rest ? 
 " Thy will be done." 
 
 5 Tis this can still the adverse gale, 
 5 Tis this can bid wan famine hail, 
 'Tis this can soften war's alarms, 
 ? Tis this oppression's rage disarms, 
 
 This plucks the thistle froiii our road 
 
 When life's deluding joys are go 
 >Tis this will raise the soul to God, 
 Thy will be done." 
 
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