Yale University Library 39002003557353 YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 1937 LIBRARY OF AMERICAN HISTORY; CONTAINING BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES, OF WASHINGTON, ADAMS, PAUL JONES, FULTON, SMITH, CLARKE, SHELBY, PUTNAM, BRANT, KING PHILIP, AND MANY OTHER DISTINGUISHED CHARAC TERS; THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE, WITH jFaoBtmihs of tl)e ^anotortting of the 0igtuv0, THEIR AGE, WHERE AND WHEN BORN, DEATH, ETC, WASHINGTON'S FAREWELL ADDRESS; CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES; ARTICLES OF CON FEDERATION. PENN'S TREAT? WITH THE INDIANS; DEFEAT OF GEN. BRADDOCK; BATTLE OF LONG ISLAND; OPERATIONS OF THE* ARMY OF THE DEVOLUTION: IN NEW JERSEY, DELAWARE, AND, PENNSYLVANIA; CAPTURE OF BURGOYNE, OF CORNWALLIS; BENNINGTON BATTLE GROUND; BATTLE OF BRANDYWINE; BATTLE OF SARATOGA? OLD TICONDEROGA; PIONEERS OF THE WEST; MONTICELLO, THE HOME OF JEFFERSON; BOSTON IN 1776; DESTRWCTION OF THE TEA; GENERAL I * . 1 "WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS; >£# er to display a discipline equal to our enemies.' 29 " The regular troops that constitued the grand army at the close of the campaign of '76, were the fragments of many regiments, worn down by constant and toilsome marches, and suffering of every sort, in the depth of winter. The fine regi ment of Srnallwqod, composed of the flower of the Maryland youth and which, in the June pre ceding, marched into Philadelphia eleven hundred strong, was, on the third of January, reduced to scarcely sixty men, and commanded by a captain. In fact, the bulk of what was then called the grand army, consisted of the Pennsylvania militia and volunteers, citizen soldiers who had left their Comfortable homes at the call of their country, and were enduring the rigors of a winter cam paign. On the morning of the battle of Princeton, they had been eighteen hours under arms, and harassed by a long night's march. Was it then to be wondered at that they should have given way before the veteran bayonets of their fresh and well-appointed foe 1 "The heroic devotion of Washington was not wanting in the exigencies of this memorable day. He was aware that his hour was come to redeem the pledge he had laid on the. altar of his country when first he took up arms in her cause : to win her liberties or perish in the attempt. Defeat at Princeton would have amounted to the annihila tion of America's last hope ; for, independent of the enemy's forces in front, Cornwallis, with the flower of the British army eight thousand strong, was already panting close on the rear. It, was, indeed, the very crisis of the struggle. ^Iri the hurried and imposing events of little more than one short week, liberty endured her greatest agony. What, then, is due to the fame and memories of that sacred band who, with the master of liberty at their head, breasted the storm at this fearful crisis of their country's destiny 1 "The heroic devotion of Washington on the field of Princeton is matter of history. We have often enjoyed a touching reminiscence of that ever-memorable event from the late Colonel Fitz gerald, who was aid to the chief, and who never related the story of his General's danger, and almost miraculous preservation, without adding to his tale the homage of a tear. "The aid-de-camp had been ordered to bring up the troops from the rear of the column, when the band under General Mercer became engaged. Upon returning to the spot where he had left the commander-in-chief, he was no longer there, and, upon looking around, the aid discovered him en deavoring to rally the line which had been thrown into disorder by a rapid onset of the foe. Wash ington, after several ineffectual efforts to restore the fortunes of the fight, is seen to rein up his horse with his head to the enemy, and, in that position, to become immovable. It was a last appeal to his soldiers, and seemed to say, Will you give up your General to the foel Such an appeal was not made in vain. The discomfited Americans rally on the instant, and form into line ; the enemy halt, and dress their line ; the American chief is between the adverse posts, as though he had been placed there, a target for both? The arms of both lines are levelled. Can escape from death be possible 1 Fitzgerald, hor ror-struck at the danger of his beloved command er, dropped the reins upon his horse's neck, and drew his hat over his face, that he might not see him die. A roar of musketry succeeds, and then a shout. It was the shout of victory. The aid- de-camp ventures to raise his eyes, and oh, glori ous sight, the enemy are broken and flying, while dimly amid the glimpses of the smoke is seen the chief, ' alive, unharmed, and without a wound,' waving his hat, and cheering his com rades to the pursuit. " Colonel Fitzgerald, celebrated as one of the finest horsemen in the American army, now dash ed his rowels in his charger's flank, and, heedless of the dead and dying in his way, flew to the side of his chief, exclaiming, 'Thank God! your excellency is safe,' while the favorite aid, a gallant and warm-hearted son of Erin, a man of thews and sinews, and 'albeit unused to the melting mood,' gave loose to his feelings, and wept like a child for joy. "Washington, ever calm amid scenes of the greatest excitement, affectionately grasped the hand of his aid and friend, and then ordered, 'Away, my dear. Colonel, and bring up the troops, the day is our own ! ' " OLDEN TIME IN MASSACHUSETTS. In 1 627, there were but thirty ploughs in all Mas sachusetts, and the use of these agricultural imple ments was not familiar to all the planters. From the annals, of Salem, it appears in, that year, it was agreed by the town to grant Richard Hutchinson twenty acres of land, in addition to his share, on condition " he set up ploughing." 1630. A sumptuary act of the general court pro hibiting short sleeves, and required the garments to be lengthened so as to cover the arms to the wrists, and required reformation " in immoderate great breeches, knots of riband, broad shoulder-bands and taylee ; silk vases, double cuffs and ruffs." 1639. " For preventing miscarriage of letters, it is ordered that notice be given that Richard Fair- bank, his house in Boston, is the place appointed for all letters, which are brought from beyond the sea, or are to be sent thither, or to be. brought unto him, and he is allowed for every such letter Id., and must answer all miscarriages through his own neg lect in his kind, provided that no man shall be obliged to bring his letter thither, unless he pleases." 1647. " The court order, that if any young mar attempt to address a young woman without the con sent of her parents, or in case of their absence, of the county court, he shall be fined four pounds for the first offence, ten pounds for the second, and be imprisoned for the third." 1649. Matthew Stanley was tried for drawing in the affections of John Tarbox's daughter without the consent of her parents, convicted and fined fifteen pounds ; fees two shillings and six pence. Three married women were fined five shillings each foi scolding. 1653. Jonas Fairbanks was tried for wearing great boots, but was acquitted. 30 WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS AT CAMBRIDGE. The house occupied by General Washington as his headquarters, during the memorable siege of Boston, in 1775 and 1776, is situated about halfway between the Cambridge colleges and Mount Auburn, on the road leading from Harvard university to Waltham. The house is a large wooden mansion, with spacious outbuildings and grounds ; it stands a little back from the road, and the front of it commands a good view of Charles river, which gracefully winds through the adjacent meadows at the distance of about a quarter of a mile. At this mansion and at Winter hill, Washington spent most of the time, that the British, to use their own expres sion, " were fairly blocked up in Boston," the town where numerous outrages had been perpetrated . by the English soldiery, upon the unarmed and inoffen-. sive inhabitants ; all of which, however, were duly remembered. It may not be uninteresting to our readers, to review, in this place, some of the more prominent events which led to the siege. As early as 1765, the passage of the stamp-act had caused a great deal of excitement — some acts of violence also were committed by the mob, but these were discountenanced by the leading whigs, who thought such acts would infallibly injure a just cause. Their pens, however, were not idle ; and in the Bos ton Gazette of March 17th, 1766, a writer remarks :— " Since the stamp-act imposed on us is unconstitu tional, shall we not then, all as one man, join in opposing it, and spill the last drop of our blood, if necessity should require, rather than live to see it take place in America !" And again, " any one after a thorough search and consideration, would, rather than lose his liberty, be bored through the centre of life with the fatal lead." On the 19th of May, news was received ai Boston that the stamp-act was repealed. On the 5th of March, 1770, the animosity of the Bostonians against the " redcoats" was increased a little by the murder of Crispus Attucks, Samuel Gray, Jonnes Caldwell, Samuel Maverick and Patrick Carr ; and their funeral solemnities which took place on the 8th, brought together the largest concourse of people that probably had ever assem bled in America. The duty on tea, of three pence per pound, imposed on the colonists without their consent, had been met by combinations among the inhabitants not to pay the duty, and not to use the article. The British East India company, however, applied to the British government, and obtained a license to export a quantity of tea to America, not exceeding six hundred thousand pounds ; they were discharged from the payment of any custom-house duties whatever in the kingdom, but were subject, however, to the payment of the three pence per pound duty in America. The first cargo of this tea arrived in November ; and on the next morning, the following notice was distributed through the town : ? " Friends, Brethren, Countrymen ! "That worst of plagues, the detested pEA, shipped for this port by the East India company, is now arrived'in this harbour. The hour of destruction, or manly op position to the machinations of tyranny, stares you iq, the face. Every friend to his country, to himself, to posterity, is now called upon to meet at Fanueil HaU. at nine o'clock this day, (at which time the bells mil ring,) to make a united and successful resistances this last, worst, and most destructive measure of adminis tration. " Boston, Nov. 29, 1773." The meeting thus called was fully attended ; res olutions were^passed against those who had imported tea, and provision was made for the disposal of.the ves sels which were expected to arrive. The assembled body voted " to carry their votes and resolutions into execution at the risk of their lives and property." About the first of December, another vessel arrived with tea, and the consignees of the cargoes were ordered to send it back. This, however, was not done, and on the 16th of December, the vessels which contained it were boarded by a party disguised as Indians, the chests pf tea were broken open,- and in less than two hours, two hundred and forty chests, and one hundred half-chests, were staved and emptied into the dock. A portion of this tea, which was brought away in the shoes of one of the Indians, is still preserved at the Boston Atheneum. The next important event was the passage of the Boston port bill, to which George III. assented on the 31st of March, 1774: by this bill, the landing and discharging, lading or shipping, of goods at Bos- : ton, were discontinued. The news of this bill arrived at Boston about the 11th of May ; and on the 13th, the following vote was passed at town meeting: — " Voted, That it is the opinion of this town, that if the other colonies come into a joint resolution to stop all importations from Great Britain, and exportations to Great Britain, the same will prove the salvation of North America and her liberties. On the other hand, if they continue their exports and impo'.-ls, there is high reason to fear that fraud, power, and the most odious oppressions, will rise triumphant over right, justice, social happiness^ and freedom." About this time, General Gage arrived to govern the province. Hutchinson retired ; troops also were constantly coming in, and fortifications were thrown up on Boston Neck. In September, a detachment went into the country and took from a powder maga zine, on Quarry Hill, about two hundred half-bar rels of powder, which belonged to the provinctf J WASHlA-tiTOVtS hi'.A,,U Al, i !0J{ t-v «{'' Cuiiibriduo. M-. 33 another detachment brought off two fieldpieces from Cambridge.. The people armed themselves and as sembled, but finding no enemy to contend with, re turned to their homes. On the other hand, a party of provincials in the province of New Hampshire, attacked the fort at Newcastle, captured the garrison, and took from them one hundred barrels of powder, some small-arms, and sixteen pieces of cannon, all of which were secured. These facts, though trivial in themselves, were of the utmost importance when considered in relation to the great events which were soon to follow. The next important step was that taken by the British on the 15th of April. About eight hundred soldiers left Boston in the night-time, in order to destroy some military stores collected by the provin cials at Concord. Their object, however, had been suspected by the committee of safety, and reports of their movements had been sent to the interiour. The route taken by the British, led them through West Cambridge to Lexington, which lies about twelve miles to the northwest of Boston. Concord being situated in the same direction, six miles from Lexington. Their route was undisturbed until their arrival at Lexington, when a drum was heard beating to arms, and a company of provincials were discov ered. The British commander, Major Pitcairn, rode up to them and cried out, " Disperse you rebels — lay down your arms and disperse." Not being obeyed, he commanded his troops to fire: the provincials re ceived the fire without flinching ; and kept their ground till another discharge from the enemy proved fatal to several of them ; on this, part of the com pany, if not all, returned the fire, and then dispersed in different directions. The British now continued their march to Concord and arrived there about nine o'clock : here they again fired upon the militia who had assembled, and having destroyed some provis ions and stores, commenced their return to Boston. But now retributive measures awaited them ; to use the words of the distinguished novelist Cooper : " In place of the high and insulting confidence with which the troops had wheeled into the streets of Concord, they left them when the order was given to 'march, with faces bent anxiously on the surrounding heights, and with looks that bespoke a consciousness of the dangers that were likely to beset the long road that lay before them. Their apprehensions were not groundless. The troops had hardly commenced their march before a volley was fired upon them from the protection of a barn ; and as they advanced volley succeeded volley, and musket answered musket, from behind every cover that offered to their assail ants. At first, these desultory and feeble attacks were but little regarded ; a brisk charge, and a smart fire for a few moments never failing to disperse their 5 enemies, when the troops again proceeded for a short distance unmolested. But the alarm of the preceding night had gathered the people over an immense extent of country ; and having waited for information, those nearest to the scene of action were already pressing forward to the assistance of their friends. There was but little order and no concert among the Americans ; but each party, as it arrived. pushed into the fray, and hanging on the skirts of their enemies, or making spirited though ineffectual efforts to stop their progress. On either side of the highway, along the skirts of every wood or orchard, in the open fields, and from every house or barn, or cover in sight, the flash of fire-arms was to be seen, while the shots of the British grew, at each instant, feebler and less inspirited." Their ranks now became confused, when,, fortunately for them, they were re inforced, by Lord Percy with a thonsand men; this enabled them to reach Charles river that evening ; and the next day all were removed to Boston. The loss of the Americans was forty-nine killed, thirty- six wounded, and three missing ; of the redcoats, seventy-three killed, one hundred and seventy-four wounded, and one hundred and twenty-six missing. The Americans continued to come to the support of their brethren, and in June their army consisted of fifteen thousand men, commanded by General Ward. On the 17th of June was fought the battle of Bunker's Hill, ( see detail of page 161 ; ) after this battle, the main body of the British troops was stationed on Bunker's Hill ; the other division of it was deeply entrenched, and strongly fortified on Boston Neck. The American army lay on both sides of Charles river ; its right occupying the high ground around Roxbury, whence it extended towards Dorchester, and its left, covered by Mystick river, a space of at least twelve miles. General Washington took command of the army on the 2d of July, 1775 ; and General Gage, having resigned, he was replaced by General Howe, who was completely shut up in Boston, and compelled to pass the winter in idleness. General Washington, however, becoming tired of this inactivity, wished to make an attack on them ; but a council of war being almost unanimous against this measure, he re luctantly abandoned it. " The effective regular force of the Americans. now amounted to upwards of fourteen thousand men : in addition to which the commander-in-chief called out about six thousand of the militia of Massachusetts. With these troops he determined to take possession of the heights of Dorchester, whence it would bo in his power greatly to annoy the ships in the harbour, and the soldiers in the town. By taking this po sition, from which the enemy would inevitably at tempt to drive him he expected to bring on a gene- 34 ral action, during which he intended to cross over from the Cambridge side, with four thousand chosen men, and attack Boston. To conceal his design and to divert the attention of the garrison, a heavy bom bardment of the town and lines of the enemy was begun on the evening of the 2d of March, 1776, and repeated on the two succeeding nights. On the night of the 4th, immediately after the firing began, a considerable detachment, under the command of General Thomas, passing from Roxbury, took silent possession of Dorchester heights. The ground was almost impenetrably hard, but the night was mild, and by labouring with great diligence, their works were so far advanced by morning, as to cover them, in a great measure, from the shot of the enemy. When the British, after daybreak, discovered these works, which were magnified to their view by a hazy atmosphere, nothing could exceed their aston ishment. No alternative now remained but to aban don the town, or to dislodge the provincials. Gen eral Howe, with his usual spirit, chose the latter part of the alternative, in which design he was foiled by a tremendous storm. A council of war was call ed next morning, and it was agreed to evacuate the town as soon as possible. A fortnight elapsed before this measure was effected. Meanwhile, the Ameri cans strengthened and extended their works ; "on the morning of the 17th of March, the British discovered a breastwork that had been thrown up in the night, at Nooks Hill,. Dorchester, which perfectly com manded Boston Neck and the south part of the town. Delay was no longer safe : by four o'clock in the morning, the king's troops began to embark, and before ten, all of them were under full sail ; leaving behind them stores to the value of thirty thousand pounds. As the rear embarked, General Washing ton marched triumphantly into Boston where he was joyfully received as a deliverer." It is now many years since we rambled over the grounds which were the seat of the scenes described. Time, and the levelling hand of modern improvement, have done much to erase all marks of the struggle. A few years ago, Governour Hutchinson's house was still standing, and on Boston common, you might perceive the spot where the troops of Earl Percy were en camped. Brattlestreet church presents in its front an iron monument of the bombardment of 1776, and the entrenchments on Dorchester heights are tolera bly preserved. In ranging also over the diversified country around Boston, you frequently meet with gentle elevations and slight depressions, which mark the lines of the American encampment. But most of the memorials, like most of the actors in those scenes, have passed away. THE INDEPENDENCE BELL. The bell hanging in the steeple of the old State House, in Chestnut street, in this city, which is rung on special occasions, is the one that assembled the people together to hear the Declaration of Indepen dence read, fifty-nine years ago. The metal of which this bell is composed, was imported in the year 1752, in the shape of another bell, which hav ing become injured by an accident at the trial ring ing, after its arrival, it became necessary to have it recast. Whether the remarkable inscription upon it was or was not upon the original bell, we have no means of ascertaining, but Watson, in his annals of Philadelphia, expresses the opinion that we are indebted for it to Isaac Norris, Esq., at that time speaker of the colonial assembly, under whose di rection the bell was recast. This supposition is possibly correct, for it is hardly probable that the as sembly which ordered the bell from England, would have encountered the risk of being suspected of the rebellious intentions which might have been infer red from its terms. The inscription was copied from the twenty-fifth chapter of the book of Leviticus, verse fen, in these words : " Proclaim liberty through out all the land', unto all the inhabitants thereof." This prophetick command was literally obeyed by the bell on the 4th of July, 1776, and as it was the first bell in the United States that spoke treason, it was thought prudent to remove it from Philadel phia for safe keeping in 1 777, when the British were about to visit Philadelphia, although its weight was two thousand and eighty pounds. phii. Gazette. NEW ENGLAND. The hills of New England- How proudly they rise, In the wildness of grandeur To blend with the skies ! With their far azure outline, And tall ancient trees ! New England, my country, I love thee for these ! The vales of New England That cradle her streams ; That smile in their greenness Like land in our dreams ; All sunny with pleasure, Embosom'd in ease—"" New England, my country, I love thee for these ! The woods of New England, Still verdant and high, Though rock'd by the tempest Of ages gone by ; Romance dims their arches, And speaks in the breeze — New England, my country, I love thee for these !•-".. The streams of New England, That roar as they go : Or seem in their stillness But dreaming to flow. O bright glides the sunbeam Their march to the seas — New England, my country, I love thee for these ! God shield thee, New England, Dear land of my birth ! And thy children that wander Afar o'er the earth ; Thou'rt my country, wherever My lot shall be cast — Take thou to thy bosom My ashes at last 1 35 Iron Mountainin Missouri. — Mr. Featherstonhaugb, the geologist appointed by government, reports the discovery of a vein of iron on the United States' lands in Missouri, about one hundred and fifty feet above the surface of the adjacent plain. At the sur face, it had the appearance of being roughly paved with black pebbles of iron, from one to twenty pounds' weight ; beneath the surface it appeared to be a solid mass. He remarks: — "Unusual as is the magnitude of the superficial cubick contents of this vein, yet it must be insignificant to the subterra neous quantity. This extraordinary phenomenon filled me with admiration. Here was a single locality of iron offering all the resources of Sweden, and of which it was impossible to estimate the value by any other terms than those adequate to all a nation's wanls." WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS, NEWBURGH, N. V. The old Hasbrook-house, as it is called, situated on the west bank of the Hudson, a little south of the village of Newburgh, is one of the most interesting relicks of the first and heroick age of our republick ; for at several periods of the war of the revolution, and especially from the autumn of 1782 until the troops were finally disbanded, it was occupied by General Washington, as the headquarters of the American army. The views from the house and grounds, as well as the whole neighbourhood around it, are rich alike in natural beauty and historical remembrances. You look from the old house upon the broad bay into which the Hudson expands itself, just before enter ing the deep, rocky bed, through which it flows to wards the ocean between the lofty mountain-banks of the Highlands. On the opposite shore, is seen the ridge of mountains, upon the bald rocky summits of which, during the war of 1776, the beacon-fires so often blazed to alarm the country at the incursions of the enemy from the south, or else to communicate signals between the frontier posts in Westchester, along the line Of the American- position at Ver- planck's Point, West Point, and the barracks and encampments on the plains of Fishkill. As these mountains recede eastward from the river, you see the romantick stream of Mattavoan winding wildly along their base, through glens and over falls, until, at last as if fatigued with. its wanton rambles, it mingles quietly and placidly with the Hudson. On this side of it are stretched the rich plains of Dutchess county, with their woody and picturesque shores. All along these plains and shores are to be found other memorials of the revolution ; for there were the storehouses, barracks, and hospitals of our army, and there, for many months, were the head quarters of the father of American" tacticks, the dis ciplinarian Steuben. To the south, you look down upon the opening of the Highlands and the rock of PollopeU's Island, once a rriilitary prison, and thence follow, with your eye, the Great River of the Moun tains* till it turns suddenly and disappears around the rocky promontory of West Point ; a spot consecrated by the most exciting recollections of our history, by the story of Arnold's guilt and Andre's hapless fate, and the incorruptible virtue of our yeomanry ; by the memory of the virtues of Kosciusko and Lafayette ; of the wisdom and valour of our own chiefs and sages. The Hasbrook-house itself, is a solid, irregular building of rough stone, erected about a century ago. The excellent landscape, painted by Weir, and en graved with equal spirit and fidelity by Smillie, will give the reader a better idea of its appearance and character than words can convey.. The interiour re mains very nearly as Washingtonleft it. The lar gest room is in the centre of the house, about twenty- four feet square, but so disproportionately low, as to appear very much larger. It served the general during his residence there, in the daytime, for his hall of reception and his dining-room, where he re- ' The Indian name of the Hudnon. 36 gularly kept up a liberal, though plain hospitality. At night it was used as a bedroom for his aidde- camps and occasional military visiters and guests. It was long memorable among the veterans who had seen the chief there, for its huge wood fire, built against the wall, in, or, rattfer under a wide chimney, the fireplace of which was quite open at both sides. It was still more remarkable for the whimsical pecu liarity of having seven doors, and but one window. The unceiled roof of this room, with its massive painted beams, corresponds to the simplicity of the rest of the building, as well as shows the indiffer ence of our ancestors to the free communication of noise and cold air, which their wiser or more fasti dious descendants take so much pains to avoid. On the northeast corner of the house, communicating with the large centre-room, is a small chamber, which the general used as a study, or private office. Those who have had the good fortune to enjoy the acquaintance of officers of the northern division of our old army, haje heard many a revolutionary anec dote, the scene of which was laid in the old square room at Newburgh, " with its seven doors and one window." In it were every day served up, to as many guests as the table and chairs could accommo date, a dinner and a supper, as plentiful as the country could supply, and as good as they* could be made by the continental cooks, whose deficiency in culinary skill drew forth in one of his private letters (since printed) the only piece of literary pleasantry, it is believed, in which the great man was ever tempted to indulge. But then, as we have heard old soldiers affirm with great emphasis, there was always plenty of good wine. French wines for our French allies, and those who had acquired or who'affected their tastes, and sound Madeira for the Americans of the old school, circulated briskly, and were taken in little silver mugs or goblets, made in France for the general's camp equipage. They were accompa nied by the famous apples of the Hudson, the Spitz- en,bergh and other varieties, and invariably by heap ed plates of hickory nuts, the amazing consumption of which, by the general and his staff, was the theme of boundless admiration to the Marquis de Chastel- leux and other French officers. The jest, the argu ment, the song, and the story, circulated as briskly as the wine ; while the chief, at the head of his table, sat long, listened to all, or appeared to listen, smiled at and enjoyed all, but all gravely, without partaking much in the conversation or at all contri buting to the laugh, either by swelling its chorus or furnishing the occasion ; for he was neither a joker nor a story-teller. He had no talent, and he knew he had none, for humour, repartee, or amusing anec dote ; and if he had possessed it, he was too wise to indulge in it in the position in which he was placed. One evidence, among many others, of the impres sion which Washington's presence in this scene had made, and the dignity and permanence it could lend to every idea or recollection, however trivial other wise, with which it had been accidentally associated, was given some few years ago at Paris. The American minister (we forget whether it was Mr. Crawford, Mr. Brown, or one of their succes sors), and several of his countrymen, together with General Lafayette, were invited to an entertainment at the house of a distinguished and patriotick French man, who had served his country in his youth in the United States, during the war of our independence. At the supper hour the company were shown, into a room fitted up for the occasion, which contrasted quite oddly with the Parisian elegance of the other apartments, where they had spent their evening A, low, boarded, painted ceiling, with large beams, af single, small, uncurtained window, with numerous small doors, as well as the general style of the whole, gave at first the idea of the kitchen, or largest room of a Dutch or Belgian farmhouse. On a long rough table was a repast, just as little in keeping with the refined kitchen of Paris, as the room was with its architecture. It consisted of large dishes of meat, uncouth-looking pastry, and wine in decanters and bottles, accompanied by glasses and silver mugs, such as indicated other habits and tastes than those of modem Paris. " Do you know where, we now' are ?" said the host to General Lafayette and his companions. They paused for a few moments, in suspense. They had seen something like this be fore, but when and where ? " Ah, the seven doors and one window," said Lafayette! " and the silver camp-goblets, such as our marshals of France used in my youth ! We are at Washington's Head quarters on the Hudson, fifty years ago !" We re late the story as we have heard it told by the late Colonel Fish, and, if we mistake not, the host was the excellent M. Marbois. There is another anecdote of a higher and more moral interest, the scene of which was also laid in this house. We remember to have heard it told by the late Colonel Willet, our " bravest of the Brave," then past his eightieth year, with a feeling that warmed the coldest of his hearers, and made the tears gush into the eyes of his younger listeners. A British officer had been brought in from the river, a prisoner, and wounded. Some accidental circumstances had attracted to him General Wash ington's special notice, who had him placed under the best medical and surgical care the army could afford, and ordered him to be lodged at his own quarters. There, according to custom, a large party of officers had assembled in the evening, to sup with the commander-in-chief. When the meats and cloth were removed, the unfailing nuts appeared, and the wine, a luxury seldom seen by American subalterns, except at "his excellency's" table, began to circulate. The general rose much before his usual hour, but, putting one of his aiddecamps in his place, request ed his friends to remain, adding, in a gentle tone, " I have only to ask you to remember, in your sociality, that there is a wounded officer in the very next room." This injunction had its effect for a short time, but, as the wine and punch passed round, the soldier's jest and mirth gradually broke forth, conversation warmed into argument, and, by-andrby, came a song. In the midst of all this, a side-door opened, and some one entered in silence and on tiptoe. It was the general. Without a word to any of the company, he passed silently along the table, with almost noiseless tread, to the opposite door, which he opened anl closed after hiin as gently and cautiously as a nurse in the sick room of a tender and beloved patient. The song, the story, the merriment, died away at once. All were hushed. All felt the rebuke, afio dropped off quietly, one by one, to their chambers OS tents 37 But the Newburgh Headquarters are also memor able as the scene of a far more important transaction. In the autumn of 1783, the war had closed with glory. The national independence had been won. The army, which had fought the battles, which had gone through the hardships and privations of that long, and doubtful, and bloddy war without a murmur, were encamped on the banks of the Hudson, unpaid, almost unclothed, individually loaded with private debt, awaiting to be disbanded, and to return to the pursuits of civil life, without the prospect of any set tlement of their long arrears of pay, and without the means of temporary support, until other prospects might open upon them in their new avocations. * It was under these circumstances, while Congress, from the impotence of our frame of government under the old confederation, and the extreme poverty of the country, found themselves utterly unable to advance even a single month's pay, and, as if loath to meet the question, seemed but to delay and pro crastinate any decision upon it ; the impatient and suffering soldiery, losing, as their military excite ment died away with its cause, all feeling of loyalty towards, their civil rulers, began to regard them as cold-hearted and ungrateful masters, who sought to avoid the scanty and stipulated payment of those services, the abundant fruits of which they had al ready reaped. Then it was that the celebrated anonymous Newburgh letters were circulated through the camp, tpuching, with powerful effect, upon every topick that could rouse the feelings of men suffering under the sense of wrong, and sensitive to every stain upon their honour. The glowing language of this address painted their country as trampling upon their rights, disdaining their cries, and insulting their distress. It spoke of farther acquiescence and sub mission to such injury and contumely, as exposing the high-spirited soldier to " the jest of tories and the scorn of whigs ; the ridicule, and, what is worse? the pity of the world." Finally, the writer called upon his fellow-soldiers, never to sheath their swords until they had obtained full and ample justice, and pointed distinctly to their " illustrious leader," as the chief under whose auspices and directions they could most boldly, claim, and most successfully compel, the unwilling justice of their country. The power of this appeal did not consist merely in its animated and polished eloquence. It was far more powerful, and, therefore, more dangerous, be cause it came warm from the heart, and did but give bold utterance to the thoughts over which thousands had long brooded in silence. Precisely that state of feeling pervaded the whole army, that discontent to wards their civil rulers, verging every hour more and more towards indignation and hatred, that despair of justice from any other means or quarter than them selves and their owri good swords, that rallying of all their hopes and affections to their comrades in arms and their long-tried chief, such as in other times and countries, have again and again enthroned the successful military leader upon the ruins of the republick he had gloriously served. ,The disinterested patriotism of Washington re jected the lure to his ambition ; his firm and mild prudence repressed the discontents, and preserved the honour of the army, as well as the peace, and, probably, the future liberties of his country. It was the triumph of patriotick wisdom over the sense of injury, over misapplied genius and eloquence, over chivalrous, but ill-directed feeling. The opinions and the arguments of Washington, expressed in his orders, and in the address delivered by him to his officers, calmed the minds of the army, and brought them, at once, to a sense of submissive duty ; not solely from the weight of moral truth and noble sen timent, great as that was, but because they came from a person whom the army had long been ac customed to love, to revere, and to obey ; the purity of whose views, the soundness of whose judgment, and the sincerity of whose friendship, no man could dream of questioning. Shortly after, the army disbanded itself. The veterans laid down their swords in peace, trusting to the faith and gratitude of their country, leaving the honour of the " Continental Army" unstained, and the holy cause of liberty unsullied by any one act of rebellious, or ambitious, or selfish insubordination. They fulfilled the prophetick language of their chief, when, in the closing words of his address on this memorable occasion, he expressed his sure confi dence, that their patient virtue, rising superiour to the pressure of the most complicated sufferings, would enable " posterity to say, when speaking of the glori ous example'they had exhibited to mankind ; had this day been wanting, the world had never seen the last stage of perfection to which human nature is capable of attaining." Why should we dilate here on the particulars of this transaction 1 They form the brightest page in our history, the noblest theme of our orators ; but no eloquence can increase the interest and dignity of the narrative, as told in the plain language of Mar shall, and in the orders and address of Washington himself. Let it suffice for us to fulfil faithfully the humbler task of the local antiquary, which we have here undertaken to perform. When any of our readers visit this scene, they will feel grateful to us for informing them, that it was in the little north eastern room of the " old stone house" at Newburgh, that Washington meditated on this momentous ques tion, and prepared the general orders to the army, and the address, which he read, with such happy effect, to the military convention that assembled, at his invitation, on the fifteenth of October, 1783, at a large barrack or storehouse, then called " the new building," in the immediate neighbourhood. It was but a few days after this, that, upon the lawn before the house, Washington finally' parted with that portion of his army which did not accom pany him to take possession of New York. He parted with his faithful comrades with a deep emo tion, that contrasted strongly with the cold and calm serenity of manner which had distinguished him throughout the whole seven years of the war. That parting hour has often suggested itself to the writer, as affording one of the most^splendid and abundant subjects that American history can furnish to the painter. It combines the richest materials of land scape, portrait, history, and invention, any of which might predominate, or all be united, as the peculiar talent or taste of the artist might dictate. It offers to the painter, magnificent and varied scenery, ship ping, ' and river craft of the old times, with their white sails and picturesque outlines, arms, military costume, fine horses, beautiful women and children with every expression of conjugal and filial joy 38 mixed with the soldiers in groups such as art might dispose and contrast at its pleasure, numerous most interesting historical personages, and, above the whole, the lofty person and majestick presence of the chief himself, not the grave and venerable man we are accustomed to see in the fine portraits of Stuart, but still in the pride of manly and military grace and beauty, and melted into tenderness as he parts from the tried and loved companions of seven years of danger, hardship, and toil. Ornaments and pride of American art ; Allston, Trumbull, Vanderlyn, Dunlap, Cole, Sully, Morse, Inman, Weir ; we commend this subject to your genius, to your patriotism ! It is a natural and good tendency of the human mind, and one leading to excellent ends, that prompts the man of taste or the scholar to "Worship the turf where Virgil trod, And think it like no other sod, And guard each leaf from Shakspeare's tree. With Druid-like idolatry." But how much more elevated the feeling, how much worthier in the motive, and salutary in the influence, are the emotions that throb in the patriot's breast as he treads upon a soil, dignified by recollec tions of wisdom, of courage, of publick virtue, such as those we have now imperfectly described ! If, therefore, to use the often-quoted, and deservedly often-quoted language of Johnson, " that man is little to be envied whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plains of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow Warmer among the ruins of Iona :" what shall we say of the American who feels no glow of patriotism, who kindles not into warmer love for his country, and her glorious institutions, who rises into no grand and fervent aspiration for the virtue and the happiness of this people, when he enters the humble, but venerable walls, of the headquarters at Newburgh. — Verplanck. — N. Y. Mirror. THE ANCESTORS OF WASHINGTON. " We have been favored, within the last few days, with a highly interesting account of a mon ument in England, erected to the memory of some of the ancestors of our beloved Washington. The gentleman to whom we are indebted for the account, is Mr. Samuel Fullaway, of this city — but who, being a native of England, returned to that country on a visit to his parents, who reside at Malmesbury, in Wiltshire. The monument in question is in Gardson Church, in the same county. " The village of Gardson is about two miles from Malmesbury, and the church is an ancient Gothic edifice, situate in the bosom of a rich country, and surrounded with venerable trees. The coun try people have for many years been in the habit of conducting strangers to the church, for the purpose of pointing out the venerable memorial of the Washington Family — in former ages the Lords of the Manor of Gardson, and the residents of the Court-house, a building of the olden time — gray with the lapse of centuries. " The monument was once a superb specimen of the " mural" style— and even now exhibits relics of richness and curious workmanship. It is to be seen in the chancel, on the left side of the altar, and is richly carved out of the stone of that part of the country. It is surmounted with the fami ly coat-of-arms, which form a rich emblazonment of heraldry ; and, although two hundred years have rolled away since it was erected, they are still burnished with gilding. " The following are the inscriptions : — ' TO YE MEMORY OF SIR LAWRENCE WASHINGTON, Nite, Lately Chief Register OF YE CHAUNCERYE, Of Renowne, Piety and Charitye. An exemplyarye and LovingHusband, a Tender Father, A Bountefull Master, A Constante Relie ver of ye Poore ; And to Thoas of His Parish, A Perpetuall Benefactor ; Whom it Pleased GOD TO TAKE INTO IS PEACE, From the Furye of the Inzuing Warrs Born May XIV. He Was Heare Interred, May XXIV., An. Dni. 1643. -STAT. SUAjE, 64.' ' Heare Also Lyeth DAME ANNE, Is Wife, who Deceased January XHIth ; And Who Was Beryed XVIth, Anno Dni. 1645.' .,, ' Hie Patrios cineres, enravit films urna, Condere qui Tumulo, nunc jacet itle pius! ' The pyous Son His Parents here interred, Who hath his share in time, for them prepared.' " The old Manor-house of Gardson is now occu-8* pied by a respectable, and, indeed, opulent far mer, named Woody — two of whose sons lately came over to this country in the ship Philadelphia, and are gone back into the state of Ohio. Mr - Woody rents his farm and house of Lord Andovef. This ancient seat of the Washington family is handsome, very old-fashioned, and built of stone, with immense solidity and strength. The timber about it is chiefly British oak, and in several of the rooms, particularly in a large one, which was the old hall or banqueting-room — there are rich remains of gilding, carved work in cornices, ceil ings and panels, polished floors and wainscoating — with shields containing the same coat-of-arms as on the mural monument in the church, carved over the high, venerable, and architectural man tel-pieces. Beneath the house are extensive cel lars, which, with the banqueting-room, seem to indicate the genuine hospitality and princely- style of living peculiar to a 1 Fine old English gentleman, All of the olden time.' And, indeed, according to the traditions ana chronicles of the country, such was the genera character of the heads of the Washington family 39 Soon after the civil war the family left their an cient seat, and removed to another part of the kingdom— but an old man now living in the vil lage, named Reeves, who is ninety years of age, states that he remembers one of the Washingtons living in that part of the country when he was a boy ; and that his great-grandfather remembered the last 'Squire Washington, living at the Manor- house. The walls of the house are five feet thick, and the entire residence is surrounded by a beau tiful garden and orchards. In the old parish ar chives * the Washington family are constantly referred to as the benefactors of the parish ; and from the very earliest recorded times they seem td have been the lords of the soil, at Gardson, down to the period of their leaving— when the Manor-house fell into the hands of a family named Dobbs. "From the church and Manor or Court-house of Gardson, there are the remains of an ancient paved causeway, extending for about two miles to the far-famed abbey and cloisters of Malmes bury, founded and endowed by King Athelstan — not only celebrated for its power and splendor in Catholic days, but also as being the birthplace and residence of ' William of Malmesbury': — one of the earliest of British historians." — PMla. Enq. INDIAN PARADISE. The great doctrine of a life beyond the grave was, among all the tribes of America, most deep ly cherished and most sincerely believed. They had even formed a distinct idea of the region ; whither they hoped to be transported, and of the new and happier mode of existence, free from those wars, tortures, and cruelties, which throw so dark a shade over their lot upon earth. Yet their conceptions on this subject were by no means either exalted or spiritualized. They ex pected simply a prolongation of their present life and enjoyments, under more favorable circum stances, and with the same objects furnished in greater choice and abundance. This supposed assurance of future life, so conformable to their gross habits and conceptions, was found by the missionaries a serious obstacle, when they at tempted to allure them by the hope of a destiny, purer and higher indeed, but less accordant with their untutored conceptions. Upon being told that in the promised world they would neither hunt, eat, drink, nor marry a wife ; many of them declared that, far from en deavoring to reach such an abode, they would consider their arrival there as the greatest ca lamity. Mention is made of a Huron girl whom one of the christian ministers was endeavoring to instruct and whose first question was, what she would find to eat 1 The answer being " Nothing," she then asked what she, would see ; and being in formed that she would see the Maker of heaven and earth, she expressed herself much at a loss what she could have to say to him. Many not only rejected this destiny for themselves, but were indignant at the efforts thus made to decoy their children into so dreary and comfortless a region. THE OLDEN TIMES. "We have before us, (a present from a lady,) a copy of the ' Connecticut Courant,' published then (as now) in Hartford, bearing date of January 11, 1774. To show the feelings of the people and the spirit of the public journals at that day, we make the following extract, which it copied from the Boston Gazette : — [Fam. Mag. " To all Nations under HEAVEN. " Know ye, That the people of the American world are millions strong— countless legions compose their united army of freemen — whose intrepid souls sparkle with liberty, and their hearts are flinted with courage to effect what their wisdom dictates to be done. America now stands with the scale of Justice in one hand, and the sword of Vengeance in the other ; and what ever nation or people who dares to lift a hostile hand against her, to invade her serene regions, or sully her liberty, shall Let the Britons fear to do any more so wickedly as they have done, for the herculean arm of this new world is lifted up— and wo be to them on whom it falls! At the beat of the drum she can call five hundred thousand of her sons to 'arms, before whose blazing shields none can stand. There fore, ye that are wise, make peace with her, take shelter under her wings, that ye may shine by the reflection of her glory. " May the New Year shine propitious on the New World, and Virtue and Liberty reign here without a foe, until rolling years shall measure time no more." MINERAL WEALTH OF AFRICA. M. Russager writes from Fasoglo, on the Blue River, February 8th, 1838 :— " We found rivers the alluvial soil of which is so rich in gold that the extracting of it is very feasible ; but the rich est spot of the whole became known to us quite at the end of our journey, in Fasoglo itself. Be tween the mountain ranges of Fallow and Fason- goru lies the valley of the river Adi. The whole valley is covered in an area of between two and three geographical square miles, with quartz mountain's, which contain quartzose, iron ore and pure gold. We found this metal in considerable quantities in the solid rock and in the boulders of the river. *I bring, among other specimens, a piece of quartz, with pure gold in which there is a grain of gold of two carats. The alluvial soil between these quartz mountains in the whole extent of the valley is, in fact, prodigiously rich in gold, and there are on the Adi many gold-wash- jngs of the negroes, of which nobody has had till now, any information, so secretly did they con trive to keep the affair. A thousand men might be set to work here at once ; and, with an ex tremely trifling charge, which would involve no expense, in the mode hitherto observed by the ne groes themselves, one may obtain every day, gold to the amount of three or four dollars. 40 THE TREACHERY OF ARNOLD- The following facts relative to the treasonable acts of Benedict Arnold, and the providential frustration of his nefarious designs, we copy from a speech, delivered by Robert Dale Owen, at New Harmony, Indiana, February the twenty- second, 1840 : — The public events connected with Benedict Arnold's treachery are familiar to every one ; but the private details of that story are, in the various histories of the period, either incorrectly given or essentially omitted. The surrender ' of West Point was but a small portion of Arnold's plan. He had projected the decoying thither, and the betrayal into Sir Henry Clinton's hands, of Gen eral Washington himself, of Lafayette and of the principal staff officers. Had this plan succeeded, how different might have been the story History would have to tell ! A trifling circumstance caused its failure. Arnold had invited Washington (then, if I recol lect aright, on his return from Hartford,) to breakfast with him at West Point, on the very morning the plot was discovered ; and Washing ton had promised to accept the invitation. He was prevented from doing so, by an urgent request made to him by an old officer, near to whose station he passed, that he would remain the night with him, and next morning inspect some works in the neighborhood. Washington accordingly despatched an aid from his suite to make his ex cuses to Arnold. The messenger rode all night, and arrived next morning at West Point. Arnold invited him to breakfast. While sitting at table, a letter was brought to Arnold, from the post of the officer commanding the scouting parties on the American lines. As his eye fell on the super scription, the cup which he had raised to his lips dropped from his hands, he seized the letter, rush ed from the room, locked himself in his bed-cham ber ; and a few minutes afterward, was on his way to an English sloop of war, then lying in the North river. In the meantime, while Washington and his staff, including Lafayette, were. seated at table at the quarters of the officer whose invitation had delayed the visit to West Point, a despatch was brought to the American General, which he im mediately opened, read and laid down without comment. No alteration was visible in his coun tenance, but he remained perfectly silent. Con versation dropped among his suite ; and, after some minutes, the General beckoned to Lafayette to follow him, retired to an inner apartment, turned to Lafayette without uttering a syllable, placed the fatal despatch in his hands, and then giving way, to an ungovernable burst of feeling— fell on his friend's neck and sobbed aloud. The effect pro duced on the young French Marquis, accustom ed to regard his General, (cold and dignified in his usual manner almost to extreme,) as devoid of the usual weakness of humanity, may be imagin ed. "I believe," said Lafayette to me — for it was from that venerable patriot's own lips that I obtained the narrative I now relate — " I believe this was the only occasion, throughout that long and sometimes hopeless struggle, that Washing ton ever gave way, even for a moment, under a reverse of fortune ; and perhaps I was the. only human being who ever witnessed in him an exhi bition of feeling so foreign to his temperament. As it was, he recovered himself, before I had peru- sed the communication that gave rise to his emo tion ; and when we returned to his staff, not a trace remained on his countenance either of grief or despondency." WASHINGTON IN THE FIELD OF VICTORY AND CHAMBER OF DEATH. From Custis's Recollections of Washington, we copy the following, relating to the siege of York- town, and a domestic scene : — The weather during the siege of Yorktown was propitious in the extreme, being, with the excep tion of the squall on the night of the sixteenth, the fine autumnal weather of the south, common ly called the Indian summer, which greatly facili tated the military operations. Washington's headquarters were under canvass the whole time. The situation of Yorktown, after the surrender, was pestilential. Numbers of wretched negroes who had either been taken from the plantations, or had of themselves followed the fortunes of the British army, had died of the small-pox, which, with the camp-fever, was raging in the place, and remained unburied in the streets. When all hope of escape was given up, the horses of the British Legion were led to the margin of the river, shot, and then thrown into the stream; the carcasses, floating with the tide, lodged on the adjacent shores and flats, producing an effluvia that affect ed the atmosphere for miles around. Indeed, it was many months before Yorktown and its envi rons became sufficiently purified to be habitable with any degree of comfort. A domestic affliction threw a shade over Washington's happiness, while his camp still rung with shouts of triumph for the surrender of Yorktown. His step-son, to whom he had been a parent and a protector, and to whom he was fondly attached, who had accompanied him to the camp at Cambridge, and was among the first of his aids in the dawn of the Revolution, sick ened while on duty as extra aid to the commander- in-chief, in the trenches before Yorktown. Aware that his disease, (the camp-fever) would be mortal, the sufferer had yet one last lingering wish to be gratified, and he would die content. ; It was to behold the surrender of the sword of Cornwallis He was supported to the ground, and witnessed the admired spectacle, and was then removed to Eltham, a distance of thirty miles from camp. An express from Dr. Craik announced that there was no longer hope, when Washington, at tended by a single officer and a groom left the 41 headquarters at midnight, and rode with all speed for El t ham. The anxious watchers by the couch of the dying were, in the gray of twilight, aroused by a trampling of horse, and looking out, discovered the commander-in-chief alighting from a jaded charger in the court-yard. He immediately summoned Dr. Craik, and to the eager inquiry : "Is there any hope 1" Craik mournfully shaking his head, the general retired to a room to indulge his grief, requesting to be left alone. In a little while the poor sufferer expired. Washington, tenderly embracing the bereaved wife and mother, observed to the weeping group around the re mains of him he so dearly loved: "From this moment I adopt his two youngest children as my own." Absorbed in grief he then waved with his hand a melancholy adieu, and, fresh horses being ready, without rest or refreshment, he re mounted and returned to the camp. For a great distance around Yorktown, the eaTth trembled under the cannonade, while many an anxious and midnight watcher ascended to the housetops to listen to the sound, and to look upon the horizon, lighted up by the blaze of the batteries, the explosions of the shells, and the flames from the burning vessels in the harbor. At length, on the morning of the seventeenth, the thundering ceased, hour after hour passed away, and the most attractive ear could not catch another sound. What had happened 1 Can he' have escaped 1 To suppose he had fallen, was almost too much to hope for. And now an intense anxiety prevails ; every eye is turned toward the great southern road, and the express ! the ex press ! is upon each lip. Each hamlet and home stead pours forth its inmates. Age is seen lean ing on his staff, women with infants at the breast, children with wandering eyes, and tiny hands outstretched, all, all, with breathless hopes and fears, await the courier's coming. Ay, and the courier rode with a red spur that day ; but had he been mounted on the wings of the wind, he could scarcely have kept pace with the general anxiety. At length there is a cry — He comes ! he comes ! and merging from a cloud of dust a horseman is seen at headlong speed. He plies the lash and spur ; covered with foam, with throbbing flank, and nostril dilated to catch the breeze, the gen erous horse devours the road, while ever and anon the rider waves his cap, and shouts to the eager groups that crowd his way, " Cornwallis is taken !" And now rose a joyous cry that made the very welkin tremble. The tories, amazed, confounded, shrunk away to their holes and hiding-places, while the patriotic whigs rushed into each other's arms, and wept for gladness. And oh ! in that day of general thanksgiving and praise, how many an aspiration ascended to the Most High, imploring blessing on him whom all Time will consecrate as the Father of his Country. The prediction of Cornwallis in the tent of Washington was verified. The sixteenth of October, 1781, was indeed the crowning glory of the war of the Revolution ; hostilities languished thereafter, while Independence and Empire dawn- 6 ed upon the destinies of America, from the sur render of Yorktown. On laying the Comer Stone of the Monument to the Mother of Washington. — Mns. Sigotjbney. Lonb hast thou slept -unnoted. Nature stole In her soft ministry around thy bed, Spreading her vernal tissue, violet-gemmed, And pearled with dews. She bade bright Summer bring Gifts of frankincense, with sweet song of birds, And Autumn cast his reaper's coronet Down at thy feet, and stormy Winter speak Sternly of man's neglect. But now we come To do thee homage, mother of our chief! Fit homage, such as honoureth him who pays. Methinks we see thee, as in olden time ; Simple in garb, majestic and serene, Unmoved by pomp or circumstance, in truth Inflexible, and with a Spartan zeal Repressing vice, and: making folly grave. Thou did'st not deem it woman's part to waste Life in inglorious sloth, to sport awhile Amidst the flowers, or on the summer wave, Then fleet, like the ephemeron, away, Building no temple in her children's hearts, Save to the vanity and pride of life Which she had worshipped. For the might that clothed The " Pater Patriae," for the glorious deeds That make Mount Vernon's tomb a Mecca shrine For all the earth, what thanks to thee are due, Who, 'midst his elements of being, wrought, We know not ; Heaven can tell. » Rise, sculptured pile, And show a race unborn, who rests below, And say to mothers, what a holy charge Is theirs, with what a kingly power their love Might rule the fountains of the new-born mind. Warn them to wake at early dawn, and sow Good seed, before the world hath sown her tares ; Nor in their toil decline^ that angel-bands May put the sickle in and reap for God, And gather to his gamer. Ye, who stand, With thrilling breast, to view her trophied praise, Who nobly reared Virginia's godlike chief; Ye, whose last thought upon your nightly couch, Whose first at waking, is your cradled son, What though no high ambition prompts to rear A second Washington ; or leave your name Wrought out in marble with a nation's tears Of deathless gratitude; yet may you raise A monument above the stars — a soul Led by your teachings, and your prayers, to God. . 42 THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON. Mouxt Yerxon is situated on the western bank of the Potomack river, in Virginia, about fifteen miles below the city of Washington, and eight miles from Alexandria. It rises about two hundred feet above the surface of the river, and was designated Mount Vernon, in honour of Admiral Vernon, who conduct ed an expedition against the Spaniards, in which Lawrence Washington served. Lawrence Wash ington was the brother of the president, and the original proprietor of this delightful seat. Mount Vernon subsequently passed into the hands of the general, who resided there with his family when retired from the publick service. There his ashes now repose, together with those of his wife and several relatives of his family. " The mansion in which Washington resided till his death," says Reynolds, " is a plain edifice of wood, cut in imitation of freestone, two stories high, surmounted by a cupola, and ninety-six feet in length, with a portico in the rear, overlooking the river, ex tending the whole length of the building. The cen tral part of this edifice was erected by Lawrence Washington, who named it Mount Vernon ; the two wings were afterwards added by the general, who caused the ground to be planted and beautified in the most tasteful manner. The house fronts north west, looking on a beautiful lawn of five or six acres, with a serpentine walk around it, fringed with shrub bery and planted with poplars." The ancient family-vault, in which Washington's dust first reposed, was situated under the shade of a little grove of forest-trees, a short distance from the mansion-house, and near the brow of the precipitous bank of the river. Small and unadorned, this humble sepulchre stood in a most roman,tick spot, and could be distinctly seen by travellers, as they passed in boats'and vessels up and down the river. Within two years, how ever, the ashes of the father of his country have been removed from that place, now designated by a white picket fence, to one near the corner of a beautiful enclosure, where the river is concealed from view. This site was selected by him during life, for a tomb, and is about two hundred yards southwest from the house, and about one hundred and fifty from the bank of the Potomack. "A more romantick and picturesque site for a tomb," says a late writer, " can scarcely be imagined. Between it and the river Potomack is a curtain of forest-trees, covering the steep declivity to the water's edge, breaking the glare of the prospect, and yet affording glimpses of the river, even when the foliage is thick est. The tomb is surrounded by several large na tive oaks, which are venerable by their years, ad which annually strew the sepulchre with autumnal leaves, furnishing the most appropriate drapery for such a place, and giving a still deeper impression to the memento mori. Interspersed among the rocks, and overhanging the tomb, is a copse of red-cedar ; but whether native or transplanted, is not stated Its evergreen boughs present a fine contrast to the hoary and leafless branches of the oak ; and while the deciduous foliage of the latter indicates the decay of the body, the eternal verdure of the former, furnishes a beautiful emblem of the immortal spirit." When Lafayette was last in the United States, he visited the tomb of his ancient friend and compan ion. That visit is thus touchrngly described by M. Levasseur : — " As we approached, the door of the tomb was opened; Lafayette descended alone into the vault, and a few minutes after he reappeared with his eyes overflowing with tears. He took his son and myself by. the hand, and led us into the tomb, where, by a sign, he indicated the coffin of his pa ternal friend, alongside of which was that of his companion in life, united for ever to him in the grave. We knelt reverently near his coffin, which we re spectfully saluted with our lips ; rising, we threw ourselves into the arms of Lafayette, and mingled our tears with his." " Flow gently, Potomack ! thou washest away The sands where he trod, and the turf where he lay, When youth brush'd his cheek with her wing; Breathe softly, ye wild winds, that circle around That dearest, and purest, and holiest ground, Ever press'd by the footprints of spring ! Each breeze be a sigh, and each dewdrop a tear, Each wave be a whispering monitor near, To remind the sad shore of his story; And darker, and softer, and sadder the gloom Of that evergreen mourner that bends o'er the tomb, Where Washington sleeps in his glory."— Bbaduxd. SPRING.— N. P. Witus. The Spring is here — the delicate-footed May, With its slight fingers full of leaves and flowers, And with it comes a thirst to be away, Wasting in wood-paths its voluptuous hours— A feeling that is like a sense of wings, Restless to soar above these perishing things. We pass out from the city's feverish hum, To find refreshment in the silent woods ; And nature, that is beautiful and dumb, Like a cool sleep upon the pulses broods. Yet even there, a restless thought will steal, To teach the indolent heart it still must feel. Strange, that the audible stillness of the noon, The waters tripping with their silver feet, The turning to the light of leaves in June, And the light whisper as their edges meet — Strange— that they fill not, with their tranquil tow. One spirit, walking in their midst alone. There's no contentment in a world like this, Save in forgetting the immortal dream ; We may not gaze upon the stars of bliss, That through the cloud-rifts radiantly stream ; Bird-like the prisoned soul will lilt its eye And sing — till it is hooded from the sky. 3 •A -. C3 So 45 THE CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. The beautiful effusion .which the reader will find below, is the production of the chaste and classic mind of the late venerable and distinguished Sena tor^ from Rhode Island,* Mr. Robbins, and was occa sioned by the following circumstances : During the session of 1837-8, Mr. Webster entertained a large party of friends at dinner ; among them the venera ble Senator we have named. The evening passed off with much hilarity, enlivened with wit and senti ment; but, during the greater part of the time, Mr. Robbins maintained that grave;. but placid silence which was his habit. While thus" apparently ab stracted, some one suddenly called on him for a toast, which call was seconded by the company. He rose, and in his surprise, asked if they were serious in making such a demand of so old a man ; and being assured that they were, he said if they would suspend their hilarity for a few moments he would give them a toast and preface it with a few observations. Having thus secured a breathless stillness, he went on to remark that they were then On the verge of the 22d of February, the anniver sary of the birth of the great patriot and statesman of our country, whom all delighted to remember and to honor, and he hoped he might be allowed the privilege of an aged man to recur for a few moments to past events connected with his character and history. .He then proceeded, and delivered in the most happy and impressive manner, the beautiful speech which now graces our columns. The whole company were electrified by his patriotic enthusiasm ; and one of the guests, before they separated, begged that he would take the trouble to put on paper what he had so happily expressed, and furnish a copy for publication. M. R. obligingly complied with this request on the following day, but by some accident the manuscript got mislaid, and eluded all search for it until a few days ago,- when it was unexpected ly recovered, and is now presented to our readers : " On the near approach of that calendar-day which gave birth to Washington, I feel rekindling within me some of those emotions always connected with the recollection of that hallowed name. Permit me to indulge them, on this occasion, for a moment, in a few remarks, as preliminary to a sentiment which I shall beg leave to propose. I consider it as one of the consolations of my age that I am old enough and fortunate enough to have seen that wonderful man. This happiness is still common to so many yet among the living, that less is thought of it now than will be in after times ; but it is no less a happiness to me on that account. ' While a boy at school, I saw him for the first time ; it was when he was passing through New England to take the command-in-chief of the Ameri can armies at Cambridge. Never shall I forget the impression his imposing presence then made upon my young imagination ; so superior did he seem to me to all that I had seen or imagined of the human form for striking effect. I remember with what de light, inv my after studies, I came to the line in Vir gil that expressed all the enthusiasm of my own feel ings, as inspired by that presence, and which I could not often enough repeat : " Credo equidem, nee vara fides, genas esse deorum." I saw him again at his interview with Rocham- beau, when they met to settle the plan of combined operations between the French fleet and the Ameri can armies, against the British on the Chesapeake ; and then I saw the immense crowd drawn together from all the neighboring towns, to get, if possible, one look at the man who had throned himself in every heart. Not one of that immense crowd doubted the final triumph of his country in her ardu ous conflict; for every one saw, or thought he saw, in Washington, her guardian angel, commissioned by Heaven to insure to her that triumph. Nil des- perandum was the motto with every one. "Nil desperandum, Teucro duce, auspice Teucro." In after life, when the judgment corrects the ex travagance of early impressions, I saw him on several occasions, but saw nothing at either to admonish me of any extravagance in my early impressions. The impression was still the same ; I had the same over powering sense of being in the presence of some superior being. It is indeed remarkable, and I believe unique in the history of men, that Washington made the same impression upon all minds, at all places, and at once. When his fame first broke upon the world, it spread at once over the whole world.— By the consent of mankind — by the universal sen timent — he was placed at the head of the human species; above all envy, because above all emulation: for no one then pretended or has pretended to be — at least who has been allowed to be — the corival of Washington in fame. When the great Frederick of Prussia sent his portrait to Washington, with this inscription upon it, "From the oldest General in Europe to the greatest General in the world," he did but echo the sentiment of all the chivalry of Europe. Nor was the sentiment confined to Europe, nor to the bounds of civilization ; for the Arab of the Desert talked of Washington in his tent ; his name wandered with the wandering Scythian, and was cherished by him as a household word in all his migrations. No country was so barbarous as to be a stranger to the name ; but every where, and by all men, that name was placed at the same point of elevation, and above compeer. As it was in the beginning, so it is now ; of the future we cannot speak with certainty. Some future age, in the endless revolutions of time, may produce another Washington ; but the greater pro bability is that he is destined to remain forever, as he now is, the Phoenix of human kind. What a possession to his country is such a fame ! such a " Clarum et venerabile nomen " Gentibus ! '•' To all his countrymen it gives, and forever will give, a passport to respect wherever they go, to whatever part of the globe ; for his country is in every other identified with that fame. What, then, is incumbent upon us, his country men ? Why, to be such a People as shall be wor thy of such a fame— a people of whom it shall be said, " No wonder such a people have produced such a man as Washington." I give you, therefore, this sentiment : The memory of Washington : May his country men prove themselves a people worthy of his fame. 45 * THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, IN CONGRESS, AT PHILADELPHIA, JULY 4, 1776. [With the Facsimiles of the Signers, taken from the original Document.] When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary 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 opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation. We hold these truths to be self-evident — that all men are created equal ; that they are endowed by their Creator, 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, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed; that whenever any form of government becomes destructive ot these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its 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 dictate, that governments long established, should not be changed for light and transient causes ; and, accordingly, all experience has shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object, evinces a design to 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 patient sufferance of these colonies ; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former systems of government. The history of the present king of Great Britain, is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, 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 immediate and pressing . importance, unless suspended in their operation till his assent should be obtained; and when so suspended he has utterly neglected to attend to them. He has refused to pass other laws, for the accommodation 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; unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures. 47 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 e*ected ; whereby the legislative powers, incapable of annihilation, have returned to the people at large, for their exercise ; the state remaining, in the meantime, exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within. He has endeavored to prevent the population of these states; for that purpose obstructing the laws for naturalization of foreigners ; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new appropriations of lands. He has obstructed the administration of justice, by refusing his assent to laws, for establishing judiciary powers. He has made judges dependant 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 harass our people, and eat out their substance. , He has kept among us, in time of peace, standing armies, 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 jurisdiction, foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws ; giving his assent to their acts of pretended 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 inhabitants of these states : For cutting off our trade with 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 pretended 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 render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these colonies : For taking away our charters, abolishing our most valuable laws, and altering fundamentally the forms of our governments : For suspending our own legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever. He has abdicated government here, by declaring us out of his protection, and Waging war against us. 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, desolation, and tyranny, already begun, with circumstances of cruelty and perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the head of a civilized nation. 48 He has constrained our fellow-citizens, taken captive on the high seas, to bear arms ao-ainst their country, to become the executioners of their friends and brethren; or to fall themselves by their hands. He has excited domestic insurrections among us, -and has endeavored to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, 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 petitions 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 unwar rantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstance! of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connexions and correspondence. They, too, have been deaf to the voice of justice and consan guinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity which denounces our separation, 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 declare, that these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states — That they are absolved from all allegiance,,, to the British crown, and that all political connexion between them and the state of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved ; and that,;; as free and independent states, they have full power to levy war, conclude peace, contrapt alliances, establish commerce, and to do all other acts and things which independent states may of right do. And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor. GCCWT^tf 51 SIGNERS OF THE DECLARATION OF AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE IN CONGRESS ASSEMBLED, JULY 4, 1776, WITH THE DATES OF TBBIR BIRTH, DEATH, AND AGES BESPECTIVELY ANNEXED, ETC., ' IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER By W. C. Armstrong, NAMES OF THE SIGNERS. BORN AT DELEGATED FROM DIED ON THE Adams, John1 • . '. '. '. '. ^ Braintree, Mass. 19 Oct. 1735 Massachusetts, '• 4th July, 1826, in his 9lst year Adams, Samuel .' . . . . Boston,- " 27 Sep. 1722 Massachusetts, . 2d Oct. 1803, 82d Bartlett, Josiah . ..... Amesbury, " in Nov. 1729 New Hampshire, 19th May, 1795, 6Gth Braxiton, Carter Newington, Va. 10 Sep. 1733 Virginia, . . . 10th Oct. 1797, 62d Carroll, Charles, of Oarrollton Annapolis, Md. 20 Sep. 1737 Maryland, ¦ . . 14th Nov 1832, 96th Chase, Samuel' Somerset co. Md. 17 Apr. 1741 Maryland, . . . 19th June, 181 1, 71st Clark, Abraham Elizabethtown, N. J. 15 Feb. 1726 New Jersey Sept. 1794, 69th Clyrner, George ..... Philadelphia, Penn. in 1739 'Pennsylvania, . 23d Jan. 1813, 74th EUery, William ...... Newport, R. I. 22 Dec. 1727 R. I. &, Prov. PI. 15th Feb. 1820, 93d Floyd, William . ... . Suffolk co. N. Y. 17 Dec. 1734 New York, . „4th Aug. 1821, 87th Franklin, Benjamin? , . . . Boston, Mass. 17 Jan. 1706 Pennsylvania, 17th ApTil, 1790, 84th Gerry, Elbridge ...... Marblehead, Mass. 17 July 1744 Massachusetts. 23d Nov. 1314, 70th Gwinnett, Button England, Europe, in 1732 Georgia,. ... 27th May, 1777, 45th Hall, Lyman . . », (, . . . , Conn. in 1731 Georgia, .... Feb. 1790, 60th Hancock, John . ''? .'*. . Braintree, Mass. in 1737 Massachusetts . 8th Oct. 1793, 55th Harrison, Benjamin^. . . Berkely, Virginia 'Virginia,. . . in April,1791, - — Hart, John .. . ./". . -". . Hopewell, N. J. about 1715 New Jersey, . ,1780, 66tli Heyward, Thomas, jr. . . ' . . St. Luke's, S. C. in 1746 South Carolina, . in Mar- 1809, 63d Hewes, Joseph Kingston, N. J. in 1730 North Carolina, . 10th Nov. 1779, 50th Hooper, William ..... Boston, Mass. 17 June 1742 North Carolina, . - in Oct. 1790, 48th Hopkins, Stephen . ..... Scituate, Mass. 7 Mar. 1707 R I. & Prov PI. 13th July, 1785, 78th Hopkihson, Francis .... Philadelphia,, Penn. in 1737 JNew Jersey, . . 9th May, 1790, 53d Huntington, Samuel .... Windham, Conn. 3 July 173- Connecticut, . 5th Jan. 1796, 64th Jefferson, Thomas Shadwell, Virginia, 13 Apr. 1743 Virginia, . . . 4th.July, 1826, 84th Lee, Francis Ligbtfoot . . . Stratford, " 14 Oct. 1734 Virginia, . . April,1797, 63d Lee, Richard Henry .... Stratford, """ 20 Jan. 1732 Virginia, . . . 19th June, 1794, 64th Lewis, Francis ...... Landaff; Wales in Mar. 1713 New York, ¦ • 30th Dec 1803, 90th Livingston, Philip Albany, N- Y. 15 Jan. 1716 New York, . . 12 th June, 1778, 63d Lynch, Thomas, jr St. George's, S- C. 5 Aug 1749 South Carolina, • lost at sea, 1779, 28th McKean, Thomas Chester co, Penn. 19 Mar 1734 Delaware, . . . 24th June, 1817, 84ih Middleton, Arthur Middleton Place, S. C in 1743 South CaroKna, . 1st Jan. 1787, 45th Morris, Lewis Morrisania, N. Y- in 1726 New York, . . 22d Jan. 1798, 72d Morris, Robert Lancashire, England, Jan. 1733-4 Pennsylvania, . 8thMay,1806, , 73d Morton, John . .... Ridley, Penn. in 1724 Pennsylvania, • in April,1777, 54th Nelson, Thomas, jr. . . . York, Virginia, 25 Doc. 1733 Virginia, . . • 4th Jan. 1789, 51st Paca, William Wye-Hill, Md- 31 Oct 1740 Maryland, . ¦ • in!799, 60th Paine, Robert Tfeat .... Boston, Mass. in 1731 Massachusetts, • 11th May, 1S04, 83d Penn, John (son of Moses) . Caroline co., Va. 17 May, 1741 North Carolina, • 26th Oct. 1809, 63d Read, George . . .'.¦;¦ Cecil county, Md- in 1734 Delaware, ¦ . inl798, 64th -Rodney, Cawar Dover, Delaware, in 1730 Delaware, • • ¦ inl783, 53d Ross, George . ' . . . . New Castle, Delaware, in 1730 Pennsylvania, ¦ in July, 1779, 49th Rush, Benjamin, M. D. . . . Byberry, Penn- 24 Dec. 1745 Pennsylvania, • 19th April, 1813, 68th Rutledge, Edward Charleston, S. C in Nov- 1749 South Carolina, . 23d Jan. ISOO, 61st Sherman, Roger Newton, Mass- 19 Apr. 1721 Connecticut, . . 23d July, 1793, 73d Smith, James , Ireland, Pennsylvania, . 11th July, 1806, Stockton, Richard Princeton, N. J. 1 Oct. 1730 New Jersey, ,28th Feb. 1781, , 51st Stone, Thomas .' Charles co., Md- in 1742 Maryland, • , • 5th Oct. 1787, ' 43d Taylor, George ...... '-; , Ireland, in 1716 Pennsylvania, • 23d Feb. 1781, 65th Thornton Matthew . . - ¦ > do- in 1714 New Hampshire,. 24th June,1803, 89th Walton, George • Frederick co. Va. in 1740 Georgia, . ¦ 2d Feb. 1804, 64th Whipple, William Kittery, Maine, in 1730 New Hampshire,. 28th Nov. 1785, 55th Williams William Lebanon, Conn. 8 Apr. 1731 Connecticut, . 2d Aug. 1811. 81st Wilson James Scotland, About 1742 Pennsylvania, . 28th Aug. 1798, 56th Witherspoon, John .... Yester, Scotland 5 Feb- 1722 New Jersey, . • 15th Nov. 1794, 73d Wolcott, Oliver Windsor, Conn- 26 Nov. 1726 Connecticut, . . 1st Dec 1797, 72th Wythe, George Elizabeth City co., Va- 1726 Virginia, • 8th June,1806, 81st 52 GREAT SEAL OF THE UNITED STATES. The above engraving represents the two sides of the great seal of the United States, adopt ed by Congress. The following is its heraldic definition. "Arms. — Paleways of thirteen pieces, argent and gules, a chief azure ; the escutcheon on the breast of the American bald eagle displayed prop er, holding in his dexter talon an olive branch, and in his sinister, a bundle of thirteen arrows, all proper ; and in his beak a scroll inscribed with this motto, 'E pluribus unum.' " For the Crest. — Over the head of the eagle, which appears above the escutcheon, a glory, or breaking through a cloud proper, and surrounding thirteen stars forming a constellation, argent, on an azure field. " Reverse, — A pyramid unfinished. "In the zenith an eye in the triangle surround ed with a glory, proper. Over the eye these words, ' Annuit Cceptis.' " On the base of the pyramid, the numerical letters, MDCCLXX VI, and underneath the follow ing motto. ' Novus ordo seclorum.' "Remarks and Explanations of the Device. — The escutcheon is composed of the chief and pale, the two most honorable ordinaries. The thirteen pieces paly represent the several states in the union, all joined in solid compact, entire, supporting a chief which unites the whole, and represents Congress. The motto alludes to this union. " The pales in the arms are kept closely united by the chief, and the chief depends on that union and the strength resulting from it, for its support, to denote the confederacy of the United States, find the preservation of the Union through Con- ress. " The colors of the pales are those used in the flag of the United States of America. White signifies purity and innocence, red hardiness and valor, and blue, the color of the chief, signifies vigilance, perseverance, and justice. The olive branch and arrows denote the power of peace and war, which is exclusively vested in Congress. "The crest or constellation denotes a new state taking its place or rank among other sovereign powers. " The escutcheon borne on the breast of an American eagle, without any other supporters, to denote that the United States of America ought to rely on their own virtue. " The pyramid on the reverse signifies strenj and duration. "The eye over it, and the motto f annuit cceptis,' ' he prospers our endeavors,') alludes to the many signal interpositions of Providence in favor of the American cause. " The date underneath is that of the Declara tion of Independence, and the words under it sig nify the beginning of the New American .flSra, which commences from that date.' THE FATHER OF NANTUCKET. We have been, favoured with a copy of manu script history, of no doubtful authority, which states that Thomas Macy was the first white person that settled on the island of Nantucket, and which con tains some amusing incidents in relation to his his tory. It the year 1665, King Philip, the sachem ol Mount Hope, went to Nantucket with his retinue in pursuit of one of his tribe who was guilty of tho enormous crime of sacrilege, inasmuch as he had taken the name of a deceased sachem in vain. The name of the criminal was Asassam, (John Gibbs;) and the impious act which he had committed had,,,; aroused the indignation of his whole tribe. Philip and his suite landed from their canoes, on the west end of the island, and travelled to the settlement on the east end, where the criminal had taken refuge. On his arrival there, the criminal fled to good old Thomas, (whom both whites and Indians. loved and respected.) implored his protection, and was conceal ed. Philip demanded him, and became so warlike that an assembly of the white inhabitants took place, when a treaty was entered into, by the parties, one condition of which was, that Philip, should have all the money on the island, if he would reprieve the criminal. A collection took place, nineteen shillings were raised for Philip, and he returned to Mount Hope satisfied. Mr. Macy was equally happy in his whole system of government, and was highly esteemed from the fact that he was the first while inhabitant of the island. New Bedford Gazette. 53 Phenician Relick. — The Society of Antiquaries, in London, possess a cylindrical vessel of granite, decorated with a peculiar Grecian ornament on a hoop-like circle, which surrounds the exteriour. It was brought, many years ago, from the Moscheto shore of Central America, and is considered an ad ditional proof that the shores of the western conti nent were peopled by the ancient Phenicians. BIOGRAPHY. SAMUEL ADAMS.— Born, 1722— Died, 1803. Samuel Adams, whose name is truly dear to all Americans, was born at Boston, September 22, 1722. His ancestors were among the early set tlers ; his father was for many years, a representa tive in the Massachusetts house of assembly. In 1740, Mr. Adams was graduated at Harvard, where he proposed the following question for discussion : "Whether it be lawful to resist the supreme magis tracy,, if the commonwealth cannot otherwise be pre served V He maintained the affirmative. He thus exhibited, at this early period, that inflexible love of liberty, which was afterward so important to his country. After leaving college, he embarked in mercantile life, but was unfortunate. He now entered into publick life, where he was uniformly distinguish ed for his opposition to every encroachment on the liberties of the people ; and to him also, is ascribed the credit of originating the. American Congress. In 1767, Mr. Adams suggested a non -importation agree ment between the merchants, which was agreed to, and'signed by all of them in the province. On the evening of the 5th of March, 1770, an affray took place between the military quartered at Boston, and some citizens, which resulted in a loss of lives on both sides. On the following morning, a publick meeting was called, and Samuel Adams addressed the Assembly with that impressive eloquence which was so peculiar to himself. The people, on this occasion, chose a committee to wait upon the lieutenant-governour, to require that the troops be im mediately withdrawn from the town. The mission, however, proved unsuccessful, and another resolution was immediately adopted, that a new committee be chosen to wait a second time upon Governour Hutchin son, for the purpose of conveying the sense of the meet ing in a more peremptory manner. Mr. Adams acted as chairman. They waited on the lieutenant-governour, and communicated this last vote of the town ; and, in a, speech of some length, Mr. Adams stated the danger of keeping the troops longer in the capital, fully proving the illegality of the act itself; and enumerating the fatal consequences that would en sue, if he refused an immediate compliance with the vote. Lieutenant-Governour Hutchinson, with his usual prevarication, replied, and roundly assert ed, that there was no illegality in the measure ; and repeated, that the troops were not subject to his authority, but that he would direct the removal of the twenty-ninth regiment. Mr. Adams again rose. The magnitude of the subject, and the manner in which it was treated by Lieutenant-Governour Hutch inson; had now roused the imperious feelings of his patriotick soul. With indignation strongly Ex pressed in his countenance, and in a firm, reso lute, and commanding manner, he replied, that " it was well known, that, acting as governour of the province, he was by its charter, the commander- in-chief of his majesty's military and naval- forces, and as such, the troops were subject to his orders ; and if he had the power to remove one regiment, he had the power to remove both ; and nothing short of this would satisfy the people, and it was at his peril, if the vote of the town was not im mediately complied with ; and if it be longer de layed, he, alone, must be answerable for the fatal consequences that would ensue." This produced a momentary silence. It was now dark, and the people were waiting in anxious suspense for the report of their committee. A conference in whispers followed between Lieutenant-Governour Hutchinson and Colonel Dalrymple. The former, finding himself so closely pressed, and the fallacy and absurdity of his arguments thus glaringly exposed, yielded up his positions, and gave his consent to the removal of both regiments ; and Colonel Dalrymple pledged his word of honour, that he would begin his prepa rations in the morning, and that there should be no unnecessary delay, until the whole of both regi ments were removed to the castle. At a very early period of the controversy .between the mother-country and the colonies, Mr. Adams was impressed with the importance of establishing committees of correspondence. In 1766, he made some suggestions on this subject in a letter to a friend in South Carolina ; but it was found to be either impracticable or inexpedient before the year 1772, when it was first adopted by Massachusetts, on a motion of Mr. Adams at a publick town- meeting in Boston. This plan was followed by all the provinces. Mr. Adams's private letters may have advanced this important work. In a letter to Richard Henry Lee, Esq., of Virginia, which, unfortunately, is without a date, is the following remark: "I would propose it for your consideration, whether the establishment of committees of correspondence, among the several towns in every colony, would not tend to promote the general union upon which the security of the whole depends." It will be re membered that the resolutions for the establishment of this institution in Virginia, were passed March 12, 1773, which was more than four months subse quently to the time it had been formed in Boston. Every method had been tried to induce Mr. Adams to abandon the cause of his country, which he had supported with so much zeal, courage and ability. Threats and caresses had proved equally unavailing Prior to this time, there is no certain proof that any direct attempt was made upon his virtue and integrity, although a report had been publickly and freely .cir culated, that it had been unsuccessfully tried by Governour Bernard. Hutchinson knew him too well to make the attempt. But Governour Gage was em powered to try the experiment. He sent him a con fidential and verbal message by Colonel Fenton, who waited upon Mr. Adams, and after* the customary salutations, he stated the object of his visit. He said, that an adjustment of the disputes which ex isted between England and the colonies, and a recon ciliation, was very desirable, as well as important to the interest of both. That he was authorized from Governour Gage to assure him, that he had been em powered to confer upon him such benefits as would 54 Samuel Adams. be satisfactory, upon the condition, that he would engage to cease in his opposition to the measures of government. He also observed, that it was the advice of Governour Gage to him, not to incur the further displeasure of his majesty ; that his conduct had been such as made him liable to the penalties of an act of Henry VIII., by which, persons could be sent to England for trial of treason, or misprision of treason, at the discretion of a governour of a province ; but by changing his political course, he would not only receive great personal advantages, but would thereby make his peace with the king. Mr. Adams listened with apparent interest to this recital. He asked Colonel Fenton, if he would truly deliver his reply as it should be given. After some hesitation he assented. Mr. Adams required his word of honour, which he pledged. Then rising from his chair, and assuming a de termined manner, he replied : " I trust I have long since made my peace with the Kino of kings. No personal consideration shall induce me to aban don the righteous cause of my country. Tell Gov ernour Gage, it is the advice of Samuel Adams to him, no longer to insult the feelings of an ex asperated people." With a full sense of his own perilous situation, mark ed out as an object of ministerial vengeance, labour ing under severe pecuniary embarrassment, but fear less of personal consequences, he steadily pursued the great object of his soul, the liberty of the people. The time required bold and inflexible measures Common distress required common counsel. The aspect was appalling to some of the most decided patriots of the day. The severity of punishment which was inflicted on the people of Boston, by tht power of England, produced a melancholy sadness on the friends of American freedom. The Massa chusetts house of assembly was then in session at Salem. A committee of that body was chosen to consider and report on the state of the province. Mr Adams, it is said, observed, that some of the com mittee were for mild measures which he judged no wise suited to the present emergency. He conferred with Mr. Warren of Plymouth, upon the necessity of spirited measures, and then said : " Do you keep the committee in play, and I will go and make a caucus by the time the evening arrives, and do you meet me." Mr. Adams secured a meeting of about five principal members of the house, at the time specified, and repeated his endeavours for the second and third nights', when . the number amounted to more than thirty. The friends of the administra tion knew nothing of the matter. The popular leaders took the sense of the members in a private way and found that they would be able to carry their scheme by a sufficient majority. They had their whole plan completed, prepared their resolu tions and then determined to bring the business for ward : but before they commenced, the doorkBeper was ordered to let no person in, nor suffer any one to 55 depart. The subjects for discussion, were then in troduced by Mr. Adams, with his usual eloquence on such great occasions. He was chairman of the committee, and reported the resolutions, for the ap pointment of delegates to a general congress to be convened at Philadelphia, to consult, on the general safety of America. This report was received with surprise and astonishment by the administration party. Such was the apprehension of some, that they were apparently desirous to desert the ques tion. The doorkeeper seemed uneasy at his charge, and wavering with regard to the performance of the duty assigned to him. At this critical juncture, Mr. Adams relieved him, by taking the key and keeping it himself. The resolutions were passed, five dele gates, consisting of Samuel Adams, Thomas Cush- ing, Robert Treat Paine, John Adams, and James Bowdoin, were appointed, the expense was estima ted, and funds were voted for the payment. Before the business was finally closed, a member made a plea of indisposition, and was allowed to leave the house. This person went directly to the governour, and informed him of their high-handed proceedings. The governour immediately sent his secretary to dis solve the assembly, who found the door locked. He demanded entrance, but was answered, that his de sire could not be complied with, until some impor tant business, then before the house, was concluded. Finding every method to gain admission ineffectual, he read the order on the stairs for an immediate dis solution of the assembly. The order, however, was disregarded by the house. They continued their deliberations, passed all their intended measures, and then obeyed the mandate for dissolution. After many unavailing efforts, both by threats and promises, to allure this inflexible patriot from his de votion to the sacred cause of independence, govern our Gage, at length, on the 12th of June, 1775, is sued that memorable proclamation, of which the fol lowing is an extract : " In this exigency of com plicated calamities, I avail myself of the last ef fort within the bounds of my duty, to spare the further effusion of blood, to offer, and I do hereby in his majesty's name, offer and promise his most gracious pardon to all persons, who shall forthwith lay down their arms, and return to the duties of peaceable subjects, excepting only from the benefit of such pardon, Samuel Adams, and John Hancock, whose offences are of too flagitious a nature to admit of any other consideration than that of con dign punishment." This was a diploma, conferring greater honours on the individuals, than any other which was within the power of his Britannick majesty to bestow. During the revolution, Mr. Adams was constantly labouring in behalf of his country, and always exert ing the energies of his mighty mind, fearless of the consequences, to which his devotedness in the cause of liberty might expose him. In 1777, many of th& warmest friends of America, began to despair. It was at this critical juncture, after Congress had resolved to adjourn from Philadelphia to Lancas ter, that some of the leading members accident ally met in company with each other. A conversa tion in mutual confidence ensued. Mr. Adams, who was one of the number, was cheerful and undis mayed at the aspect of affairs, while the counte nances of his friends were strongly marked with the desponding feelings of their hearts. The con versation naturally turned upon the subject which most engaged their feelings. Each took occasion to express his opinions on the situation of the publick cause, and all were gloomy and sad. Mr. Adams listened in silence, till they had finished. He then said : " Gentlemen, your spirits appear to be heavily oppressed with our publick calamities I hope you do not despair of our final success 1" It was answered, that "the chance was despe rate." Mr. Adams replied : " If this be our language, it is so, indeed. If we wear long faces, they will become fashionable. The people take their tone from ours, and if we despair, can it be expected that they will continue their efforts in what we conceive to be a hopeless cause 1 Let us banish such feel ings, and show a spirit that will keep alive the con fidence of the people, rather than damp their courage. Better tidings will soon arrive. Our cause is just and righteous, and we shall never be abandoned by Heaven, while we show ourselves worthy of its aid and protection." At this time, there were but twenty-eight of the members of Congress present at Philadelphia. Mr. Adams said, that " this was the smallest, but the truest Congress they ever had." But a few days had elapsed, when the news ar rived, af the glorious success at Saratoga, which gave anew complexion to our affairs, and confidence to our hopes. Soon after this, Lord Howe, the earl of Carlisle, and Mr. Eden, arrived as commissioners to treat for peace, under Lord North's conciliatory propo sition. Mr. Adams was one of the committee chosen by Congress, to draught an answer to their letter. In this, it is stated, that " Congress will readily at tend to such terms of peace, as may consist with the honour of an independent nation." In 1779, Samuel Adams was placed by the state convention, on a committee, to prepare and report a form of government for Massachusetts. By this committee, he and John Adams were ap pointed a sub-committee to furnish a draught of the constitution. The draught produced by them was reported to the convention, and, after some amend ments, accepted. The address of the convention to the people was jointly written by them. In 1781, he was elected a member of the senate of Massachusetts, and was shortly afterward eleva ted to the presidency of that body. In 1789, he was elected lieutenant-governour of the state of Massachusetts, and continued to fill that office till 1794, when he was chosen governour of that state. He was annually re-elected till 1797, when, oppressed with years and bodily infirmities, he declined being again a candidate, and retired to private life. After many years of incessant exertion, employ ed in the establishment of the independence of America, he died on the 3d October, 1803, in the eighty-second year of his age, in indigent circum stances. The person of Samuel Adams was of the mid dle size. His countenance was a true index of his mind, and possessed those lofty and elevated charac- teristiclfs, which are always found to accompany true greatness. He was a steady professor of the Christian re 56 figion, and uniformly attended publick worship. His family devotions were regularly performed, and his morality was never impeached. In his manners and deportment, he was sincere and unaffected ; in conversation, pleasing and in structive ; and in his friendships, steadfast and affec tionate. His revolutionary labours were not surpassed by those of any individual. From the commencement of the dispute with Great Britain, he was inces santly employed in publick service ; opposing at one time, the doctrine of the supremacy of " parliament in all cases," taking the lead in questions of contro verted policy with the royal governours, writing state papers from 1765, to 1774 ; — in planning and orga nizing clubs and committees, haranguing in town- meetings, or filling the columns of publick prints with essays adapted to the spirit and temper of the times. In addition to these occupations, he main tained an extensive and laborious correspondence with the friends of American freedom in Great Britain and in the provinces. No man was more intrepid and dauntless, when encompassed by dangers, or more calm and unmov ed amid publick disasters, and adverse fortune. His bold and daring conduct and language subjected him to great personal hazards. Had any fatal event oc curred to our country, by which she had fallen in her struggle for liberty, Samuel Adams would have been the first victim of ministerial vengeance. His blood would have been first shed as a sacrifice on the altar of tyra*iy, for the noble magnanimity and independence, with which he defended the cause of freedom. But such was his firmness, that he probably would have met death with as much com posure, as he regarded it with unconcern. His writings were numerous, and much dis tinguished for their eloquence and fervour : but un fortunately, the greater part of them have been lost, or so distributed as to render their collection im possible. He was the author of a letter to the earl of Hills borough ; — of many political essays directed against the administration of Governour Shirley ; — of a let ter in answer to Thomas Paine, in defence of Chris tianity, and of an oration published in the year 1776. Four letters of his correspondence on govern ment are extant, and were published in a pamphlet form in 1800. The venerable John Adams relates, that on one occasion, he went into Samuel Adams's room, and found him alone, and busily engaged in destroying manuscript documents. He inquired why he did it ; and the reply was, that " no papers should be found in his possession, that might endanger the persons of others." Mr. Adams's eloquence was of a peculiar charac ter. His language was pure, concise, and impres sive. He was more logical than figurative. His arguments were addressed rather to the understand ing, than to the feelings ; yet he always engaged the deepest attention of his audience. On ordinary occasions, there was nothing remarkable in his speeches ; but on great questions, when his own feelings were interested, he would combine every •Jr.ng great in oratory. In the language of an elegant writer, the great qualities of his mind were fully dis played, in proportion as the field for their exertion was extended ; and the energy of his language was not inferiour to the depth of his mind. It was an eloquence admirably adapted to the age in which he flourished, and exactly calculated Jo attain the object of his pursuit. It may well be described in the language of the poet, " thoughts which breathe, and words which burn." An eloquence, not con sisting of theatrical gesture, or the pomp of words ; but that which was a true picture of a heart glowing with the sublime enthusiasm and ardour of patriot ism ; an eloquence, to whieh his fellow citizens lis- tened with applause and rapture ; and little inferiour to the best models of antiquity, for simplicity, majes*. ty, and persuasion. Delaplaine. FAIRIES. Almost all nations have, in ignorant times, pos sessed a strong belief in the supernatural, which has been continued to the present day, among the unenlightened. Wild and terrifick scenes were peopled by the imagination with fierce and fearful beings, while flowery dells, sequestered glades, green and smiling forests, and pleasant water-falls, were selected as the haunts of a gentler, and more grace ful race of beings, than belongs to humanity. Pastoral nations delighted to picture forms of miniature elegance, whose habitations were delicate and fragrant flowers. The fairy queen Titania hung like a bee or butterfly, within a hairbell, or led the gay dance by moonlight, over roses, without bending the most fragile floweret leaf beneath her^. footstep. The beings called fairies were at first termed elves, the word elf originating with the Sax ons, who, from remote antiquity, believed in them. The Laplanders, Icelanders, and inhabitants of Finland, believed in the existence of fairies, Many affirmed that they had had intercourse with them, and had been invited to their subterranean retreats, where they were hospitably entertained. The little men and women handed round wine and tobacco, with which the mortal visiters were supplied in abun dance, and afterwards sent them on their way, with good advice, and an honourable escort. Up to this time, these people boast of mingling in the magical ceremonies and dances of the fairies'. The word fairy is thought by most writers, to be derived from the Persian, and the character of the English fairies and the Persian Peris is similar. The Peris of the Orientals, are represented as fe males of exquisite beauty, and great gentleness, who are not permitted to reside in Heaven. They are not however of earth. They live in the colours of the rainbow, among the gorgeously-tinted clouds, and are nourished by the fragrance of sweet flow ers. The Dives of the Persians were spirits of the male sex, with habits and dispositions,- directly con trary to those of the Peris. They were malevo* lent, cruel, and fierce, and described as hideous in their appearance. Huge spiral horns sprang from their heads, their eyes were large and staring, their claws sharp and their fangs terrifick. Covered with shaggy hair, and having long rough tails, it seemed as if they possessed every deformity. The Dives warred with mankind, and pursued the Peris • with unrelenting hatred. Their lives, however, were limited, and- they were not incapable of feeling per sonal violence. 57 NATURE. by b0bert morris, esq. " Nature That formed this world so beautiful, that spread Earth's lap with plenty, and life's Smallest chord . Strung to unchanging unison, that gave The happy birds their dwelling in the grove, That yielded to the wanderers of the deep The lonely silence of the unfathomed main, And filled the meanest worm that crawls in dust • With spirit, thought, and love." — P. B. Shelley. Heaven's earliest born and still unsullied child, Whose smile is morning and whose frown is night, Around whose brow earth's earliest roses smiled — Thine was the glow. of beauty— thine the light That beamed o'er paradise, when woman there, .. Fresh from her maker's hand — a faultless thing— With doye-like eyes, and shadowy golden hair, From grovelling beast, or bird on tireless wing, Won homage as she passed ! Thine too the glow That flush'd her cheek, or beamed from her white brow. Beauty is thine in all her changing dyes — Color, and light, and shade, and sound, and song, Morn's purple Hue's, and evening's golden skies — The whispering summer breeze — the whirlwind strong Night with her starry train, a shining band, — Each wandering meteor of yon trackless deep — Italia's greenest spot — Zahara's burning sand — • The thunder's roll — the lightning's living leap— ¦ The lark's light note — the murmur of the bee- All speak of heaven, of order and of thee. The seasons are thy handmaids, and the flowers Fair emblems of thy beauty,— bending grain Made golden by the sun-shine's magic power,— The howling tempest — and the gentle rain Of summer's softer mood; — blossom and fruit — The bending willow and the creeping vine — The rattling hail-storm, and the snow-flake mute— The time-worn oak, the cedar~and the pine- Niagara's roaring fall — the noiseless rill- Were nature's at the dawn — are nature's still. Mighty or gentle as may suit thy mood — The whirlwind and the earthquake tell thy power — Thy hand scoop'd out old ocean — iEtna pil'd ; Bent the first rainbow — painted the first flower; The loveliest is thy face in spring's glad hour — The meadows green, the waters leaping free— The earth yet wet with morning's dewy shower — The sunlight beaming o'er the distant sea — When new-born winds their freshness first disclose, And wanton with the violet and the rose. Thy temples are upon the lofty steeps Of Andes and the Apennines — and where The. coral insect toils beneath the deep, Or the lone Arab pours his soul in prayer. The meanest, intellect — the mightiest mind — Master and slave alike admit thy power — Monarch and nation — hero, prince and hind, Must yield at nature's tributary hour — Before thee forests tremble, mountains nod ; How feeble art to thee — " a worm, a god !" Oh, nature ! is it strange the forest child, The tawny tenant of the boundless West— With none to lead his mind beyond the wild, Or point his thoughts to regions of the blest— Should deem thy glories god-Tike, and fall down A savage worshipper 1 Should see in thee Thi Spirit of a leaping cataract — The power of life, and death, and destiny — Should, as the lightning flashes through the sky, Believe it fire from some immortal eye ! 8 No — rather marvel that the letter'd fool — The worm whom heaven has giv'n the power of though Seeing thy glories, and the magic rule That governs all thy works — should set at naught The lessons that they teach— should mock the power That call'd from chaos all that mingles here — The loftiest mountain and the lowliest flower — Earth, air and ocean — each celestial sphere — Should look from sea to sky — from dust to man — And see no God in all the wondrous plan ! JOHN ADAMS.— GEORGE III. The account that Mr. Adams gave, in a letter to a friend, of his introduction to George III, at the Court of St. James, as the first minister from the rebel co lonies, is very interesting. " At one o'clock on Wednesday, the 1st of June, 1785, the Master of Ceremonies called at my house, and went with me to the Secretary of State's office, in Cleveland Row, where the Marquis of Caermar- then received and introduced me to Mr. Frazier, his under Secretary, who had been, as his lordship said, uninterruptedly in that office through all the changes in administration for thirty years. After a"short con versation, Lord Carmarthen invited me to go with him in his coaph to Court. When we arrived inlhe antechamber the Master of Ceremonies introduced him, and attended me while the Secretary of State went to take the commands of the King. While I stood in this place, where it seems all Ministers stand upon such occasions, always attended by the Master of Ceremonies, the room was very full of Ministers of State, Bishops, and all other sorts of courtiers, as well as the next room, which is the King's bedcham ber. You may well suppose I was the focus of all eyes. I was relieved, however, from the embarrass ment of it by the Swedish and Dutch Ministers, who came to me and entertained me with a very agreea ble conversation during the whole time. Some oth er gentlemen, whom I had seen before, came to make their compliments to me, until the Marquis of Caer- marthen returned and desired me to go with him to his Majesty. I went with his lordship through the levee room into the King's closet. The door was shut, and I was left with his Majesty and the Secre tary of State alone. I made the three reverences : one at the door, another about half way, and another before the presence, according to the usage establish ed at this and all the NorthernCourtsof Europe, and then I addressed myself to his Majesty in the follow» ing words : " Sire : The United States have appointed me Min ister Plenipotentiary to your Majesty, and have di rected me to deliver to your Majesty this letter, which contains the evidence of it. It is in obedience to their express commands, that I have the honor to assure your Majesty of their unanimous disposition and desire to cultivate the most friendly and liberal intercourse between your Majesty's subjects and their citizens, and of their best wishes for your Ma jesty's health and happiness, and for that of your family. " The appointment of a Minister from the United States to your Majesty's Court will form an epoch in the history of England and America. I think my self more fortunate than all my fellow-citizens, in having the distinguished honor to be the first to stand in your Majesty's royal presence in a diplomatic 58 character ; and I shall esteem myself the happiest of men, if I can be instrumental in recommending my country more and more to your Majesty's royal be nevolence, and of restoring an entire esteem, confi dence, and affection ; or, in better words, ' the old good nature and the good old humor,' between peo ple who, though separated by an ocean, and under different governments, have the same language, a sim ilar religion, a kindred blood. I beg your Majesty's permission to add, that although I have sometimes before been instructed by my country, it was never in my whole life in a manner so agreeable to my self. "The King listened to every word I said with dig nity, it is true, but with apparent emotion. Whether it was my visible agitation, for I felt more than I sould express, that touched him, I cannot say ; but he was much affected, and answered me with more tre mor than I had spoken with, and said : " ' Sir, the circumstances of this audience are so ex traordinary, the language you have now held is so ex tremely proper, and the feelings you have discovered so justly adapted to the occasion, that I not only re ceive with pleasure the assurance of the friendly dis position of the United States, but I am glad the choice has fallen upon you to be their minister. I wish you, sir, to believe, that it may be understood in America, that I have done nothing in the late con test but what I thought myself indispensably bound to do, by the duty which I owed my people. I will be frank with you. I was the last to conform to the separation; but the separation having become inevi table, I have always said, as I now say, that I would be the first to meet the friendship of the United States as an independent power. The moment 1 see such sentiments and language as yours prevail, and a dis position to give this country the preference, that mo ment I shall say, let the circumstances of language, religion, and blood, have their natural, full effect.' "I dare not say that these were the King's precise words ; and it is even possible that I may have, in some particulars, mistaken his meaning ; for, although his pronunciation is as distinct as I ever heard, he hesitated sometimes between the members of the same period. He was, indeed, much affected, and I was not less so ; and therefore I cannot be certain that I was so attentive, heard so clearly, and under stood so perfectly, as to be confident of all his words or sense. This I do say, that the foregoing is his Majesty's meaning, as I then understood it, and his own words, as nearly as I can recollect them. " The King then asked me whether I came last from France, and, upon my answering in the affir mative, he put on an air of familiarity, and, smiling, or rather laughing, said, ' There is an opinion among some people that you are not the most attached of all your countrymen to the manners of France.' I was surprised at this, because I thought it an indiscretion, and a descent from his dignity. I was a little em barrassed ; but, determined not to deny truth on the one hand, nor lead him to infer from it any attach ment to England on the other, I threw off as much gravity as I could, and assumed an air of gaiety and a tone of decision, as far as was decent, and said, * That opinion, sir, is not mistaken ; I must avow to your Majesty, I have no attachment but to my own 'country.' The King replied as quick as lightning* ' An honest man will have no other.' " The king then said a word or two to the Secre tary of State, which, being between them, I did not hear, and then turned round and bowed to me, as is customary with all kings and princes when they give the signal to retire. I retreated, stepping back- wards, as is the etiquette, and making my last re verence at the door of the chamber."— ¦Hayward't N. E Gazeteer. INTERESTING FACTS. The first decked vessel ever built within the j limits of the old United States, was construct-' ed on the banks of the Hudson, by Adrian Block, in the summer of 1614. She was called a yacht, and her first voyage was made through Hurl Gate into the Sound, and as far east as Cape Cod, by the Vineyard passage. It was in this voyage that Block Island was first discovered Within the first forty-six years after the settlement of Massachusetts, there were built in Boston and its vicinity 730 vessels, varying, from six to 230 tuns in burden. One of these, the Blessing of the Bay, a hark of fifty tuns, was built in 1631. The! celebrated English patriot and divine, Hugh Peters, caused a vessel of 300 tuns to he con structed at Salem in 1641. The first schooner ever launched is said to have been built at Cape Ann in 1714. In 171 3, Connecticut had but 2 brigs, 20 sloops, and a few smaller craft, employing but 120 seamen; while Massachusetts, about the same time, had 462 vessels, the tunnage of which was 25,406, and employed 3,493 seamen. The first ensign ever shown by a regular American man-of-war, was hoisted on board the frigate Al fred, in the Delaware, by the hands of Paul Jones, in the latter part of December, 1775. What this- ensign was is not precisely known, as the present* national colors were not formally adopted : until 1 1777. The first regular American cruiser that went to sea was the Lexington, a little brig of 14 guns, commanded by Capt. John Barry, of Philadelphia; She sailed some time in the winter of 1775. The first American man-of-war that got to sea after the adoption of our present form of government, was the Ganges. She was originally an Indiaman, but was purchased by the government, and con verted into a cruiser, having an armament of 24 guns. She sailed in May, 1798, under the com mand of Captain Richard Dale, who was first lieutenant of the Bon Homme Richard, when that ship captured the Serapis. The Constellation was the first of the new built vessels that went to sea, under Captain Truxtoik She sailed June, 1793, and was followed by the United States, and a little later, by the Constitu tion, both these latter sailing in July the same year. The first prize under our present naval organization was the French privateer La Croy- able. She was a schooner of 14 guns, and was captured by the sloop-of-war Delaware, Capt. De catur. The above historical facts we have glean* ed from Mr. Cooper's excellent Naval History of the United States. 59 PORTRAITS BY LORD BROUGHAM, NAPOLEON — WASHINGTON. Aftek Lafayette had quitted the armies of the Republic, defaced by the crimes of 1792, and Gar- not himself, long the director of their marvellous achievements, and standing by his country in spite of all the excesses by which she was disfigured, had at length been driven from her side by the evil men that swayed her destinies, victory, long so familiar to the French people, was for a season estranged from them, and the period of their con quests seemed at last to have arrived. A new and yet more triumphant course was then begun, under the genius of Napoleon Buonaparte, certainly the most extraordinary person who has appeared in modern times, and to whom, in Some respects, no parallel can be found, if we search the whole annals of thp human race. For though the con quests of Alexander were more extensive, and the matchless character of Csesar was embellished by more various accomplishments, and the invaders of Mexico and Peru worked their purposes of subjugation with far more scanty means, yet the military genius of the Great Captain shines with a lustre peculiarly its own, or which he shares with Hannibal alone, when we reflect that he never had to contend, like those conquerors, with ad versaries inferior to himself in civilization or dis cipline, but won all his triumphs over hosts as well ordered and regularly marshalled and amply pro vided as his own. This celebrated man was sprung from a good family in Corsica, and while yet a boy fixed the attention and raised the hopes of all his connec tions. In his early youth his military genius shone forth ; he soon gained the summit of his profes sion; he commanded at twenty-five a military operation of a complicated and difficult nature in Paris : being selected for superior command by the genius of Carnot, he rapidly led the French armies through a series of victories till then unex ampled, and to which, even now, his own after achievements can alone afford any parallel, for the suddenness, the vehemence, and the completeness of the operations. That much of his success was derived from the mechanical adherence of his ad versaries to the formal rules of ancient tactics cannot be doubted ; and our Wellington's cam paigns would, in the same circumstances, and had he been opposed to similar antagonists, in all like lihood have been as brilliant and decisive. But he always had to combat the soldiers bred in Na poleon's school ; while Napoleon, for the most part, was matched against men whose inveterate propensity to follow the rules of an obsolete sci ence, not even the example of Frederick had been able to subdue ; and who were resolved upon be ing the second time the victims of the same obsti nate blindness which had, in Frederick's days, made genius triumph over numbers by breaking through rules repugnant to common sense. It mUst, however, be confessed, that although this consideration accounts for the achievements of this great warrior, which had else been impossible, nothing is thus detracted from his praise, except ing that what he accomplished ceases to be miracu lous : for it was his glory never to let an error pass unprofitably to himself 5 nor ever to give his adversary an advantage which he could not ravish from him, with ample interests, before it was turn ed to any fatal account. Nor can it be denied that, when the fortune of war proved adverse, the resources of his mind were only drawn forth in the more ample profu sion. After the battle of Asperne he displayed more skill, as well as constancy, than in all his previous campaigns ; and the struggle which he made in France, during the dreadful conflict that preceded his downfall, is by many regarded as the masterpiece of 'his military life. Nor let us forget that the grand error of his whole career, the mighty expedition to Moscow, was a political error only. The vast preparations of that campaign — the com binations by which he collected and marshalled and moved this prodigious and various force like a single corps, or a domestic animal, or a lifeless instrument in his hand- — displayed, in the highest degree, the great genius for arrangement and for action with which he was endowed ; and his pro digious efforts to regain the ground which the disasters of that campaign rescued from his grasp, were only not successful, because no human pow er could in a month create an army of cavalry, nor a word of command give recruits the discipline of veterans. In the history of war, it is, assured ly, only Hannibal who can be compared with him j and certainly, when we reflect upon the yet great er difficulties of the Carthaginian's position — the much longer time during which he maintained the unequal contest — still more, when we consider that his enemies have alone recorded his story, while Napoleon has been his own annalist — jus tice seems to require that the modem should yield to the ancient commander. The mighty operation which led to his downfall, and in which all the resources of his vast capacity as well as the recklessness of his boundless ambi tion were displayed, Jias long fixed, as well it might, the regards of mankind, and it has not been too anxiously contemplated. His course of victo ry had been for twelve years uninterrupted. The resources of France had been poured out without stint at his command. The destruction of her liberties had not relaxed the martial propensities of her people, nor thinned the multitudes that poured out their blood under his banners. The fervor of the revolutionary zeal had cooled, but the discipline which a vigorous despotism secures had succeeded, ani whose courage and good sense I entertain a high opinion. My treacherous master-at-arms let loose all my prisoners without my knowledge, and my prospects became gloomy indeed. I would not, however, give up the point. The enemy's main mast began to shake, their firing decreased fast, ours rather increased, and the British colours were struck at half an hour past ten o'clock " This prize proved to be the British ship of war, the Serapis, a new ship of forty-four guns, built on the most approved construction, with two complete batteries, one of them of eighteen-pounders, and commanded by the brave Commodore Richard Pear son. I had yet two enemies to encounter, far more formidable than the Britons, I mean fire and water. The Serapis was attacked only by the first, but the Bon Homme Richard was assailed by both ; there was five feet water in the hold, and though it was moderate from the explosion of so much gunpowder, yet the three pumps that remained could with diffi culty only keep the water from gaining. The fire broke out in various parts of the ship, in spite of all the water that could be thrown in to quench it, and at length broke out as low as the powder-magazine, and within a few inches of the powder. In thai dilemma, I took out^the powder upon deck, ready to 67 be thrown overboard at the last - extremity, and it was ten o'clock the next day, the 24th, before the fire was entirely extinguished. With respect to the situation of the Bon Homme Richard, the rudder was cut entirely off, the stern-frame and transoms were almost entirely cut away, and the timbers by the lower deck, especially from the mainmast to ward the stern, being greatly decayed with age, were mangled beyond my power of description, and a person must have been an eyewitness to form a just idea of the tremendous scene of carnage, wreck, andruin, which everywhere appeared. Humanity cannot but recoil from the prospect.of such finished horrour, and lament that war should be capable of producing such fatal consequences. " After the carpenters, as well as Captain Cotti- neau and other men of sense, had well examined and surveyed the ship, (which was not finished be fore five in the evening,) I found every person to be convinced that it was impossible to keep the Bon Homme Richard afloat so as to reach a port, if the wind should increase, it being then only a very moderate breeze. I had but little time to remove my wounded, which now became unavoidable, and which was effected in the course of the night and next morning. I was determined to keep the Bon Homme Richard afloat, and, if possible, to bring her into port. For that purpose, the first lieutenant of the Pallas continued on board with a party of men to attend the pumps, with boats in waiting ready to take them on board, in case the water should gain on them too fast. The wind augmented in the night, and the next day, the 25th, so that it was im possible to prevent the good old ship from sinking. They did not abandon her till after nine o'clock ; the water was then up to the lower deck, and a little after ten I saw, with inexpressible grief, the last glimpse of the Bon Homme Richard. No lives were lost with the ship, but it was impossible to save the stores of any sort whatever. I lost even the best part of my clothes, books, and papers ; and several of my officers lost all their clothes and effects. " Having thus endeavoured to give a clear and simple relation of the circumstances and events that have attended the little armament under my com mand, I shall freely submit my conduct therein to the censure of my superiours and the impartial pub lick. I. beg leaver however, to observe, that the force put under my command was far from being well composed, and as the great majority of the ac tors in it have appeared bent on the pursuit of in terest only, I am exceedingly sorry that they and I have been at all concerned. " Captain Cottineau engaged the Countess of Scarborough, and took her, after an hour's action, while the Bon Homme Richard engaged the Ser apis. The Countess of Scarborough is an armed ship of twenty six-pounders, and was commanded by a king's officer. In the action, the Countess of Scarborough and the Serapis were at a considerable distance asunder ; and the Alliance, as I am inform ed, fired into the Pallas and killed some men. If it should be asked, why the convoy was suffered to escape, I must answer, that I was myself in no con dition to pursue, and that none of the rest showed any inclination ; not even Mr. Ricot, who had held off at a distance to windward during the whole action, and withheld by force the pilot-boat with my lieutenant and fifteen men. The Alliance, too, was in a state to pursue the fleet, not having had a sin gle man wounded, or a single .shot fired at her from the Serapis, and only three that did execution from the Countess of Scarborough, at such a distance that one stuck in the side, and the other two just touched, and then dropped into the water. The Al liance killed one man only on board the Serapis. As Captain de Cottineau charged himself with man ning and securing the prisoners of the Countess of Scarborough, I think the escape of the Baltick fleet cannot- so well be charged to his account. " I should have mentioned, that the mainmast and mizzentopmast of the Serapis fell overboard, soon after the captain had come on board the Bon Homme Richard." THE DESERTED CHILDREN. " I will record in this place," says Mr. Flint, in his Travels in America, " a narrative that impressed me deeply. It was a fair example of the cases of extreme misery and desolation that are often witnes sed on the Mississippi river. In the Sabbath School at New Madrid we received three children, who were introduced to that place under the following circumstances : A man was descending the river with these three children in his pirogue. He and his children had landed on a desert island, on a bit ter snowy evening in DecemDer- There were but two houses, and these at Little Prairie opposite the island, within a great distance. He wanted more whiskey, although he had been drinking too freely. Against the persuasion of his children, he left them, to cross over in his pirogue to these houses, and re new his supply. The wind blew high, and the river was rough. Nothing could persuade him from this dangerous attempt. He told them that he should return to them that night, left them in tears, and ex posed to the pitiless pelting of the storm, and started for his carouse. The children saw the boat sink before he had half crossed the passage ; the man was drowned. These forlorn beings were left without any other covering than their own scanty ragged dress, for he had taken his blankets with him. They had neither fire nor shelter, and no ether food than uncooked pork and corn. It snowed fast, and the night closed over them in this situation. The elder was a girl of six years, but remarkably shrewd and acute for her age. The next was a girl of four, and the youngest, a boy of two. It was affecting to hear her describe her desolation of heart, as she set herself to examine her resources. She made them creep together, and draw their feet under her clothes. She covered them with leaves and branches, and thus they passed the first night. In the morning, the younger children wept bitterly with cold and hunger. The pork she cut into small pieces. She then per suaded them to run about by setting them the exam ple. Then she made them return to chewing corn and pork. It would seem as if Providence had a special eyo to these poor children, for in the course of the day some Indians landed on the island, found them, and as they were coming up to New Madrid, took them with them. 6S PUTNAM AND THE WOLF. It needs not that we remind the reader what is ' the subject of our frontispiece to the present num- ! bcr. Every child in the land has heard its grand mother tell the story, and we are all familiar with it. Dr. Anderson, however, has a way peculiar to himself, in perpetuating the recollection of these fa miliar incidents, as will be seen by reference to the engraving opposite — and he desires that the "com mon version" should also be given, in order that the curious may compare notes. To gratify him, therefore, we give the story as told by Col. Humphreys, the biographer of the in trepid Putnam. " In the year 1799, Putnam removed from Salem, Mass., to Pomfret, an inland fertile town in Con necticut, forty miles east of Hartford ; where he ap plied himself successfully to agriculture. The first years on a new farm, are not, however, exempt from disasters and disappointments, which can only be remedied by stubborn and patient indus try. - Our farmer, sufficiently occupied in building a house and barn, felling woods, making fences, sow ing grain, planting orchards and taking care of his stock, had to encounter, in turn, the calamities oc casioned by drought in summer, blast in harvest, loss of cattle in winter, and the desolation of his sheep- fold by wolves. In one night he had seventy fine sheep and goats killed, besides many lambs and kids wounded. This havock was committed by a she- wolf, which, with her annual whelps, had for several years infested the vicinity. The young were com monly destroyed by the vigilance of the hunters, but the old one was too sagacious to come within reach of gunshot : upon being closely pursued she would generally fly to the western woods, and return the next winter with another litter of whelps. This wolf, at length, became such an intolerable nuisance, that Mr. Putnam entered into a combina tion with five of his neighbours to hunt alternately until they could destroy her. Two, by rotation, were to be constantly in pursuit. It was known, that, having lost the toes from one foot by a steel trap, she made one track shorter than the other. By this vestige, the pursuers recognised, in a hght snow, the route of this pernicious animal. Having fol lowed her to Connecticut river, and found she had turned back in a direct course toward Pomfret, they immediately returned, and by ten o'clock the next morning, the blood-hounds had driven her into a den, about three miles distant from the house of Mr. Putnam. The people soon collected with dogs, guns, straw, fire, and sulphur, to attack the common enemy. With this apparatus, several unsuccessful efforts were made to force her from the den. The hounds came back badly wounded and refused to re turn. The smoke of blazing straw had no effect. Nor did the fumes of burnt brimstone, with which the cavern was filled, compel her to quit the retire ment. Wearied with such fruitless attempts, (which had brought the time to ten o'clock at night,) Mr. Putnam tried once more to make his dog enter, but in vain. He proposed to his negro-man to go down into the cavern and shoot the wolf; the negro de clined the hazardous service. Then it was, that their master, angry at the disappointment, and de claring that he was ashamed to have a coward in his family, resolved himself to destroy the ferocious beast, lest she should escape through some unknown fissure of the rock. His neighbours strongly re monstrated against the perilous enterprise : but he, knowing that wild animals were intimidated by fjjfe, and having provided several strips of birch-bark, the only combustible material which he could obtain, that would afford light in this deep and darksome cave, prepared for his descent. Having, accordingly, divested himself of his coat and waistcoat,. and hav ing a long rope fastened round his legs, by which he might be pulled back, at a concerted signal, he enter ed head foremost, with the blazing torch in his hand. The aperture of the den, on the east side of a very high ledge ef rocks, is about two feet square; from thence it descends obliquely fifteen feet, then running horizontally about ten more, it ascends grad ually sixteen feet toward its termination. The sides of this subterraneous cavity are composed of smooth and solid rocks, which seem to have been divided from each other by some former- earthquake. The top and bottom are also of stone, and the entrance, in winter, being covered with ice, is exceedingly slippery. It is in no place highs enough for a man (6 raise himself upright ; nor in any part more than three feet in width. Having groped his passage to the horizontal part of the den, the most terrifying darkness appeared in front of the dim circle of light afforded by his torch. It was silent as the house of death. None but mon sters of the desert had ever before explored, this sol itary mansion of horronr. He. cautiously proceed ing onward, came to the ascent, which he slowly mounted on his hands and knees, until he discovered the glaring eyeballs of the wolf, who was sitting at the extremity of the cavern. Startled at the sight of fire, she gnashed her teeth and gave a sullen growl. As soon as he had made the necessary dis covery, he kicked the rope as a signal for pulling him out. The people at the mouth of the den, who had listened with painful anxiety, hearing the growl ing of the wolf, and supposing their friend to be in the most imminent danger, drew him forth with such celerity, that his shirt was stripped over his head and his skin severely lacerated. After he had ad justed his clothes and loaded his gun with nine buck-shot, holding a torch in one hand and the mns- ket in the other, he descended the second time. When he drew nearer than before, the woHV assu ming a still more fierce and terrible appearanee, howl ing, rolling her eyes, snapping her teeth, and drop ping her head between her legs, was evidently in the attitude and on the point of- springing at him. At this critical instant, he levelled and fired at her head. Stunned with the shock, and suffocated with the smoke, he immediately found himself drawn out of the cave. But having refreshed himself, and per mitted the smoke to dissipate, he went down the third time. Once more he came within sight ot the wolf, who appearing very passive, he applied the torch to her nose ; and perceiving her dead, he took hold of her ears, and then kicking the rope, (still tied round his legs,) the people above, with no small exultation, dragge d them both out together." •a,> -a a>jx o 71 RECOLLECTIONS OF GENERAL PUTNAM. "In the winter of 1757, when Col. Haviland was commandant of fort Edward, the barracks adjoining to the northwest bastion took fire. They extended within twelve feet of the magazine; which contained three hundred barrels of powder. On its first dis covery, the fire raged- with great violence. The commandant endeavoured, in vain, by discharging some pieces of heavy artillery against the supporters of this flight of barracks, to level them" with the ground. Putnam arrived from the island where he was stationed, at the moment when the blaze ap proached that end which was contiguous to the mag azine. Instantly, a vigorous attempt was made to extinguish the conflagration. A way was opened by a postern-gate to the river, and the soldiers were employed in bringing water ; which he, having mounted on a ladder to the eaves of the building, re ceived and threw upon the flame. It continued, not withstanding their utmost efforts, to gain upon them. He stood, enveloped in smoke, so near the sheet of fire, that a pair of thick blanket-mittens were burnt entirely from his hands — he was supplied with another pair dipped in water. Col. Haviland, fear ing that he would perish in the flames, called to him to come down. But he entreated that he might be suffered to remain, since destruction must inevitably ensue if their exertions should be remitted. The gallant commandant, not less astonished than charm ed at the boldness of his conduct, forbade any more effects to be carried out of the fort, animated the men to redoubled diligence, and exclaimed, "If we must be blown up, we will all go together." At last, when the barracks were seen to be tumbling, Putnam descended, placed himself at the interval, and continued from an incessant rotation of replen ished buckets to pour water upon the magazine. The outside planks were already consumed by the proximity of the fire, and as only one thickness of timber intervened, the trepidation now became gen eral and extreme. Putnam, still undaunted, covered with a cloud of cinders, and scorched with the in tensity of the heat, maintained his position until the fire subsided, and the danger was wholly over. He had contended for one hour and a half with that ter rible element. His legs, his thighs, his arms, and his face were blistered; and when he pulled off his second pair of mittens, the skin from his hands and fingers followed them. It was a month before he recovered. The commandant, to whom his merits had before endeared him, could not stille the emo tions of gratitude, due to the man who had been so instrumental in preserving the magazine, the fort, and the garrison." "A few adventures, in which the public interests were little concerned, but which, from their peculiar ity, appear worthy of being preserved, happened be fore the conclusion of the year. As one day, Major Putnam chanced to lie, with a'batteau and five men, on the eastern shore of the Hudson, near the rapids, contiguous to which fort Miller stood ; his men on the opposite bank had given him to understand, that a large body of savages was in his rear, and would be upon him in a moment. To stay and be sacri- ficed---to attempt crossing and be shot — or to go down to the falls, with an almost absolute certainty of being drowned, were the sole alternatives that presented themselves to his choice. So instanta neously was the latter adopted, that one man who had rambled a little from the party, was, of necessi ty, left, and fell a miserable victim to savage barbar ity. The Indians arrived on the shore soon enough to fire many balls on the batteau before it could be got under way. No sooner had our batteau-men escaped, by favour of the rapidity of the current, be yond the reach of inusket-shot, than death seemed only to have been avoided in one form, to be encoun tered in another, not less terrible. Prominent rocks, latent shelves, absorbing eddies, and abrupt descents, for a quarter of a mile, afforded scarcely the smal lest chance of escaping without a miracle. Putnam, trusting himself; to a good Providence, whose kind ness he had often experienced, rather than to men, whose tenderest mercies are cruelty, was now seen to place himself sedately at the helm, and afford an astonishing spectacle of serenity : his companions, with a mixture of terrour, admiration, and wonder, saw him incessantly changing the course, to avoid the jaws of ruin, that seemed expanded to swallow the whirling boat. Twice he turned it fairly round to shun the rifts of rocks. Amidst these eddies, in which there was the greatest danger of its founder ing, at one moment the sides were exposed to the fury of the waves ; then the stern, and next the bow, glanced obliquely onward, with inconceivable velocity. With not less amazement the savages be held him sometimes mounting the billows, then plunging abruptly down, at other times skilfully veer ing from the rocks, and shooting through the only narrow passage ; until, at last, they viewed the boat safely gliding on the smooth surface of the stream below. At this sight, it is asserted, that these rude sons of nature were affected with the same kind of superstitious veneration, which the Europeans in the dark ages entertained for some of their most val orous champions. They-deemed the man invulner able, whom their balls (on his pushing from shore) would not touch, and whom they had seen steering in safety down the rapids that had never before been passed. They conceived it would be an affront against the Great Spirit, to attempt to kill this fa voured mortal with powder and ball, if they should ever see and know him again " " In the battle of Princeton, Capt. M'Pherson, of the 17th British regiment, a very worthy Scotch man, was desperately wounded in the liings and left with the dead. Upon General Putnam's arrival there, he found him languishing in extreme distress, without a surgeon, without a single accommodation, and without a friend to solace the sinking spirit in the gloomy hour of death. He visited and imme diately caused every possible comfort to be admin istered to him. Capt. M'Pherson, who contrary to all appearances recovered, after having demonstrated to Gen. Putnam the dignified sense of obligations which a generous mind wishes not to conceal, one day in familiar conversation demanded — ' Pray, sir, what countryman are you V ' An American,' an swered the latter. ' Not a Yankee !' said the other ' A full-blooded one,' replied the general. ' By G-d I am sorry for that,' rejoined M'Pherson, ' I did not think there could be so much goodness and generos ity in an American, or, indeed, in anybody but a Scotchman.' " 72 DANIEL MORGAN. Prom the " Custis Recollections and Private Memoirs of the Life and Character of Washington." The outposts of the two armies were very near to each other, when the American commander, de sirous of obtaining particular information respecting the positions of his adversary, summoned the famed leader of the riflemen, Colonel Daniel Morgan, to headquarters. It was night, and the chief was alone. After his usual polite, yet reserved and dignified salutation, Washington remarked, " I have sent for you, Colonel Morgan, to intrust to your courage and sagacity, a reconnoitre of the enemy's lines, with a view to your ascertaining correctly the position of their new ly-constructed redoubts, also of the encampments of the British troops that have lately arrived, and those of their Hessian auxiliaries. Select, sir, an officer, a non-commissioned officer, and about twenty picked men, and, under cover of the night, proceed, but with all possible caution, get as near as you can, and learn all you can, and by day dawn retire and make your report to headquarters. But mark me, Colo nel Morgan, mark me well, on no account whatever are you to bring on any skirmishing with the ene my ; if discovered, make a speedy retreat ; let no thing induce you to fire a single shot ; 1 repeat, sir, that no force of circumstances will excuse the dis charge of a single rifle on your part, and for the ex treme preciseness of these orders, permit me to say that I have my reasons." Filling two glasses of wine, the general continued — "And now, Colonel Morgan, we will drink a good night, and success to your en terprise." Morgan quaffed the wine, smacked his lips, and assuring his excellency that his orders should be punctually obeyed, left the tent of the commander-in-chief. Charmed at being chosen as the executive officer of a daring enterprise, the leader of the woodsmen repaired to his quarters, and calling for Gabriel Long, his favourite captain, ordered him to detach a sergeant and twenty prime fellows, who. being mus tered, and ordered to lay on their arms, ready at a moment's warning, Morgan and Long stretched their manly forms before the watchfire, to await the going down of the moon, the signal for departure. A little after midnight, and while the rays of the setting moon still faintly glimmered in the western horizon, " Up, Sergeant," cried Long; " stir up your men," and twenty athletick figures were upon their feet in a moment. Indian file, march, and awav all sprung, with the quick, yet light and stealthy step of the woodsmen. They reached the enemy's lines, crawled up so close to the pickets of the Hessians as to inhale the odour of their pipes, discovered, by the newly turned-up earth, the positions of the re doubts, and by the numerous tents that dotted the field for " many a rood around," and shone dimly amid the night haze, the encampments of the British and German reinforcements, and, in short, performed their perilous duty without the slightest discovery ; and pleased, prepared to retire, just as chanticleer, from a neighbouring farmhouse, was " bidding salu tation to the morn." The adventurous party reached a small eminence; at some distance from the British camp, and com manding an extensive prospect over the adjoining country. Here Morgan halted to give his men a little rest, before taking up his line of march for the American outposts. Scarcely had they thrown themselves on the grass, when they perceived, issu ing from the enemy's advanced pickets, a body?pf horse, commanded by an officer, and proceeding along the road that led directly by the spot where the riflemen had halted. No spot could be bettei chosen for an ambuscade, for there were rocks and ravines, and also scrubby oaks, that 'grew thickly on the eminence by which the road, we have just mentioned, passed, at. not exceeding a hundred yards. " Down, boys, down," cried Morgan, as the horse approached, nor did the clansmen of the Black Rhoderick, disappear more promptly amid their na tive heather, than did Morgan's woodsmen in .the present instance, each to his tree or rock. " Lie close there, my lads, till we see what these fellows are about." Meantime, the horsemen had gained the height, and the officer, dropping the rein on his charger's neck, with a spyglass, reconnoitred the American lines. The troopers closed up their files, and were either cherishing the noble animals they rode, ad justing their equipments, or gazing upon the sur rounding scenery, now fast brightening in the beams of a rising, sun.. Morgan looked at Long, and Long upon his supe- riour, while the riflemen, with panting chests and sparkling eyes, were only awaiting the signal from their officers " to let the ruin fly." At length, the martial ardour of Morgan overcame his prudence and sense of military subordination Forgetful of consequences, reckless of every thing but his enemy, now within his grasp, he waved his hand, and loud and sharp rang the report of the rifles amid the surrounding echoes. A pointblank distance, the certain and deadly aim of the Hunting Shirts of the revolutionary army, is too well known to history, to need remark at this time of day. In the instance we have to record, the effects of the fire of the riflemen were tremendous. Of the horse men, some had fallen to rise no more, while their liberated chargers rushed wildly over the adjoining plains, others wounded, but entangled with their stirrups, were dragged by the furious animals expi- ringly along, while the very few who were unscath ed, spurred hard to regain the shelter of the British lines. While the smoke yet canopied the scene of slaugh ter, and the picturesque forms of the woodsmen ap peared among the foliage, as they were reloading their pieces, the colcssal figure of Morgan stood apart. He seemed the very genius of war, as gloomi ly he contemplated the havock his order had made. He spoke not, he moved not, but looked as one ab sorbed in an intensity of thought. The martial shout, with which he was wont to cheer his comrades in the hour of combat, was hushed, the shell* -from * Morgan's riflemen were generally in the advance, skirmish ing with the light troops of. the enemy, or annoying his flanks; the regiment was thus much divided into detachments, and dis persed over a very wide field of action. Morgan was in the hab it of using a conch shell frequently during the heat of the battle, with which he would blow a loud and warlike blast. This, he said, was to inform Bis boys that he was still alive, and that from many parts of the field was beholding their prowess ; and like the celebrated sea-warriour of another hemisphere's last signal, was expecting that " every man would do his duty." 73 which he had blown full many a note of battle and of triumph on the fields of Saratoga, hung idly by his side ;_ no order was given to spoil the slain, the arms and equipments for which there was always a boun ty from Congress, the shirts for which there was so much need in that, the sorest period of our country's privation, all, all were abandoned, as with an ab stracted air, and a voice struggling for utterance, Morgan suddenly turning to his captain, exclaimed : " Long, to the camp, march." The favourite captain obeyed, the riflemen with trailed arms fell into file, and Long and his party soon disappeared^but not before the hardy fellows had exchanged opinions on th& strange termination of the late affair. And they agreed nem con, that their coLonel was tricked, (cofijured,) or assuredly, after such a fire as they had just given the enemy, such an emptying of saddles, and such a squandering of the troopers, he would not have ordered his poor rifle boys from the field, without so much as a few shirts or pair of stock ings being divided among them. " Yes," said a tall, lean, and swarthy looking fellow, an Indian hunter from the frontier, as he carefully placed his moccasined feet in the foot prints of his file leader, " Yes, my lads, it stands to reason, our colonel is tricked." Morgan followed slowly on the trail of his men. The full force of his military guilt had rushed upon his mind, even before the reports of his rifles had ceased to echo in the neighbouring forests. He be came more and more convinced of the enormity of his offenee, as with dull and measured strides, he pursued his solitary way, and thus he soliloquized : " Well, Daniel Morgan, you have done for yourself. Broke, sir, broke to a certainty. You may go home, sir, to the plough ; your sword will be of no further use to you. Broke, sir, nothing can save you ; and there is an end of Colonel Morgan. Fool, fool — by a single act of madness, thus to destroy the earnings of so many toils, and many a hard-fought battle. You are broke, sir, and there is an end of Colonel Morgan." ' To disturb this revery, there suddenly appeared, at full speed, the aiddecamps the Mercury of the field, who, reining up, accosted the colonel with, " I am ordered, Colonel Morgan, to ascertain, whether the firing just now heard, proceeded from your detach ment." — " It did, sir," replied Morgan, sourly. " Then, Colonel," continued the aid, " I am further ordered to require your immediate attendance upon his ex cellency, who is approaching." Morgan bowed, and the aid, wheeling, his charger, galloped back to rejoin his chief. The gleams of the morning sun upon the sabres of the horse guard, announced the arrival of the dread ed commander— that being, who inspired with a de gree of awe, every one who approached him. With a stern, yet dignified composure, Washington ad dressed the -military culprit: " Can it be possible, Colonel Morgan, that my aiddecamp has informed me aright ? Can it be possible, after the orders you received last evening, that the firing we have heard, proceeded from your detachment? Surely, sir, my orders were so explicit as not to be easily misunderstood." Morgan was brave, but it has been often, and justly too, observed, that that man never was born of a woman, who could approach the great Washington, and not feel a degree of awe and ven eration for his presence. Morgan quailed for a mo ment, before the stern, yet just displeasure of his chief, till arousing all his energies to the effort, he uncovered and replied : " Your excellency's orders were perfectly well understood , and agreeably to the same, I proceeded with a select party to recon noitre the enemy's lines by night. We succeeded, even beyond our expectations, and I was returning to headquarters to make my report, when, having halted a few minutes to rest the men, we discovered a party of horse coming out from the enemy's lines. They came up immediately to the spot where we lay concealed in the brushwood. There they halted, and gathered up together like a flock of partridges, affording me so tempting an opportunity of annoying my enemy, that, may it please your excellency, flesh and blood could not refrain." On this rough, yet frank, bold, and manly explana tion, a smile was observed to pass over the counte nances of several of the general's suite. The chief remained unmoved ; when, waving his hand, he con tinued : "Colonel Morgan, you will retire to your quar ters, there to await further orders." Morgan bowed, and the military cortege rode on to the inspection of the outposts. Arrived at his quarters, Morgan threw himself up on his hard couch, and gave himself up to reflections upon the events which had so lately and so rapidly succeeded each other. He was aware that he had sinned past all hopes of forgiveness. Within twenty- four hours he had fallen from the command of a re giment, and being an especial favourite with the general, to be, what — a disgraced and broken soldier. Condemned to retire from scenes of glory, the dsr ling passions of his heart — for ever to abandon the " fair fields of. fighting men," and in obscurity^ to drag out the remnant of a wretched existence, neg lected and forgotten. And then his rank, so hard ly, so nobly won, with all his " blushing honours," acquired in the march across the frozen wilderness of the Kennebeck, the storming of the Lower town, and the gallant and glorious combats of Saratoga. The hours dragged gloomily away, night came, but with it* no rest for the troubled spirit of poor Morgan. The drums and fifes merrily sounded the soldier's dawn, and the sun arose, giving " pro mise of a good day." And to many within the cir cuit of that widely-extended camp, did its genial beams give hope, ar.d joy and gladness, while it cheered not with a single ray, the despairing leader of the woodsmen. About ten o'clock, the orderly on duty reported an arrival of an officer of the staff from headquar ters, and Lieutenant-col. Hamilton, the favourite aid of the commander-in-chief, entered the markee. "Be seated," said Morgan ; " I know your errand, so be short, my dear fellow, and put me out of my mis ery at once. I know that I am arrested ; 'tis a matter of course. Well, there is my sword ; but surely, his excellency honours, me, indeed, in these last moments of my military existence, when he sends for my sword by his favourite aid, and my most esteemed friend. Ah, my dear Hamilton, if you knew what I have suffered since the cursed horse came out to tempt me to ruin." Hamilton, about whose strikingly-intelligent coun tenance, there always lurked a playful smile, now observed : " Colonel Morgan, his excellency has or 74 dered me to" — "I knew it," interrupted Morgan, " to bid me prepare for trial ! Guilty, sir, guilty, past all doubt. But then, (recollecting himself,) perhaps my services might plead — nonsense ; against the disobe dience of a positive order ? no, no, it is all over with me, Hamilton, there is an end of your old friend, and of Colonel Morgan." The agonized spirit of our hero then mounted to a pitch of enthusiasm as he exclaimed: " But my country will remember my ser vices, and the British and Hessians will remember me too, for though I may be far away, my brave com rades will do their duty, and Morgan's riflemen be, as they always have been, a terrour to the enemy." The noble, the generous souled Hamilton could no longer bear to witness the struggles of the brave un fortunate, he called out : " Hear me, my dear colonel, only promise to hear me for one moment, and I will tell you all." "Go on, sir," replied Morgan, despairing ly, " go on." " Then," continued the aiddecamp, " you must know that the commanders of regiments dine with his excellency to-day." 'iWhat of that?" again interrupted Morgan, " what has that to do with me, a prisoner and — " " No, no," exclaimed Hamil ton, " no prisoner, a once-offending, but now for given soldier, my orders are to invite you to dine with his excellency to-day at three o'clock, precise ly ; yes, my brave and good friend, Colonel Morgan, you still are, and likely long to be, the valued and famed commander of the rifle regiment." Morgan sprang from the camp-bed on which he was sitting, and seized the hand of the little great man in his giant grasp, wrung and wrung till the aid- decamp literally struggled to get free, then exclaimed : " Am I in my senses, but I know you, Hamilton, you are too noble a fellow to sport with the feelings of an old soldier." Hamilton assured his friend that all was true, and kissing his hand as he mounted his horse, bid the now delighted colonel remember three o'clock, and be careful not to disobey a second time, galloped to the headquarters. Morgan entered the pavilion of the commander-in- chief as it was fast filling with officers, all of whom. after paying their respects to the general, filed off to give a cordial squeeze of the hand to the commander of the rifle regiment, and to whisper in his ear words of congratulation. The cloth removed, Washington bid his guests fill their glasses, and gave his only, his unvarying toast ; the toast of the days of trial, the toast of the evening of his " time-honoured" life, amid the shades of Mount Vernon : — " All our friends." Then, with his usual oldfashioned polite ness, he drank to each guest by name. When he came to " Colonel Morgan, your good health, sir," a thrill ran through the manly frame of the grati fied and again favounte soldier, while every eye in the pavilion was turned upon him. At an early hour, the company broke up, and Morgan had a perfect escort of officers to accompany him to his quarters, all anxious to congratulate him upon his happy restoration to rank and favour, all pleased to assure him of their esteem for his person and services. And often in his afterlife did Morgan reason up on the events which we have transmitted to the Americans and their posterity, and he would say, " What could the unusual clemency of the com mander-in-chief towards so insubordinate a soldier as I was, mean ? Was it that my attacking my enemy wherever I could find him, and the attack being crowned with success, should plead in bar of the disobedience of a positive order ? Certainly not Was it that Washington well knew I loved, nay adored him above all human beings ? That know ledge would not have weighed a feather in the scale of his military justice. In short, the whole affair is explained in five words : It was my first offence \'' The clemency of Washington to the first offence preserved to the army of the revolution one of its most valued and effective soldiers, and had its re ward in little more than two years from the date of our narrative, when Brigadier-general Morgan con summated his own fame, and shed an undying lustre on the arms of his country, by the glorious and ever- memorable victory of the Cowpens. Nearly twenty years more had rolled away, and our hero, like most of his companions, had beaten his sword into a ploughshare, and was enjoying in the midst of a domestick circle, the evening of a va ried and eventful life. When advanced in years, and infirm, Major-general Morgan was called, to the su preme legislature of his country, as a representa tive from the state of Virginia. It was at this pe riod, that the author of these memoirs had the honour and happiness of an interview with the old general, which lasted for several days. And theveteran was most kind and communicative to one, who, hail ing from the immediate family of the venerated chief. found a ready and a warm welcome to the heart of Morgan. And many, and most touching reminis cences of the days of trial were related by, the once- famed leader of the woodmen, which were eagerly devoured and carefully treasured by their- youthful and delighted listener, in a memory of no ordinary power. And it was there the unlettered Morgan, a man bred amid the scenes of danger and hardihood that distinguished the frontier warfare, with little book- knowledge, but gifted by nature with a strong and discriminating mind, paid to the fame and memory of the father of our country, a more just, more mag nificent tribute than, in our humble judgment, has emanated from the thousand and one efforts of the best and brightest geniuses of the age. * General Morgan spoke of the necessity of Washington to the army of the revolution, and the success of the strug gle for independence. He said : " We had officers ©f great military talents, as for instance, Greene and others ; we had officers of the most consummate courage and enterprise in spirit, as, for Instance, Wayne and others. One was yet necessary, to guide, direct and animate the whole, and it pleased Almighty God to send that one in the person ol George Washington." There is nothing that requires so strict an econ omy as our benevolence. We should husband our means as the agriculturist his manure, which if he spread over too large a superficies, produces no crop, if over too small a surface, exuberates in rankness and in weeds. The greatest and the most amiable privilege which the rich enjoy over the poor, is that which they exercise the least — the privilege of making them happy 77 EARLY HISTORY OF NEW YORK. Upon the pages of the colonial history of the state of New York, no name appears more con spicuous as a wise and efficient magistrate, than that of Peter Stuyvesant. He was a man pos sessed of strong intellectual powers, refined by education, and an amenity of manners connected with firmness and decision of character, which eminently fitted him to be an actor in the exciting scenes which characterized the colonies at the commencement of his administration. When he assumed the reins of government, the colony of the New Netherlands had enemies to contend with on all sides : the Swedes on the south, the English on the east, and the aborigines on the north and west. We will take a brief vie w^ of the colony from its first settlement till the conclu sion of the administration of Stuyvesant. In 16l4, a commercial company was formed, called " The Amsterdam Licensed Trading West India Company," designed for making settlements upon the river discovered by Hendrick Hudson the previous year, and for trading with the Indi ans. Under the auspices of this company, an ex ploring expedition was fitted out, which discovered Rhode Island, Connecticut river, and other places in the vicinity of Long Island Sound. The next year a small trading house was erected upon an island below Albany, and a fort built upon the island of Manahatta, (New York,) and upon Jer sey City Point. The company made at this time an alliance and treaty with five powerful nations of Indians then occupying the country between Manahatta and the great lakes. Between 1617 and 1620, the company planted colonies at Ber gen, New Jersey ; at Esopus, on the Hudson riv er; and at Schenectada, on the Mohawk river, about sixteen miles from Albany. Thus, by con stantly colonising, the Dutch became possess ed of the whole Atlantic coast from Delaware to Cape Cod, which territory they termed New Netherlands. In 1619, a sect of Christians, called Puritans, had fled from England to the Low Coun tries in Holland, on account of persecution. At the head of these was the Reverend John Robin son. These the Dutch West India Company en couraged to embark for the new world, notwith standing they^ avowed their intention to preserve their nationality here. Toward the close of 1620, they sailed for America, intending to settle and take possession of that portion of the country ly ing between New York bay and the Connecticut river; but adverse winds and currents carried them farther eastward, and they landed at a plaee which they called Plymouth. In 1621, another and more powerful West In dia company was formed in Holland, into which the Licensed Company was merged. This was sustained by the wealth and power of the States general, and under its auspices the settlement of the country rapidly progressed. Cornelius Jaco bus Mey was sent out in command of a large ex pedition, and soon after his arrival, Fort Orange was built where Albany now stands, and Fort Mew Amsterdam where the city of New York now stands. In 1623 — '4, the W. I. company fitted out two ships, in one of which was Peter Minuit, the first governor or director of New Netherlands. With him came a colony of Walloons, who settled at the Waal-bocht, (Wallabout,) a bend of the Long Island shore opposite to New Amsterdam. Gov ernor Minuit, through Isaac de Raiser, his oppe? koopman, or chief merchant or commissary, very much extended the trade of the company with the Indians, and even attracted dealers from the St. Lawrence near Quebec, and the lakes. Com modious buildings were erected at New Amster dam for the officers, soldiers, servants, and slaves of the company, and everything went on flourish ingly. In 1625, Admiral Heyn, employed in the service of the company, captured twenty Spanish vessels in the bay of Mantanzas, by which he gained booty valued at five millions of dollars. Besides these, the company had, during that year, captured one hundred and four prizes from the Spaniards and Portuguese. All of these success es rendered the company the richest and most powerful association in the world ; and the States general found it necessary to interpose some re strictions upon its foreign conquests. In 1629, a council of nine persons was appoint ed by the States general, to have the general control of the colonies, with the governor at their head, who was a member of the council ex-officio. They also issued grants to certain individuals, and a charter of liberties and exemptions for pa- troons, masters and private individuals, who should plant colonies in the New Netherlands, and import neat cattle, &c. In a word, the States general took every means to create a political state in North America, subject as a dependan- cy to Holland. Under this charter, several direc tors of the company made large territorial acqui sitions, under the title of patroons, among whom was Killian Van Rensselaer, whose descendants still own immense tracts of land in the vicinity of Albany, and retain also the title. These patroons sent out Wouter Van Twiller, a clerk of the Amsterdam department, as general agent of their respective territories. David Pie- terson de Vries, an experienced mariner, was ad mitted into the association of patroons on an equal footing, and was sent out to plant a colony on the Delaware for the purpose of cultivating grain and tobacco, and establishing whale and seal fisheries. He reached the Delaware in 1630, planted a colony, and soon after returned to Hol land, leaving the colony in the care of one Osset. But Osset offended the Indians, and the Dutch were all murdered and their buildings burnt to 78 ashes. Thus, not a single European was left upon the shores of the Delaware, twenty-five years after it was discovered. In 1632, Wouter Van Twiller was appointed governor of New Netherlands, in place of Min uit, and under his administration, affairs went on very prosperously. In 1637, a colony of Swedes, under the auspices of Christina, queen of Swe den, and daughter of the great Gustavus Adol- phus, landed upon the shores of Delaware bay. They were under the command of Minuit, the Dutch ex-governor, and went busily to work in erecting buildings for dwellings and fortifications upon Cape Henloopen, (Henlopen,) where they first landed. They purchased the soil of the na tives, from Delaware to the point where the city of Trenton, in New Jersey, now stands. This intrusion, as the Dutch deemed it, awakened their ire and jealousy ; and Kieft, the Dutch gov ernor who had succeeded Van Twiller, remon strated with Minuit. The Swedes claimed the right of purchase, and the Dutch set about dispu ting the right, by erecting a fort upon the Hoeren kill, or Harlot's creek, near the Delaware. In 1640, John Printz, a colonel of cavalry, was appointed governor of the Swedish colony, with full power to ratify the purchase of Minuit, make treaties and in case of hostilities with the Dutch, to maintain his position till the last. But such was not the case, and his whole administration was one of quiet and prosperity. Printz was succeeded by his son-in-law, John Papsego, who, after two years, was succeeded by John Risingh, who presided over the Swedes till they were sub jugated by the Dutch, under Peter Stuyvesant, in 1654. This commander, then governor of New Netherlands, though engaged with his English neighbors and enemies of Connecticut, appeared in the Delaware on the ninth of September, 1654, with nearly seven hundred men, and, without bloodshed, reduced all the Swedish posts, and made the colony a part of the New Netherlands. About 1640, the puritans beforementioned, pur chased of the Indians, lands on the Delaware, but both the Dutch and Swedes considered thern" intruders, and Kieft and Risingh joined in expel ling them. About this time, a colony was dis covered on the Schuylkill, seated under the pat ent of Lord Baltimore, but their right was also disputed by Kieft, and means were used for ex pelling them. In 1647, Stuyvesant succeeded Kieft as governor of New Netherlands, and he at once commenced conciliatory measures with the intruders. A great deal of negotiation was carried on for several years, but to little purpose ; and in 1659, Nathaniel Utie, governor of Maryland, demanded possession of the shores of the Dela ware, by virtue of the patent from the English crown to Lord Baltimore. He at once prepared to use forcible means, and Stuyvesant, firm but cool, resisted all his efforts, by constant negotia tions through commissioners. In the following year Lord Baltimore made a peremptory demand upon the West India Company, to order their colonists to submit to his superior authority. A peremptory refusal was instantly given, and a war seemed inevitable. But the weakness of Maryland, and the future conquests over the Dutch, contemplated by the English; probably prevented hostilities at that time. Nor were the English and Swedes on the south the only enemies with whom the Dutch had to contend. Those of Connecticut were constantly intruding upon the Dutch boundaries, and during the last five years of Kieft's administration, con siderable blood had been shed on both sides. The English having been invited thither by the Dutch with the avowal that they should preserve their nationality, considered themselves independent. They settled upon the banks of the Connecticut and upon the east end of Long Island, and carri ed on quite an extensive trade with the Indians without acknowledging the authority of the Dutch. Such was the case when Kieft was suc ceeded by the brave old officer, Peter Stuyve sant, who was commissioned governor-general of Curacoa and the Dutch West Indies. Governor Stuyvesant at once concluded trea ties of peace and trade with the Indian tribes, and after much negotiation, made an amicable settle ment of the boundary question with the New England or Connecticut colony. But the efforts of the respective colonies to engross each for themselves the Indian trade, kept up a constant jealousy, and an unfounded report gained cre dence among the eastern colonies, that the Dutch governor had incited the Indians to massacre the English. Of this charge Stuyvesant gave an indignant denial ; but the New England colonies were not satisfied, and they determined to com mence a war against the Dutch. They applied to Cromwell, who was then Protector of England, for aid. Cromwell was then at war with Hol land, and he at once complied with their request. An English squadron for the purpose arrived at Boston, in 1654; but peace soon after being con cluded between the Protector and the States general, the orders were countermanded, and the squadron returned to England. Although the States general, and the West India Company had openly denied the pretensions of Lord Baltimore, yet they' gave Stuyvesant private instructions to retire beyond Baltimore's claimed boundary, in case of hostilities. Stuy vesant was much chagrined at this exhibition of the weakness of his superiors, and he solicited that a formal copy of the grant made by the States general to the Company, might be trans mitted to him, that by it, he might efficiently as sert the interests he was bound to defend. But they were too afraid of English power, to grant this request ; and Stuyvesant willing to propitiate 79 the English by honorable means, sent a commis sion to Sir William Berkley, governor of Virgin ia-, proposing a commercial treaty. This treaty was formed, but Berkley carefully avoided the recognition of the territorial pretensions of the Dutch, which Stuyvesant hoped to obtain. When Charles II. was restored after the down fall of Cromwell, the colonists of New Nether lands hoped for a different policy to be exercised toward them by the crown ; and Stuyvesant seiz ed every' opportunity to propitiate the English court. When the pursuers of Goffe and Whal- ley, the judges who condemned Charles I., re quested Stuyvesant not to offer them protection, he readily acquiesced, and agreed to prohibit all vessels from transporting them beyond the reach of pursuers. But this policy had no effect, for Charles, from the moment of his restoration, de termined to bring the Dutch colony in America, under subjection to the British crown. Added to this determination, Charles, viewed the New England colonists, the puritans, with hatred, for they seemed to him a remnant of that faction, who. had murdered his unhappy predecessor, and driven himself into exile ; and he determined to teach them, also,»'that they were not beyond his reach, even in the new world. Stuyvesant saw the storm that was gathering, and made an un successful attempt to engage the New England colonies in an alliance with the Dutch, against a common enemy. While he was personally en gaged in this business, an English fleet approach ed the coast of the New Netherlands, and the governor was obliged to return in haste to the defence of his province. As an excuse for commencing hostilities, ' Charles had endeavored, but unsuccessfully, to provoke the States general. His only excuse left was, that the 'English first discovered and landed upon various parts of the American shore, and laid claim by this priority, to exclusive jurisdic tion over the whole. - In pursuit of his purpose, he gave to his brother, the Duke of York, a grant dated 1664, entitling him to the whole region from the Delaware to the Connecticut river, with out any regard to the Dutch settlements, or the previous charter granted to the Connecticut col ony. Upon this unjust groUnd, did the English monarch found his excuse for commencing hos tilities against the New Netherlands. As soon as Stuyvesant heard of the prepara tions for conquest making by England, he com municated the alarming intelligence to the States general ; hut the only aid they sent him, was the original grant, which they had before denied him. But this was entirely inefficient in combating an expedition so unwarrantable in all its arrange ments and purposes. The command of the fleet, and the government of the province, were given to Colonel Nichols. The fleet touched at Bos ton, where an armed force had been ordered to join it, and immediately proceeded to New Am sterdam. Governor Winthrop of Connecticut, and others, joined the king's standard, and the armament that appeared in New York (then New Amsterdam) bay, consisted of three ships, one hundred and thirty guns, and six hundred men. Governor Stuyvesant was anxious to offer resist ance, notwithstanding the force was superior to his own ; but the peaceful inhabitants regarding the terms of capitulation as exceedingly favora ble were disposed to surrender at once. For sometime Stuyvesant kept up a negotiation, hut to no purpose; and at last an honorable surren der was made. The capitulation was signed by the Commissioners on the twenty-seventh of Au gust, 1664, but the governor could not be brought to ratify it by his signature, until nearly two days afterward. Fort Orange surrendered to Colonel Cartright on the twenty-fourth of September, who confirmed the title of Jeremiah Van Rens selaer, to the manor of Rensselaerwicke. The name of Fort Orange was changed to Albany, and that of New Amsterdam to New York, in honor of the proprietor. Governor Stuyvesant made a voyage to Hol land, and on his return, retired to his estate in the Bowery, in the city of New York, where he spent the remainder of his life* . At his death, he was interred within a chapel which he had erect ed upon his own land. He left behind him an untarnished reputation, and his descendants now enjoy the same honorable name and vast posses sions, bequeathed by this illustrious ancestor. AMERICAN BIOGRAPHY. The following brief memoir of George Clinton, Covernor of New York, we copy from a late number of the New World. It is from the pen of William W. Campbell,Esq. GEORGE CLINTON. George Clinton was born in the precincts of the Highlands in the county of Ulster, near New Windsor, now in the county of Orange, in 1739. His father, Colonel Charles Clinton, was a gentle man of a highly cultivated mind, and by person ally superintending the education of his children, supplied that defect of schools which then existed in that sparsely peopled section of country. In early life. George Clinton evinced that spirit of enterprise and energy which characterized his 80 after history. During the French war, and before he had arrived at his majority, we find him at one time on board a cruiser, and at another filling the station of Lieutenant in a regiment commanded by his father upon the extreme northwestern boundary of the state. In the latter capacity he was at the capture of Fort Frontenac. Soon after he entered as a student at law in the office of William Smith, distinguished as the historian of New York, and afterward chief-justice of Canada. In 1767 he was admitted to the bar and com menced the practice of his profession with great success in Ulster, his native county. Public attention was drawn to him, and in 1768, after a formidable opposition from all the influence of the Crown, he was elected a member of the Colonial Assembly from that county. On the twenty-seventh day of October, he appeared and took his seat, and immediately espoused the colonial cause in that body. On the thirty-first day of December thereafter, the Assembly passed several spirited resolutions, asserting the rights of the Colonial Legislature, and that those rights could not be lawfully abridged by any other power. They were accompanied by petitions, memorials and remonstrances, and led to the dissolution of the Assembly by the Governor, Sir Henry Moore, on the second of January following. On the fourth of April, 1769, George Clinton again appeared and took his seat as a member of the new House of Assembly, then convened ; having again been returned by the inhabitants of Ulster. He continued a member of this Assembly, which was continued by various adjournments and prorogations, down to March, 1775, when on the third of that month, after a warm and anima ted debate upon the great questions then agitating the country, the Colonial Legislature of New York closed its existence. During all this time he was usefully and actively engaged on the side of the people, and took a large share in the bold and vehement discussions of the times. In May following he appeared as a delegate to the Gene ral Congress assembled at Philadelphia, and in January, 1776, he attended an adjourned meeting of that body, having been reappointed a member by the Provincial Convention of New York. On the memorable fourth of July, in that year, he was present and supported by his vote the Declaration of Independence ; but having then recently been appointed a Brigadier-General, he was ordered to the North before that instrument was engrossed, and his name does not therefore appear among the signers. On the twentieth of April, 1777, the State Constitution of New York was adopted, and at the first election in the summer following, he was elected its first Governor. It was a handsome and a merited tribute to his talents and patriotism, and drew forth warm congratulations from his friends and co-workers in the great cause of civil liberty. But the office, to which the partiality and confidence of his fellow-citizens had elevated him, was one of great difficulty and responsibility, and was perhaps the most arduous and important of any in the new Empire, with the exception of that of the commander-in-chief. When the first Legislature convened at Kingston, the whole of the southern part of the State was in the posses sion of the enemy. The people in the north eastern section, now the state of Vermont, were distracted by treasonable operations among them. A numerous army under General Buj. goyne was entering the state upon the north, and large bodies of soldiers and Indians were endeav oring to force their way down the valley of the Mohawk. Under such circumstances the Legislature convened and the Supreme Court held its first regular term. In a letter dated September the eighteenth, in that year, Governor Clinton in writing to the delegates in Congress, say s^" our Legislature have been upon business for a week past — both houses are pretty full, and I have the greatest hopes that the new machine will work well. The first term of our Supreme Court ended last week, on Saturday. It was held with great order and decorum, and I have the pleasure to assure you that the people seem happy under a properly or ganized government." A part only of the plan of the enemy in the campaign of 1777 had developed itself at the as sembling of the Legislature. While Burgoyne was endeavoring to force his way from Canada, Sir Henry Clinton, with a strong force, left New York with a view of passing up the Hudson and forming a junction with him at or near Albany. Such a junction would have severed the Union and jeoparded the liberties of the country. It was a critical period for the state, and called for all the energy and firmness of him who had been elected its Chief Magistrate. Governor Clinton immediately, upon learning the designs of the enemy, prorogued the Legislature, and issuing orders for the assembling of the militia, threw himself with a handful of men, into the forts which commanded the passes of the Highlands. The actual as well as the nominal head of the militia, he considered the post of danger as his own. The militia had, however, been harassed and worn out with the fatigues of the summer. Many of them had gon$ to the north, and others had re turned to their homes ; so that on the sixth of October only six hundred men, continentals and militia.were in the forts Montgomery and Clinton. On that day an attack was made upon both of these forts by the army under Sir Henry Clinton, numbering by estimate four thousand men. The attack lasted from ten o'clock until dark. About an hour before sunset Governor Clinton was summoned to surrender fort Montgomery in five minutes, " but his gallant spirit sternly refused to obey the call." An incessant fire was then kept up until dark, when as the night closed in, a vio lent assault was made, which was received by the Americans with undismayed courage. , But their resistance was in vain. Overpowered by num bers, they were forced to yield, and the lines and redoubts were carried by the enemy, at the point of the bayonet. Many of the Americans fought their way out — others mixed with the" enemy and escaped by reason of the darkness. Governor Clinton, availing himself of hisknowledge of the country, succeeded In crossing the river and re tiring to a place of safety. No one regretted the loss of these important 81 posts more than Governor Clinton himself. In a letter to General Washington, dated October the ninth, 1777, after adverting to the ineffectual efforts which he had made to collect the militia, and stating that he had not been properly rein forced, he concludes by saying: — " I have only to add that where great losses are sustained, how ever unavoidable, public censure is generally the consequence to those who are immediately con cerned. If in the present instance this should be the case, I wish, so far as relates to the loss of Fort Montgomery and its dependences, it may fall on me alone, for I would be guilty of the greatest injustice, were I not to declare that the officers and men under me, of the different corps, behaved with the greatest spirit and bravery." No censure, however, rested upon him or upon the men under his command. Under all the cir cumstances, the defence was considered a brave tygcd gallant one, and drew from General Gates a"Sd other officers, letters of high commendation. Immediately after the loss of the forts, Gover nor Clinton collected together the scattered troops and militia and watched the movements of the enemy Until their return to New York. He wrote to General Gates desiring him to order down some part of the army under his command to form a junction with him, by which he might prevent the advance of Sir Henry Clinton upon Albany. The subsequent events of the campaign rendered such a movement unnecessary. During the remainder of the war, Governor Clinton continued at the head of the State of New York as its chief magistrate, and divided his time between the discharge of his duties to the State and to the Union. He enjoyed, in an eminent degree, the confidence and friendship of General Washington. In May, 1779, the latter in writing to him says : — " The readiness with which you comply with all my requests in prosecution of the public service, has a claim to my warmest ac knowledgements." After the war, when General Washington had retired to his seat at Mount Vernon, he continued a correspondence with Governor Clinton, in which he manifested anew his warm regard for him. In a letter, dated at Mount Vernon, Decembertwenty- eighth, 1783, he says : — "I am now a private citi zen, on the banks of the Potomac, where I shall be happy to see you if your public business would ever permit, and where, in the meantime, I shall fondly cherish the remembrance of all your former friendship. Although I scarcely need tell you how much I have been satisfied with every in stance of your public conduct, yet I could not suffer Colonel Walker to depart for New York, without giving your Excellency one more testi mony of the obligations I consider myself under, for the spirited and able assistance I have often derived from the state under your administration. The scene is at last closed. I feel myself eased of a load- of public care. I hope to spend the re mainder of my days in cultivating the affections of good men, and in the practice of the domestic virtues. Permit me still to consider you in the number of my friends, and to wish you every felicity." In the following year, Governor Clinton, 11 in company with General Washington, made u tour through the State of New York, and, passing up the valley of the Mohawk, visited some of the scenes which have been rendered memorable by the contests and privations and trials of the war which had then recently terminated. They were everywhere received with the attention and re spect to which their eminent stations and distin guished virtues entitled them. During that tour, the capabilities of New York for inland navigation formed a prominent subject of investigation and inquiry. They examined the carrying places between the Mohawk and Wood Creek, and between the former river anu the sources of the Susquehanna. Even then may have been shadowed to their minds the dim out line of that great enterprise which has identified the illustrious nephew of Governor Clinton with the internal improvement of the state. In 1788, George Clinton was unanimously chosen president of the convention which met to deliberate upon the new Constitution of the Union. He was six times elected Governor,and filled that office for eighteen years. In 1804 he was elected Vice-President of the United States, in which distinguished station he continued until his death, which took place on the twentieth of April, 1812, at the city of Washington. While Governor, his administration was characterized by integrity, energy, and a vigilant attention to the public iir- terests. As, Vice-President he presided with dignity and firmness, and in all his relations in life sustained, the character of an excellent man and a good citizen. The few aged people who yet survive, and who shared with him the toils and trials of war, and the perplexities and diffi culties attendant upon the organization of a new government, still hold him in fond remembrance. The pioneers to the western Dart of the State shared largely in his kindest sympathies and good wishes, and were often the objects of his benev olence and care. In the words of De Witt Clinton, " As a public character, he will live in the veneration of pos terity, and the progress of time will thicken the laurels that surround his monument. The char acteristic virtues which distinguished his life ap peared in full splendor in the trying hour of death, and he died, as he lived, without fear and without reproach." ROBERT FULTON. Mr. Fulton is acknowledged to have been among the most distinguished men of his age. His successful exertions to furnish a means of trans portation which " brings the inhabitants of the world nearer each other," have shed upon his name a lus tre that must be visible to the latest posterity. We do not propose here to examine how closely the ef forts of his genius are connected with the happiness of mankind, even where they seem most remote, but simply to afford a brief sketch of his life as an accompaniment to his portrait. Robert Fulton was born in the town of Little Britain, in the county of Lancaster, state of Penn sylvania, in the year 1765, of a respectable though not opulent family. He was the third child and eldest son. His peculiar genius manifested itself at 82 ROBERT FULTON. From a Painting bj Inman. an early age, in an irrepressible taste for drawing and mechanism. At the age of twenty-one he was intimate with Franklin. He had previously painted portraits and landscapes in Philadelphia, and deriv ed considerable profit from it. Soon after he sailed for England, with the view of seeking Mr. West's assistance in the prosecution of his art. That great painter took him into his family, where he remained several years. In 1793, Mr. Fulton was actively en gaged in a project to improve inland navigation. Even at that time he had conceived the idea of pro pelling vessels by steam. In 1804, he had acquired innch valuable information upon the subject, and written it down, as well as much concerning his own life, and sent many manuscripts from Paris to this country, but the vessel was wrecked and most of the papers destroyed. About this period the subject of canals seems to have been the principal object of his attention, although he made many valuable inven tions, and wrote numerous essays, characterized by strong talent and deep knowledge. His works were not indeed confined to scientifick topicks, but he fur nished other essays which were greatly praised. The characteristic]* features of his mind were ardour arid perseverance. When Napoleon held the power of France, Mr. Fulton engaged in several schemes under the auspices of the first consul, for an account of which, we refer the reader to the Memoir of Mr. Cadwallader D. Colden. In 1806, Mr. Fulton em barked at Falmouth, and arrived at New York, by way of Halifax, on the thirteenth of December. Upon his arrival in this country, he immediately commenced his arduous exertions in the cause of practical science, and among other subjects which occupied his mind, was that of steam navigation. He had been long engaged in Europe in an attempt to introduce a vessel or torpedo to be used in war, for the purposes of destroying the marine enemy. Here is a curious anecdote of him at this time : — " He had not been landed in America a month, before he went to the seat of government, to propose to the administration to enable him to prosecute a set of experiments with his torpedoes. He found .\;i Madison, then secretary of stated and the secretary of the navy, Mr. Smith, much disposed to encourage his attempts, the success of which Mr. Fulton, by his ingenious models and drawings, with al 83 would be the great advantages of steam-boats, on the targe and extensive rivers of the United States. He nad applied himself with uncommon perseverance; and at great expense, to .constructing vessels and machinery for that kind of navigation. As early as seventeen hundred and ninety-eight, he believed that he had accomplished his object, and represented to the legislature of the state of New York, that he was possessed of a mode of applying the steam- engine to proper a boat, on new and advantageous principles ;' but he was deterred from carrying it into effect, by the- uncertainty and hazard of a very ex pensive experiment, unless he could be assured of an exclusive advantage from it, should it be found successful. " The legislature in March, 1798, passed an act vesting Mr. Livingston with the exclusive right and privilege of navigating all kinds of boats which might be propelled by the force of fire or steam, on all the waters within the territory or jurisdiction of the state of New York, for .a term of twenty years from the passing of the act ; upon condition that he should within a twelvemonth build such a boat, the mean of whose progress should not be less than four miles an hour. "The bill was introduced into the house of as sembly by Dr. Mitchell, he then being a representa tive from this city. ' Upon this occasion,' says Dr. Mitchell, in a letter with which he has favoured me, ' the wags and the lawyers in the house were gener ally opposed to my bill. I had to encounter all their jokes, and the whole of their logick. One main ground of their objection was, that it was an idle and whimsical project, unworthy of legislative attention.' " A venerable friend, who was a member of the senate at that time, has described the manner in which this application from Mr. Livingston was re ceived by the legislature. He said it was a stand ing subject of ridicule throughout the session, and whenever there was a disposition in any of the younger members to indulge a little levity, they would call up the steam-boat bill, that they might divert themselves at the expense of the project and its advocates. " Mr. Livingston, immediately after the passage of this act, built a boat of about thirty tuns' burden, vvhich was propelled by steam ; but as she was in competent to fulfil the condition of the law, she was abandoned, and he for the time relinquished the project. j^> "Though Mr. Livingston, previously to his con nexion with Mr. Fulton, had done more than any other person towards establishing steam-boats, and though his experiments had_ been moret expen sive, and more successful, than any we have heard of, yet he was not among those who founded, on their fruitless attempts, a claim to be the inventors of navigation by steam, and whose opposition to Mr. Fulton has been very generally in proportion to the variety and ill success of their schemes. The worst project has generally been the most expensive, and on that account the worst projector seems to have considered his claim as the highest. " On the contrary, Mr. Livingston availed himself of every opportunity of acknowledging Mr. Fulton's merits ; and when he was convinced that Mr. Ful ton's experiments had evinced the justness of his principles, they entered, into a contract, by which it was, among other things, agreed, that a patent should be taken out in the United States, in Mr. Fulton's name, which Mr. Livingston well knew could not be done without Mr. Fulton's taking an oath that the improvement was solely his. " In the American Medical and Philosophical Register, there is a piece published under the title of ' An Historical Account of the Application of Steam for the Propelling of Boats.' This was drawn up by Mr. Livingston, and addressed to Doctors Ho- sack and Francis, the editors of that journal. He very candidly acknowledges that all his efforts had been unavailing. He explains the nature of the con nexion between him and Mr. Fulton, and shows what part that gentleman performed in the experi ments which led to the accomplishment of their ob ject. As this account, from Chancellor Livingston himself, must be very satisfactory, we shall present a part of it in an extract from the learned and valua ble work we have just mentioned. "'Robert R.Livingston, Esq. when minister in France, met with Mr. Fulton, and they formed that friendship and connexion with each other, to which a similarity of pursuits generally gives birth. He communicated to Mr. Fulton the importance of steam-boats to their common country ; informed him of what had been attempted in America, and of his resolution to resume the pursuit on his return, and advised him to turn his attention to the subject. It was agreed between them to embark in the enter prise, and immediately to make such experiments as would enable them to determine how far, in spite of former failures, the object was attainable : the prin cipal direction of these experiments was left to Mr. Fulton, who united, in a very considerable degree, practical to a theoretical knowledge of mechanicks. "'After trying a variety of experiments on a small scale, on models of his own invention, it was under stood that he had developed the true principles upon which steam-boats should be built, and for the want of knowing which, all previous experiments had failed. But as these two gentlemen both knew, that many things which were apparently perfect when tried on a small scale, failed when reduced to prac tice upon a large one, they determined to go to the expense of building an operating boat upon the Seine. This was done in the year 1 803, at their joint expense, under the direction of Mr. Fulton ; and so fully evinced the justness of his principles, that it was immediately determined to enrich their country by the valuable "discovery, as soon as they should meet there, and in the meantime to order an engine to be made in England. On the arrival at New York of Mr. Fulton, which was not till 1806, they immediately engaged in building a boat of, what was then thought, very considerable dimensions. " ' This boat began to navigate the Hudson river in 1807 ; its progress through the water was at the rate of five miles an hour. " ' In the course of the ensuing winter, it was en larged to a boat of one hundred arid forty feet keel, and sixteen and a half feet beam. The legislature of the state were so fully convinced of the great utility of the invention, and of the interest the state had in its encouragement, that they made a new contract with Mr. Livingston and Mr. Fulton, by which. they extended the term of their exclusive right, five years to every additional boat they should 84 build; provided the whole term should not exceed thirty years ; in consequence of which, they have added two boats to the North river boat ; (besides those that have been built by others under their license,) the Car of Neptune, which is a beautiful vessel of about three hundred tuns' burden, and the Paragon of three hundred and fifty tuns.' " It is well known, that this great man, after having devoted his time and genius to the service of his country and of mankind, was harassed by lawsuits and controversies with those who were violating his patent rights, or intruding upon his exclusive grants. Laws had been passed by the New York legislature, lor the protection of the right of Livingston and Fulton, and for the promotion of their pecuniary re muneration, but bold attempts were made for their repeal. A petition to that effect was submitted to a committee, who handed in a report, which conclud ed by proposing a bill containing such provisions as might in their opinion be passed consistently with the faith, honour, and justice of the state. " The proposed bill declared that nothing in the acts passed in favour of Livingston and Fulton, should be so construed as to affect the right which any persons might have to use the invention of the steam-boat, or any improvement thereon, which had been, or might thereafter be, patented under the laws of the United States ; provided, that in such use, they did not interfere with any invention, or improve ment, lawfully secured by the prior acts, or any of them. "It is to be observed that this provision is a mere nullity ; none of the acts referred to by it, did secure, or even pretend to secure, any invention ; so that the law proposed by the committee was in effect an en tire repeal of the exclusive grants to Livingston and Fulton ; and Daniel Dod, with his patented ap plication of the engine to cranks, or any other pa tentee equally meritorious, might, if the law had passed, have freely navigated the waters of this state by steam. " When Livingston and Fulton had spent an im mense sum of money in the establishment of their magnificent boats — when they had not realized a cent for their enterprise — but, on the contrary, were largely in debt on that account, this law was recom mended to the legislature as one that might be pass ed consistently with good faith, honour, and justice! " Upon this report being made to the house, it was prevailed upon to be less precipitate than the com mittee had been. It gave time, which the commit tee would not do, for Mr. Fulton to be sent for from New York. The senate and assembly in joint ses sion examined witnesses, and heard him, and the petitioner, by counsel. The result was, that the legislature refused to repeal the prior law, or to pass any act on the subject. " It was upon this occasion that his friend, Mr. Emmet, who appeared as his counsel at the bar of the house, at the conclusion of his speech, made that address . to Fulton, which has been so much spoken of, and which was at once such an evidence of warmth of heart, rectitude of principle, and of superiour abilities. We do not pretend to give it in the very words he made use of, nor can it now have the effect, which his oratoiy and circumstances pro duced when it was delivered ; but so far as it is in our power, we will endeavour to preserve it, as a just tribute to our departed friend, and as a memorial of the abilities of his advocate. " Mr. Emmet, having said that he had concluded the observations which he proposed to make, as well against the petition, as the report of the committee ; and that he had submitted their force with respectful confidence to the deliberation of the legislature, turn ed towards Mr. Fulton, and addressed him as fol lows : — ' I know and feel, and I rejoice in the con viction, that, for the present at least your interests, m'y friend, are perfectly secure ; but do not", there fore, flatter yourself that you will be involved in no future difficulties on the same account. Those whom I have just addressed, will certainly decide with en lightened liberality and a scrupulous regard to pub lick faith ; but their power and authority will pass away. Your present antagonist, I also hope, will become convinced by this discussion, of the impro priety of his application, and refrain from repeating it ; but interest and avarice will still raise up against you many enemies. You rely too implicitly on the strength of your rights, and the sanctity of the obli gations on which they are founded. You expect too much from your well-earned reputation, and the ac knowledged utility to mankind of your life and labours. You permit your mind to be engrossed^ with vast and noble plans for the publick good. You are incon siderately sinking your present income, in the exten sion of publick accommodation, by steam-boats. You are gratuitously giving your time and talents to the construction of that great national object, your stupendous invention for maritime defence, which in itself is calculated to effect a revolution in naval warfare. You are profusely lavishing what the in tense and unremitted study of years has acquired for you, in investigations and experiments tending to the same purpose. Your knowledge and your fortune are freely bestowed upon every thing that can con tribute to the advancement of science, or of the ele gant and useful arts. I admire and applaud you for your readiness to devote to the service of the pub lick, the opulence you derive from its grateful re muneration. Let me remind you, however, that you have other and closer ties. I know the pain I am about to give, and I see the tears I make you shed — but by that love I speak — by that love, which, like the light of heaven, is refracted in rays of different strength upon your wife and children ; which when collected and combined, forms the sunshine of your soul ; by that love I do adjure you, provide in time for those dearest objects of your care. Think not I would instil into your generous mind a mean or sor did notion ; but now, that wealth is passing through your hands, let. me entreat you, hoard it while you have it. Artful speculators will assuredly arise, with patriotism on their tongues, and selfishness in their hearts, who may mislead some future legislature by false and crafty declamations against the prodigality of their predecessors — who, calumniating or con cealing your merits, will talk loudly of your monop oly — who will represent it as a grievous burden on the community, and not a compensation for signal benefits ; who will exaggerate your fortune, and pro pose, in the language of Marat to the French con vention, " Let the scythe of equality move over the republick." In a moment of delusion, (unless some department of our government shall constitutionally \ interpose an adamantine barrier against national pei- 85 fidy and injustice,) such men may give your property to the winds, and your person to your creditors. Then, indeed, those who know your worth and ser vices, will speak of your downfall, as of that porten tous omen, which marked ' a people's degradation, and the successful crime of an intruder : — A falcon, towering in his pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed. Yes, my friend ! my heart bleeds while I utter it ; but I have fearful forebodings that you may hereafter find in publick faith a broken staff for youi support, and receive from publick gratitude, a broken heart for your reward.' ,- " In January, 1815, Mr. John R. Livingston, who owned the steam-boat which plied between New York and New Jersey, but which was stopped by the operation of the Jersey laws, petitioned the leg islature of that state for their repeal. After hearing witnesses and counsel for several days, the laws were rescinded. Qn this occasion Mr. Fulton was examined as a witness. The weather while he was at Trenton, where he was much exposed in attend ing the hall of the legislature, was uncommonly cold. When he was crossing the Hudson to return to his house and family, the river was very full of ice, which occasioned his being several hours on the water in a very severe day. Mr. Fulton had not a constitution to encounter such an exposure, and upon his return he found- himself much indisposed from the effects of it. He had at that time great anxiety about the steam-frigate, and after confining himself for a few days, when he was convalescent, he went to give his superintendence to the artificers employ ed about her -. he forgot his debilitated state of health in the interest he took in what was doing on the frigate, and was a long time, in a bad day, ex posed to the weather on her decks. He soon found the effects of this imprudence. His indisposition returned upon him with such violence as to confine him to his bed. His disorder increased, and on the twenty-fourth day of February, 1815, terminated his valuable life." We have already availed ourselves of the work of Mr. Golden. We shall conclude this outline biography by that gentleman's picture of Mr. Fulton's private circumstances, manners, appearance and character. " Mr. Fulton, in contributing his propdrtion to the establishment of the magnificent boats on the Hud son, each of which cost from forty to sixty thousand, and the last one which has been built, upwards of a hundred thousand dollars, expended immense sums of money. The experiments he was always making, required very large disbursements, and the lawsuits in which he was incessantly engaged, from the mo ment his boats were seen in successful operation, were very expensive. From his patents he never derived the advantage of a single cent; but, on the contrary, in consequence of the misconduct or mis take of some of the agents he employed to construct boats to run under his patent right, and which he had contracted to furnish to some steamJboat companies, he was involved in losses to a very great amount. Owing to these circumstances, though he lived with out ostentation or extravagance, he left his estate most excessively involved. His patent rights are so far expired, that if the law had afforded: a protection which would ever have rendered them of any value they would now be worth nothing ; and although Mr. Fulton has not lived to see the fulfilment of the an ticipations of Mr. Emmet, yet, certain it is, that un less some stability.be given to the exclusive grants from this state, the only patrimony of his children will be, that load of debt which their parent con tracted in those pursuits that ought to command the gratitude, as they do the admiration of mankind. " Mr. Fulton was about six feet high. His person was slender, but finely proportioned, and well form ed. Nature had made him a gentleman, and bestow ed upon him ease and gracefulness. He had too much good sense for the least affectation ; and a modest confidence in his own worth and talents, gave him an unembarrassed deportment in all com panies. His features were strong and of a manly beauty : he had large dark eyes, and a projecting brow, expressive of intelligence and thought : his temper was mild and his disposition lively : he was fond of society, which he always enlivened by cheerful, cordial manners, and instructed or pleased by his sensible conversation. He expressed himself with energy, fluency, and correctness, and as he owed more to his own experience and reflections than to books, his sentiments were often interesting from their originality. " In all his domestic!* and social relations he was zealous, kind, generous, liberal, and affectionate. He knew of no use for money but as it was subser vient to charity, hospitality, and the sciences. But what was most conspicuous in his character, was his calm constancy, his industry, and that indefatiga ble patience and perseverance, which always enabled him to overcome difficulties. " He was decidedly a republican. The deter mination which he often avowed, that he would never accept an office, is an evidence of that disin terestedness of his politicks ;, but his zeal for his opinions or party did not extinguish his kindness fot the merits of his opponents. Society will long re member and regret him ; but he will be most lament ed by those by whom he was best known." STANZAS. ' Men toil, Anil bards hum what they call their midnight taper, To fiain, when the original is dust, A name."— Byron. What is it ? Fancy's glittering crown, That lures the young aspirant on, The laurel chaplet of renown, That's gained at last when life is gone. Yes , youth and hope are ever twain, That spring and bud and die united ; For when the flower of one we gain, InstcaJ of bloom, we find it blighted. Life's early dream ! 'jwas dazzling bright, Fit for a poet's glowing story; Fame open d to my raptured sight Her portals, honour — fortune — glory ! I toiled for all — still beams the 'light That lures me onward, though each flower Of hope, has felt cold sorrow's blight, And wither'd lies in study's bower. Yet so it is — to reach the goal Of bright renown and deathless fame Still throbs man's ardent, eager soul, To gain when he is dust— a name 86 SKETCH OF BRANT. (From the Review of Stone's Life of Brant.) Joseph Brant or Thayendanegea, as he de lighted to write himself, was born in the year 1742, a full-blooded Mohawk of the Wolf tribe. Being the son of a chieftain, he commenced his career as a warriour at an early age, and when a lad of thir teen, was present with his elder brothers at the memorable battle of Lake George, when Baron Dieskau fell mortally wounded. Some years after this, when Sir William Johnson, having lost his first wife, took Brant's sister, ' Miss Molly,' under his protection, as is mentioned in the interesting .me moir of Mrs. Grant of Laggan, the baron, in patroni sing the other members ofuhe family, sent Joseph to the missionary school of Doctor Wheelock, in Connecticut ; upon returning from which, at the ex piration of two or three years, Sir William assigned him a share of his duties in the extensive Indian agency which he conducted. We find Brant next in the field, in the campaign of the English, with Pontiac, the celebrated Tawaw or Ottawa chief of Michigan, who at one time so nearly annihilated the British power in the Northwest. In this war, (ac cording to the narrative of President Whoelock,/rai- lished in 1767!) "he behaved so like the Christian and the soldier, as to give him great esteem." In the former character, we find him soon after the close of this campaign, aiding an Episcopal cler gyman in translating the,,Book of Common Prayer in the Mohawk language, and regularly receiv ed the communion in the church. Upon the death of Sir William Johnson, who was succeeded in his title and estate by his son John, (the celebra ted British partisan of the revolution,) and in his su- perintendency of the Indian department by his son- in-law, Col. Guy Johnson, Brant was advanced to the important post of secretary of the superintendent ; thus imbodying in his own person the influence of an Indian chief, and the actual conduct of the affairs of the agency of the confederate Six Nations, and their allies. The talents of Brant in this capacity, seem to have been of great use to his principal, in his difficult task of keeping the Indians loyal to the British crown when the revolution broke out a few years after ward. Upon the first popular commotion, Guy Johnson, who at an earlyvday embroiled himself with his neighbours, by intruding with a band of armed retainers into an assemblage of the people, retired with his secretary from his seat of Guy Park, on the Mohawk, to Oswego, where he convened the grand council of the Six Nations, and commenced that tampering with their neutrality, which ultimate-' ly led all of the Cantons, except the Oneidas, to take up arms for the crown. From hence the superin tendent crossed to Canada, with Brant and other leading chieftains, whose loyalty was further con firmed by an interview with Sir Guy Carleton, af terward Lord Dorchester. Sir John Johnson had, in the meantime, fortified the baronial hall at Johnstown with swivels, and raised a band among his tenantry, consisting chiefly of Catholick Scotch highlanders ; which force, amount ing to some five hundred armed retainers, enabled him to set the country people at defiance, and insult the magistrates of the county with impunity. To break up tnis nest of the disaffected, General Schuyler was detached by the Continental Congress, with a force of three thousand militia. The Indians along the Mohawk seemed disposed to interfere with the sum- mary ousting of their friends ; but Col. Guy John son, with Brant, and their other principal leaders, being absent in Canada, they did not venture upon doing more than remonstrate with General Schuyler, who, after persuading them that his objects were en tirely " peaceable," advanced upon Johnstown, and called upon the baronet to break up his band of re tainers, surrender his arms, and give eight hostages for the good behaviour of the tenantry. Among the terms of surrender the following reads very quaintly at this day : — " Secondly. General Schuyler, out of personal respect for Sir John, and from a regard to his rank, consents that Sir John shall retain for his own use, a complete set of armour, and as much powder as may be sufficient for domestick purposes." The parley lasted for several days, Johnson evi dently wishing to gain time ; but was at last brought to a summary conclusion by Schuyler's sending Colonel Duer,.and two other gentlemen, with his ultimatum, and enclosing a passport for Lady John son, desiring her instantly to leave the hall. In the last copy of terms, we find the following brief reply to one of the stipulations of Johnson : — "General Schuyler never refused a "gentleman his sidearms." , The parley commenced on the sixteenth of the month, and on the twentieth General Schuyler para ded his troops ; and the Highlanders having marched out and grounded their arms, " were dismissed, with an exhortatidn to remain peaceable, and with an as surance of protection if they did so." Sir John, however, did not observe the compact of neutrality nor the obligations of his parole. He soon after fled to Canada under the escort of a par ty of Mohawks, was immediately commissioned a colonel in the British service, and from the loyalists of Tryon county, raised a command of two battal ions, being that desperate band of tories afterward so well known in the revolutionary warfare of New York, as " Johnson's Greens ;" whose colours were adopted by Brant, and with whom he fought side by side upon the bloody field of Oriskany. Brant, in the meantime, had sailed for England in company with Captain Tice, a British officer; where we find him most oddly placed as the intimate friend of James Boswell, and the Earl of Warwick. He sat for his portrait to Romney for the Earl; and " Bozzy" appears to have subsequently corre sponded with him. His loyalty being strengthened by an interview with George the Third, at which he presented himself in full Indian costume, Brant re- embarked again for America, where he was privately landed somewhere in the neighbourhood of New York, whence he performed a very hazardous jour- . ney to Canada ; having, of course, to steal his way through a hostile population until he could hide him self in the forests beyond Albany. " He had taken the precaution, however, in England, to provide ev idence of the identity of his body in case of disaster, or of his fall in any of the battles he anticipated, by procuring a gold finger-ring with his name engraved BRANT. 89 thereon at full length." Within a few weeks after retouching his native shores, Brant, now a regular commissioned captain in the British service, had an opportunity of taking up the hatchet in earnest. He led a force of six hundred Indians in the affair of the Cedars,, and in this, his first field against, the patriot forces, exhibited that humanity after victory, which repeatedly distinguished him afterward. The late Colonel M'Kinstry, of Livingston's Manor, whose intimacy continued with the chief until the decease of the latter, was rescued by him from torture and death, when wounded and a prisoner in the hands of the Indians. This was in 1776, and on the following year we find Brant, after collecting a large body of Indians at Oguaga,,^ ascending the Susquehannah with about eighty followers of Unadilla, where he requested an interview with the clergyman of the place, and offi cers of militia in the neighbourhood, stating that the object of his visit was to^ procure provisions for his people, and that if they were not at once supplied, his Indians would take them by force. Advantage was taken of the interview to sound the chief as to his future intentions, but he refused to commit him self in his replies. " The Mohawks," he said, " were as free as the air they breathed, and were de termined to remain so." Being supplied with provisions by the country people, the forces of Brant continued to increase so rapidly, that the minds of the people were kept in a state of feverish excitement and ceaseless uncer tainty : — " Thus, on the 10th of June, Colonel Harper wrote urgently to General Herkimer for a supply of ammu nition, in the expectation of an immediate hostile eruption of Brant into the valley of the Schoharie kill. On the 13th, the Cherry Valley committee wrote to the general a still more alarming letter. — Brant, according to this statement, in connection with some of th« loyalists of Unadilla, had marked a path directly through the forest to Esopus, by which route the tories of Ulster and Orange counties were to join his forces at Oghkwaga ; at which place the chief had vaunted that he would not fear the approach of three thousand men. On the other hand, Major Fonda wrote, on the 19th of June, that an embassy of chiefs and sachems of the Cayuga and Seneca nations, having repaired to Oghkwaga to remonstrate with Thayendanegea against farther hostilities, the latter had determined to listen to their councils, and withdraw into the Cayuga country. — In pursuance of this policy, it was added, on what was esteemed good authority, that the Mohawk chief had released a prisoner with his own hands, telling the captors that they had acted wrong." Such was the uncertain condition of things when the expedition under consideration was commenced. Brant and Herkimer had been near neighbours and personal friends before the troubles came on, and it is possible the general still cherished a belief that he might yet detach the dusky warriour from the cause he had embraced, but nevertheless might not be disinclined to relinquish. - Perhaps he designed nothing more than to drive him from his equivocal position. Perhaps, also, should opportunity be pre sented, it was his intention to seize his person. — But be these suppositions as they may, it will be 12 seen that there was at least one moment in which he contemplated a more decisive course. " It was a full week after the arrival of General Herkimer at Unadilla, before Captain Brant made his appearance. He came to the neighbourhood of the general's encampment, accompanied by five hun dred warriours. Having halted, he despatched a runner to General Herkimer, with a message, desi ring to be informed of the object of his visit. Gene ral Herkimer replied, that he had merely come to see and converse with his brother, Captain Brant. The quickwitted messenger inquired if all those men wished to talk to his chief too. However, he said he would carry his talk back to his chief, but he charged him that he must not cross the field up on the margin of which they were standing, and departed. But an arrangement was soon made, through the agency of messengers, by which a meeting was effected. The scene exhibited at this interview, as related by those who were present -at it, was novel and imposing. The hostile parties were now encamped within the distance of two miles from each other. About midway between their encampments, a temporary shed was erected, sufficiently extensive to allow some two hundred persons to be seated. By mutual stipulation, their arms were to be left in their respective encamp ments. Soon after the adjustment of the prelimina ries and the completion of the fixtures abovemen- tioned, the chief of the Mohawks himself appeared in the edge of the distant forest, and approached the place designated, already in the occupation of Her kimer somewhat warily, accompanied by Captain Bull, (a tory,) William Johnson, (son of Sir Wil liam, by Brant's sister Mary,) a subordinate chief of the Mohawks, an Indian woman, and also by about forty warriours. After some little parleying, a cir cle was formed by General Herkimer, into which Brant and the general entered, together with the other Indian chief, and two of Herkimer's officers. After the interchange of a few remarks, the chieftain, keeping an eagle-eye upon his visiter, inquired the reason why he had been thus honoured. General Herkimer replied as he had done to the avant- courier, that he had come to see him on a friendly visit. " And all these have come on a friendly visit too ?" replied the chief; "all want to see the poor Indians ; it is very kind," he added, with a sarcas- tick curl of the lip. General Herkimer expressed a desire to go forward to the village, but the chief told him he was quite near enough, and that he must not proceed any farther. " The general next endeavoured to enter into con versation with the Mohawk touching the difficulties with England, in order to ascertain his feelings and intentions. The conference now became earnest and animated, although the chief at first gave Her kimer evasive and oracular answers. To a question, however, put to him directly, he finally replied that " the Indians were in concert with the king, as their fathers had been ; that the king's belts were yet lodged with them, arid they could not violate their pledge ; that General Herkimer and his followers had joined the Boston people against their sover eign ; that although the Boston people were reso lute, yet the king would humble them , that General Schuyler was very smart on the Indians at the treaty of German Flats, but at the same time was not ablo 90 to afford the smallest article of clothing ; and finally, that the Indians had formerly made war on the white people when they were all united ; and as they were now divided the Indians were not fright ened." " Colonel Cox, who was in the suite of General Herkimer, then made a few remarks, the substance of which was, that if such was the fixed determina tion of the Indians, nothing further need be said. — But his manner, or some of the expressions uttered by the colonel, which have not been preserved, gave offence to the chief. He was exceedingly irritated; and by a signal to the warriours attending him at a short distance, they ran back to their encampment, and soon afterward appeared again with their rifles, several of which were discharged, while the shrill warwhoop rang through the forest ; meantime, how ever, by explanation or otherwise, the chief was soothed, and his warriours were kept at a proper distance, although the demand of General Herkimer for the surrender of sundry tories was peremptorily refused. The conference ended by an agreement between the parties to meet again at nine o'clock the following morning. General Herkimer and his forces, forbidden to advance any farther, encamped as before. " The next morning, General Herkimer called one of his most trusty men aside, Joseph Waggoner by name, for the purpose of communicating to him, in confidence, a matter of great importance, respect ing which the most profound secrecy was enjoined. He then informed Waggoner that he had selected him and three others to perform a high and impor tant duty, requiring promptness, courage and decis ion. His design, the general said, was to take the lives of Brant and his three attendants, on the re newal of their visit the next morning. For this pur pose, he should rely upon Waggoner and his three associates, on the arrival of the chief and his friends within the circle as on the preceding day, each to select his man, and, at a concerted signal, shoot them down upon the spot. There is something so revolting — so rank and foul — in this project of med itated treachery, that it is difficult to reconcile it with the known character of General Herkimer. And yet it is given on the written authority of Waggoner himself, whose character was equally respectable. The patriotick veteran, in devising such a scheme, had probably reasoned himself into the belief that the intended victims were only Indians, and that in the emergency of the country, it would be justifiable to do evil that good might come. It was, however, a most reprehensible scheme. * * * Indian that he was, there is no known act of perfidy chargeable upon Brant ; and he had met Herkimer on his own invitation. A betrayal of his confidence, under those circumstances, would have brought a stain up on the character of the provincials which all the waters of the Mohawk could not have washed away. " Fortunately, however, the design was not carri ed into execution. Whether the wary chieftain en tertained any suspicions of foul play, is not known. But, certain it is, that his precaution and his bearing, when he arrived at Herkimer's quarters, were such as to frustrate the purpose. As he entered the cir cle, attended as before, he drew himself up with dignity, and addressed General Herkimer as fol lows : — ' I have five hundred warriours with me armed and ready for battle. You are in my power but as we have been friends and neighbours, I will not take the advantage of you.' Saying which at a signal, a host of armed warriours darted forth from the contiguous forest, all painted and ,ready for the onslaught, as the well-known warwhoop but too clearly proclaimed. The chief continued the dis course by advising the general to go back to his own home — thanked him for his civility in coming thus far to see him, and told him that perhaps he might one day return the compliment. Meantime, he said he would go back to'his village, and for the present the general might rest assured that no hostilities should be committed by the Indians. He then re quested that the Rev. Mr. Stuart, the English mis sionary at Fort Hunter, might be permitted to retire into Canada, as also the wife of Colonel Butler To these requests General Herkimer assented, al though the latter was not complied with. He then presented the Indians with ten or a dozen heads of cattle, which they fell upon and slaughtered incon tinently. Brant himself turned proudly away, and buried himself in the forest ; while General Her kimer struck, his tents, and retraced his steps to the valley of the Mohawk. " Thus terminated this most singular conference ' It was early in July and the morning was remarka bly clear and beautiful. But the echo of the war whoop had scarcely died away before the heavens became black, and a violent storm obliged each par ty to seek the nearest shelter. Men less supetsti- tious than many of the unlettered yeomen, who leaning upon their arms, were witnesses of the events of this day, could not fail in aftertimes to look back upon the tempest, if not as an omen, at least as an emblem of those bloody massacres with which these Indians and their associates afterward visited the inhabitants of this unfortunate frontier.' " This was the last conference held with the hos tile Mohawks. Their chief very soon afterward drew off his warriours from the Susquehannah, and united them to the forces of Sir John Johnson and Colonel John Butler, who were concentrating the tories and refugees at Oswego." — Vol. I. pp. 182-186. It is impossible in the few columns we can de vote to any one article, even to give a sketch of so eventful a life as that of Brant. The two large oc tavo volumes of Col. Stone are alone sufficient for that purpose ; and to them we must refer those who feel an interest in the history of the events connected with the Wars with the Six Nations, and the bordci warfare generally of the Empire state. It i3 truly gratifying to see the interest which the publick gen erally take in the publication of such works as this and Prescott's Ferdinand and Isabella, Bancroft's History of the United States, and Sparks' Biographies; large editions of all of which have been sold- and the cry is still for more. We trust these authors will continue to devote their time and talents. to the production of works like these. They will form a lasting monument of other days, which after generations will duly appre ciate. CAPT. JOHN SMITH. 93 SKETCH, OF THE LIFE OF JOHN SMITH, THE FATHER OF VIRGINIA. [By Samuel L. Knapp, Esq.] It must be a source of. pleasure to every American to look back upon the race of men who first emigra ted to this country, and laid the foundation of its future greatness. At the close of the sixteenth century and at the commencement of the seventeenth, a spir it of enterprise was abroad in Europe, which promis ed great advantages to mankind,. The English na tion, which hitherto had not done much by way of ma-king discoveries, or forming settlements, now be gan to awake, and to make a struggle to place her self on the same footing with Portugal and Spain. Sir Walter Raleigh and his friend and relative Sir Humphrey Gilbert were commissioned " with vice- roy'authority," over all the lands they might discov er. The enterprise was marked with one disaster after another until their principal ship was lost and with it a learned journalist, Budeius, a Hungarian, and soon after Sir Gilbert himself perished, with all his crew, in a storm. Distressed but not overwhelm ed, Sir Walter continued his exertions for discover ies,, but with no success. For a while the misfor tunes of Sir Walter's expeditions discouraged the most enterprising from attempting the planting of colonies in North America. A few trading vessels came along the coast, and explored some parts of it that had not been much known before, but made no settlginents. In this state of apathy a champion for colonization arose, who spared no pains in the cause ; this was, Richard Hackluyt, a prebendary of West minster. He preached upon the subject with great success ; his views were large, and were enforced with argument and eloquence. In 1606, a corporation was formed for a new ef fort. Many joined in the scheme from patriot- ick motives, as we now subscribe for railroads, turn pikes, or canals, not calculating upon exorbitant prof its, but wishing to do something for publick good. To carry their intention into effect, a vessel of only one hundred tuns, and two small barques, were ta ken up ; Captain Newport was commander, and Mr. Percy, a brother of the Earl of Northumberland, was in the" enterprise, but the soul of it was Captain John Smith. He has justly been called the father of Vir ginia, and what state would not be proud of such a founder ? He had in his elements the " hardihood of antiquity,** the lofty daring of the enamoured cru sader, and the science of the thorough bred tactician of modern days, and all united to that amenity of manners which charms every where, and every one, and in every age, in polished or in savage life. When he embarked in the cause of Virginia he was still in the prime" of life, under thirty years of age, and yet his fame had reached the ears of all Europe. His life had been one continued blaze of chivalry. He received a good early classical education ; but his parents dying when he was only thirteen years of age, he was left to himself. He studied the art of war by himself, and visited France and Spain as a chevalier of honour, and a soldier of fortune ; at length, he found himself in the Hungarian army which was at war with the Turks, and was besie ging the city of Regall. The besiegers were thought slow by the besieged. The ladies of Regall prepar ed to have some amusement, such as the dames o: Damascus and Tunis had seen in the days of the crusades. Turkish pride took fire. The Christian army was challenged to produce a champion for a single combat, " head for head." The challenge was accepted. The Hungarian chiefs cast lots for the honour of meeting the Turk. Fate, probably, a little disciplined by management, gave the honour to the English soldier of fortune. His prowess was known. The army had seen him couch his lance, and bare his blade, and their hopes beat high for his success. The warriours met ; all due courtesies were strictly observed on both sides. The combat, ensued — the Christian triumphed. The head of the Turk was severed from bis body, and knotted to the mane of the horse which had borne the conquerer. A friend of the deceased challenged the firstday's cOnquerour ; heshad this right by the laws of hon our. The head of another chieftain was the prize to the valour of the Christian knight. The challenge was now made by the victor, and he was a third time equally successful. The ages of chivalry had not then gone forever ; for on his return to England, youth, beauty, taste, fashion, wealth and rank clus tered around him, to see one who had rivalled the best days of martial glory. He was modest, bland, and unmoved at all his honours. His whole heart was occupied by the love of glory ; no other love was there ; its pulses beat with generosity, gratitude, friendship, and patriotism, but with nothing of a soft er nature. Smith's mind was full of activity and enterprise, for he had no sooner landed on these shores, than heprepared an exploring expedition, in order to give his employers a full account of the country, its soil, bays, harbours, rivers, produce, and all the statisticks which might be gathered ; but Wingfield and part of his companions turned their whole attention to searching for gold, which, as Smith foresaw, ended in mortification and poverty. He forewarned them of the effects of their folly, but in vain. From his forecast he saved the colony, and by his fearlessness, good sense, and industry, he collected a greater mass of information respecting the country' he with others had come to colonize, than was ever before known. In one of his tours of survey, he, after performing miracles of valour, was taken by the Indians and carried to Powhatan, the highest sachem of the coun try. He was sentenced to die. His head was laid oh the block of stone, and the clubs were uplifted to beat him to death, when female tenderness came to his succour. Pocahontas, the daughter of Powhatan, rushed between the executioners and their victim, and covered his head with her own. Poetry, paint ing, and sculpture, have tried to give immortality to this event : but they have added nothing to the mor al beauty of the scene — that is inherent in the story ; no meager terms can diminish its interest ; no swell of language increase its lustre ; even the cold chro- nologist stops to say something affecting upon it, and the annalist grows eloquent as he puts it upon his record. Smith was not only saved, but in two days afterward restored to liberty, to undertake new en terprises. The next year Smith made his voyage towards the source of the Chesapeake. He sailed 94 in an open boat three thousand miles. This was a much greater feat ths.r. the Argonautick expedition. The Indians, full of sagacity, soon saw that he was the master spirit of the colony, and they feared and respected him more than all the rest of the white men. It was not until 1609 that Virginia, under a new charter, began to flourish ; but still the colony had great difficulties to encounter. Powhatan had, from the imprudence of some of the white men, determi ned, at one blow, to extirpate the whole race. The Indian girl who was the preserver of Smith was now the tutelary angel of the whole body of the whites. She apprized the colonists of the intended massacre ; she ran, after her father had retired to sleep,'' nine or ten miles through the woods, and returned without exciting his suspicion. Her sagacity was equal to her kindness, for she refused the valuable presents of fered her for the services she had rendered, for they might have led to the suspicion of her having made the communication. The next year Smith having returned to England, his parental care and sage ad vice were wanting, and the whole colony came near * starving. Their distress was so great, they had made arrangements to leave the soil forever : but were happily prevented by timely succours from England. In 1613, the Indian princess Pocahontas married Mr. Rolfe, and embarked for England.* She met with, a cordial reception there. Smith sent a memorial to the queen, detailing all the great ser vices she had rendered him and the infant colony. It was a most eloquent appeal to her sense of justice toward one so great and good. Pocahontas did not live long to enjoy the favours of the court, or the society of her husband, for she died as she was about to embark for Virginia, leaving one child, from whom has descended several respectable and intellec tual families. Smith was the soul of truth and hon our, and in this memorial, he ventured to assert, that genius, virtue, and philanthropy, were not con fined to civilized man, but were to be found every where, and in every age ; that affectionate hearts have beat in bosoms of every hue, whether the pos sessor roamed the forest or clustered in the city. The eulogy made by Smith upon Pocahontas to the queen, should be preserved among those beautiful exhibitions of gratitude and affection which make up the gems of history, and attract the attention of successive generations. New England is much indebted to John Smith, for he gave the first accurate account of that terri tory. In 1614 he examined the coast and made a chart of it. His keen eye saw every thing and he described it with great simplicity. He changed some of the old names, such as Cape Cod to Cape James, and gave names to places that had not been honoured with names previously. Some of his new names have since been altered, and many of the old resumed. Smith had published his voyages to Virginia in 1608, and old Purchas had put some of his marvellous adventures in Europe and Asia, into his collection. Smith made a second voyage to New England in 1615, and gave a description of the country in 1617. The " Trials of New England," was published several years after these works we have mentioned. No historian, since his day, who has written upon Virginia or New England, knew half so much of the natural advantages of these countries, and their capabilities of supporting a vigorous population as he did. Exhausted by incessant exertions and incredible labours, this soldier, mariner, admiral, governor, this magician over hearts, this elegant author, this pat riot, returned to the land of his birth, and there, in 1631, breathed his last, not having at the time of his death one acre of land in the new world, to which he had been a greater benefactor than any other mortal who had then coasted its shores; or trod upon its soil. Wiih the spirit of just calculatipn-he fore told the glories which were fast coming upori'this country. All the visions of our growth crowded upon his soul. England has given him no momi< ment, but America owes him a pyramid. THE WHITE INDIANS. It is a fact, perhaps not generally known, that there does exist in the far- west, at least two small tribes or bands of white people. One of*these bands is called Mawkeys. f They reside in Mexico, on the southwest side of the- Rocky mountains, and between three hundred and five hundred miles from Santa Fe, towards California; and in a valley which makes a deep notch into the mountain, surrounded by high and impassable ridges, and which can only be entered by a narrow pass from the southwest. They are represented, by trappers and hunters of the west, known to the writer of this, to be men of veracity, to be an innocent, inoffensive people, living by agriculture, and raising great numbers of horses and mules, both of which are used- by them for food. They cultivate maize, pumpions,- and beans, in large quantities. '. These people are frequently plundered by theii more warlike neighbours ; to which they submit, without resorting to deadly weapons to repel the aggressors. Not far distant from the Mawkeys, and in the same range of country, is another band of the same description, called Nabbehoes. A description of either of these tribes, will answer for both. They have been described to the writer, by two men in ; whose veracity the fullest confidence may be placed ; and they say the men are of the common stature, with light flaxen hair, light to make himself useful to his fellow-men. An allusion has. already been made to the ardour and fidelity with which he discharged his professional duties ; and these were also the characteristicks of all his other labours. Whether he was in the service of his friends, his clients, or his country, he evinced a dis interestedness and devotion, rarely if ever surpass ed. The prominent traits in his character, cannot, perhaps be better designated, than by applying to him what has recently been said of another, that he possessed an ' energy, activity, and philanthropy, which led him to regard none of the great concerns of mankind as foreign to himself !' " He never condemned anything because it was new, for he disclaimed all connexion with the para doxical set of men, who seem to hold, that an old errour is better than a new truth. If he were some times called a projector, let it be borne in mind, that all his projects had for their object the benefiting of others rather than himself. As a jurist and civilian, he ranked with men whose professional fame we justly prize as a part of the moral property of the state. As a theoretical mechanick and engineer, his enjoyment of the confidence, and sharing in the consultations of Fulton, attest his powers. The nu merous institutions he was instrumental in forming and sustaining, added to his deeds of charity, give full proof of his claims to the character of a phi lanthropist. In the domestick and social relations of life, he ever evinced an affection and kindness that rendered him a safe pattern for imitation. As a pub lick speaker, he infused into his discourses a pathos and force that seized and held the deep attention of his auditors." A beautiful marble monument has lately been erected in Grace church, New York, to the memory of this distinguished and lamented citizen. It is placed under the south gallery, and nearly opposite to one of Frazee's earliest works of the same kind, the monument of Mr. Colden's friend and rival at the bar, the eloquent and noble-minded John Wells. The inscription was written by the Hon. Gulian C. Verplanck ; it is as follows :- " TO THE MEMORY OF CADWALLADER D„ COLDEN. For several years Mayor of this City, a Senator of this State, and one of il3 representatives in the Congress of the TJ. S. His talents and publick services added lustre To these and many other Honours and trusts bestowed upon him by his native city. He was alike eminent for legal learning and eloquence, For ardent love and pursuit of general science, And for the successful application of all his acquirements To the best interests of his country. As his Philanthropy and Patriotism Commanded the confidence and attachment of his fellow-citizcni So his Kindness, Frankness, and Generosity Won the warm affections of his family and of numerous friendi By one of whom, who had witnessed most nearly, And, therefore, best estimated his worth, This monument is erected." James Bowdoin, Esq. 109 JAMES BOWDOIN. ESQ. Mr. Bowdoin was one of the greatest philosophers, and one of the most distinguished men of the ancient and respectable state of Massachusetts. He was born in Boston, in 1726, and died in 1790, in his sixty-fifth year. His grandfather was a native of Rochelle, in France, of a respectable and honoura ble family, and in his religion a protestant ; in that kingdom then usually called Huguenots. Soon after the edict of Nantz (which had passed in 1598, in fa vour ofthe protestants) was repealed in 1685, and per secutions raged against them with great severity, the grandfather left France and landed at Casco Bay, near Portland, with his family. The father of Mr. Bowdoin was with him, then about twenty years old. The grand father spelt his name Baudouin, as appears by one of his letters, which was formerly in posses sion5 of ihe writer. The history and sufferings of the French protestants are well known. They were persecuted with even greater severity than' English dissenters were in Great Britain. On the revo cation of the edict of Nantz, many thousand were butchered, by the unfeeling bigots of the Roman Catholick faith-. Dexter, Sigourney, Brimmer, Lau rens, Boudinot, Jay, Huger, and others, left France, and came to America, at this period of persecution. Before the edict of Nantz in 1598 and after 1572; 70,000 protestants were slaughtered for refusing sub mission to the papal power.— From Casco, the elder Mr. Bowdoin soon removed to Boston, and there took up his permanent abode. He devoted himself to mercantile pursuits, and acquired a good estate. His son, the father of our Mr. Bowdoin, was held in high reputation, and was sometime one of the council for advising the governour. He also left a large property, and two sons, James and William ; who thus received a large inheritance at his de cease. Mr. Bowdoin was educated in Harvard col lege, and received the honours of that Seminary in 1745, when eighteen. While a member of the col lege, he was not distinguished by that rare brilliancy of genius which excites astonishment ; but he was, . even at that early age, remarkable for discernment, application and good sense. Good moral habits were also formed by him in early life, so that when he came into possession of a large patrimonial estate, he was not corrupted, nor led astray, into the paths of dissipation or extravagance. In his youth, he courted the muses occasionally, and some of his poet ical compositions have been preserved. But he did not devote much time to such pursuits. He early studied ethicks, natural philosophy, jurisprudence and politicks. At the age. of twenty-seven or eight, he was returned a member of the General Court from the metropolis. And at this time he corresponded with Professor Winthrop of the university, with Franklin, Otis, Pratt, Mayhew, and Cooper. With the two first on philosophical subjects ; and with the others, on theology, and politicks, which even in 1750, engrossed the attention of the enlightened friends of civil liberty. In 1757, Mr. Bowdoin was transferred to the Ex ecutive Council : and continued in that station, and in the House of Representatives, till the war of the revolution. He was disapproved, when chosen by the General Court into the council, by Governour Bernard, and Governour Hutchinson, on several oc casions for his firm and inflexible opposition to the arbitrary measures of the British ministry, which the royal governours were instructed to support and en- 'force. Afterward, Hutchinson consented to his election into the council, believing his opposition would be less injurious than in the House of Repre sentatives. That statesman was compelled to bear testimony to the zeal and decision of Mr. Bowdoin in the cause of liberty, and acknowledged that' ho was the ablest man at the council board. The volume of Massachusetts State Papers con tains several resolves and reports of the council, and answers to the governour's speeches of that pe riod, well known to have been prepared by him. " His heart was warm, and his tongue and pen were employed in the service of his country." During this period, as leisure from publick duties permitted, Mr. Bowdoin devoted himself to literary and philosophical pursuits. He had a good private library, and his correspondence was extensive with the learned men of his time. In 1774, Mr. Bowdoin was appointed one of the five delegates from Massachusetts, to attend a con tinental congress in Philadelphia : but his health was then so delicate, that he was unable to bear the fatigues^of the journey; In 1775, however, after the battle of Concord, and the crisis had arrived, we find him true to the liberties of the country. He was chosen President of the Executive council of Mas sachusetts, at that period, when the authority of Governour Gage and his council was denied, arid a House of Representativesand council were appoint ed, to make laws, and to exercise the powers of gov ernment. When a convention was formed in 1780, to prepare a civil constitution in Massachusetts, Mr. Bowdoin was elected the President ; his patriotism, intelligence and discretion pointing him out for that important station. The same year, and chiefly through his influence, the academy of arts and. sci ences was established in Massachusetts, of which he was unanimously chosen the first president ; and he presided over this learned body till his death. In 1785, he was elected governour of thecommon- wealth ; and again for the year 1786. It was his lot to be chief magistrate when the insurrection took place, headed by Daniel Shays. On the critical oc casion he conducted with great firmness and moder ation. And the crisis demanded the exercise of these political virtues. The insurrection was put down, with very little bloodshed ; and even that was provoked by the rashness of the insurgents. While Mr. Bowdoin was in the chair, the debt of the state was immense ; he did much to provide for its pay ment, and to restore the publick credit. He also, in 1785, and again in 1786, recommended the enlarging of the powers of Congress, for the purpose of regula ting commerce, collecting a revenue, and paying off the debt of the United States. And his recommen dation, no doubt, led to the general convention, in 1787, for amending the articles of the confederation, though a distinct proposition was also made by the Assembly of Virginia, in 1786, for that object. When President Washington made a tour through the New England states in 1789, and visited Bos ton, Mr. Bowdoin showed him great attention, and appeared highly gratified in the opportunity of man ifesting his respect and admiration of his exalted character. It was the opinion of those who Well knew Washington and Bowdoin, that they possessed 110 similar virtues and qualities, to entitle them to the high regard and gratitude of our favoured republick. Mr. Bowdoin furnished several articles for the vol umes of the learned academy of which he was presi dent ; the chief was that on light, in which he advo cated the theory of Newton. He left a handsome legacy and h^ valuable library to the institution. He was a mernber of the royal societies of Dublin and London ; and received the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws, in the University of Edinburgh. To all his others honours, we may justly add that derived from a publick profession of the faith, and an exem plary display of the virtues of Christianity. FIRST AMERICAN NAVAL ACHIEVEMENT. Mr. Cooper's " History of the Navy of the Uni ted States," just published, brings to notice some early deeds of valor by the Fathers of the Revo lution on the water, that are not eclipsed by the glory of their achievements on the land, and which will now deservedly rank with the noblest exploits of after times. The first volume furnishes the following account of an action which is well call ed the " Lexington of the seas :" The first nautical enterprise that succeeded the battle of Lexington, was one purely of private ad venture. The intelligence of this conflict was brought to Machias, in Maine, on Saturday, the ninth of May, 1775. An armed schooner called the Margaretta, in the service of the crown, was lying in port, with two sloops under her convoy, that were loading with lumber on behalf of the King's Government. Those who brought the news were enjoined to be silent, a plan to capture the Margaretta having been immediately project ed among some of the more spirited of the inhab itants. The next day being Sunday, it was hoped that the officers of the latter might be seized while in church, but the scheme failed in consequence of the precipitation of those engaged. Captain Moore, who commanded the Margaretta, saw the assailants, and, with his officers, escaped through the windows of the church to the shore, where they were protected by the guns of the schooner. The alarm was now taken, springs were got on the Margaretta's cables, and a few harmless shot were fired over the town, by way of intimidation. After a little delay, however, the schooner drop ped down below the town, to a distance exceed ing a league. Here she was followed, summoned to surrender, atnd fired on from a high bank, which her own shot could not reach. The Margaretta again weighed and running into the bay at the confluence of the two rivers, anchored. The following morning, which was Monday, the eleventh of May, four young men took posses sion of one of the lumber sloops, and bringing her alongside of a wharf, they gave three cheers as a signal for volunteers. On explaining that their intentions were to make an attack on the Marga retta, a party of about thirty-five athletic men was soon collected. Arming themselves with fire arms, pitchforks, and axes, and throwing a small stock of provisions into the sloop, these spirited freemen made sail on their craft, with a light breeze at northwest. When the Margaretta ob served the approach of the sloop she weighed and crowded, sail to avoid a conflict, that was every way undesirable, as her commander was not apprized of all the facts that had occurred near Boston.. In jibbing, the schooner carried away her main-boom, but continuing to stand on she ran into Holmes' bay, and took a spar out oi a vessel that was then lying there. While these repairs were making, the sloop Jhove in sight, and the Margaretta stood out to sea, in the hope of avoiding her. The wind now freshened, and the sloop proved to be the better sailer, with the wind on the quarter. So anxious was the Mar garetta to avoid a collision, that Captain Moore now cut away his boats ; but finding this ineffect ual, and that his assailants were fast closing with him, he opened a lire, the schooner having an ar mament of four light guns, and thirteen swivels A man was killed on board the sloop, which im mediately returned the fire with a wall piece. This discharge killed the man at the Margaretta's helm, and cleared her quarter-deck. The schoon er broached to, when the sloop gave a general discharge. Almost at the instant the two vessels came foul of each other. A short conflict now took place with musketry. Captain Moore throw ing hand-grenades with considerable effect, in person. This officer was immediately afterward shot down, however, when the people of the sloop boarded and took possession of the Margaretta. The loss of life in this affair was not very great, though twenty men on both sides, are said to have been killed and wounded. The force ofthe Margaretta, even in men, was much the most considerable, though the crew of no regular can ever equal in spirit and energy, a body of volun teers assembled on an occasion like this. There was originally no commander in the sloop, but previously to engaging the schooner, Jeremiah O'Brien was selected for that station. This affair was the Lexington of the seas, for, like that cel ebrated land conflict, it was the rising of a people against a regularforce, was characterized by along chase, a bloody struggle, and a triumph. It was also the first blow struck on the water, after the war of the American Revolution had actually commenced. CURIOUS COINCIDENCE. Washington was born February 22, 1732, inaugu rated 1789 ; his term of service expired in the 66th year of his age. John Adams was born October 19, 1735, inaugtf. rated 1797; term of service expired in the 66th year of his age. Jefferson born April 2, 1743, inaugurated 1801 ; term of service expired in the 66th year of his age. Madison born March 5, 1751, inaugurated 1809 ; term of service expired in the 66th year of bis age. Monroe born April 2, 1759, inaugurated 1817 ; term of service expired in the 66th year of his age. The above is a list of five of the Presidents of the United States, (all men of the Revolution,) who ended their term of service in the 66th year of their age ! Ill EXTRACT FROM THE REVIEW OF THE LIFE OF FATHER MARQUETTE BY JARED SPARKS. From the North American Review. We need say nothing here of the services which Mr. Sparks has rendered to American history. His Lives of -Ledyard and Morris and Washington ; his editions of the writings of Washington and Franklin. and of the Diplomatic Correspondence ; and his col lection of American Biographies, are all known through this country and in Europe. He has done more than any other one man to preserve for posterity the undoubted Records of our early history ; and we trust a long life may be granted him, wherein to pur sue his labors ; for, with the advance already gained in a knowledge of the details of past times, his labors are becoming every year more and more valuable. Among his various publication*., the series of American Biographies ranks high in interest and utility ; through it, many have been made known to the world, who might otherwise have found no his torian ; and we hope he may be able to continue it through many more volumes. Among those persons, who but for this work might have remained without their deserved celebrity, is Father Marquette, whose brief story is now before us. His Journal, giving an account of the discovery of the_ great Mississippi Valley, was published in France in 1681, and a poor translation of it was given in the Appendix to Hennepin's volumes, printed in London in 1698 ; but all knowledge of his doings slept in these dusty works, and in a few pages of Charlevoix's " New France," until Mr. Sparks drew up an abstract of the original Journal, for the second edition of Butler's " History of Kentucky." This abstract he has now somewhat altered and enlarged, and put into a wider circulation, through his " Biography." It is curious and interesting ; and as Marquette's discovery is but little known, and the labours of those that followed him but slightly appreciated, we have thought it worth while to give our readers a sketch of the prog ress of the French in the knowledge and settlement of the Mississippi valley. The advantages of water communication were never more perfectly shown, than in the rapid prog ress of the French in Canada when first settled. During the years in which John Eliot was preaching to the savages of Natick and Concord, the Jesuits were' lifting their voices upon the furthest shores of Lake Superiour ; while a journey from Boston to the Connecticut was still a journey through the heart of the wilderness, Allouez and Dablon had borne the cross through that very " Mellioki" (VTilwaukie) re gion, to which our speculators have just reached. With strong hearts those old monks went through their labours ; sleeping, in midwinter under the bark of trees for blankets, and seasoning their only food, " Indian corn, grinded small," with " little frogs, gath ered in the meadows." They were very different men from "the apostle" of the Puritans; but, to all appearance, were as pure, and as true, and as loving ; the Miamis were •' so greedy to hear Father Allouez when he taught them," says Marquette, « that they gave him little rest, even in the night." Among those who were foremost in courage and kindness, was Marquette himself; a modest, quiet man, who went forward into unknown countries, not as a discoverer, but as God's messenger; who thought all his sufferings and labour fruitful, because among '-the Illinois of Perouacca," he was able to baptize one dying child ; and who took such a hold of the hearts of those wild men, through the inspi ration of love, that for years after his death, when the storms of Lake Michigan sweptover the Indian's frail canoe, he called upon the name of Marquette, and the wind ceased and the waves were still. In the year 1671, this Jesuit missionary led a party of Hurons to the point of land which projects from the North, at the strait between Lakes Michi gan and Huron, and there founded the old settlement of Michillimackinac. Here, and along the neigh bouring shores, he' laboured with noiseless diligence, until 1673, when the intendant-general of the colo ny, M. Talon, a man of great activity and enterprise, and who «m upon the point of closing his career in Canada, determined that the close should be worthy of his character, and called upon Marquette to be the leader of a small party, which was to seek for that great river in the West, of which the Indians had so often spoken. The representative of the government in this undertaking was M. Joliet, a substantial citizen of Quebec, and with them went five other Frenchmen. Upon the thirteenth of May, 1673, this little, band of seven left Michillimackinac in two bark canoes, with a small store of Indian corn and jerked meat wherewith to keep soul and body in company, bound they knew not whither. The first nation they visited, one with which our reverend Father had been long acquainted, being told of their venturous plan, begged them to desist. There were Indians, they said, on that great river, who would cut off their heads without the least cause ; warriours who would seize them ; monsters who would swallow them, canoes and all ; even a demon, who shut the way, and buried in the waters that boiled about him all who dared draw nigh ; and, if these dangers were passed, there were heats there that would infallibly kill them. " I thanked them for their good advice," says Marquette, " but I told them that 1 could not follow it; since the salvation of souls was at stake, for which I should be over joyed to give my life." Passing through Green Bay, from the mud of which, says our voyager, rise " mischievous va pours, which cause the most grand and perpetual thunders that I have ever heard," they entered Fox River, and toiling over stones which cut their feet, as they dragged their canoes through its strong rap ids, reached a village where lived in union the Mi- amis, Mascoutens, and " Kikabeux" (Kickapoos.) Here Allouez had preached, and behold ! in the midst of the town, a cross, {une belle croix,) on which hung skins, and belts, and bows, and arrows, which " these good people had offered to the great Manitou, to thank him because he had taken pity on them during the winter, and had given them an abundant chase." Beyond this point no Frenchman had gone; here was the bound of discovery ; and much did the sav ages wonder a't the hardihood of these seven men, who, alone, in two bark canoes, were thus fearlessly passing into unknown dangers. On the tenth of June, they left this wondering and well-wishing crowd, and, with two guides to lead them through the lakes and marshes of that region, started for the river, which, as they heard, rose but about three leagues distant, and fell into ihe Missis sippi. Without ill-luck these guides conducted them 112 -0 the portage, and helped them carry their canoes across it ; then, returning, left them " alone amid that unknown country, in the hand of God." With prayers to the mother of Jesus they strengthened their souls, and then committed them selves, in all hope, to the current of the westward- flowing river, the " Mescousin" (Wisconsin ;) a sand-barred stream, hard to navigate, but full of isl ands covered with vines, and bordered by meadows, and groves, and pleasant slopes. Down this they floated with open eyes, until, upon the seventeenth of June, they entered the Mississippi, " with a joy," says Marquette, " that I cannot express." Quietly floating down the great river, they re marked the deer, the buffaloes, the swans — " wing less, for they lose their feathers in that country," — the great fish, one of which had nearly knocked their canoe into atoms, and other creatures of air, earth, and water, but no men. At last, however, upon the twenty-first of June, they discovered upon the bank of the river the foot-prints of some fellow- mortals, and a little path leading into a pleasant meadow. Leaving the canoes in charge of their followers, Joliet and Father Marquette boldly ad vanced upon this path toward, as they supposed, an Indian village. Nor were they .mistaken ; for they soon came to a little town, toward which, recom mending themselves to God's care, they went so nigh as to hear the savages talking. Having made their presence known by a loud cry, they were gra ciously received by an embassy of four old men, who presented them the pipe of peace, and told them that this was a village of the " Illinois." The voy agers were then conducted into the town, where all received them as friends, and treated them to a great smoking. After much complimenting and present- making, a grand feast was given to the Europeans, consisting of four courses. The first was of homi ny, the second offish, the third of a dog, which the Frenchmen declined, and the whole concluded with roast buffalo. After the feast they were marched through the town with great ceremony and much speechmaking ; and, having spent the night, pleas antly and quietly, amid the Indians, they returned to their canoes with an escort of six hundred people. The Illinois, Marquette, like all the early travellers, describes as remarkably handsome, well-mannered, and kindly, even somewhat effeminate. The rever end Father tells us, that they used guns, and were much feared by the people of the South and West, where they made many prisoners, whom they sold as slaves. Leaving the Illinois, the adventurers passed the rocks upon which were painted those monsters of whose existence they had heard on Lake Michigan, and soon found themselves at the mouth of the Pe- kitanoni, or Missouri of our day ; the character of which is well described; muddy, rushing, and noisy. " Through this," says Marquette, " 1 hope to reach the Gulf of California, and thence the East Indies." This hope was based upon certain rumours among the natives, which represented the Pekitanoni as passing by a meadow, five Or six days' journey from its mouth, on the opposite side of which meadow was a stream running westward, which led, beyond doubt, to the South Sea. "If God give me health," says our Jesuit, " I do not despair of one day-making the discovery." Leaving the Missouri, they passed the demon, that had been portrayed to them, which was indeed a dangerous rock in the river, and came to the Ouabouskigon, or Ohio, a stream which makes but a small figure in Father Marquette's map, being but a trifling watercourse compared to the Illinois, From the Ohio, our voyagers passed with safety, except from the moschetoes, -into the neighbourhood of the " Akamscas," or Arkansas. Here they were attacked by a crowd of warriours, and had nearly lost their lives ; but Marquette resolutely presented the peace-pipe, until some of the old men of the at tacking party were softened, and saved them from harm. " God touched their hearts," says the pious narrator. The next day the Frenchmen went on to "Akam- sea," where they were received most kindly, and feasted on corn and dog till they could eat no more. These Indians cooked in and eat from earthenware and were amiable and unceremonious, each man helping himself from the dish, and passing it to his neighbour. From this point Joliet and our writer determined to return to the North, as dangers increased toward the sea, and no doubt could exist as to the point where the Mississippi emptied, to ascertain which point was the great object of their expedition. Ac» cordingly, on the seventeenth of July, our voyagers left Akamsca ; retraced their path, with much la bour, to the Illinois, through which they soon reach ed the Lake ; and "nowhere," says Marquette, "did we see such grounds, meadows, woods, buffaloes, stags, deer, wildcats, bustards, swans, ducks, para keets, and even beavers," as on the Illinois river. In September the party, without loss or injury reached Green Bay, and reported their discovery,; one of the most important of that age, but of which we have now no record left except the narrative of Marquette, Joliet (as we learn from an abstract of his account, given in Hennepin's second volume, London, 1698) having lost all his papers while re turning to Quebec, by the upsetting of his canoe. Marquette's unpretending account, we have in a col lection of voyages by Tbevenot, printed in Paris in 1681. Its general correctness is unquestionable; and, as no European had claimed to have made any such discovery at the time this volume was publish ed, but the persons therein named, we may consider the account as genuine. Afterward, Marquette returned to the Illinois, by their request, and ministered to them until 1675. On the eighteenth of May, in that year, as he was pass ing with his boatmen up Lake Michigan, he proposed to land at the mouth of a little stream running from the peninsula, and perform mass. Leaving his men with the canoe, he went a little way apart to pray they waiting for him. As much time passed, and he did not return, they called to mind, that he had said something of his death being at hand, and anxiously went to seek him. They found him dead; where he had been praying, he had died. The canoe- men dug a grave near the mouth of the stream, and buried him in the sand. Here his body was liable to be exposed by a rise of water j and would have been so, had not the river retired, and left the mis sionary's grave in peace. Charlevoix, who visited the spot some fifty years afterward, found that the waters had forced a: passage at the most difficult point ; had cut through a bluffy rather than cross the lowland where that grave was. The river is called Marquette. 113 .From the Louisville Literary News-Letter. ISAAC SHELBY. This distinguished man, whose name is so inti mately associated with the-history of Kentucky, was a.native of Maryland. His father was an immigrant from Wales near the middle of the last century, at which period, the section of country in which he settled, was annoyed by incessant inroads of the bos- , tile Indian tribes. Under circumstances like these,1 only the elements of an ordinary English education ! could be obtained by the subject of this sketch. In all the arts Of sylvan warfare, however, he was amply : instructed ; and a firm constitution enabled him to undergo privation and hardship almost with indif- , ference. While yet a young man, he was engaged as a drover in the extensive pasture lands of Western Virginia, beyond the Alleghany Ridge, and thither he repaired. During the Indian hostilities of 1774, j two years subsequent to his removal, the father of Shelby was appointed commander of a company of , rangers, in the campaign of Lewis and Dunmore against the savages on the Scioto. As lieutenant of j this company, Shelby was engaged in the memorable and sanguinary conflict ofthe 10th of October, at the mouth of the Kenhawa. The result of this battle gave peace to the frontier, and deterred the Indians from uniting with the British in the eventful contest of the Revolution. Such was the gallant conduct of Shelby in this action that, after the close of the cam paign, he was appointed by Lord Dunmore to the second place in command of a,. garrison erected on the spot of the battle. This is considered the most sanguinary and severely contested conflict ever sus tained against the north-western tribes, continuing from sunrise to sunset, and occupying about half a mile along the bank of the Ohio. In the garrison to which he had been appointed, Shelby continued until the ensuing July, when the peace appearing to be firmly established, he proceeded to Kentucky, and was employed as a surveyor under the firm of Hen derson & Co., which then claimed proprietorship of allthe region, and had established a land office under their purchase from the Cherokees. For about a year the young surveyor performed his duties, when his health becoming impaired from exposure, and privation, and the inclemency of the wilderness, he returned to Virginia. On his arrival he was ap pointed by Gov. Henry, commissary of supplies, for a large body of militia, posted at the various fron tier garrisons. These supplies could be obtained no nearer than at a distance of three hundred miles, but his perseverance overcame all obstacles, and the of- fice^was satisfactorily discharged. During the suc ceeding year, be was engaged in the commis-ary de partment for the continental army, and for an expe dition against the north-western Indians ; and in '79 he furnished supplies for a campaign against the Chi- camauga Indians, on Ms own credit. In the spring of the same year, he was elected a member of the Viro-inia Legislature, and in the fall was appointed a major, and shortly after a colonel. In 'SO Shelby returned to Kentucky for the pur pose of securing and locating the lands surveyed and improved five years before by himself. While thus engaged, intelligence reached him of the surrender of Charleston to the British, and the loss of the southern army; upon which he immediately started 15 for Virginia, to fight for his country's independence. On his arrival, he was desired to furnish all the aid in his power to check the enemy then holding pos session of the South, and in a few days he had as sembled three hundred mounted riflemen, with whom he took up his march across the Alleghanies. Short ly after his arrival at the camp, on Broad river, Shel by, with two other officers, was detached with six hundred men to surprise a strong post of the enemy, on the waters of the Pacolet river, fortified by aba tis, and commanded by Capt. Moore, a distinguished loyalist. The post was surrounded, and at the second summons, was surrendered, although furnished with a force sufficient to have repulsed double that of the besiegers. Immediately after this affair, Shelby was detached with another officer and six hundred mount ed men, to hover on the flank of the enemy, and cut off his foragers. The enemy's force was at that time twenty-five hundred strong, commanded by Major Ferguson, a very distinguished partisan officer in the British army. After various unsuccessful attempts to attack Col. Shelby at disadvantage, his advance, consisting of seven hundred men, at length, on the first of August, came up with the Americans at a spot called Cedar Spring, where, after a sharp con flict of half an hour, Ferguson arrived with all his force. Shelby ordered a retreat, but succeeded in carrying off fifty prisoners, among whom were two officers; and, though great efforts were made for five miles, to regain them, succeeded in placing ,them beyond the reach of rescue. His own loss was only ten or twelve killed and wounded. Not long after this affair, Shelby, with several other officers, was detached with seven hundred horsemen, to disperse a body of several hundred tories encamped about forty miles distant, at Musgrove's Mills, immediately upon the route to which place lay the whole force of Major Ferguson. At sunset, Shelby took up his line of march from the camp: leaving Ferguson's en trenchment three miles to his left, he rode hard all night, and at dawn met a patrol party about half a mile from the tory camp, with which a skirmish en sued and several were killed. At this crisis, a coun tryman residing near the spot, came up with the in telligence, that a reinforcement of six hundred troops destined to join Ferguson's army, had the evening previous, entered the hostile camp. Escape was now impossible, and attack with exhausted men and horses, under such circumstances, would have been madness. Entrenchment upon the spot, was the only resource, and a breast-work of logs and brush was immediately thrown up, while Capt. Inman was sent out with twenty-five men to meet and skirmish with the. enemy, so soon as they crossed the river, with orders to fire upon the foe, and retreat at discretion. These orders were obeyed, and, as was anticipated, the enemy supposing themselves attacked by the whole force, were thrown into confusion, so that when within seventy yards of the entrenchment, they were exposed to a most destructive fire from the American riflemen. An hour passed away before the detachment could be driven from the feeble breast work, and, just as it began to give way, the com mander of the enemy was wounded, and, all the Bri tish officers having been previously killed or disabled, the whole line commenced a retreat. The Amer icans pursued and drove them across the river, but in this pursuit Capt. Inman was killed, gallantly iU fighting to the last. The British loss was sixty- three killed, and one hundred and sixty wounded and taken, while that ofthe Americans was but four Killed, and nine wounded. After the action, Shelby ordered his men immediately to horse, with the de termination of attacking before night a British post about thirty miles distant, when an express came up in great haste, dated on the battle ground, and giving intelligence of the defeat of the American grand army under Gates, near Camden, and ordering an imme diate retreat, as the victorious foe would undoubtedly endeavor to improve their victory by destroying all the minor corps of the Americans. This retreat was no easy task for Shelby, encumbered as he was with prisoners, and his troops and horses fatigued. But there was no alternative, and he accordingly took up the line of march immediately for the mountains, and continued it all that day and night, and the next day until late in the evening, without halt or refreshment. This forced march was the salvation of the detach ment, as it was pursued until late in the afternoon of the second day, by a strong body of Ferguson's troops. Shelby, after retreating beyond the reach of danger, sent on his prisoners for security, to Vir ginia — there being then no fragment of an army south of that state. Ferguson made several daring attempts to regain the prisoners, but all in vain ; he also sent out, by prisoners on parole, the most threatening messages to Shelby to cease his opposition to the British government with his mountaineers. At this crisis in the American Revolution, some of its best friends despairing of success, sought safety under the British standard ; but Shelby remained firm and undaunted, and at length proposed to raise a force, and, marching hastily through the mountains, attack and surprise Ferguson at night. This proposition was acceded to, and, about one thousand men having been assembled, were ready to march, when it was discovered that three men had deserted to the enemy. This circumstance somewhat disconcerted the design, but did not defeat it. Setting forth on their expedi tion, through mountains almost inaccessible to horse men, they fell in with a body of three hundred men, which was added to their force. Their strength was novf- about one thousand expert marksmen, and they pursued Ferguson with all possible despatch, regard less of any other collection of troops or tories on their route. For thirty-six hours they continued the pur suit, without intermission, alighting but once for one hour, although the rain was constantly falling in such quantities, that they could keep their guns ready for' engagement, only by wrapping their clothing around the locks, which exposed themselves to the incle mency of the weather, throughout the march. At length they came up with Ferguson securely en camped on King's Mountain, from which spot he impiously declared that " God Almighty could not drive him !" The action was commenced, and soon became severe, continuing for three fourths of an hour, when the enemy being totally discomfited, surrendered at discretion. Ferguson was killed, to gether with three hundred and seventy-five of his men, and seven or eight hundred were taken prison ers : the assailants had but sixty killed or wounded. Such was the first link to a chain of brilliant achievements, which secured the independence of our country. It was a victory achieved by raw militia.. levied by no official authority, with no expectance of reward, and with no pay, supplies, or ammuni tion. Its effect was wonderful. It completely crush ed the spirit of toryism then so rife, and so alarmed Cornwallis, who with the British grand army was but thirty miles distant, that on receiving the intelli- gence, he ordered an immediate retreat, and forced a march all night, for eighty miles, nor did he again attempt to advance, until reinforced, three months afterwards, by two thousand men. Meanwhile the militia of North Carolina assembled in force — that of Maryland did the same, and Gen. Gales with the fragments of his army, and new levies from Virginia to the amount of one thousand men coming up, ena bled Gen. Greene to assume command in the early part of the succeeding December, and hold Cornwal lis in check. For this gallant achievement at King's Mountain, the Legislature of North Carolina passed a vote of thanks to Shelby, and his brothers in com mand, and presented an elegant sword tQ each in tes timony of their patriotic conduct on the memorable 7th of October. Shelby's ckim to this distinguished honor is not to be doubted. The expedition origi nated with him, and his sagecity and judgment con tributed as fully to improve the advantages resulting from its success, as did his valor in producing it. In the fall of '81 Shelby served a campaign under the distinguished partisan, Francis Marion. In Sep tember he was called on for five hundred mounted riflemen, by General Greene, to aid in intercepting Cornwallis, at that time blockaded by the French fleet in the Chesapeake ; but on the surrender of that com mander, Shelby was attached to Marion's regiment on the Santee, and was second in command of a squadron of dragoons ordered to carry a British post at Fairlawn, some eight or ten miles from the "ene my's main army. The rumor had been rife, that there were five hundred Hessians in the fort, in a state of mutiny, who would readily surrender to a superior force ; but the rebels had been suspected, and marched off to Charleston the day before ihe siege commenced. Nevertheless, the post was sur rendered with one hundred and fifty prisoners. Great exertions were subsequently made to regain these pri soners, but unsuccessfully, and immediately after, the whole British force retreated to Charleston. . Shel by's period of service having now expired and no further active operations being in contemplation, he obtained leave to attend the Assembly of North Carolina, of which he was a member, which com menced its session in December, and left the army with the most flattering testimonials of regard from . Marion. In '82 Shelby was appointed one of the commis sioners to settle the pre-emption claims of settlers on the Cumberland, and to lay off the military bounty lands south of the spot where Nashville now stands. This service he performed during the ensuing winter, and in the spring he returned to Boonsborough, Ken tucky, where he married a daughter of Capt. Hart, one of the settlers of the state, and one of the firm of Henderson & Co., original purchasers from the Cherokees. Settling upon the soil under the earliest pre-emption granted in Kentucky, Shelby pursued peacefully the honorable occupation of a, farmer; and, it is mentioned as a remarkable fact in his biography, that at the period of his death, forty-three years after wards, he was the only man in Kentucky residing on his own original settlement and pre-emption right 115 "In '92, Shelby was a member of the early conven tions held at Danville for the purpose of obtaining a separation from Virginia;'; and a member, also, of that convention which formed the first constitution of the. state. Subsequently, he was elected to the gubernatorial chair, and fulfilled his duties in that responsible station, with signal success. At the ex piration of. fotar years he retired to private life, leav ing Kentucky, for the first time since his childhood, entirely at peace with the savages. In 1812, when hostilities commenced with Great Britain, and our entire western frontier was menaced by the savages, Shelby was again called to the ex ecutive chair. The emergency was one which de manded the exercise of all his powers, and, by the authority of the legislature he organized a force of four thousand volunteers, which, in the fall of 1813, he led in person, though then sixty-three years of age, under Harrison, to Canada. To his unauthor ised but judicious step in drafting a corps of mount ed volunteers. at the crisis of this campaign, is said to have been owing its success, and the favorable results to the victory of the Thames. His gallant conduct on -the memorable occasion won for him the most. flattering acknowledgments from his general officer and- from President Madison, as well as from the Legislature of his own state, and subsequently a vote of thanks and a gold medal from Congress. 'In 1817, Shelby was invited by Monroe to the de partment of War ; but his advanced age and his love of private life induced him to decline acceptance. — The ensuing year he acted as a commissioner, with Gen. Jackson, in obtaining a cession of all the Chick asaw lands within the boundaries of Kentucky and Tennessee ; and this proved his last public act. In the spring of 1820 his right arm was disabled by paralysis, but his faculties remained unshaken until his decease, which was occasioned by apoplexy in, the summer of '26, in the seventy-sixth year of his age. For many years previous to this event, he had been a conscientious and consistent member of the Presbyterian church, and had contributed libe rally to the erection of a house of worship on his own land. In summing up the character of Isaac Shelby, we may emphatically say — he was a good and a gal lant man., His life, like that of all the leading spirits of his day, was an eventful one; and, in bravery and patriotism, he was, perhaps, surpassed by none of his cotemporaries. And Shelby's memory is safe. He will not be forgotten — atleast by the sons of Kentucky; for his name on their lips, is a " household word." VAZOO. It is a fact, of which few are aware, that at Satar- tia, on the Yazoo river, moulder the ruins of a dila pidated fort, which, during French' ascendancy in this country, was the abode and asylum of civilized man. Though the fact that the French, a long time anterior to the revolution, had a fort upon the Yazoo river, is incidentally mentioned in' connection with the early history of General Washington, yet little, even at that period, seems to have been known of its locality, its object, or its destiny; and. its men tion has faded from the page of American history, and its recollection from the mind of man. But it is on that account encircled with unusual interest, and clothed in imaginary grandeur ; as fancy unrestrain ed by fact, must weave its history, rear again its splendid but fallen walls — people its silent arcades — string anew the lute by which the lover softened and civilized the dusky forest maiden ; and mount the deep-mouthed cannon, whose thunders were hesrd far along the sluggish waters of the Yazoo. The ditch, which surrounded this once secure and majestic fort, is one mile in circumference, arid not withstanding a flood of years have poured their obli terating waters upon it, the depth is yet about three and a half feet. The dirt which was thrown from it, rises about the sarrie distance above the surface of the surrounding country — making the distance at present, from the bottom of the ditch to the top of the embankment, from six to seven feet. This ditch is perfectly circular, and must have been of a great depth at the time of its completion — otherwise its every vestige would have long since disappeared ; for such is its age, that the trees which have grown up, both in the ditch and upon the embankment, equal in size, and have in every particular the re semblance of those of the neighbouring forests. The surface of the earth, on the inside, is perfectly level, with the exception of here and there a mound, seemingly designed to give the inmates a view and command of the river, which meanders at a distance of two hundred yards from its north-western boun dary. The ruins indicate nothing of the character and construction of the fort, further than the embank ment and- circular ditch already described. This fort must have been constructed as early, or nearly so, as the settlement of New Orleans, and have astonished the wild Indian, before he learned the name of the far-famed " Natchez." Of the history of this desolate home of the soldier, the Indians themselves know but little, having left its tradition behind them, in their chase after the wild deer of the wilderness. The only information in relation to it was derived from an Indian, who bore some visible traces of his French ancestry, and claimed to be a descendant of a princess of Yazoos and the French commandant at the fort. He lived upon Uie spot at the time the, country was settled by the whites, and the tradition, as it had reached him, re presented the French as once having an extensive and lordly possession there, of which the fort was the centre. They traded with the Indians, and at tempted to possess themselves of the Yazoo valley. After years of labour and suffering, when they be lieved themselves nearest the accomplishment of their object, . and the surrounding Indians most peaceful and friendly, the Yazoos suddenly made a descent upon them, and surprised and massacred the inhabi tants of the fort. This, he says, originated in the maltreatment of the princess, his maternal ancestor, Dy the French ; but most probably from a desire of plunder in the Indians. If some lover of fiction would visit this spot, he might lay a foundation for some of fancy's brightest and loveliest creations — a theme which would render romantic the mention of the wilds of Mississippi. — Canton Herald. 116 GEORGE ROGERS CLARKE. There have been men in the history of every nation, the lives and characters of whom are so in timately identified with its annals, that to award their biographers full justice, it is indispensable to detail the events of the era in which they flourished. Such a man was Washington, and such a man, as truly, was George Rogers Clarke, though in a less extended sphere. The biography of Clarke and the early history of this western valley are identical; and should a life of this remarkable man, at all wor hy of its subject, .ever be given to the public — and we have reason to believe such will shortly be the case — we shall, at the same time, re ceive a more complete and interesting view of the primitive settlement of the West, and the perils and privations attending it, than has yet appeared. These suggestions being premised, it is quite evi made such a report of the western frontier to the Legislature of the state, that in the early part of '78, the celebrated Patrick Henry, then governor, yielded to his solicitations — a regiment was voted for the defence of the West, and two or three hundred men assembled without delay. The destination of this enterprise was preserved a profound secret. The force shortly started off, and crossing the Allegha- nies, to the Monongahela river, descended by water to the falls of the Ohio. At this point were left several families of emigrants, who had availed them selves of a safe conduct ; and being landed on Corn Island, a portion of the land was cleared and planted with corn. The names of the heads of these fami lies, so far as we have been enabled to learn, were James Patton, Richard Chenoweth, John Tuel, and William Faith. After settling these families, and being joined by a party of volunteers from Kentucky, Clarke, with dent, that, in our present notice of this distinguished four companies, under the command' of Bowman, man, we lay pretensions to nothing but an imperfect: Harrod, Helm, and Montgomery, on June 24th, sketch of the leading incidents of his life, and the ; during a total eclipse of the sun, started in boats leading feature* of his character, as illustrated by j down the Ohio, for a French post, called Fort MaS- them. We had hoped to have presented our read- : sac, about sixty miles from the mouth, and about ers with a more complete narrative of Clarke, from ' one hundred and thirty miles from Kaskaskia. This the pen of a member of the family, than our own \ village was now, for the first time, announced as the exceedingly limited sources of information will per- 1 destination of the enterprise. Concealing his boats mit us to prepare ; but, in the absence of this, we avail , at the old fort among the cane-brakes, to prevent ourselves of those circumstances, dates and events, j discovery by the savages, he now commenced his which, with more or less accuracy, have been de- march through a low, flat, marshy meadow, inter- tailed by antecedent writers. We may thus, in some ; sected by innumerable streams, and, in fact, im- degree, supply that signal deficiency, which the [passable to anyone but a backwood's ranger." At absence of this distinguished name from our sketches ' the head of his gallant band, rifle in hand, knapsack of early western characters, would not fail to occasion, on his shoulders, marched the intrepid Clarke ; eri The subject of our present narrative, was a native countering every hardship, and enduring, without a of Virginia, and was born in Albermarle in Novem- j murmur, every privation, like the meanest private ber, 1752. When about twenty-four years of age, in the regiment. he forsook his native village, and like most of the After a march incredibly short, all things con- enterprising young men of the period, started off for sidered, the hardy rangers arrived on the banks of the recent settlements of Kentucky, then a county : the Kaskaskia, a river opposite the village, in the of the parent state. At this era, Great Britain, then night, having pursued their route two days after the at war with us, held possession of that immense ! exhaustion of their provisions. Game, it is true, tract of country extending north and east of the Mis- . was abundant in the forests through which they sissippi, from the Gulf of Mexico, to the extreme passed, but the discharge of a gun, it was thought, frozen regions of the Arctic circle ; and, to some might warn some solitary hunter, and so they pre- extent, maintained authority over it, by means of ferred to endure the pangs of hunger, rather than widely scattered and well-fortified military posts. ' frustrate an enterprise, in which they had already To learn the location of those posts — to examine suffered so much, and in which secrecy was so their defences as far as practicable — to render him- essential to success. Notwithstanding all their pre- self intimately familiar with forest-life and privation cautions, however, it is stated that a hunter discover- — to make himself acquainted with every subject of ed the party, and apprised the inhabitants of Kas- interest in the country — to investigate the character kaskia of its approach ; but, that such a tale was con- of its settlers, its soil, and topography, were among sidered utterly improbable, and obtained not the the objects which the young Virginian entered upon slightest credence. — So unexpected, therefore, was soon after his emigration to the West. His success the attack, that the sleeping town and garrison were was signal, while, at the same time, he gained the captured without a blow beino- struck — not even a confidence and friendship ofthe inhabitants. Through show of resistance being made. Of Clarke, in this the influence of British agents, the entire frontier was ; affair, it is strikingly characteristic of his resolute at that time a scene of Indian atrocities ; and so deep and unshrinking nature, that, after he had formed was the impression which the recital made upon the his men for the assault, the only remark he made to mind of Clarke, that he at once devised a scheme to j them was ' The town is to be taken at all events ;' capture those British posts, from which the savages a sentiment quite as pithy as Stark's memorabl* received their supplies of arms and ammunition, and ' speech previous to the battle of Bennington. by which they were urged on to their shocking bar- j After the capture of Kaskaskia, not an individual barities. Such an enterprise was eminently calcula- was suffered to escape to convey the intelligence to ted for the bold and daring genius of the young ad- j the posts higher up the Mississippi ; and, the next venturer, and he engaged in it with all the fervidness day, after refreshment, a detachment mounted on of his ardent nature. He returned to Virginia, and , the Indian ponies of the American Bottom, hastened 117 no, .to Fort Chartres— then a most formidable fortress of stone — and took possession of it without resis tance. The fate of Cahokia, a fortified village a few miles above, was the same ; and thus the British power in that, section was completely humbled ; and the French fiillagers, swearing allegiance to our government, the fort at Kaskaskia became the head quarters of Clarke. At the next session of the Vir ginia Legislature, the district became a county, and was styled Illinois. The brief account of the capture of Fort Chartres we have presented, is that given by history ; but there is a tradition which we have heard from the lips of the old people now residing upon the spot, which is, perhaps, of sufficient interest to be given in this connection : When the little band of Clarke arrived beneath the walls of Fort Chartres, the num bers of the garrison far exceeding those of the be siegers, the latter, as if in despair of success, shortly took up the line of march and disappeared behind the-distant bluffs. Days passed on ; diligent exami nation of the heights was, kept up with glasses from the walls, but no enemy returned. At length, when apprehension had begun to die away, early one morning a troop of cavalry appeared winding over the bluffs, their arms glittering in the sunlight, and descended from view, apparently in the plain be neath. Hour after hour the march continued ; troop after troop, battalion upon battalion, regiment after regiment, with their various ensigns and habiliments of, warfare, appeared in lengthened files, wound over the bluffs, and disappeared. Alarmed and astonish ed at the countless swarms of ,the invaders, the gar rison-hastily evacuated the fortress, and for dear life and liberty, soon placed the Mississippi between themselves and the clouds of locusts ! Hardly was lliis precipitate manoeuvre well accomplished when the alarm of drum and fife was heard, and the iden tical force, which but a few days before had raised the siege, and in despair had retreated from beneath the wall, now paraded through the open sally ports, their rags and tatters fluttering by way of "pomp and circumstance" in the evening breeze. This fortunate ruse de guerre had been accomplished through the favourable nature of the ground, a few extra stand of colours manufactured for the occasion, and a variety of uniforms and arms of like character. After winding over the bluffs into the plain beneath, they again ascended through a defile unobserved by the garrison, and once more appeared in different guise and order, in rear of their comrades. " Dis tance," too, cast doubtless not a little " enchantment" over the "view ;" and then the fear and trepidation of the worthy garrison probably sharpened their optics to detect all the peril in store for them, and, perchance, somewhat more. Whether there is rea son to consider this tradition worthy of credence or not, we cannot say ; but in pursuing a further inves tigation of the incidents of Clarke's, life, we shall find" those which will abundantly demonstrate, that he was not deficient in military strategy requisite for a manoeuvre of, the kind. Viewing the expedi tion as a whole, it is not unworthy to be cherished m the most brilliant page of military renown. When Clarke had secured possession of his con quest, he unfolded to his men another feature in his expedition westward, which was the capture of Vincennes, a strongly fortified post. To ascertain the feelings of the French inhabitants of the village relative to their subservience to British will, Clarke dispatched to it M. Gibaiilt, the Roman Catholic priest of Vincennes, who happened to be at Kaskaskia at the time of its cap ture, and was friendly to the Americans. On his arrival he immediately gathered all of his flock in their church, and, such was his influence with them, that they at once took the oath of allegiance to Virginia. Upon the announcement ol this surrender to Clarke, he appointed a com mandant to the post ; but, no reinforcements ar riving from Virginia, he was unable to take pos session, and soon intelligence was brought him by Col. Vigo, that it had been garrisoned by. Gov. Hamilton with British troops and several hundred Indians. Col. Vigo was sent back to Vincennes, and again returned with the intelligence, that the commandant had detached his Indians to the frontiers of Kentucky; and among other ex tensive operations, designed, in a few months, to recapture the villages on the , Mississippi, suspect ing no attack himself. This information at once determined the move ments of Clarke. Leaving Kaskaskia on the 5th February, '79, he commenced, with one hundred and thirty men, partly Creoles, a march of one hundred and sixty miles, through a region almost impassable at any season, but at the present intersected by swollen creeks and rivers without name or number — abounding in marshes affording no firm footing, and mostly covered with forests and fallen timber. With their rifles on their heads and their provisions on their backs — without tents or wagons — almost without food or ammunition, for sixteen days did they toil onward. The five days were occupied in traversing the swamps and submerged bottom of the Wabash, within six miles of the Fort, sometimes wading breast high in mud and water. The season was, of course, an unusual one; or every man would have perished. On the 23d of February, the gallant corps arrived at the Wabash, and high on its eastern banks, be yond the rolling flood, stood Fort Vincent, the Bri tish fortress. Crossing the river in the night, Clarke began to approach the town over the inundated bot tom, and at the moment his troops were discovered by the enemy, Clarke found himself near a small ancient mound, which concealed part of his force from the foe. Under this covert he countermarched his men in so skilful a manner, that the leading files, which had been seen from the town, were transferred undiscovered to the rear, and made to pass again in sight of the enemy, until his whole force had seve ral times been displayed, and his little detachment of jaded troops assumed the appearance of an ex tended column greatly superior to its actual strength. A man shooting ducks was here discovered, who in formed Clarke that no one expected his approach at that season of the year. The town was now per emptorily summoned to surrender, which it soon did. That night, after the moon had set, an en trenchment was thrown up, in front of the Fort, within rifle shot, and on the morning of the 24th, a flag of truce was sent to Gov. Hamilton, accompany ing the most daring message to surrender, we ven ture to affirm, under such circumstances, ever sent by besiegers. This being disregarded, the attack 118 commenced, and for eighteen hours the assailants poured such a shower of rifle balls into the port holes of a strong battery, that at length its artillery was silenced, and the Fort given up, after some negotiation, upon Clarke's own terms. On the morning ofthe 25th, a garrison of twice the number of his own force, were surrendered prisoners of war, and the victor took quiet possession of the post, containing a large quantity of military stores. In the heat of the assault, a war-party of savages ap peared on the prairie with two French prisoners ; battle was instantly given them, and nine Indians with the prisoners were secured. Such was the termination of an enterprise, which, in the language of a late interesting writer,* " for bravery, for hardships endured, for skill and con summate tact and pure discipline, and love of country on the part of his followers ; for the immense bene fits acquired, and signal advantages obtained by it for the whole nation, was second to no enterprise undertaken during the revolutionary struggle ; I might add, second to no undertaking in ancient or modern warfare." It was these brilliant achievements of this expedition which gave to Clarke the highly honourable title, by which he will go down in histo ry to other generations — ' The Hannibal of the West.' The effect of Clarke's expedition was most ex tensive and powerful. It relieved the frontier from Indian atrocities — it struck terror into the hearts of the savages — it destroyed a matured plan to sweep off every vestige of American civilization in the West, and it consequentially brought about the pur chase of Louisiana, years afterwards. It had the effect, also, to found our own city sooner than it would otherwise have been founded ; for, by break ing up the powerful posts of the enemy in the vici nity, it enabled the settlers who had previously been forced for safety to inhabit and cultivate Corn Island, to remove, in the autumn of '78, to the southern shore, and carry on their improvements in peace. The town rapidly increased and became the head quarters of Clarke. Immediately after the capture of Vincennes, in formation reaching Clarke that a convoy of goods from Detroit was descending the Wabash, he despatched sixty men, in boats well armed with swivels, to intercept it. Forty leagues up the river they met the convoy, and made prize of goods and provisions to the amount of ten thousand pounds sterling, and the mail from Canada, capturing also forty prisouers, who were discharged on parole. Gov. Hamilton was sent to Virginia, and Clarke returned to Kaskaskia, leaving a garrison to retain Vincennes. Could he now have mustered a force of but three hundred men, he would have marched at once to Detroit ; but he received neither troops nor advices from Virginia; and, although his men, ani mated by a vote of thanks from the Legislature of that state for their capture of the posts on the Mis sissippi, would most willingly have marched against this important fortification, prudence forbade the undertaking. Not long after this, Clarke was directed to select a position on the Mississippi, near the southern boundary of the territory claimed by Virginia, and to commence a line of posts advancing towards the * Judge Law. northern lakes. This was done, and Fort Jefferson was erected. By this circumstance a difficulty al most immediately arose with the Chickasaw Indians upon whose territory the fort was built; but ex planations being made, they soon became pacified, and subsequently assisted in driving off a band of hostile Indians, by whom the garrison was assailed. The spot was afterwards restored to the Chickasaws. Clarke's influence with the northern Indians had now become very great. Assembling four or five thousand of them at Vincennes, he proposed to march to Detroit ; but, disappointed in the strength of his force, and being unwilling to reby entirely upon the savages, the design was given up.— -Nor were the enemy meanwhile idle. In the early part of June, 1780, the British commander at Detroit, with six hundred Canadians and Indians, suddenly appeared, with two field pieces, at Ruddle's Station, in Kentucky, and, having captured and plundered that, together with Martin's Station, hastened off towards Canada with the spoils. Clarke imme diately collected a band of volunteers, and without delay made an attack on the Shawnees of the Great Miami. The Indians were put to flight — one of their principal villages was consumed,- and all their provisions destroyed, so that being forced to hunt for a subsistence, ¦ they gave Kentueky no further trouble that season. During the same year, Clarke passed several months in Virginia, urging upon the government the reduction of Detroit. He at length obtained a force of two thousand men for the enter prise, which force was ordered to rendezvous in March of '81, at the falls of the Ohio. But difficul ties and obstacles arising, the expedition was finally abandoned. Clarke was, however, raised to the rank of Brigadier General. In September of the same year, a thousand mount ed riflemen were assembled on the Ohio, and led on by Clarke against the Indian towns on the Miami and Scioto. The Indians fled — only twelve being killed or taken — five of their villages were burned — all their provisions destroyed, and the effect Was, that never afterwards did any considerable band in vade Kentucky. In '84, Clarke was appointed by Congress, with four other gentlemen, to negotiate friendly treaties with the Indians, and several were effected. Among these was one made at Fort Washington in January of '76, which is thus described — ' The Indians came to the treaty in the most friendly manner, except the Shawnees, the most conceited and warlike of all the savage tribes ; the first in battle, the last at a treaty. Three hundred of their finest warriors, set off in their paint and feathers, filed into the council- house. Their numbers and demeanor, so unusual at an occasion of this sort, was altogether unexpect ed and suspicious. The U. States' stockade mus tered seventy men. In the centre of the hall, at a table, sat General Clarke — the indefatigable scourge of these marauders — General Butler, and Mr. Par sons. On the part of the Indians, an old council sachem and a war-chief took the lead. The latter, a tall, raw-boned fellow, with an impudent and vil lainous look, made a threatening speech, which ope rated effectually on the Indians, who set up a whoop at every pause. He concluded by presenting a white and black wampum, to signify their readiness for peace or war. General Clarke retained an wr 119 altered and careless countenance throughout, and with his cane pushed the wampum off the table. Every Indian started from his seat with one of those sudden sounds which express their indignation. Gen. Clarke also arose, and casting upon the savage group a scornful glance, put his footupon the insulted symbol, and ordered them to leave the hall. They did so, and all night they were heard debating near the fort. In the morning they came back, and sued for peace. In the same year; an army of a thousand men was led by Clarke against the Indians on the Wabash. When near Vincennes, a halt of nine days was or dered, in order that the provisions and stores might come up by the river. The boats were delayed — the provisions were spoiled — discontent broke out among the troops — rumours unfavourable to Clarke were circulated, and, at length, when within ten days' march of the Indian town, three hundred of the men mutinied and left the camp. All attempts at conciliation failed, and the expedition was ruined. Several years afterwards, Clarke was commis sioned Major General by France, in a clandestine expedition from Kentucky, which he was to organise and conduct against the Spanish possessions on the Mississippi; but this enterprise was abandoned- General Clarke's commission recalled, and thus closed his public career. Upon the latter days of this great man it is not pleasant to dwell. There were many things to ren der him a discontented and unhappy man, and he was so in the most bitter meaning of the terms. His health too became impaired, and for some years, he was afflicted with a rheumatic affection, which, at length terminating in paralysis, deprived him of a limb, and finally in 1818 caused his death. The last years of his life were passed at a beautiful spot called. Locust Grove, the residence of Dr. Croghan, a few miles east of Louisville. Here he died, and here repose his remains. Clarke was never married, but his collateral descendants are numerous and re spectable. He was well known, to many of our citizens, and his funeral was attended by a large assemblage, on which occasion a highly eloquent address on the character of the deceased, was pro nouncedly Judge Rowan. The biography of Clarke is one of melancholy interest. In his early years, he was a bold, ambi tious, enterprising man ; and he served his country long and faithfully in the front rank of danger. In his age, these services were forgotten by that coun try, and he was left to pine away a disappointed, discontented, unhappy being, in obscurity and ne glect. If, under a bitter sense of such injustice, he sought to drown his misery in the oblivious draught, it is almost to be forgiven, and to be considered rather a failing than a fault. Yet the name of Clarke will live for ages on the page of his coun try's chronicles ; and with it will be coupled the proud distinction — ' The Hannibal of the West.' Louisville . Disappointments in love., in those of deep and im aginative feeling, are like the tornadoes that sweep over southern regions. The heavens may again assume their serenity, but the wide spread desola tion remains ; and even in after years as the traces of the whirlwind, may be discovered amid the exu berant growth and profusion of flowers. BIOGRAPHY BENJAMIN WEST— Born 1738-Died 1820. Benjamin West, one of the most distinguished artistis America has yet produced, was born near Springfield, Penn., Oct. 10th, 1738. His first essay in the arts was made when he was seven years old ; for being left in charge of a sleeping child, he at tempted to represent its features on paper, with pen and ink. His success was such as to call forth the admiration of his parents. Soon after this he pro cured from some Indians the red and yellow earths used by them for decorating their persons ; and these with blue from his mother's pad of indigo, he was enabled to. give the colours of the objects pictured. The first money received by young West for his labours as an artist, was from Mr. Wayne, for draw ings on poplar boards ; and Dr. Morris made him a present of a " few dollars to buy paints with." His first effort at portrait-painting was at Lancaster. A gunsmith, named Henry, employed him to paint the death of Socrates, and loaned him the book to make him acquainted with the event. A workman stood as a model for one of the figures. This led to the study of the human form, and showed the youth the importance of anatomy as connected with the arts of design. In 1756, West's mother died; and in that year our painter left his birthplace, and came to Phila delphia. Here he pursued his professional avoca tions as a portrait-painter for some time and with marked success. After a while he visited New York, where he remained eleven months, constantly occupied. ; at this time a favourable opportunity oc curring to visit Europe, West embarked for Italy, being then twenty-one years of age. At that time, the sight of an American artist, and that one too a quaker, was by no means common in Italy, and West was every where received with the attention to which his talents entitled him. At Rome, he met with the distinguished artist, Mengs, who treated him with great, kindness, and even advised him as to the proper course to be pursued for his improve ment. " See," said he, " and examine every thing deserving of your attention here, and after making- a few drawings of about half, a dozen of the best statues, go to Florence, and observe what has been done for art in the collections there. Then proceed to Bologna, and study the works of the Caracci . afterward visit Parma, and examine attentively the pictures of Corregio ; and then go to Venice, and view the productions of Tintoretto, Titian, and Paul Veronese. When you have made this tour, come back to Rome, and paint an historical composition to be exhibited to the Roman publick." After a severe illness of eleven months, West proceeded on the tour recommended by Mengs, and returning to Rome, painted his pictures of Cimon and Iphigenia, and Angelica and Medona. These procured for him academical honours. He now de termined to visit England, and on the 20th of June, 1763, we find him at London. The commencement of his career in that city, is thus stated by Mr. Les lie : " When Mr. West arrived in London, the gen eral opinion was so unfavourable to modern art, that it was scarcely thought possible for an artist to paint an historical or fancy picture worthy to hang up be- 120 [Benjamin West.J 9ide the old masters. Hogarth had produced his matchless pictures in vain. The connoisseur who would have ventured to place the inimitable scenes of the " Marriage a la mode," on his walls, (I mean the pictures, the prints were in great request,) would have hazarded most fearfully his reputation for taste. This prejudice against living genius contin ued until the arrival of West, and it must have re quired some courage in a young man at that time to make his appearance in England, in the character of an historical painter. One of the first pictures, if not the very first he produced, wras from the story of Pylades and Orestes, (there is an admirable copy of it in this country, painted by Mr. Sully.) This pic ture attracted so much attention, that Mr. West's servant was employed from morning till night in opening the door to visiters, and the man received a considerable sum of money by showing it, while the master was obliged to content himself with emp ty praise. All admired, but no one dared to buy it. It was curious enough, however, that the reputation of this picture raised him into high favour as a por trait-painter. West's talents thus becoming known, soon made him acquainted, among others, with the archbishop of York, for whom he painted his Agrippina. His success in the management of this subject, procured his presentation to George III. " The king receiv ed West with easy frankness, assisted him to place the Agrippina in a favourable light, removed the at tendants, and brought in the queen, to whom he pre sented our quaker. He related to her majesty the history of the picture, and bade her notice the sim plicity of the design and the beauty of the colouring. 1 There is another noble Roman subject,' observed his majesty, ' the departure of Regulus from Rome — would it not make a fine picture V ' It is a magnifi cent subject,' said the painter. ' Then,' replied the king, ' you shall paint it for me.' He turned with a smile to the queen, and said, ' The archbishop made one of his sons read Tacitus to Mr. West, but 1 will read Livy to him myself — that part where he de scribes the departure of Regulus.' So saying, he read the passage very gracefully, and then repeated his command that the picture should be painted." The Regulus was successful, and was followed by the " Death of Wolfe," in which he substituted the costume of the day for the classick dress. Mr. West now suggested to the king a series of pictures on the progress of revealed religion, which were- order ed. He divided his subject " into four dispensations ; the Antediluvian, the Patriarchal, the Mosaical, and the Prophetical. They contained in all thirty-six subjects, eighteen of which belonged to the Old Testament, the rest to the New. They were all sketched, and twenty-eight were executed, for which West received in all twenty-one thousand seven hundred and five pounds. A work so varied, so ex tensive, and so noble in its nature, was never before undertaken by any painter." Another extensive series of historical pictures paint ed by West, was drawn from the reign of Edward III.; they were — " 1. Edward III. embracing the black prince, after the battle of Cressy. 2. The Installa tion and order of the Garter. 3. The black prince receiving the king of France and his son prisoners, at Poictiers. 4. St. George vanquishing the Dragon. 5. Queen Phillipa defeating David of Scotland, in the battle of Neville's cross. 6. Queen Phillipa interceding with Edward* for the Burgesses of Calais. 7. King Edward forcing the passage of the " Somme. 8 King Edward crowning Sit 121 Eustace de Ribaumont at Calais. These works are very large. They were the fruit of long study and much labour, and with the exception ofthe death of Wolfe and,,the battle of la Hogue, they were the best of all the numerous works of this artist." On, the death of Reynolds, West was chosen President of the Royal Academy, and delivered his inaugural address in March, 1792. In 1802, West was dismissed from employment by the successor of George III. " This extraordinary proceeding," says Gait, " rendered the studies of the best part of the artist's . life useless, and deprived him of that honourable provision, the fruit of his talents and industry, on which he had counted for the repose of his declining years. For some time it affected him deeply, and he was at a loss what steps to take." But he, however, still continued his professional pursuits, and painted the " healing in the temple," a copy of which he presented to the Pennsylvania hospital ; this was followed by the " descent of the Holy Ghost and Christ at the Jordan," ten feet by fourteen ; the " Crucifixion," sixteen feet by twenty- eight; the "Ascension," twelve feet by eighteen; and the " Inspiration of St. Peter," of nearly the same size. Nor must we omit to mention his " Christ rejected," or his ' Death on the pale horse," which is exhibiting at the present time in the United States. West's health now began to decline. " Domestick sorrow mingled with professional disappointment. Eliza beth Shewell — for more than fifty years his kind and tender companion — died on the 6th of Decem ber, 1817, and West, seventy-nine years old, felt that he was soon to follow. His wife and he had loved each other some sixty years — had seen their children's children — and the world had no compen sation to offer. He began to sink, and though still to be found at his easel, his hand had lost its early alacrity. It was evident that all this was to cease soon ; that he was suffering a slow, and a genera] and easy decay. The venerable old man sat in his study among his favourite pictures, a breathing im age of piety and contentment, awaiting calmly the hour of his dissolution. Without any fixed com plaint, his mental faculties unimpaired, his cheerful ness uneciipsed, and with looks serene and benevo lent, he expired 11th March, 1820, in the eighty- second year of his age. He was buried beside Reynolds, Opie, and Barry, in St. Paul's cathedral. The pall was borne by noblemen, ambassadors, and academicians ; His two sons and grandson were chief mourners ; and sixty coaches brought up the splendid procession." In speaking of West's character, the present pres ident of the royal academy, Sir Martin Shee,, re- 16 ["MoBes."— B. West.] 122 marks. " Well grounded in the elementary princi ples of his profession, he was as conversant with the theory, as he was dexterous in the practice of his art. It is no exaggeration to say of him, that in the exercise of those powers of the pencil, to the at tainment of which his ambition more particularly directed him, he was unrivalled in his day. Such, indeed, was the facility of his hand, and with so much certainty did he proceed in his operations, that he rarely failed to achieve whatever he proposed to accomplish, and within the time which he had allotted for its performance. " Indefatigible application and irrepressible ar dour in his pursuit, succeeded in obtaining for him that general knowledge of his subject, which sel dom fails to reward the toils of resolute and well- directed study. No artist of his time, perhaps, was better acquainted with the powers and the expedi ents, the exigences and the resources of his art. No man could more sagaciously estimate the quali ties of a fine picture, or more skilfully analyze the merits combined in its production. " The ambition of West directed him to the high est department of his art. In his hands the pencil was always employed for the noblest purposes — on subjects the moral interest of which outweighs their mechanical execution. He delighted to commemo rate heroick deeds, to illustrate the annals of sacred history, and perpetuate the triumphs of patriotism and publick virtue. " The degree of success with which the honour able exertions of West were attended, may, I con ceive, be fairly determined by this test ; let the most prejudiced of those who are inclined to ques tion his claim to the rank of a great artist examine the series of prints engraved from his works. I would, in particular, entreat them to view with some attention, the death of General Wolfe — the battles of la Hogue and the Boyne — the return of Regulus to Carthage — Agrippina bearing the ashes of Germanicus — the young Hannibal swearing eternal enmity to the Romans — the death of Epami- nondas — the death of Chevalier Bayard — Pyrrhus, when a boy, brought to Glaucus, king of Illyria, for protection — and Penn's treaty with the Indians ; not to mention many others, perhaps equally deserv ing of enumeration. Let these well-known exam ples of his ability be candidly considered, and where is the artist, whose mind is enlarged beyond the narrow sphere of his own peculiar practice ; where is the connoisseur, whose taste has not been formed by a catalogue raisonne, or in the atmosphere of an auction-room ; who will hesitate to acknowledge that the author of such noble compositions may just ly claim a higher station in his professsion than has been hitherto assigned to him, and well merits to be considered, in his peculiar department, the most dis tinguished artist of the age in which he lived ?" For many anecdotes, and for further information in regard to Benjamin West, we refer our readers to Dunlap's valuable " History of the Rise and Prog ress of the Arts of Design in the United States," a work which has been used freely in compiling this brief sketch, and which contains more information in regard to American artists, and the history of their interesting efforts in the pursuit of the art to which they have devoted themselves, than can be found in any other book. INDIAN MANNERS. The Indian men, when young, are hunters and warriours ; when old, counsellors ; for all their gov ernment is by counsel of the sages. There is no force, there are no prisons, no officers to compel obedience, or inflict punishment. Hence, they gen erally study oratory, the best speaker having the most influence. The Indian women till the ground, dress the food, nurse and bring up the children, and preserve and hand down to posterity the memory of publick transactions. These employments of men and women are accounted natural and honourable. Having few artificial wants, they have abundance of time and leisure for improvement by conversation. Our laborious manner of life, compared with theirs, they deem slavish and base ;- and the learning on which we value ourselves, they regard as frivolous and useless. An instance of this occurred at the treaty of Lancaster in Pennsylvania, A. D. 1744, be tween the government of Virginia and the Six Na tions. After the principal business was settled, the commissioners from Virginia acquainted the Indians by a speech, that there was, at Williamsburgh, a col lege, with a fund for educating Indian youth ; and that if the Six Nations would send down half a dozen of their young lads to that college, the government would take care that they should be well provided for, and instructed in all the learning of the white people. It is one of the Indian rules of politeness not to answer a publick proposition tho same day that it is made ; they think that it would be treating it as a light matter, and that they show it respect by taking time to consider it, as of a matter that is im portant. They therefore deferred their answer tiU the day following, when their speaker began by ex pressing their deep sense of the kindness of the Vir ginia government in making them that offer ; "for we know," says he, " that you highly esteem the kind of learning taught in those colleges, and that the maintenance of our young men while with you would be very expensive to you. We are convinced, therefore, that you mean to do us good by your pro posal, and we thank you heartily. But you, who are wise, must know that different nations have dif ferent conceptions of things ; and you will therefore not take it amiss if our ideas of this kind of educa tion happen not to be the same with yours. We have had some experience of it ; several of our young people were formerly brought up at the colleges of the northern provinces — they were instructed in all your sciences ; but when they came back to us, they were bad runners — ignorant of every means of living in the woods— finable to bear either cold or hunger- knew neither how to build a cabin, take a deer, or kill an enemy — spoke our language imperfectly, and were therefore neither fit for hunters, warriours,_noi counsellors ; they were, in short, good for nothing. We are, however, not the less obliged by your kind offer, though we decline accepting it ; and, to show our grateful sense of it, if the gentlemen- of Virginia will send us a dozen of their sons, we will take great care of their education, instruct them in all we know, and make MEN of them." Having frequent occasions to hold publick councils, they have acquired great order and decency, in con ducting them. The old men sit in the foremost ranks, the warriours in the next, and the women and children in the hindmost. The business of the 123 women is to take exact notice of what passes, im print it in their memories, and communicate it to their children. They are the records of the publick council, and they preserve traditions of the stipula tions -in treaties one hundred years back ; which, when we compare them with our writings, we al ways find exact. He that would speak, rises ; the rest observe a profound silence. When he has fin ished and sits down, they leave him five or six minutes to recollect ; that if he has omitted any /hing he intended to say, or has any thing to add, he may rise again and deliver it. To interrupt another even in common conversation, is reckoned highly indecent. How different this is from the conduct of one of our legislative assemblies, where scarcely a day passes without some confusion, that makes the speaker hoarse in calling to order ; and how differ ent from the mode of conversation in many pOlite circles, where, if you do not deliver your sentence with great rapidity, you are cut off in the middle of it by the impatient loquacity of those with whom you converse. BIOGRAPHY. JOHN MARSHALL, CHIEF JUSTICE OF THE U. S. This venerable and distinguished man died at Philadelphia on the 6th. July 1837. In ill health, emaciated,, and full of years, the event was not unex pected either to his friends or to himself. He had lived eighty years, and his valuable life has been identified with the most important events in our histo ry. It cannot be denied, that as a soldier, a lawyer, a legislator, a historian, and lastly as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, Mr. Mar shall has exhibited pre-eminent talents, and sustained himself with enduring honour. His elevated quali fications for the Chief Justiceship, indeed his seeming natural-adaptedness to that precise situation at the pe culiar and important period when he was called to it, can be fully appreciated only by those who can un derstand the difficulties of framing a new, and indeed almost original system of National Jurisprudence adapted to an experimental government, and that gov ernment a Republic, and who can perceive the suc cess of his labours in that undertaking, and under stand the importance of their results. The office of Chief Justice of the United States is most difficult, most important, most responsible, and second only to the Presidency in every point of view. That Mr. Marshall has acquitted himself with distinguished honour in that station, the expressions of the Bar in the different parts of the country abundantly indicate. " The Chief Justice," says the Philadelphia In quirer, " was born in Virginia, on the, 24th of Sep tember, 1755 ; and, as early as the summer of 1775, received a commission as lieutenant of a company of minute-men, and was shortly after engaged in the battle of the Great Bridge, where the British troops, under Lord Dunmore, were repulsed with great gal lantry. He was subsequently engaged in the me morable battles of Brandy wine, Germantown, and Monmouth, and, in 1780 obtained a license to prac tice law. He returned to the army shortly after, and continued in the service until the termination of Arnold's invasion. " In the spring of 1782 he was elected a member of the State Legislature, and in the autumn of the same year, a member of the Executive Council, and married in 1783. In 1788 he was elected as repre sentative of the city of Richmond in the Legislature of Virginia, and continued to occupy that station for the years 1789, 1790, 1791, and upon the recall of Mr. Monroe, as Minister, from France, President Washington solicited Mr. Marshall to accept the appointment as his successor, but he respectfully declined. In 1799 he was elected and took his seat in Congress, and in 1800 he was appointed Secreta ry of War. " On the 31st of January, 1801, he became Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, which distinguished station he continued to fill with unsullied dignity and pre-eminent ability, until the close of his mortal career. His biographer eloquent ly observes : — ' What indeed strikes us as the most remarkable in his whole character, even more than his splendid talents, is the entire consistency of his public life and principles. There is nothing in either which calls for apology or concealment. Ambition never seduced , him from his principles— -popular clamour never deterred him from the strict perform ance of his duty. Amid the extravagances of party spirit, he stood with a calm and steady inflexibility — neither bending to the pressure of adversity, nor bounding with the elasticity of success. He lived as such a man should live, by and with his principles. If we were tempted to say in one word in what he excelled all other men, we should say, in wisdom ; in the union of that virtue, which ripened under the hardy discipline of principles, with that of knowledge, which constantly sifted and refined its old treasures, and as constantly gathered new. The Constitution, since its adoption, owes more to him than to any oth er single mind, for its true interpretation and vindica tion. Whether it lives or perishes, his exposition of its principles will be an enduring monument to his fame, so long as solid reasoning, profound analy- 124 sis, and sober views of government shall invite the leisure, or command the attention of statesmen and jurists.' " The following portrait of Chief Justice Marshall was drawn by a distinguished jurist, since deceased: He was in his person tall, meagre, emaciated, his muscles relaxed, and his joints so loosely connected as not only to disqualify him, apparently, for any vig orous exertions of the body, but to destroy every thing like elegance and harmony in his air and move ments. Indeed, in his whole appearance and de meanour — dress, attiude, and gestures — sitting, stand ing, or walking — he was as far removed from the idolizing graces of Lord Chesterfield, as any other gentleman on earth. To continue the portrait : his head and face were small in proportion to his height ; his complexion swarthy ; the muscles of his face being relaxed, gave him the appearance of a man of eighty years of age. His countenance had a faithful expression of great good humour and hilarity ; while his black eyes — the unerring index — possessed an irradiating spirit, which proclaimed the imperial powers of the mind that sat enthroned within. This extraordinary man, without the aid of fancy, without the advantage of person, voice, attitude, ges ture, or any of the ornaments of an orator, deserves to be considered as one ofthe most eloquent men in the world ; if eloquence may be said to consist in the power of seizing the attention with irresistible force, and never permitting it to elude the grasp until the hearer has received the conviction which the speaker intends. As to his person, it has already been described. His voice was dry and hard, his attitude in his most effective orations was extremely awkward ; as it was not unusual for him to stand with his gestures pro ceeding from his right arm, and consisting merely in a vehement perpendicular swing of it from above the elevation of his head to the bar, behind which he was accustomed to stand. As to fancy, if she held a seat in his mind at all, which I very much doubt, his gigantic genius tram pled with disdain on all her flower-decked plants and blooming parterres. How, then, will you ask with a look of incredulous curiosity — how is it possible that such a man could hold the attention of an audience enchained through a speech of ordinary length ? I will tell you. He possessed an original and almost supernatural faculty, of developing the subject by a single glance of his mind, and detecting at once the very point on which the controversy depended. No matter what the question, though ten times more knotty than the " gnarled oak," the lightning of heaven is not more resistless than was his astonishing penetration. Nor did the exercise of it seem to cost him an effort. On the contrary, it was as easy as a vision. I am per suaded that his eyes did not fly over a landscape and take in its various objects with more promptitude and facility than his mind embraced and analyzed the most complex objects. Possessing while at the bar this intellectual eleva tion, which enabled him to look down and compre hend the whole ground at once, he determined im mediately, and without difficulty, which side the question might be most advantageously approached and assailed ; in a bad cause, his art consisted in lay ing his premises so remotely from the point directly in debate, or else in terms so generous and specious, that the hearer, seeing no consequences which could be drawn from them, was just as willing to ad mit them as not : but his premises once admitted, the demonstration, however distant, followed as certainly, as cogently, and as inevitably, as any demonstration in Euclid. All his eloquence consisted in the apparently deep self-conviction, and emphatic earnestness of his man ner : the correspondent simplicity and energy of his style, the close logical connection of his thoughts, and the easy gradations by which he opened his lights on the attentive minds of his hearers. THE BELVIDERE APOLLO. Heard ye the arrow liunle in the sky? Heard ye the dragon-monster's deathful cry ? In settled majesty of fierce disdain, Proud of his might, yet scornful of the slain, The heavenly archer stands — no human birth, No perishable denizon of earth ! Youth blooms immortal in his beardless face, A god in strength, with more than godlike grace ! All, all divine — no struggling muscle glows, Through heaving vein no mantling life-blood flows; But animate with deity alone, In deathless glory lives the breathing stone. Bright-kindling with a conqueror's stern delight, His keen eye tracks the arrow's fateful flight ; Burns his indignant cheek with vengeful fire, And his lip quivers with insulting ire ; Firm-fix'd his tread, yet light as when on high, He walks the impalpable and pathless sky ; The rich luxuriance of his hair confined In graceful ringlets, wantons on the wind, That lifts in sport his mantle's drooping fold, Proud to display that form of faultless mould. Mighty Ephesian ! with an eagle's flight, Thy proud soul mounted through the fields of light, Viewed the bright conclave of Heaven's blest abode, And the cold marble leapt to life a God : Contagious awe through breathless myriads Tan, ,. And nations bowed before the work of man. For mild he seemed as in Elysian bowers, Wasting in careless ease the joyous hours; Haughty as bards have sung, with princely sway Curbing the fierce flame-breathing steeds of day ; Beauteous as vision seen in dreamy sleep By holy maid on Delphi's haunted.stoep ; 'Mid the dim twilight of the laurel grove, Too fair to worship, too divine to love. Yet on that form in wild delirious trance, With more than reverence gazed the maid of France: Day after day the love-sick dreamer stood With him alone, nor thought it solitude ; To cherish grief, her task, her dearest care, Her one fond hope — to perish — or despair. Oft as the shining light lier sight beguiled, Blushing she shrunk, and thought the marble smiled, Oft, breathless listening, heard, or seemed to hear A voice of music melt upon the ear. Slowly she wan'd, and cold and senseless grown, Closed her dim eyes, herself benumbed to stone; Yet love in death a sickly strength supplied, Once more she gazed, then feebly smiled, and died. In water sound passes 4708 feet in a second ; in air from 1130 to 1142. 125 BIOGRAPHY. WILLIAM PRESCOTT. [From Knapp's American Biography.] William Prescott, was born in 1726, at Groton, in Massachusetts, and was an officer of the Provin cial troops at the capture of Cape Breton in 1758. He.- was distinguished in the campaign and was offered a commission in the regular army, which he declined. He was engaged in agricultural and civil employments until near the commencement of the Revolutionary war. He was a member of the Pro vincial Congress, in 1774 and when the militia was or ganized, by that body, he was appointed to the com mand of a regiment. He marched to Concord as soon as he heard that Gage had sent Pitcairn with forces to destroy the stores at Concord ; before he knew one drop of blood had been spilled. The share he had in the memorable battle of the seventeenth of June, 1775, should not be forgotten. He proved himself worthy of command by his prowess on that day. The American army had been quartered at Cam bridge nearly two months, and no blow had been struck to rid the country of the British troops or to encourage the natives ; some uneasiness seemed to show itself in the camp, and more abroad, that great er energy was not shown ; but the wise thought to conquer by Fabian wisdom, while others were for decisive measures. The army at Cambridge was known to be large enough to demolish the British, if they could be got at. In this state of feeling, it was thought proper to make some demonstrations of cour age and intention of acting offensively and fearlessly. Col. Prescott was sent with the fragments, or rather, the skeletons of three regiments, on the night of the sixteenth of June, to occupy a station on Bunker's Hill. On viewing that eminence he found it an in eligible spot ; and he looked along to the right, and found that a spur of that hill which was now called Breed's Hill, was the most proper situation, in every respect for a battle-ground. Considering that they were within the limits of their orders, Prescott and Col. Gridley, the engineers, began a redoubt on the right of Breed's Hill. It was about one hundred and forty feet square, with two open passages for ingress and egress. On the left of ihe redoubt, run ning, northeasterly, was a breastwork of sods, not much over four feet high ; but not, as has been sta ted, extending to Mystick river ; it did not extend one quarter of the way to it. The line from this breastwork was made of two post-and-rail fences, placed about four feet apart in parallel lines, and between them was trod the newly-mown grass, ma king quite as;good a screen for the militia as the redoubt or the breastwork. General Ward, concluding from the firing from the summit of Copp's Hill in Boston, that the Brit ish would make a struggle to get possession of the works, offered to relieve Prescott and his' men, but they unanimously declined the offer, but earnestly insisted on reinforcements. These were reluctantly given, as the commander-in-chief thought that an attack on his camp was contemplated, and in such case his fortified camp, indifferently fortified as it was, was a better place for a general action than Bunker's Hill. Early in the morning, from the battery on Copp's Hill, one of the men in or near the redoubt was shot and was instantly buried on the spot ; but although the roar of the cannon from Copp's Hill was inces sant, no further damage was done by their shots • and in aid of this battery, the Lively, man-of-war, was brought to bear, and in fact she began to can nonade at early dawn. General Gage wishing to drive the Provincials from the hill, sent Major-General Howe, and Briga dier-General Pigot, with ten companies of grenadiers and ten of light infantry, with some artillery to per form this service. These generals reconnoitring the American forces, on their arrival at Morton's Point, thought best to wait for reinforcements from Boston. For these, Howe waited from noon to about three o'clock, before the battle was com menced. The British began a slow march up the hill in two lines, stopping at times to give the artillery a chance to play. But the angle of elevation was such that it did but little execution. The Provincials wasted no ammunition ; they had but a scanty supply. They were ordered to put four buck shot to a bullet, and to reserve their fire until the enemy were at blankshot distance. At this moment they poured in upon the approaching foe a most destructive volley. The effect was not more destructive than appalling. The British soldiery, expecting nothing but random shots from undisci plined militia, were astounded at such deadly fires, and their line was broken in confusion. Some com panies had not twenty soldiers fit for duty wrTen they were about to rally. The British officers had the greatest difficulty to bring their troops into line again. At length they came up a second time toward the works, but with some wavering ; and in less than fifteen minutes their line broke in still greater con fusion than before. Clinton saw this from Boston, and hastened over to assist Howe. Both the gen erals addressed the soldiers ; called to mind their former wreaths of glory, and the everlasting disgrace of being beaten by raw militia. Howe swore to them that he would never survive the disgrace, if they were beaten that day. By this time, Charles- town, consisting of four hundred houses, was in a blaze. This Clinton had done to terrify the neigh bouring army. On the third attack they were undet the necessity of resorting to skill, not daring to put it on the the score of bravery a third time. Pigot, with a considerable force, took a circuitous route around the south side of the hill, and came upon the southwestern angle ofthe redoubt, and instantly sca led the slight works. Pitcairn was with him, and was shot through the body, as he was about to leap into the redoubt. Pigot, being a short man, was lifted by his soldiers on the sods, and jumped into the area without harm. The Provincials were now attacked on the east and on the west ; their ammu nition was exhausted ; and they had few or no bay onets ; and after beating their assailants a while with the butts of their guns, Prescott ordered a re treat. Those at the breastwork retreated, and those at the rail-fence followed, over Charlestown neck, northward. Until the commencement of the retreat, but few of the Americans had been killed. Their unwilling ness to leave the ground at the proper time, was 126 the cause of the considerable number of killed and wounded. Capt. Knowlton having a fine large com pany near Mystick river, moved up in good order, and covered the retreat of those from the redoubt and breastwork. The battle ended between five and 6ix o'clock. The wind during the fight was brisk and westerly, and blew the smoke directly into the face of the enemy ; but as the smoke arose over the heads of the British, the Americans, as it were, look ing under the cloud, saw where to fire. Prescott was in all the fight in the redoubt ; the other portion of the Massachusetts militia at the breastworks. The New Hampshire troops, under Stark, Dearborn, and others, were at the rail-fence. They were march ing from their native state towards Cambridge, and went on to the battle-ground by their own impulses, not having received any orders from the commander- in-chief. The British had between three and four thousand in the fight. They acknowledged ten hundred and fifty-four killed and wounded, with a great propor tion of officers. Their number was most unquestion ably larger ; for they brought between three and four hundred corpses of the slain and buried them in the corner of a new burying-ground at the bottom of the Common in Boston. The others were buried on Breed's Hill, where they fell. The Americans had fifteen hundred in the fight, but perhaps there were a few more at times, for vol unteers came on to the ground, expended their pow der, and retreated, when they could do no more ser vice to the cause. The Provincials had one hundred and thirty-nine killed, and three hundred and four teen wounded and missing. The officers who fell on our side, were Col. Gardner, of Cambridge, Lt. Col. Parker, of Chelmsford, and Majors Moore and M'Cleary — all men of distinction and value, and he roes in the cause — with Major-General Joseph War ren. Warren assumed no command on that day. He had been commissioned as a major-general by the Provincial Congress but four days previous, and had not taken any command ; nor had he, in fact, been sworn into office, except as every one had an oath in heaven to live free or die. Warren was, at the moment of his fall, president of the Provincial Con gress, and Chairman of the Committee of Safety. He had put some one in the chair, and mounted his borse at Watertown, where the legislature was in session, to come and encourage his fellow-citizens in the fight. When he entered the redoubt, Pres cott offered him the command, but he declined it, saying, " I come to learn war under an experienced soldier, not to take any command." He was the martyr of that day's glory. His death was felt as a calamity to the cause, and to the nation. He was in the prime of life, being only -thirty-five years of age, a spirit as bold and dauntless as ever was bla zoned in legends, or recorded in history. He was a prudent, cautious, but fearless statesman ; made to govern men, and to breathe into them a portion of his own heroick soul. His eloquence was of a high order ; his voice was fine, and of great compass, and he modulated it at will. His appearance had the air of a soldier — graceful and commanding, united to the manners of a finished gentleman. The British thought that his life was of the utmost importance to the American army ; — of so much importance that they would no longer hold together after his fall. They sadly mistook the men they had to deal with His blood was not shed in vain ; it cried from the ground for vengeance ; and his name will become a watch-word in the hour of peril and glory. The name of the humblest individual who perish ed in that fight will be remembered by the town or parish from whence he came, and be generally en rolled on the books of the corporation. Young, sub stantial yeomen, or industrious mechanicks, they were owners of the soil for which they fought. The battle-scene was imposing ; the ground was in the immediate neighbourhood of a city, whosfe1 in habitants were watching the progress of events anxious for the nearest friends, while the roar oi cannon from ships-of-war, and from floating and sta tionary batteries, was' followed or commingled with incessant volleys of musketry ; a well-built, compact town, was seen in one mass of flames — and all this but the commencement of troubles — was a sight which was appalling to every American, and seemed to shake even the enemy, mind and body, together The British troops, in considerable numbers, occu pied the hill that night, and enlargedthe redoubt to nearly twice the original extent ; but they did not venture to light their fires — they labored by the sink ing, flickering lights which shot up from the smould ering ruins of Charlestown. For those struggling for liberty, the event of this battle was most fortunate. The American troops had done enough for honour ; enough to produce an impression of their prowess, on the minds of their enemies ; enough to give them confidence in them selves ; and to show that they had learned something in the way of preparing themselves to correct the errours of judgement in planning a fight. They suf fered enough to feel their loss deeply, and yet*~not sufficiently, in an)' way, to weaken their forces. The wound received was too deep to be healed at once ; the sight was too awful to be soon forgotten." If the army had come down from Cambridge and Roxbury to the succour, the British would have been destroyed altogether ; but with the disposition of the king of England at this period, and the spirit ofthe ministry, the whole force of the British nation would have been brought to crush us at once. Col. Prescott was a noble, bold, brave, country- gentleman, whose heart was patriotick tfi the very core. Where danger was, there he was to be found. The good of his country was his chief;' his sole de sire. He was again found in arms at the capture of Burgoyne. At this event he considered the freedom of the country secure, though there might be much hard fighting to come. He resigned his commission and retired to his farm in Pepperill, a new town ta ken from Groton the place of his nativity. He was several times sent to the legislature and was an effi cient member of this body. He suffered with others of that band of freemen who achieved our independ ence, by the depreciation of paper money. What they received as a representation of specie became worthless as rags, an eyesore to the possessor, and a stain on the page of our country's history. Col. Prescott died in 1795, in the seventiethfyear of his age ; leaving an only son, Judge William Prescott, a statesman and jurist, who has ably sustained the rights and principles for which his father fought and bled. 127 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF THE HON. NATHANIEL BOWDITCH. I'From the Boston Daily Advertiser of March 17, 1838.] "It gives us pain to announce the decease of our distinguished townsman, Dr. Bowditch ; which took place yesterday, at one o'clock, after an illness of several weeks. f" The death of this eminent man will be felt in America as a national loss. His name was, identi fied with the science of his native country ; and our national character with men of science abroad, is indebted to no one individual — with the exception, perhaps, of Dr. Franklin — so much, as to him. Dr. Bowditch was born on the twenty-sixth of March, 1773, at Salem, in the state of Massachu setts. In his education, he had no other advantages than those afforded by the common town-schools, which at that period, were comparatively meager, and inadequate to the great purposes of disciplining and 'storing the mind with knowledge. At the usual age, he was placed as a clerk, or ap prentice, in the store of a merchant, in Salem ; and, while in that situation, it is said," he used to employ his leisure time in his favourite science of mathe- maticks, and various practical subjects connected with it. His attention was directed, at an early age, to the Principia ofhis great master, Newton. But, as this work was published in' the Latin language, which he had not then learned, he was obliged to begin his reading of it, by asking some of the Cambridge stu dents during their vacations at Salem, to explain it to him in English.- He soon discovered, however, that hisown knowledge of the subject, with the aid of the .mathematical processes and diagrams on the pages of the Principia, enabled him to comprehend the reasoning contained in the modern and technical Latin of the work, more readily than he could do with the help of the superiour knowledge which the university students possessed of the Latin of Cicero and Virgil ; and he was soon convinced that his shortest course would be to acquire a knowledge of the language for himself ; which by great perseve rance. he accomplished, and was enabled to read any work of science in it. And thus he was anoth er instance, like that of the ancient Greek writer, who relates, of himself, that during his residence at Rome, he obtained a knowledge of the language of the Romans, by his knowledge of the subjects which they discussed in it. He afterward learned French, for the purpose of having access to the treasures of French mathematical science ; and, at a late period of his life, he acquired some knowledge of the Ger man language. A little circumstance connected with his study of Newton's Principia, will not be uninteresting to the learned and the unlearned. The Latin copy of it, which Dr. Bowditch used, was presented to him by a mercantile friend in Salem, who made no preten sion to science, and would never have thought of opening the work ^ but he had preserved it in his little library of popular works, as a book that possi bly might one day'be of use to some porson. By a remarkable coincidence of circumstances, the vol ume came to the knowledge of Dr. Bowditch • and his friend, upon being requested to lend it, with great liberality presented it to him — the man who, above all others in the country, was the best able to make the most advantageous use of it. So far as great effects may be said to flow from small causes, what important consequences may have followed from the preservation of this single and apparently worthless volume, by an individual who could make no use of it ! Dr. Bowditch sometimes alluded to this occur rence ; and, on the occasion of presenting a copy of his La Place to a friend — who declined taking it because he was no better able to read it, than his mercantile friend could the Principia — delicately in sisted upon its acceptance ; and, in the last resort, reminded his friend, that if not useful to him person ally, it might, perhaps, be placed in the hands of some one, to whom it might be valuable, as the copy of the Principia had been to himself. Dr. Bowditch did not remain long in the situation of a merchant's clerk. His mathematical talent, in a town eminently distinguished for nautical enter prise, could not fail of being called into exercise, in connexion with the art eff navigation ; and a large portion of the well-known skill of the navigators of Salem may justly be considered as the fruits of the instruction which may be traced, directly or indirect ly, to his scientifick acquirements.- He was, be sides, a practical navigator himself for a few years ; principally, if not exclusively, in the East India voyages, which gave him the most favourable oppor tunities of rendering,his mathematical studies prac tically useful to the nautical interest of his country. At that period, the common treatise on navigation was National Gazette. 152 AMERICAN BIOGRAPHY. NOTICE OF J. LANGDON.— -by jacob b. moobe. The circumstances attending the early settle ment of Massachusetts and New Hampshire, though generally supposed to be similar, were in some respects widely different. The planters of the old bay-state left their native country for the sake of enjoying here a degree of freedom in re ligion, of which they were deprived in the land of their fathers. The settlers of Piscataqua, were actuated by a very different purpose. The pursuit of gain was uppermost in their thoughts, and they embarked at once in the fisheries and trade, which they followed with success, until many of the first settlers became men of opulence in the new country. The great importance of the fisheries, seems not to have escaped the attention of Captain Smith, the discoverer of New Hampshire, for in his account of New England, he thus addresses his countrymen : " Therefore, honorable and worthy countrymen, let not the meanness of the word fish distaste you, for it will afford you as good gold as the mines of Potosi and Guiana, with less hazard and change, and more certainty and facility." A reverend divine, in 1690, was preaching in Portsmouth, on the depravity of the times, and said : " You have forsaken the pious habits of your forefathers, who left the ease and comfort which they possessed in their native land, and came to this howling wilderness to enjoy without molestation, the exercise of their pure principles of religion." One of the congregation immedi ately rose, and interrupted him thus : " Sir, you entirely mistake the matter ; our ancestors did not come here on account of their religion, but to fish and trade." A better illustration of the pur suits of the early settlers of New Hampshire, perhaps, it would be difficult to give. The peo ple of Portsmouth, wealthy and enterprising as they are, have followed the advice of Captain Smith, and have never suffered "the word fish to distaste them," but have made it indeed " a mine of gold" to that ancient and flourishing town. Among the citizens of New Hampshire, educa ted as merchants, who have risen to public dis tinction, no one, perhaps, occupied a wider space than John Langdon, of Portsmouth. He was born in 1740, and received his early education in the celebrated grammar-school of Major Samuel Hale. The father of young Langdon, who was a thrifty farmer, intended his son should engage in the same occupation; but the latter, looking upon commerce as the grand highway to wealth, set his heart upon becoming a merchant, and accord ingly made the necessary preparations to enter a counting-house. One ofthe most extensive and successful mer cantile houses at that time in Portsmouth, was that of Daniel Rindge, a counsellor under the provincial government, and to him young Langdon made application and was admitted to his count ing-house, and soon became thoroughly versed in commercial transactions. After completing his apprenticeship with Rindge, he made several suc cessful and very profitable trading voyages, with the view of ultimately establishing a commercial house of his own, in his native town. But the dark clouds that preceded the Revolution, began to skirt the horizon, and his mind was suddenly turned in a new direction. Naturally of a bold and fearless disposition, he entered at once into the feeling of the colonists ; and possessing in a remarkable degree the power to win over multi tudes, he became the acknowledged leader of the " sons of liberty" in that little province, as much so as Samuel Adams and John Hancock, in Massa chusetts. Langdon was a leader exactly suited to the crisis. He took a conspicuous and active part in the struggle, and soon became obnoxious to the government and many of the loyal citizens, who feared the total annihilation of their trade, and looked upon disloyalty as a crime of the deepest die. In the fall of 1774, after it had become, ap parent that the crisis must come, Langdon gather ed around him a band of choice spirits, and to gether they proceeded in silence&o the king's fort at New Castle, seized upon all the powder and military stores, and removed their booty to a place of concealment, whence it could be called into use in case of emergency. This bold act produ ced at once an intense excitement. Gov. Went- worth stormed, and issued proclamations, but not a voice uttered, or a thought whispered the secret. This was in December, four months before the battle of Lexington. In the spring of the year 1775, John Langdon was chosen a delegate to Congress, and attended the session which commenced in May, at Phila delphia. In January, 1776, he was re-appointed a delegate, but was not present on the adoption of the Declaration of Independence. He com manded a company of cadets soon after the com mencement of the war, and at the time of the sur render of the British army under Burgoyne, he was a volunteer at Bennington. He was also at Rhode Island with a detachment of his company, at the time the British troops had possession of the island, and when General Sullivan brought off the American troops. No man had a higher pop ularity with the people at this time, than John Langdon. He was elected repeatedly to the legis lature, and was several years speaker of assembly. When the news of the fall of Ticonderoga leached New Hampshire, the provincial legisla- , ture was in session at Exeter. It was a period when the resources of the patriots were almost exhausted, the public credit was gone, and the members of the assembly were disheartened. The men of New Hampshire had already exerted them selves for the good of the cause. John Langdon was speaker of the assembly at the time. He rose in his place, on the morning after the intel ligence was received, and addressed the house to the following effect: "My friends and fellow- citizens — I have three thousand dollars in hard money ; I will pledge my plate for three thousand more. I have seventy hogsheads of Tobago rum, which shall be sold for the most it will bring. These are at the service of the state. If we suc ceed in defending our firesides and homes, I may be remunerated ; if we do not, the property will be of no value to me." 153 This noble proposal infused new life into the assembly : and in the course of a few days, by means of the funds advanced by John Langdon, a brigade was assembled, and on its march to the frontiers, and to victory, under the gallant Stark. During the whole of the revolutionary struggle* Langdon was ever active and constant in his lar bors for the good cause. A man of the people, in the emphatic sense Of the term, he was always popular with the great mass, whose interests he made it a point to sustain on all occasions. Pos sessing a handsome address, and being open, obli ging, and generous in his general conduct, he was calculated to gain the public esteem, and was among the few who were fortunate enough to re tain it through life. He was honored with the highest offices the people could bestow. He was twice President of the State, under its first con stitution ; was a member of the convention which formed the federal constitution ; was twelve years Senator in Congress, and subsequently for six years governor of the state. In 1811, he retired from public life, although urgently pressed to ac cept the nomination of the Vice-Presidency, an office \q. which he might have been elected, had he not preferred the quiet and repose of private life. In the enjoyment of domestic relations, in his family* and a wide circle of friends, he chose to pass the evening of his days, remote from the cares and bustle of public life. He was religious, without being obnoxious to the charge of bigotry, and was liberal of his ample means, for charitable and benevolent purposes. He died at Portsmouth, in September, 1819$ universally lamented by a people, in whose service he had spent the greater portion of his active life. Merchants' Magazine. THE LAKE FISHERIES. •Few persons except those engaged in or connected with the business, are aware of the extent and value of the Lake fisheries. They are a source of pro duction which ought not to be overlooked, in esti mating the resources of the country bordering upon the lakes. There are no published statisticks of this trade, so far as we, know, nor any records, from which the quantities of fish put up for market can bt: accurately estimated. Estimates only can be given, md these may be more Or less correct, according to the accuracy of the information on which they are jased. Lake fisheries form a staple article of provisions it all the lake ports. The principal kinds are White ish and Mackinaw trout. The latter, a delicious ish, resembles the Salmon trout, 'and are possibly he same. They vary in size, from five pounds or inder, to fifty or sixty pounds in weight. Besides hese, are pike, pickerel, and different kinds of bass, he cisquet or cisquevet of Lake Superiour, a fine fish, ike the mackerel in appearance and flavour, but lar ger ; and the muscalonge, also a delicious fish, weigh- ng sometimes fifty or sixty pounds. The cisquet s scarcely known in market, as they are caught only n Lake Superiour, and few have been put up. The 20 muscalonge is not, in Lake Erie at lcatt, caught in very large quantities, and is generally sold fresh. There may be olher kinds of fish, but those named are the chief, and the most valuable. Very few white fish are taken in Lake Erie, and we believe no trout. Pike, pickerel, and bass, are caught in abundance about the islands in the upper part of the lake, and in the Maumee bay and river. These are salted in considerable quantities In De troit river the same kinds are found as in Lake Erie, and white fish are caught to some extent. In Lakes Huron and Michigan, and the straits of Mackinaw, trout, white fish, and other kinds are caught in abundance. The Thunder Bay islands, a group near Thunder bay, in Lake Huron, the Bea ver, Fox, and Manitou islands, near the fort of Lake Michigan, and Twin rivers, on the western shore, are the principal fisheries of those two lakes. Fish are caught, however, at other places in the lakes. They are also caught in the vicinity of Mackinaw in abundance ; about the small islands in the straits, and at Point St. Ignace. It is supposed that these fish might be taken in Green bay. A year or two since, some persons caught a very large quantity of trout at Sturgeon bay in winter, fishing with a hook through the ipe. They piled up their fish, intending to carry them, frozen, to Navarino, to be salted ; but a sudden thaw spoiled the speculation. Immense quantities have been taken upon Lake Superiour for two or three years past ; it is said that these are mostly caught about: the group of islands known as the " Twelve Apostles," near the head of the lake. But little is known about this, however, as the trade of Superiour is, in fact, monopolized by the American Fur Company. There is no mode of going up this lake except in vessels of one of these companies ; and the American Fur Company does not permit adventurers a passage in its vessels. Two schooners have been heretofore employed upon Lake Superiour ; one belonging to each of these companies. A new one was built the last spring by the American Fur Company, so that there are now three. When the canal around the Sault de St. Marie shall be finished, it is likely there will be a rush of competition for the business of Lake Superiour. Whether the expectation of those who are sanguine will be realized, as to the extent and value of the trade thus to be opened, time will deter mine. Furs are growing scarce upon the shore, it is said ; fish are abundant, and whether there are minerals upon the shore worth digging for, is dis puted. But when that ship canal is completed, Lake Superiour and the country around it, will be minntelj explored, and its resources, whatever they may be, ascertained. But to return to fish ; a gentleman, who has good means of judging, estimates the quantity put up for market upon the lake in 1837 at 12,000 barrels, and of these he judges 7000 barrels were brought from Lake Superiour. At nine dollars the barrel, which may be taken as a fair price, the whole would amount to $108,000. If any cotemporary upon the Lake has the means, we shall be glad to see a fuller and more minute ac count of the fisheries than this — which is such as our imperfect information on the subject enables us «> giye- Cleveland Herald and Gazette. 154 BIOGRAPHY. RUFUS KING. [From Knapp's American Biography.] Rufus King, a distinguished statesman, and min ister to the Court of St. James, from the United States, was the eldest son of a merchant of Scarbor ough, Maine. He was born in 1755. He was fit ted for college by Master Moody, an eminent in- structer of youth, and at that time preceptor of Dummer Academy, at Byfield, in the county of Es sex, and state of Massachusetts. Master Moody was a thorough classical scholar, and inspired his pupils with a high veneration for the learned lan guages. Mr. King graduated at the commencement of 1777, with the first honours of the class, which was considered an excellent one. Gore and Dawes were in this class, and others of distinction. They considered King the first in their time, for all things; — in every study — for languages, mathematicks, and oratory ; and in every athletick sport, he took the lead — he ran faster, jumped higher, swam better, than any of his companions. Every eye was on him as a young man of high promise. The next year after he left college, he was made an aid to General S'dlivan, when that commander marched with his force to attack the British on Rhode Island. On returning from this campaign he went to New- bnryport and resumed the study of the law with Mr. Parsons, then, as during life, the first lawyer in the commonwealth. Mr. King was admitted to the bar in 1780 ; and on his appearance fulfilled the expect ation of his friends. There are now many living who frequently mention one of his first cases. A litigious citizen, of no inconsiderable wealth, had refused to pay one of his female servants, alleging that while she was in his house, some property had disappeared, and pretended that she was answerable for it. She sued, and engaged Mr. King as her attorney and counsel in the case. On the trial, he was severe, and justly so, upon ihe litigious charac ter of the defendant. The plaintiff was, of course, made everything honest and fair, and the verdict was given in her favour, and all the bystanders took such an interest in the cause that Mr. King was at once engaged in almost every cause to be argued at the court of common pleas. Such was his rep utation at the bar, and so many were desirous of his services, that the supreme court admitted him as an attorney and counsellor long before the ordinary course. He became, from his ready elocution, and courteous manners, at once the idol of the people,. and was soon sent a representative from the town of Newburyport to the legislature of the common wealth. In this body, he soon became a leader. His eloquence and his general information, peculiar ly fitted him for distinction in such a body of patriots as that house was then composed of. In 1784, he was sent to Congress, and took a high stand there as he had done in the legislature of Massachusetts. While a member of the old Congress he introduced a bill, which wasdrawn with prescient sagacity by that pro found lawyer, Nathan Dane of Massachusetts, who is now living — prohibiting slavery northwest of the Ohio. Mr King enforced this bill with a fine speech full of the true doctrines of liberty. This was before these doctrines were hackneyed by every demagogue in the land. In 1787 he was selected as a delegate from Massachusetts to the convention, called for devising a constitution for the United States ; the old confederation being found -miserably defective, giving little more than advisatory power to Congress in all matters of revenue and defence. As soon as he returned from this duty, he was sent to a convention held in Massachusetts, for the adoption of the proposed constitution. Here he was efficient and active, if not so forward as he might have been had he not had a share in forming the instrument under consideration. This was the most important moment in our national history. In former times these were topicks in which all could agree — all felt oppression : all had grievances, real or imagin ary, to redress ; — changes might be rung on a thou sand subjects to rouse the people to resistance ; -but when independence was achieved, and no foe at our doors, it was a task, indeed, to make men yield a particle of what they considered thejr dear-bought rights, to establish a permanent government. A ma jority of those who fought the battles of the revolu tion, and of those who made great sacrifices of prop erty to sustain us in the perilous contest, were oppo sed to the proposed constitution ; — they were fearful of entrusting power to any man, or body of men, and probably, if. the great idol of the nation, Washing ton, had not given the sanction of his revered name to the instrument, it would never have -been adopted. This was a time that called out the sagacity, the in tegrity, the light of the mind of the people, to meet the honest fears, and patriotick forebodings of a good and substantial class in the cgmmunity, a class that was not to be met by sarcasm or contumely, but was to be reasoned with in every form of argument, ot they could not be moved an inch ; they were not the vulgar, to be despised ; not the noisy to be out-clam oured. Parsons, King, Gore, and others of high intellectual powers, became all things, like the Apostle Paul, to all men, to save some ; and like the great theological teacher, succeeded. The courte ous manner, the universal intelligence, and the ready colloquial powers of Mr. King, made him conspicu ous among the apostles of rational liberty, as he had been before among the representatives of the people- He had married in New York in 1786, and saon after this effort in the convention of Massachusetts, went to settle in that state, having relinquished his practice at the bar. When the constitution was carried into effect, he was returned with General Schuyler, a senator from that state. In this august body, as it certainly then was, he became at once conspicuous. In the great agitation respecting the British treaty, he was on the side of Washington and Hamilton, and bore his part with them like a man of equal mind and fearless patriotism. There was a boldness in the character of Mr. King, that at times drew forth the admiration of his opponents. There were many instances which called forth his eloquence in the senate of the United States. On his second term, he was often pitched against his col league, Aaron Burr, one of the most subtle and inge nious of the great American orators ; and particularly against him, and Mr. Monroe, in the case of Albert Gallatin, who was returned a senator from Pennsylva nia to the United States senate, when he was not eligi- 155 ble by the constitution. Mr. King was aided by Ellsworth and Strong, and the fight was powerfully carried on, and ended in victory on his side. In 1796, Mr. King was nominated by Washing ton as Minister Plenipotentiary to Great Britain. He remained in this capacity until the second year of, Jefferson's administration. He was considered one of the first diplomatists of the age — full of dig nity and ease — attentive to the rights of American citizens, and always maintaining the character of a gentleman in every rank of society. While in En gland, he negotiated for a convention to settle the boundary lines between the United States and Cana da, as he knew that this would, if not settled, be come a subject not only of discussion and conten tion, but perhaps of war. Mr. Jefferson did not at this time- feel disposed to touch the subject, it has since been settled. Mr. King acted with Hamilton in restoring and establishing publick credit, then fallen to a low state, and a great debt was remaining as a foul blot on the escutcheon ofthe country without any means devised for paying it off. After his return in 1803, he visited the state of Massachusetts. At Newbury- port, where he had studied law, and commenced his practice, he was greeted with enthusiasm and invi ted to partake of a publick dinner. He accepted the invitation. It was a joyous occasion and he ex erted himself to make all happy. The friends of his youth were around him — a thousand reminis cences were awakened, and never did a dinner — the modern" pledge of affection and admiration — go off better — at every step he found old friends glad to see him, and the young who had grown up since his time were familiar with the history of his life, and were eager to catch a glimpse at the man their fathers had delighted to honour. He made a sort of triumphal tour through his own country, an occur rence that seldom happens to any one whether proph et or statesman. For several years after his return, he retired to private life and enjoyed the otium cum dignitate on his farm, with his books and children around him. After the declaration of war in 1812, he took sides with the government on all the main points of the controversy, and for this was sent by the legisla ture of New York a senator to Congress. His speeches at this time gave him great celebrity with the democratick party, but abated some of the fer vour of affection which existed in the breasts of his old friends ; but most of them retained their first love, if they did not come into his opinions in poli ticks. In 1816, he was a candidate for the guber natorial chair of the state of New York ; but did not succeed in the election. In 1820, he was again elected to the senate of the United States, and took an active part in that body. In 1825, he was nom inated by Mr. Adams a minister to Great Britain, and proceeded to that court, but his health was such, that he did not do much in the way of negotiation. Mr. King returned in 1826, and retired to his farm on Long Island, where he lingered until April 29, 1827, when he died, aged 72 years. There are some things attributed to his pen of high merit. It is said he wrote, with Hamilton, the papers on the British treaty, signed Camillus. Hamilton wrote the ten first, and King the remainder. These pa pers had an extensive circulation, and great celebri ty, and deservedly so ; but it may, perhaps, be said, that no man who said so many wise things, ever wrote so few for posterity. For many years he was considered the first orator in the country, and yet no one can put his finger on a speech of his that will sustain that reputation ; but no man could be in com pany with Mr. King an hour, without fully believing every word that had been said of his great powers as an orator, and of his sagacity as a statesman.. His style of conversation was admirable. His language was pure, good old English. He took hold of pas sing occurrences, and lavished upon them the afflu ence of intellectual wealth, from an inexhaustible storehouse ; without effort, he threw a beam of light upon every subject in his way, and illustrated, adorned, and glorified, everything he touched. The great men of his day did not think enough of the time to come. His friend, classmate, and rival — if friends can be rivals, and if we go back to the origin of the word, they can be ; opposite sides of the same river, whose waters flowed harmoniously on togeth er, gave rise to the term — Christopher Gore, had the same powers of the imagination, and the same depth of thought. These friends, like Castor and Pollux, shared their immortality together, without any heart rending alternations of supremacy. They died within two little months of each other, with nearly the same views of this and of another world, and no one will object to their being placed among the con stellations of worthies, in our Zodiack of American statesmen and patriots. Gore died childless, but King left several sons to perpetuate his name and fame. REVOLUTIONARY REMINISCENCE. In the autumn of 1777, when Lord Howe had possession of Philadelphia, the situation of the Americans who could not follow their beloved commander, was truly distressing, subject to the every day insults of cruel and oppressive foes. Bound to pay obedience to laws predicated on the momentary power of a proud and vindictive com mander, it can be better pictured than described. To obtain the common necessaries of life, partic ularly flour, they had to go as far as Bristol, a distance of eighteen or twenty miles, and even this indulgence was not granted them, until a pass was procured from Lord Howe, as guards were placed along Vine-street, extending from the Delaware to the Schuylkill, forming a complete harrier ; beyond these, through the woods, ex tending as far as Frankford, were stationed the piquet guards — thus rendering it in a manner im possible to reach the Bristol mills unless first ob taining a pass. The commander-in-chief of the American forces was then encamped at the Valley Forge, suffer ing from cold, hunger and the inclemency of the season. The British rolled in plenty, and spent their days in feastings, their nights in balls, riots, and dissipation ; thus resting in supposed securi ty, while the American chieftain was planning a mode for their final extirpation. A poor woman with six small children, whose hushand was at the 156 Valley Forge, had made frequent applications for a pass. Engagements rendered it impossible for her cruel tormentors to give her one. Rendered desperate from disappointment, and the cries of her children, she started alone without a pass, and by good luck eluded the guards and reached Bristol. It will be remembered by many now living, that six brothers by the name of Loale, or DoaTe, about this time committed many acts of heroic bravery, but more in the character of marauders than soldiers. They were men full six feet high, stout and active, a fearless intrepidity character ized their deeds, and they always succeeded in making their escape. A marked partiality to the Americans rendered them obnoxious to the Brit ish, and always welcome to the former, to whom they conveyed what information they could glean in their adventures. Our adventurous female, having procured her flour in a pillowcase holding about twenty pounds, was returning with a light heart to her anxious and lonely babes. She had passed the piquet guards at Frankford, and was just entering the woods a little this side, when a tall, stout man stepped from behind a tree, and putting a letter in her hand, requested her tor read it. She grasp ed with eager joy the letter bearing the character of her husband's hand writing. After a pause he said, "your husband is well, madam, and request ed me to say, that in a short time he will be with you ; money is a scarce article among us — I mean among them ; but on account of your husband's partiality to the cause of liberty, I am willing to become his banker." So saying, he handed her a purse of money, "My means, madam, are ade quate, or I would not be thus lavish," seeing she was about to refuse it. " You said, sir, my husband would see me shortly ; how do you know that which seems so impossible 1 and how did you know me, who never" — " Hush, madam, we are now approaching the British guard ; suffice it to say, the American commander has that in his head, which like an earthquake, will shake the whole American con tinent, and expunge these miscreants ; but, hark, take the road to the left — farewell." So saying, he departed. She gave one look, but vacancy filled the spot where he stood. With slow and cautious step she approached Vine-street. Al ready her fire burned beneath her bread, when the awful word halt ! struck her to the soul. She started, and found herself in the custody of a British sentinel. " Your pass, woman." I have none, sir; my children are" — "D— n the rebel crew, why do you breed enemies to your king — this flour is mine — off, woman, and die with your babes." A groan was her only answer. The ruffian was about departing, when the former messenger appeared — his whole demeanor was changed; humble simplicity marked his gait — he approached the guard with a seeming fearfulness, and begged him in a suppliant voice to give the poor woman her flour. "Fool! idiot!" exclaim ed the guard, " who are you 1 see yonder guard house — if you interfere here you shall soon be its inmate." " May be so, sir ; but won't you give the poor woman the means of supporting her little family one week longer 1 recollect the distance she has walked, the weight of the bag, and recol lect"— " Hell and fury, sirrah ! Why bid me recollect, you plead in vain — begone, or I'll seize you as a spy." " You wont give the poor woman her flour." "No."" Then by my country's faith and hopes of free dom, you shall !" and with a powerful arm, he seized the guard by the throat and hurled him to the ground. "Run, madam, run — see the guard house is alive — seize your flour, pass Vine-street, and you are safe." 'Twas done, The guard made an attempt to rise, when the stranger drew a pistol and shot him dead. The unfortunate man gazed around him with a fearless intrepidity There was but one way of escape, and thatthrough the wood. Seizing the dead man's musket, he started like a deer pursued by the hounds. " Shoot him down ! down with him !" was echoed from one line to another. The desperado was lost in the wood, and a general search commenced ; the object of their pursuit in the mean time flew like lightning ; the main guard was left behind, but the whole piquet line would soon be alarmed — one course alone presented itself, and that was to mount his horse, which was concealed among the bushes, and gallop down to the Delaware ; a boat was already there for him. The thought was no sooner suggested than it was put in execution. He mounted his horse, and, eluding the alarmed guards, had nearly reached the Delaware.* Here he found himself headed, and hemmed in by at least fifty exasperated soldie'rs. One sprang from behind a tree, and demanded imme diate surrender. " 'Tis useless to prevaricate — you are now our prisoner, and your boat, which before excited suspicion, is now in our possession." " Son of a slave ! slave to a king ! how dare you to address a freeman ! Surrender yourself — a Doale never surrendered himself to any man, far less to a blinded poltroon — away, or die;" andhe attempted to pass. The guard levelled his gun ; but himself was levelled to the dust ; the ball of Doale:s pistol had been swifter than his own. His case was now truly desperate ; behind him was the whole line of guards — oh the north of him the Frankford piquets, and on the left of him the city of Philadelphia filled with British troops. One way and only one presented itself, and that was to cross the river. He knew his horse; he plunged in — a shout succeeded, and ere he reach ed half the distance, twenty armed boats were in swift pursuit. His noble horse dashed through the Delaware, his master spurred him on with double interest while the balls whistled around him. The tide was running down, when he reach ed the Jersey shore, he found himself immedi ately opposite the old slip at Market- street. On reaching the shore he turned round, took out a pistol, and with steady aim, fired at the first boat ; a man fell over, the side and sunk to rise no more. He then disappeared in the wood. The angry, harassed and disappointed pursuers gave one look, one curse, and returned to the Pennsylvania shore, fully believing, that, if he was not the devil, he was at least one of his principal agents. .#. OJ ^ 159 DEFEAT OF GENERAL BRADDOCK. On the opposite page we present the reader with an engraved representation of the defeat of General Braddock. The artist, Mr. J. G. Chapman, has selected for the subject of his design, the moment that- General Braddock is cained from "the field mor tally wounded; Lieutenant Washington assuming the command, and with his 'Virginia troops, covering the' retreat of the British, and saving the corps from utter annihilation^''' The. best narrative of the action that we can present,, is contained in the interesting Life of. Washington", by that distinguished author, J. K. Paulding, from which we quote as follows : — General Braddock had landed at the capes of Virginia, and proceeded to Williamsburgh, the seat of government, where he consulted with Governour Dinwiddie. He inquired for Colonel Washington, with whose character he was well acquainted, and expressed a- wish" to see him. On being informed of his resignation, and the cause, he is said to have exclaimed, that " he was a lad of sense and spirit, and had acted as became a soldier and a man of honour." He immediately wrote him a pressing in vitation to assume the situation of volunteer aidde- camp, which involved no question of rank, and which, after consultation with his family, was ac cepted. Washington once more resumed his mil itary career, by joining the British forces at Bel- haven. r These were shortly after reinforced by three com panies of Virginia riflemen, raised by an act of the legislature, and consisting of as brave hardy spirits as ever drew a trigger. This accession made the army about two thousand strong, and with these, in the month of June, 1755, Braddock set forth in his march through the wilderness, from whence he and many others of his companions never returned. The troops under Braddock marched in two di- \ isions to the old station at the Little meadows. On the way, Washington was attacked by a fever, and became so ill, that the commanding officer insisted upon his remaining until the rear of the army came up under Colonel Dunbar. He consented, much against his w.ill ; but the instant he was able, pushed on and joined Braddock the evening before he fell into that fatal ambuscade, where he perished with many other gallant spirits, not in a blaze of glory, but in the obscurity of the dismal forests. Washington,' on rejoining the army, urged upon General Braddock the necessity of increasing and incessant caution.- He dwelt much on the silent, unseen motions of the warriours of the woods, who come like birds on the wing, without being preceded by any indications of their approach, or leaving a trace -behind them., But the fate of Braddock was decreed ; or rather, hist own conduct sealed that destiny which ever follows at the heels of folly and imprudence. He despised the advice of wisdom and experience, and bitterly did he suffer the penalty. The silly pride of a British officer disdained, the lessons of a provincial youth, who had never fought on the -bloody plains of Flanders. There can be no doubt tha"t the superiority affected by the natives of England over those of the American colonies, was one ofthe silent yet effective causes ofthe Revolution. The army halted at Cumberland, for some days, and then proceeded to its ruin. Contrary to the ad vice of Washington, who wished to lead with his Virginians, the British grenadiers marched in front, about half a mile ahead ; the Virginia troops fol lowed -^ and the rest of the army brought up the rear. The pound was covered with whortleberry bushes reaching to the horses' bellies, until they gained the top of a hill, which commanded an ex tensive prospect far ahead. Here a council was held, during which, the traditionary authority I fol low describes Braddock as standing with a fusee in his right hand, the breech on the ground, and rub bing the leaves with his toe, as if in great perplex ity, without saying a word. The consultation over, they proceeded onward through the deep woods, the order of march being changed, and the infantry in advance. When within about seven miles of Fort Duquesne, and passing through a narrow defile, a fire from some ambushed enemy arrested their march, and laid many a soldier dead on the ground. Nothing was seen but the smoke of the unerring rifle rising, above the tops of the woods, and nothing heard but the report of the fatal weapons. There was a dead silence among the savages and, their allies, who, masked behind the trees, were equally invisible with the great king : of terrours, whose work they were performing. The army of Braddock, and the general himself, were both taken by surprise, and the - consequence was, a total neglect or forgetfulness Of the proper mode of defence or attack. The army of Braddock suffered a total defeat. The survivors retreated across the Monongahela, where they rested, and the general breathed his last. His gallant behaviour during the trying situa-: tion in which he was placed, and his death," which in some measure paid the penalty of his foolhardi- hood, have preserved to his memory some little respect, and for his fate perhaps more sympathy than it merited. He was one of those military men of little character and desperate fortune, which mother-countries are accustomed to send out, for the purpose of foraging in the rich fields of their colonies. He was succeeded in his eommand by Colonel Dunbar, who ordered all the stores, except such as were indispensably necessary, to be de stroyed, a^rd sought safety, with the remainder of his Europeafi troops, in the distant repose of the city of Philadelphia, where he placed the army in winter- quarters in the dog-days, leaving Virginia to the protection of her gallant rangers. The conduct of the British troops on this occa sion, was, though perhaps natural in the terrible and untried situation in which they were placed, such as to excite the contempt of Washington and his pro vincials, to whom the escape of the surviving reg ulars was entirely owing. It was he and they that exclusively made head against the invisible enemy, and finally so checked his proceedings, as to secure a quiet retreat to a place of security. But for them, in all probability, scarce a man would have escaped. The British officers behaved with great gallantry, and upward of sixty of them were either killed or wounded; but the privates exhibited nothing but cowardice, confusion, and disobedience ; and it seems quite probable that Washington here learned a secret which was of infinite service in his futuro' career, by teaching him that British grenadiers were not invincible. 160 The provincial troops, on the contrary, according to the testimony of Washington, "behaved like men," to use his own language. Out of three com panies that were in the action, but thirty survived. The regulars, on the contrary, " ran away like sheep before hounds," leaving every thing to the mercy of the enemy. " When we endeavoured to rally them," continues Washington, in his letter to the governour of Virginia, "in hopes of regaining the ground we had lost, and what was left on it, it was with as little success, as if we had attempted to have stopped the wild bears of the mountain, or the rivulets with oui feet." To Preserve Specimens in Natural History To preserve the skins of animals for exhibition, ar senical soap has been found to be the most perfect guard against vermin, and is prepared in the follow ing manner, viz. camphor 5 oz. ; arsenic in powder, 2 lbs. ; white soap, 2 lbs. ; salt of tartar, 12 oz. ; chalk in powder, 4 oz. Rub this thoroughly over the in ner surface, and afterward stuff the animal for the THE PRAIRIES. The most remarkable feature of the Western world is the prairies. There are districts both in South America and in Asia, the pampas and the steppes, to which they have been compared, but perhaps without sufficient reason. In Europe I am not aware that any part of the surface assumes the form and exhibits the same phenomena. Some hold, that the whole of the vast region over which they extend, was once submerged, and there is much to be said in support of this theory. They appear, however, under various forms, and from ob servation I should divide them into three great di visions : the " eak-openings," the rich level or rol ling prairie interspersed with belts and points of tim ber, and the vast steril prairies of the Far West. And first, the "oak-openings," so termed from their distinctive feature of the varieties of oak which are seen scattered over them, interspersed at times with pine, black-walnut, and other forest-trees, which spring from a rich vegetable soil, generally adapted to the purpose of agriculture. The surface is ordi narily dry and rolling. The trees are of medium growth, and rise from a grassy turf seldom encumber ed with brushwood, but not unfrequently broken by jungles of rich and gaudy flowering plants and ot dwarf sumach. Among the "oak-openings," you find some of the most lovely landscape of the West, and travel for miles and miles through varied park scenery of natural growth, with all the diversity of gently swelling hill and dale — here, trees grouped, or standing single — and . there, arranged in long avenues, as though by human hands, with slips of open meadow between. Sometimes, the openings are interspersed with numerous clear lakes, and with this addition become enchantingly beautiful. But few of these reservoirs have any apparent inlet. They are fed by subterraneous springs or the rains, and lose their surplus waters by evaporation. Many lie in singularly-formed hollows, reflecting in their :lear bosoms the varied scenery of the swelling banks, and the alternation of wood and meadow Michigan and Illinois abound with these "oak-open ings." Beyond the Mississippi they also occur ; but there they hardly form a distinct feature, while on this side they would appear to form a transition from the dense American forest to the wider "rolling prairie," which further west ordinarily bounds the thick forest without any such character of country intervening. The rich " rolling prairie," which would form the second division, presents other features, and in a great degree another vegetation. These prairies abound with the thickest and most luxuriant belts of forest, or as they are called "timbers;" appearing interspersed over the open face of the country in bands or patches of every possible form and size ; sometimes checkering the landscape at short inter vals, and at other times miles and miles apart. They present wide and slightly undulating tracts of the rankest herbage and flowers — many ridges and hol lows filled with purple thistles — ponds covered with aquatick plants ; and in Missouri, I always observed that these "rolling prairies," occupied the higher portions of the country, the descent to the forested bottoms, being invariably over steep and stony de clivities. The depth and richness of the soil on these lands are almost incredible, and the edges of the bands of forest are consequently a favourite haunt of the emigrant settler and backwoodsman. The game is usually abundant. Over this class of prairie the fire commonly passes in the autumn, and to this cause alone the open state of the country is ascribed by many; as, whenever a few years elapse without the conflagration' touching a district, the thick-sown seeds of the slumbering forest, with which the rich vegetable mould seems to be laden, spring up from the green sod of the country. The surface is first covered with brushwood composed of sumach, hazel, wild-cherry, and oak ; and if the fire be still kept out, other forest-trees follow. From those we pass to the vast boundless prairies of the far West — such as we skirted beyond For) Gibson, unbroken, save by the forest rising on tho alluvium of some river shore below their level, or by the skirts of knotted and harsh oak-wood of stunted growth — thick without luxuriance, such as the Cross Timbers of disagreeable memory. These prairies seem to occupy the highest parts of the table-land toward the courses ofthe great rivers and their trib utaries. Here the soil is poor in the extreme, and charged with iron and salt ; the water is scarce and bad, and the grass is luxuriant. They abound with abrupt and peculiarly-shaped flinty hills, swelling up from the general level — great salt plains — rock salt — and occasionally with isolated rocks rising from the surface, with steep perpendicular sides, as though cut by the hand of man, standing alone in the midst ofthe desert, a wonder to the Indian and the trapper. The outline of these prairies is grand and majes- tickin the extreme. They are rarely. perfectly level. As you advance, one immense sea of grass swells to the horizon after another, unbroken for leagues by rock or tree. They are the home of the bison, and the hunting-ground of the unfettered Indian of the North and West. 161 REVOLUTIONARY BATTLES. THE BATTLE OF LONG-ISLAND BY SAMUEL WAKD, JE. ESQ. From the Knickerbocker Magazine, for April, 1839. jjt,. All knowledge is but history. Each fragment of the material world reveals a story of time and change, remote and endless. The principle is derived from facts which symbolize the histories of observation and-'experiment, and these, in turn, involve those of the s'age and philosopher, of their predecessors, and of by-gone ages. Upon each visible object is writ ten, in- familiar or in unknown characters, its histo ry ; and if we but knew the physiognomy of inani mate as well as of living creations, earth, stone, and plant would exhibit, as indeed they often do, to the naturalist, expressions as indicative of their past, as is. man's countenance, with its furrow of care, or smile of joy, with passion's glow or its ashes, of his life and actions. The face of the globe, with the living imprint of God's hand upon it, unfolds a chap ter in the history of the display of omnipotence, and we personify the history of our rac^, imbodying its undying passions and imperfections, and reproducing its mortal and perishable beauty. The variegated cheek and scented breath of the flower, fade and ex pire in autumn ; the vegetative life abides until the coming spring. All these proclaim the insignificance of time, the majesty of eternity. While the history of human nature is indelibly traced in each successive family of men, that of hu man creations has to be recorded in the archive, and rescued from the crumbling column. The work of the Almighty, the living principle and its attendants, dies not; the traces of men's., labour are washed away by the succeeding tide. But here and there, where the forms have been preserved, they seem, when compared to the divine productions, not unlike the precise diagram, beside the harmonious and waving outlines of external natural beauty. The history we cultivate, is the natural history of society, of the joint efforts of bodies of men, to render the earth habitable for its increasing populations, and these,: in turn, worthy the dwelling's protection, and grateful for its nourishment. Do not the nations of antiquity appear to have lived, and flourished, and toiledj that we might succeed to their power, inherit their experience, and reap the fruits of their labours ? So also are we the servants of posterity. The road is an emblem of the destiny of those who made it ; built for the use of a generation, passed over as the path to some near or distant land, succeeding races inquire not whose hands constructed it. They, too, are travelling toward their journey's end. History and times are ours ; the index and dial- plate which measure our span, the foundations of our knowledge, and the standard of our computation, the instruments of spiritual and material comparison. But the one sits, like a queen, upon a throne, robed in purple, a sceptre in her hand, and on her brow a diadem, wherein each race of men enshrine a new jewel. Heroes and statesmen are her courtiers, and the brightest shapes of human intelligence hover around her. The other is creation's slave, fate's executioner ; unerringly reckoning the debt of man and of nature, the minutes of life, the seasons of the year. He reaps, with a pitiless scythe, 21 "Harvests of souls by Hope matured, Garlands of self-devoted flowers ; The spirit bright to life scarce lured, The heart that mourns its saddened hours. Had authenlick records preserved for us the whole experience of nations, the precious inheritance would have permanently advanced our material progress ; and in a still greater degree will the heritage of ac curate memorials of the men and events of modern civilization, of the motives of the one, and the causes of the other, enlighten posterity in the path of human improvement. The traces of early society are proofs of material and sensual progress ; as for instance, the pyramid, and the bracelet upon the arm of the lonely king entombed within its giant walls. These are points of departure ; for the distance accomplish ed may be measured ; not so the route beyond. It is true, we know the virtues or the crimes of a few, in those days, when nations rose and fell, even as they now expand, and when the many felt not. They are now the lords of the earth. But only since the fiat lux of Guttemberg, have " the people" begun to real ize their long-withheld inheritance; and events are now chronicled less to gratify the pride of the living, or the curiosity of the unborn, less for purposes of narration and romance, than to show the increased capabilities of man, and swell the page of his moral experience. Apart from the higher, the epochal incidents in the life of humanity, the epitomes of years, deeds, and nations, there are events which do not claim to be inscribed upon the page of general history ; and yet, from the deep local influence they once exer cised, still preserve a commemorative interest, and convey an impressive lesson. The great war of our independence is rife with such illustrations. Its memories and heroes crowd so thickly near us, that its history cannot yet be written. But as each day adds to the legendary store, and we draw nigh the hour when it may be traced, time silently distils the mass of events, and the mingled vapours which as cend from the alembick, will be condensed by im partiality into truth. The events we are about to recall, occurred in New York and its vicinity, between the months of September, 1775, and September, 1776. I am aware that these varying scenes and imperfect sketches may resemble a phantasmagoria, rather than pencil- lings of men and of actions. But they will be ex hibited upon a curtain, stained with as noble blood as was ever shed in the cause of freedom ; and though the hand that holds the transparent glass, be a feeble one ; though faint the colours, and indistinct the out lines ; the personages and scenes are not fictitious or fanciful ; but once stood gallantly forth, with drawn sword or levelled musket, relieved by a battle-cloud rising from ground so near, that a cannon fired there at this moment, would startle with its reverberations the peaceful echoes around us. The revolution was hardly three months old. But already from the cradle of liberty it had strangled its serpents at Lexington and Bunker's Hill. The Amer ican army, encamped around Boston, owned Wash ington's command, and held at bay the beleagured British. In the oppressed colonies, a spirit of re sistance had organized the resolute yeomanry ; and with the victories inscribed upon the national escut cheon, the patriotick chord was vibrating in every PLAN OF THE BATTLE OF LONG ISLAND. 163 heart. War had not yet disturbed our goodly city, which lay in unconscious repose, on the mellow night of the twenty-third of August, 1775. One or two riots, the result of political faction, rather than of unadulterated rebellion, alone gave tokens of a tur bulent spirit. The English governour, Tryon, still dwelt here, an object of courtesy, though of mistrust. In the North river, off the fort, lay the Asia, a Brit ish man-of-war, with whose presence people had become familiar. The publick mind was in a state of vague apprehension. It remained for its hopes and fears to assume a definite shape. Toward midnight, our forefathers were aroused from their first slumbers by the thunder of artillery. At that silent hour, the ominous sounds were un welcome visitants. The cannon peals were relieved by the sharp discharge of musketry ; and the still ness that ensued, was occasionally broken by the hasty footsteps of one summoned t%,his duty, with unbuckled sabre trailing on the ground, or by the agitated cry of a helpless woman, fleeing from the audible danger. Drums beat to arms, volley after volley announced the continuation of strife ; and the half-wakened dreamer no longer mistook these cries" of war -for echoes of the eastern battles. As the night advanced, one body of men succeeding another was revealed by the blaze of torches, and the cum brous wheels of the field-piece they were dragging, seemed to leave reluctantly the scene of conflict. By-and-by, troops of dwellers in the lower part of the town, escaped through the streets, from their menaced or shattered abodes, in confusion and fear. Was the enemy in the city 1 the Battery taken 1 Were the troops forced to retreat before a victorious foe ? These interrogatories were breathed rather than spoken, or if put, were not answered. It was a memorable night, and something seemed to have delayed the approach of morning. The town was early astir. At break of day, many inhabitants were seen issuing from their dwellings, and wending their way to the Battery. To those al ready assembled there, when night uprolled her cur tain of clouds, the glowing dawn that shot over our noble bay, disclosed traces of ^disorder, and ravages of cannon-ball, on the one hand, and on the other, the smoke still ascending from the angry artillery to the powder-stained rigging of the Asia. Moreover, the field-pieces, which but yesterday guarded the Battery, were gone. These the timid accepted as tokens Of danger, and prepared to depart ; the in trepid hailed them as auspicious omens of future victories. The twenty-one pieces of ordnance had been re moved, by order of the provincial Congress. Cap tain John Lamb's artillery corps, and the " Sons of Liberty," headed by " King Sears," were the heroes of the adventure. The efforts of the enemy to pro tect these royal stores, had proved unavailing. Warned of the intended movement, Captain Vande- put, of the Asia, detached an armed barge to watch, and if needful, interfere with, its execution. A musket discharged from this boat, drew Captain Lamb's volley, and a man on board was killed. The Asia fired three cannon. The drum beat to arms in the city. The man-of-war sustained the cannonade. Three citizens were wounded, and the upper parts of various houses near Whitehall and the Fort, received much injury. A son of Captain Lamb, whose regi ment covered the cannon's retreat, is now living in, this city, and in the rooms of the " Historical Socie ty" may be seen one of the very balls fired into New York that night. Captain Sears, the other leader of this exploit was one of our earliest patriots. As far back as the fifth of March, 1775, in an encounter between the Whigs and the Tories, the latter, being worsted., were said to have dispersed, lest King Sears, as he was called in ridicule, in his fury should head a mob, and do them some capital injury. He had been a member of the New York Provincial Congress, had acted a conspicuous part in the excitements occa sioned by the Boston Port Bill, and was in after months warmly recommended by General Washing ton to Major General Lee, for his zeal and fidelity. Immediately after this affair, he disappeared from our city, and sought, in Connecticut, livelier.sympa- thies than were then to be encountered here/Sv". A detailed account of the Asia affair, and of its consequences, may be found in the columns of the "New York Gazette," a newspaper issued in those days from the southeast corner of Wall and Pearl streets, by one James Rivington, a loud-voiced royal ist. It is almost impossible to turn over its time- stained leaves, filled with the records of frivolity and faction, of benevolence and crime, of the current opinions and absurdities, and of the wants and sup plies of an olden day, without reflecting on that strangest feature of modern times, the press, or im agining how different would be our views of remote ages, had the nations we admire, possessed so au- thentick a source of history. The Romans have been shown by a recent French writer,* to have had their journals ; but these did not, like ours, chronicle the wishes and feelings, the hopes and the vices, of the many; else we should not eternally deplore lost de cades, or incur danger of having our early faith con troverted by the ingenuity of a Niehbuhr. James Rivington was, then, the editorial and pro prietary publisher of the " New York Gazette," and as the opposite party subsided in the expression of its political sentiments, and loyalism was no long er in terrour of a Sears, he not only gave free vent to his own views, but so far forgot himself, as sadly to abuse those of his radical neighbours. Emboldened by their quiet reception of his denunciations, he ex pressed these in still more forcible tones, and doubt less exulted in this victory over whig opinions. It was high noon, on Thursday the twenty-third of November. The Gazette had been issued that morning, and the worthy editor was seated in his cabinet, examining the new-born sheet, just like any gentleman of the press of our day, when the sound of hoofs on the pavement beneath, drew his attention to the window. Looking out into the street, he be held with dismay, his old enemy, King Sears, at the head of an armed troop of horsemen, drawn up be fore his door. The men and their leader dismounted with the utmost deliberation, and a part of them en tered the printer's abode. A few moments after, he saw his beloved printing-press cast into the street, and heard the tumult raised in the compositors' room above him, by those engaged in the work of demoli tion. To his despair, the materials thrown upon the pavement were speedily transferred to the dock, and M. Victor Leclerc. 164 he invaders sallied forth with many a pound of precious types in their pockets and handkerchiefs. A large crowd, collected by so unusual an event, stood aloof, quiet spectators of the scene. The cav aliers remounted their steeds, and rode off toward Connecticut, whence they came, and where, as was subsequently ascertained, the offending types were melted down to bullets. Thus liberty assailed the freedom of the press, and the balls whilome cast with joy into types reassumed their pristine shape and destination ; the ploughshare was reconverted to the sword. Although no opposition was offered to these pro ceedings, by the body of citizens assembled near Rivington's door, there stood upon a neighbouring stoop, a lad of eighteen years of age, with an eye of fire, and an angry arm, haranguing the multitude in a tone of earnest eloquence. He urged that order should be preserved ; appealing warmly to the dig nity of citizenship, " which," said he, " should not brook an encroachment of unlicensed troops from another colony," and offering to join in checking the iutruders' progress. The sins of Rivington could not be forgiven ; but the youthful orator was listened to with respectful deference by that crowd which already recognised the genius and fervour of Alex ander Hamilton. On the following Thursday, no Gazette appeared, whether on this account, or because the town digni taries were really incensed, this typographical exe cution created much sensation in the province. Fancying it a trampling on their authority, and a re proach to their vigilance, the New York Congress complained to Governour Trumbull of Connecticut ; and, demanding a restitution of the abducted types, they observed that the present contest ought not to be sullied by an attempt to restrain the liberty of the press. We shall not pause to weigh the political considerations involved in this inter-colonial dispute, which may have been the first respecting state rights. While New York and Connecticut were at issue, poor Rivington went off to England, and there the matter ended. This event was deemed worthy the attention of Congress, and seemed of sufficient im portance to be laid before the reader. It is, more over, the only remarkable incident which preceded the arrival of General Charles Lee in New York. Early in 1776, this brave but headstrong officer, begged to be despatched from Boston to Connecti cut for the purpose of raising volunteers, and of re inforcing the New Jersey and New York battalions under his command. With Governour Trumbull's aid, General Lee succeeded in levying twelve hun dred men among the zealous inhabitants of that spir ited province, and reached New York with his re cruits on the fourth of February. He was met on the frontier by the earnest entreaty of the committee of safety, who exercised the powers of government during the recess of our Provincial Congress, that he should pause upon the borders of Connecticut. Captain Parker, of the Asia man-of-war, had mena ced the town with destruction, should it be entered by any large body of provincials. Undismayed by these threats, and disregarding the prayer of the timid corporation, Lee crossed the confines. Imme diately after his arrival, conscious of the designs of the British in this vital quarter, and of the need of entire harmony between himself and the local authorities, he induced Congress to take its jurisdiction out of the hands of these officers, and to detach from their own body, a committee of three, who, with the coun cil and himself, were to confer upon a plan of de fence. His orders were to fortify the town, to dis arm all persons unfriendly to the American cause, and especially to watch and counteract the move ments of a band of tories, assembled on Long Island " serpents," says he, in his characteristick manner, " which it would be ruinous not to crush before their rattles are grown." This duty we may fancy him to have undertaken with peculiar satisfaction. The operations of these tories and of Governour Tryon, their Coryphteus, would prove an interesting theme of research. It may be remarked, en passant, that I though the city of New York was stained in those days by strong imputations of toryism, the stigma was unjust. In mixtures of colours, it requires but little of a darker hue to deepen the brightest teints ; and General Lee found the majority " as well affect ed as any on the continent." During the short period of his stay, this officer's proceedings were extremely active. His intended fortifications were projected on a comprehensive scale. With an intelligent eye, he embraced the extensive localities to be defended, and detected their vulnerable points. -A redoubt and battery at Hellgate were destined to prevent the passage of the enemy's ships to and fro in the Sound. Similar works were contemplated on the North river, and the oppugnable portions of the town were reformed and strengthened. Long Island was too important a field to escape his vigilance ; and he fixed, for the location of an entrenched camp, upon the very spot which subsequently became the scene of conflict. It were presumptuous, nay, useless, to attempt to picture New York as she then was, when so many readers, far more vividly than the writer, realize from memory the vast alterations less than half a century has produced in the metropolis of the new world. On the walls of the New York Historical Society rooms, hang various interesting maps, whereby some idea may be formed of those ancient features and dimensions, from which, to the present magnitude of our city, the transition is as unparalleled as it seems incredible. The old Knickerbocker town is laid down on one map as it existed under the Stuyvesant dominion. In another may be found the English city, before and after that disastrous fire, of which the ravages are delineated in a separate drawing, by an ancient eye-witness. General Lee's letters rep resent military operations not easily traced upon fhe transformed surface. Broadway was barricaded two hundred yards in the rear of the dismantled fort, and all the streets leading to it were to be defended by barriers. He speaks, too, of erecting batteries on an eminence, behind Trinity church, to picture which to one's self, at the present day, requires no little stretch of the imagination. I know not whether these local changes may in terest the reader, but to me they seem truthful illus trations of our fleeting destiny. Cities are the thea tres of nations, where the busy throng enact an end less and varying drama, full of life and of reality. And, let me ask, what object ean fill with a lonelier sense of desolation the wanderer beneath the sunny skies of Greece, or moon- illumined heaven of Italy, than the crumbling walls, the deserted benches, the 165 voiceless echoes of the theatre, where the living im personations of the poet's fancy were once deified by the enthusiasm of the crowd? When the ruins of an old city become in turn the foundations of a new one, the pilgrim vainly seeks the traces of the past, and the lesson becomes still more impressive. Monuments commemorate the peaceful traditions, and ruins the wars, of the old world. Surrounded by the vestiges of the past, its memories dwell in the European's thoughts. A tutored fancy evokes at will, from the tower and the column, the shades of the departed., and history may be realized, not in its events only, but in all its pomp and studied detail, its costume and its court. An unbroken chain, now of golden; now of iron links ; here bright, there rusted ; here jeweled, and there blood-stained ; connects to day with distant centuries. In Cologne, the mind is transported back a thousand years, in Rome, two thousand. - The edifices which time hallows, in lieu of destroying, are the only monuments of this new born land. The British General Clinton entered New York simultaneously with General Lee. Unaccompanied by any force, he declared to the latter that he had only come to pay his friend Tryon a visit ; of which Lee remarks, in a letter to the commander-in-chief, "if really the case, it was the most whimsical piece of civility he ever heard of." It was the subsequent fortune of these generals to meet in Virginia and in North Carolina. The American officer's turn for the humorous, was displayed by his giving our old friend King Sears, when sent into Connecticut to beat up re cruits, the title of " adjutant-general ;" a promotion with which, he jocosely wrote Washington, the rough patriot " was much tickled ; it added spurs to his hat." For all nominal distinctions, General Lee entertained unequivocal contempt, and declared that ratsbane were far pleasanter to his mouth, than the appellation of " Excellency" he was daily compelled to swallow. On the seventh of March, he departed for the South, where laurels awaited him among the orange flowers of spring. Lord Stirling was left in command, and the contemplated works were after ward but slowly and partially completed. The town of Boston was evacuated on the seven teenth of March.'by the British, who put to sea for Halifax. Crowned with this signal triumph, Gen eral Washington arrived at New York on the four teenth of April, with the American army, which, to use his own expression, " had maintained their ground against the enemy, under a want of powder ; had disbanded one army, and recruited another, with in musket-shot of two-and-twenty regiments, the flower of the British force ; and at last beaten them into a shameful and precipitate retreat, out of the strongest place on the continent, fortified at an enor mous expense." On the twenty-third of May, the commander-in- chief found himself at Philadelphia, in conference with congress, who had summoned him thither, to devise remedies for the disastrous state of affairs in Canada. It was there determined to defend New York, and the requisite men and supplies were placed at his disposal. Returning to the city,after an absence of fifteen days, he found great disaffection among certain of the inhabitants. This was nourished by Governour Tryon, who, from his vessel at the Hook, despatched emissaries in every direction. A deep plot, of his contriving, was only defeated by a time ly discovery. His agents had so far pushed their temerity, as to corrupt not only many in the Ameri can camp, but even some of the general's guard, a soldier in which, was found guilty, and shot. The object of this conspiracy was to make Washington a prisoner. To secure Quebec, and redeem Canada, on the one hand, to make a powerful impression in the South on the other, and finally, to possess themselves of New York, proved to be the designs of the Brit ish, during this campaign. A part of their fleet from Halifax arrived off Sandy Hook on the twenty- eighth of June. The remainder followed within a week, and General Howe established his headquar ters at Staten Island. In presence of a powerful enemy, gathering forces at the very door of the city, the troops were summoned to parade at six o'clock, one bright afternoon in early July. The British fleet lay in sight, and the assembled regiments knew not whether they were called together to attack or to repel. It was a fitting time and place for the procla mation of that glorious document, each word of which, well befitting a great nation speaking for it self, found an echo in every heart that beat there — the Declaration of Independence. I can con ceive the beams of that setting sun to have met a rival glow in the ruddy cheeks to which the warm blood mantled, under the inspiring words of liberty, drank in by willing ears. As the address ended, a shout of approbation rent the air. It was not the wild cry of a senseless mob on a holyday, but the voice of determination, which, to the close of that war, was the key-note of freedom. This event, which transmuted into free states, the dependant colony and province, rolls up the curtain from before the dramatick portion of my story. The arrival of Lord Howe from England, on the twelfth of July, and the daily reinforcements of the British fleet, from that period, justified expectations of a sudden assault. Preparations were continued under General Putnam, for the defence of the city, and General Greene was on Long Island, superintend ing the erection of a chain of works, to fortify it against the enemy's approach. About this time, several of the British vessels, under a favourable breeze, ran by the New York batteries, uninjured by their fire, and much to the surprise of the Ameri cans. On the eighth of August, General Washington wrote, that for the several posts on New York, Long Island, Governour's Island, and Paulus Hook, he had but thirteen thousand five hundred and fifty-seven effective men, and that to repel an immediate attack, he could count upon no other addition to his num bers, than a battalion from Maryland, under Colonel Smallwood. Opposed to him was the entire British force, united at Sandy Hook, by the middle of the month, consisting of twenty-four thousand men, combined with a fleet of more than one hundred and thirty vessels, ninety-six of which came in from the twelfth to the thirteenth. Let the reader remember, that this armada was afloat off Sandy Hook, between the Heights of Neversink and Staten Island. And who, on calling to mind this event, and reflecting that, but yesterday, after a lapse of sixty-two years, a proud steamer was sent from England to this very 166 city, then doomed to the fate of Carthage, now the inalienable ally of her former enemy, will deny that the growth of events maturing nations, is a wondrous characteristick of ihe age ; a token that in measure as it learns to ameliorate its condition, humanity is destined to cover the earth like the forest tree ; and fhat we do not, mayhap, sufficiently regard these in timations of a mighty future. The details of war were rapidly advancing in the city, on which the eyes of the nation were intensely fixed. Lead being- scarce, the zealous burghers gave the troops their window-weights for bullets. Of these, one house alone contributed twelve hundred and another one thousand pounds weight; and I doubt not, had bow-strings been in request, our patri- otick countrywomen would have hastened, like the Carthaginians of old, to offer up their longest tresses in the service of freedom. As the crisis drew near, the unseen anxiety of the commander-in-chief be came redoubled beneath his clear eye and serene brow. He was everywhere, knowing no repose, the indefatigable guardian of the spirit of liberty. Already was ihe army in possession of that mem orable address, so fervently breathed by the great commander, while awaiting the attack: "The time is now near at hand, which must probably determine whether Americans are to be freemen or slaves ; whether they are to have any property they can call their own ; whether their houses and farms are to be pillaged and destroyed, and they confined to a state of wretchedness from which no human efforts will probably deliver them. The fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the courage and conduct of this army. We have therefore to re solve to conquer or die !" At this juncture, General Greene unhappily fell sick of a fever, and the important station on Long Island was intrusted to General Sullivan. It is im possible to compare the aims and prospects of the rival forces, at this period, without feeling how daring was the gallantry of the Americans, in venturing so fearlessly upon the unequal contest. The long-expected hour of attack arrived on the twenty-second of August, when intelligence was re ceived of the landing of the British on Long Island. The report of their signal repulse at Fort Moultrie, by the Americans under General Lee, reached our camp on the preceding night, and was urged by Washington as an incentive to as proud exertions on the coming occasion. By the twenty-sixth, the British troops extended from the coast between Gravesend and Utrecht, to Flatbush and Flatlands ; Colonel Hand's regiment retiring before them. General Sullivan was super seded in his command on the Island by General Put nam, and matters rapidly approached a denouement. The accompanying engraving is a sketch of the American lines at Brooklyn, and of the adjacent grounds on which the battle was fought. On reach ing the encampment, of which he was so hastily placed in command, General Putnam found the American position secured by an inner and an outer line of entrenchments. The former was protected by a strong position upon an eminence, near the Wallabout bay, now called Fort Greene. The only approach to it was across an isthmus, formed on one side by the bay and contiguous swamp, and on the other, by a creek, running in from Gowanus Cove, with an impassable marsh on either side of it. This neck of land had been skilfully taken advantage of by General Greene, and was perfectly defended by the entrenchments in its rear. The enemy were ex pected in three directions ; along the coast, by .the Flatbush road, and by the road which led from Hat bush to Bedford. To face them in these quarters, an outer line of works had been organized. A chain of picquets, extending from Yellow Hook round to Flatbush, were stationed from eminence to eminence, to give timely warning of their approach ; and the avenues were guarded by temporary breast-works, defending the main passes. Thus far, General Put- nam adopted the defensive measures of General Greene, and these precautions proved successful, in the points they were designed to protect. From an attack of the enemy's ships at the Nar rows, the' American rear was also guarded by effi cient batteries at Red Hook, and on Governour's Island. General Sullivan had in charge the whole line of outer works, and was joined by Col. Hand, on his withdrawal from the coast, at the landing of the British, and by Colonels Williams and Miles, with their respective regiments. Such was the position'of the Americans; their numbers not exceeding eight thousand eight hundred men. Their adversaries, after landing on the twenty- second, parted in three divisions. The right wing, under Lord Cornwallis and Earl Percy, extended, on the twenty-sixth instant, from Flatbush, toward Flatlands, about two miles in the rear". The centre, composed of the Hessians under General de Heis- ter, was posted at Flatbush, and the left wing, on the coast, was commanded by General Grant. The centre was about four, and the right and left wings nearly six miles distant each from the American camp. A chain of thickly- wooded- hills, called the Heights of Gowanus, and extending eastward to the extremity of the island, lay between the two ar mies. The commander-in-chief passed the whole day of the twenty-sixth at Brooklyn, preparing for the ex pected assault. On the eve of this the first pitched battle of the war, his heart was full of anxiety. Con soled by the conviction that everything in his power had been done to strengthen the American forces, he relied now upon Providence, upon the justice of the cause, and upon their bravery. Toward the close of the day, he returned to New York. On that afternoon, a spectator, to whom the inte- riour of bolh camps could have been revealed, might have drawn a touching and interesting comparison. On one side, the hardened veteran ; opposed to him, the ingenuous recruit ; contrasted with the martial costume of the British, the worn and homely'gar- ments of the continentals : with the park of burnish ed artillery, a few cannon bought with blood ; with polished arms and accoutrements, the long-rusted gun and sabre, torn down from the chimney-piece to answer a country's call. Among the British, a proud f and conscious discipline ; among the Americans, a tie of brotherhood, the feeling of men who would die for each other, in defence of an injured mother Here the proud oppressor ; there the patriot, resolved to do or die. 167 Ouit troops were, then, securely encamped for the night,, the watchfires lighted, the sentinels posted, the hum of preparation over ; a challenge was now and then received and answered, and a guard relieved. The wolf hero had been late in the trenches. It was a still August night ; a few soldiers lay within the tents ; many slept in the open air : " Their knapsacks spread, A pillow for the resting head :" arms and ammunition had been cleaned and in spected, and the sword loosed in its scabbard. Beneath the pfeeipitous bank, flowed the ebbing waters of the unconscious bay, and the eye that looked on the city where Washington slept, found protection in the glance. In the ears of the hope ful American still resounded those stirring words of the orderly book, and many a heart beat as the hand grasped the gun, the blade. In the direc tion of the enemy, all was hushed ; this silence, mayhap, was ominous. Did none within that camp gaze with mistrust upon the dark and wood- capped hills of Gowanus 1 At half past two o'clock, passing clouds ob scured the harvest moon ; the night waxed gloomy, and the air chill. Suddenly, a sharp report of musketry, in the direction of Yellow Hook, alarm ed the American camp. It was a startling sound, in the stillness of the morning, and the troops sprang to their arms, as the reveille summoned each man to his duty. Many a brave lad awoke from dreams of peaceful home, of the father- house, and its loved inmates, where, in presence of the glad crops, the warlike sounds that lulled him to. sleep seemed but as dream-notes, and the danger he anticipated one that was passed. He had obeyed the watchword of liberty, which call ed him to the hardships of war ; but his heart toid him life was sweet, and his cottage-home a para dise. The drum rattled in his ear, and aroused him to the stern reality he feared not, courted not. Ere the alarm ceased beating, the men had seized their muskets. Word had been passed from the remote picquets on the coast, that the enemy were approaching. Lord Stirling was in stantly directed by General Putnam to march with the two nearest regiments to their rencoun ter. These proved to be the Pennsylvania and Maryland troops, under Colonels Haslet and Small- wood ; with whom, proceeding over the uneven ground in the direction of the attack, he found himself on the road to the Narrows, toward day break, and soon met Colonel Atlee with his Del aware regiment, retiring before the British, with the picquets. to whose aid they had advanced. Stationing this officer on the left of the road by which the enemy were approaching, Lord Stirling formed his two regiments along an advantageous ridge, ascending from the road to a piece of wood on the top of a hill. The British were received with two or three warm rounds by the Delawares, who, as their ground became untenable, with drew to a wood on Lord Stirling's left, where they formed. The assailants, now in sight, proved to be two brigades, of four regiments each, under the com mand of General Grant. They proceeded to oc cupy the elevation opposite Lord Stirling, at a distance of three hundred yards. Their light troops came one hundred and fifty yards nearer, with a view to gain possession of a superior emi nence on his left. As they marched up this hill, they were met by the deadly fire of Kichline's rifle corps, who had just reached the ground in time to protect this important point, and who, as I was recently informed by an old man, then and yet living near the spot, mowed them down as fast as they appeared. The Americans brought up two field-pieces to oppose the ten of their op ponents. A sharp cannonade ensued, and was vigorously sustained on both sides, to a late hour; until when, let us shift the scene. While the Americans were occupied, as we have seen, on the previous evening, there was, toward dusk, an unusual stir among the troops in the British right wing. The regiments already at Flatlands, under Earl Percy, were joined at nightfall by those under Lord Cornwallis and General Clinton, who left the Hessians masters at Flatbush. The dark forms of the tall soldiery. the play of their muskets in the moonlight, the whispered order and firm tread of discipline, all announced some sudden or adventurous move ment. One by one, the companies filed off in the direction of New-Lots, and before night was far advanced, Flatlands was deserted. As they moved farther and farther away from the American lines, the furrows became relaxed on the brows of the British commanders, and toward daybreak, half a triumph already gleamed in the eye of Clinton who led the van. Shortly after daylight, the Hessians at Flat bush opened a moderate cannonade upon Gene ral Sullivan, who, with a strong detachment, had advanced on the direct road from Brooklyn thith er, and now occupied the breastworks thrown up by General Greene, for the defence of this impor tant pass. Colonels Miles and Williams were strongly posted on the Bedford road. At half past eight, Count Donop was detached to attack the hill, by General De Heister, who soon followed with the centre of the army. With levelled pieces and eyes fixed on the en emy, the Americans stood firm on their vantage ground, nerved for the assault, and prepared to enact a second drama of Bunker's Hill. From behind breastwork and tree, soldier and rifleman looked down upon the ascending foe, with a feel ing of conscious security ; when lo ! a report of artillery, in the rear of their left, flew with its own velocity along the line. A second volley reveal ed to them, with fearful truth, that the enemy had turned their left flank, and placed them between two fires. Horror, dismay, confusion, ensued! The advancing Hessians were no longer faced by the whole band stationed to oppose them ; and vain the efforts of General Sullivan to rally the 168 dispersing continentals, who hastened to regain the camp, while there yet was time. It was, alas, too late ! As regiment after regiment emerged from the wood, they encountered the bayonets of the British, and all retreat was cut off. Driven back into the forest, after desperate efforts to cleave their way through the close ranks of the enemy, they were met by the Hessians, a part of whom were at the same time detached toward Bedford, in which quarter the cannon of Clinton announced that he also was attacking the Ameri can rear. The British pushed their line beyond the Flatbush road, and when our brave troops found their only outlet was through the enemy, skirmish after skirmish ensued, in which they displayed signal bravery. Many forced their way through the camp, some escaped into the woods, Mid many were slain. Colonel Parry was shot through the head, while encouraging his men. I leave the reader to imagine the disastrous consequences of this surprise to the Americans, when, hemmed in by the surpassing numbers, and co-operating wings of the British, they saw inev itable death or capture, on every side. Here, striking again through the wood, and lured by an enticing path, which promised safety, they rushed from its shelter upon the drawn sabres of the enemy ; there, retiring to its recesses before a superior force, they fell upon the levelled mus kets of the Hessians ; bullets and balls sought victims in every direction ; and many a brave soldier sank to die beneath the tall forest tree, offering up with his parting breath, a prayer for his country, consecrated by his life-blood. Against the hottest of the enemy's fire, Gene ral Sullivan, on the heights above Flatbush, made a brave resistance for three hours. Here the slaughter was thickest on the side of the assail ants. Fairly covered, by the imperfect entrench ment, the Americans poured many a deadly vol ley upon the approaching foe. The old man, al ready mentioned, well remembers seeing a pit wherein large numbers of the Hessians, who fell here, were buried ; and from another source, I learn, that, to stimulate the commander of these foreign mercenaries, he h'ad been offered a golden substitute for every missing man. Leaving Generals Clinton and Percy to inter cept the Americans in this quarter, Lord Corn wallis proceeded toward the scene of General Grant's engagement with Lord Stirling. We left this gallant officer bravely opposing a superior force. He continued the resistance until eleven o'clock, when, hearing a sharp firing in the direc tion of Brooklyn, it flashed upon him that the British were getting between him and the Ameri can lines. Discovering the position of Lord Corn wallis, he instantly saw, that unless they forded the creek near the Yellow Mills, the troops under him must all become prisoners. The reader will see that he had some distance to gain, before this could be effected. Hastening back, he found the enemy much stronger than he anticipated ; and, that his main body might escape, he determined in person to attack Lord Cornwallis, who was posted at a house near the upper mill. This movement he performed with the utmost gallant ry, leading half of Smallwood's regiment five or six several times to the charge, and nearly dis lodging the British commander, who, but for the arrival of large reinforcements, would, have been driven from his station. This band of four hun dred, composed, say the British accounts, of youths, the flower of the best families in Mary. land, sustained severe loss. But the object was attained, and the regiments, whose retreat it was designed, to favour, effected their escape over marsh and creek, with the loss of a single man drowned. In his official report,.Lord Howe speaks of numbers who perished in crossing the inlet. But this, I am convinced, is incorrect. The self- devoted heroes of this exploit were surrounded, and made prisoners of war. We may readily conceive with what feelings their brethren in the camp beheld the undeserved ill fortune of the troops engaged in the action. General Putnam, a warrior of the true stamp, con strained to remain within the fortifications, and so little prepared for the events of the day, as to be only able, where the enemy appeared, to de tach troops to meet them, saw with dismay the manoeuvre which made them masters of the field. His efforts had all along been directed to Gene ral Grant's motions. For the defence in front, he relied on General Sullivan to provide, and great was his surprise, on seeing the enemy turn that officer's flank. As the engagement between Lord Stirling and General Grant grew warmer, his at tention was attracted by the broadside which the British frigate Roebuck opened upon the Red- hook battery in his rear. Too late aware of his mistake, he was compelled to await the issue. At this juncture, General Washington reached the lines, and beheld, with infinite grief, the dis comfiture of his beloved troops. Wringing his hands, he is said, when he saw no aid could reach them, to have given vent to the keenest anguish. From the height he stood upon, the movements of both parties were revealed to him. Here, was seen Lord Stirling, gallantly attacking Cornwal lis ; there, a troop of Americans, escaping with thinned numbers through the British ranks, were pursued to the very entrenchments. By the creek, soldiers plunging into the unknown depths of its waters, or struggling through the miry bog, were fired upon by the foe ; toward Flatbush, the Hes sians and British were combining to enfold, in a still narrower circle, the few and undaunted con tinentals. Lest the foregoing imperfect description should have left obscure some of the details of this af fair, let me briefly recapitulate its successive dis-. asters. I have supposed the reader to be, where all would have chosen to stand on that occasion, on the American side. A glance at the motions of the British, will show how admirably their ma noeuvres were planned and executed. The suc cess of the concerted movement was insured by the unforeseen malady of General Greene. All the passes to Brooklyn were defended, save one ; and it was by this that the troops, which decided the fortunes of the day, and were the same we left filing off from Flatland to New-Lotsy on the previous night, turned the American flank. The road from Jamaica to Bedford was left unprotect ed ; the enemy early ascertained this fact; and,, 169 o enable them tt profit by our neglect, General Grant's advance, which was a diversion, had been devised. The fleet and General de Heister co operated with him in this manoeuvre. General Putnam, taking this feint for a bona fide attack, was deceived; and the Americans were entrapped 6y forces superior in discipline, in tactics, in numbers, in good fortune, but not in courage ; for though eleven hundred were either killed or taken, near four thousand fought their way back to the camp. To the absence of General Greene, who had studied, and would doubtless have guarded, all the approaches to the camp, and to the want of a general commanding officer throughout the day, may this disaster be attributed. General Putnam could not leave his lines, and the double care of New York and Long Island devolved upon the commander-in-chief. General Woodhull, who had been ordered to guard" the road from Bedford to Jamaica, with the Long Island militia, remained at Jamaica. The neglect which lost us the day, cost him his life. Riding home, after disbanding the volunteers under his command, he was cap tured by the British, and infamously cut to pieces, on his refusing to say, " God save the king." Impartiality must award high praise, on this occasion, to the bravery of the enemy's troops, who followed so hotly in pursuit, that they were with difficulty withheld from attacking the Amer ican trenches. At night, the patriots within them told their missing brethren ; and when their loss became known, and uncertainty veiled the fate of the absent ones, gloom and despondency perva ded the camp. The victorious British, on the contrary, hastened to secure the ground they had gained, and flushed with victory, passed the night in exultation. On the twenty-eighth, a violent rain kept the two armies in their respective encampments. That night, the enemy broke ground within about six hundred yards of Fort Greene, and on the fol lowing day were busily engaged in throwing up entrenchments. Their main force was advancing, by slow but sure approaches, to besiege the Amer ican fortifications, and their superior artillery would doubtless soon silence our batteries. The advanced sentinel of the British army was sur prised, on the morning of the thirtieth, by the un wonted stillness within the American lines. Cal ling a comrade or two around him, they proceeded to reconnoitre. Emboldened by the silence, they crept near the embankment, and cautiously peep ing into our camp, perceived not a vestige of the army to whose challenges they had listened the night before. The alarm was given, and the party who first rushed in, to take possession of the works, saw in the midstream, out of gun-shot and filled with well-pleased Americans, the last of the barges which had borne their comrades across the waters that night. Beyond it, in a small boat, there sat an American officer, of calm and digni fied mien. On his pale countenance the anxious muscles were relaxing into a heavenly smile. This bark bore Ccesar and his fortunes; and a prayer seemed to escape the lips of Washington, as a glance at the distant shore" told him the American army was beyond the reach of danger. 99. Nine thousand men, with all their stores and ammunitions, crossed the East river during the night, unperceived by the enemy. For four-and- twenty hours previous, the commander-in-chief had not left the saddle. The immediate embar- cation of the troops was under the direction of General M'Dougall, to whose vigilant activity high praise is due. Incurious popular opinion has admitted this to have been a shameful defeat. I trust that all who have watched the phases of the day, and the con currence of good and evil fortune on the respect ive parts of the British and Americans, will ac knowledge the injustice of this decision. One great advantage of the assailant lies in the choice of points for attack, presented by any extensive field. This was peculiarly the case in the battle of the twenty- seventh of August. The outer line of defence was disproportioned to the force em ployed ; and the enemy's subsequent moves, com pelling our army to retreat, proved the fortifica tion within to have been planned on too small a scale for the defence of that part of the island. It was no disgraceful rout. We have shown, that the troops behaved with high spirit ; and would that we might do justice to the distin guished courage displayed by the bands under General Sullivan and Lord Stirling on this occa sion. In particular, may the attack of the latter upon Lord Cornwallis, be singled out as a feat of chivalrous gallantry ; and the stand long main tained by the Marylanders, upon the hill, with flying colors, under the enemy's severest fire, be cited as examples of Spartan heroism. Some blame has been attached by Gordon to General Sullivan, for neglect of vigilance upon the unfor tunate Jamaica road. This officer is defended by Judge Marshall, who observes, that the paucity of his troops, and the entire want of cavalry, forced him to rely upon General Woodhull for the de fence of that pass. It may be asked, why a defeat has been select ed for my theme, in lieu of some one of the vic tories of the revolution. I answer, that even a reverse, when stamped by so much bravery, and incurred through such unforeseen ill-chance, is it self a high encomium upon the valor of our ances tors. We have no stronger comment to offer those who would stigmatize it, than our actual liberties. By falling, the infant learns to walk ; by losses, the merchant learns to gain ; by defeat, and all history tends to prove it, an army is taught to conquer. Moreover, the reverses imbue us with a saner spirit than the triumphs of the revo lution. They recall to mind the price of our lib erty. If success flushes the brow of the victori ous, and lends impetuosity to determination, de feat still more powerfully operates to paralyze courage, and depression is its immediate, if not lasting, result. It is, then, a manlier study, to mark the workings of the spirit which took breath in discomfiture for renewed resistance at Harlem, where Leitch and Knowlton fell, and at White Plains. Such arsoul filled the breast of Washing ton. His glory lay more in retrieving the wars losses, throughout the long struggle, than even in the laurels of Princeton, and Trenton and York 170 REVOLUTIONARY BATTLES ILLUSTRATED. OPERATIONS IN NEW JERSEY, DELAWARE, AND PENNSYLVANIA. At the time of the Declaration of Independence, July 4. 1776, Washington occupied the city of New York and the western extremity of Long Island with seventeen thousand troops, principally raw recruits. On the 22d August, 24,000 British troops, under Lord Howe and his brother Sir William Howe, landed on Long Island near the Narrows, about nine miles from New York. On the 27th, a very hotbattle was fought among the hills and woods on Long Island, in which the Americans were defeated. On the 29th, under the cover of the night, they joined the rest of the army in New York. The British now pressed the Amer icans with so much activity, that the latter were compelled to evacuate the city about the 15th of Sep tember. Several hot skirmishes took place on the island, and a battle at White Plains occured on the 28th of October. The Americans withdrew as far as Peekskill on the Hudson, and crossed the river at that place early in November. Washington's design w'as to harass the British army under Cornwallis, in New Jersey. Fort Washington surrendered to the British with about two thousand men on the 16th. Washington reached Hackensack, soon after, with about five thousand troops. Cornwallis, the British general, entered New Jersey, opposite Yonkers above Fort Lee, November 18th. The American 171 army passing through Paterson, reached Newark, Nov. 24th, and New Brunswick Dec. 1 ; the Brit ish close in pursuit were at Amboy. Washington, perceiving it to be the evident design of the enemy to push on to Philadelphia, hastened on through Princeton and reached Trenton Dec. 30. The Amer ican force at this time was very inferiour, and alto gether insufficient to make a stand against the ad vancing enemy. The time the militia enlisted for was short, and many of them went home. Whole compa nies deserted', and the army was soon so small that Washington knew every man by name. They were so nearly naked and lagged too, and looked so miser able that their own countrymen were almost ashamed to join them. The enemy pressed them so closely, that large numbers went over to them, alleging that " they might as well be ruined one way as another." They crossed the Delaware, and week after week they were driven up and down its banks with scarce- ' "ly a hope of relief. The bare and sore feet of the infantry left the frozen ground bloody behind them. The British cavalry traversed the country, with their large, fine horses, and elegant uniforms. But the few horsemen of the American army, were mounted upon wretched, worn-out horses, so lean and frightful, as to be the constant theme of ridicule with the British soldiers. The whole were ridicul ed as a company of " ragamuffins." These were " the times that tried men's souls : " and the American people began to fear, that they would be crushed in their struggle for freedom. Many were entirely disheartened, and numbers basely deserted the cause of their country at this hour of need, and went over to the enemy. But the glorious Washington remained firm and undis mayed. While other minds were shaken with doubt and fear, he remained steadfast and resolved. Look ing deeply into the future, and placing his trust in Heaven, he seemed to penetrate the clouds that shed their gloom upon the land, and to see beyond them a brighter and a trappier day. He always appeared before his soldiers with a smile, and fought or fasted with them, as necessity required. He inspired all around him with courage, and wrote many letters to Congress, to the governours of the states, to his gen erals and to his friends, entreating them to make great exertions to send him assistance. These appeals were not without effect. Philadelphia, in a very short time furnished him with a regiment of fifteen hundred noble fellows who were resolved to support him to the last. The British now withdrew into winter quarters. They occupied the villages for many miles up and down, on the eastern bank of the Delaware. Wash ington was below them, on the other side. But they were tired of pursuing him ; and they believed that his army would soon dwindle away, and the whole country be conquered. They scarcely took the trouble to set guards at night. But Washington watched them like a lynx. . On the night of Decem ber 25th, he crossed the Delaware again, with a large part of his arm)'. The night was dark, stormy and cold. The river was crowded with broken ice, rushing together,. and sweeping down upon its swiCt current. But notwithstanding these difficulties and dangers, the river was passed by the American troops, and they marched on to Trenton. They en tered that place at eight in the morning, and met a large body of Hessians, who however resisted oniy for a short time. Five hundred cavalry escaped ; but some fine cannon and about, a thousand prisoners were taken by the Americans. Cornwallis, who lay a few miles off, thought so little of the American " ragamuffins," at this time, that he mistook the noise of the cannon at Trenton for thunder. In the night of the second of January '77, apprehending an at tack from the British, Washington started off for the mountains of New Jersey. He reached Princeton at daybreak, and fell upon the British there so sud denly and so tiercel}', that sixty of them were killed, and three hundred taken prisoners. Washington soon reached Morristown, and there, as well as at Middlebrook or Boundbrook formed a camp. Here he commenced re-organizing his army for the cam paign of '77. Congress, notwithstanding the ex treme jealousy which had prevailed in relation to the danger of a military ascendency, were con strained in the present alarming aspect of affairs, to invest Washington with dictatorial powers. The proceedings were as follows : — " December 27th, 1776. This Congress, having maturely considered the present crisis ; and having perfect reliance on the wisdom, vigour, and' upright ness of General Washington, do hereby " Resolve, That General Washington, shall be, and he is, hereby vested with full, ample, and complete powers to raise and collect together in the most speedy and effectual manner, from any or all of these United States, sixteen battalions of infantry, in ad dition to those already voted by Congress; to, ap point officers for the said battalions of infantry ; to raise, officer, and equip three thousand lighthorse,- three regiments of artillery, and a corps of engi neers, and to establish their pay ; to apply to any of the states for such aid of the militia as he shall judge necessary ; to form such magazines of provis ions, and in such places, as he shall think proper ; to displace and appoint all officers under the rank of brigadier-general, and to fill up all vacancies in every other 'department in the American army ; to take, wherever he may be, whatever he may want for the use of the army, if the inhabitants will not sell it, allowing a reasonable price for the same ; to arrest arid confine persons who refuse to take the continental currency, or are otherwise disaffected to the American cause ; and return to the states, of which they are citizens, their names, and the nature of their offences, together with the witnesses to prove them. " That the foregoing powers be vested in General Washington, for aid during the term of six months from the date hereof, unless sooner determined by Congress." Although these powers constituted Washington, in all respects a Dictator, according to the Roman sense of that word, yet he never exercised them any farther than the exigency of the case demanded. In consequence of the very great efforts that were made by every friend of the American cause, militia crowded from all parts to Washington's camp at Middlebrook and Morristown. His army in the spring of '77 amounted to fifteen thousand men. He was so strongly intrenched among the hills, that the English dared not attack him. The following sum mer was spent in marching to and fro in New Jer sey, without effecting much. But in July the British 172 mustered a force of sixteen thousand men, at New York. These left there, soon after, with a large fleet. An attack was expected everywhere upon the coast ; but no one knew whither they were bound. Washington moved his army towards Philadelphia. The British fleet at last, entered Chesapeake Bay, and landed their men at Turkey Point. They left that place September 3d, and marching towards Philadelphia, came up with a portion of Washing ton's army, at a place called Chad's Ford, on the river Brandywine. On the 11th, they had a warm. skirmish, and the Americans were driven back. Congress removed to Yorktown, Virginia ; and Howe entered Philadelphia, in great triumph, Sep tember 26th. The Americans were defeated again at German- town, on the 4th of October. The battle began early in the morning,, when nothing could be seen farther than thirty yards. During the whole action, which lasted nearly three hours, the firing on both sides was directed by the flash of each other's guns. The smoke of the cannon and musketry, mingled with. the thick fog, rested over the armies in clouds. The Americans saved their artillery, even to a single- cannon, which had been dismounted. General Greene displayed most remarkable coolness in this action. About this time, a smart action was fought at Red Bank, on the Jersey side of the Delaware, seven miles below Philadelphia. The Americans had erected batteries here, and upon Mud Island, in the middle of the river. Nothing, therefore, belong ing to the British, could pass up and down between their camp at Philadelphia, and their fleet in the river below. Two ranges of chevauxdefrise were placed in the channel. Howe sent down two thou sand Germans, under Colonel Donop, to attack the Red Bank redoubt, which was defended by four hundred men. This number was so small, that half the redoubt was left vacant, and a line was drawn through the middle of it. The enemy came on very fiercely with a brisk cannonade ; entered the empty part of the redoubt, and shouted for victory. But the garrison poured out such a tremendous fire, that the Germans, after a brief conflict fled, with the loss of four hundred men, and their brave command er Donop. Washington retired into winter quarters at Valley Forge, sixteen miles from Philadelphia. His army might, have been tracked by the blood of their feet, in marching without shoes or stockings, over the hard, frozen ground. Thousands of them had no blankets, and were obliged to spend ( the night in trying to get warm, instead of sleeping. They erected log huts for lodgings. For a fortnight they nearly starved — sometimes they were without bread and without meat; A person passing by the huts of these poor fellows in the evening, might have seen them through the crevices, stretching their cold hands over the fire, and a soldier occasionally com ing in or going out, with nothing but a blanket on Iris shoulders. " No pay, no clothes, no provisions, no rum," said they to each other. But to their praise be it spoken, they loved Washington and their country too well, to desert them in these trying times. During the winter, the Americans contrived some machines, which were filled with gunpowder, and sent down the river Delaware, near to the city, They expected that these would explode, and among the British shipping ; they did, however, no damage, but the British were very much alarmed, and ac cordingly, fired cannon at every thing they saw floating in the river. This afforded the Americans a fund of amusement. Francis Hopkinson, one of the signers of the Declaration, and a man of great wit, wrote the following humorous ballad upon tho subject : — BATTLE OF THE KEGS. Gallants, attend, and hear a friend Trill forth harmonious ditty : Strange things I'll tell, which late befell In Philadelphia city. 'Twas early day, as poets say, Just when the sun was rising, A soldier stood on log of wood, And saw a thing surprising. As in a maze he stood to gaze, — The truth can't be denied sir,— He spied a score of kegs, or more, Come floating down the tide, 6ir. A sailor too, in jerkin blue, This strange appearance viewing, First rubb'd his eyes, in great surprise. Then said, " Some mischiefs brewing. " Tnese kegs do hold the rebels bold, Pack'd up like-pickled herring ; And they're come down t' attack the town, In this new way of ferrying." The soldier flew, the sailor too, And, scar'd almost to death, sir, Wore out their shoes, to spread the news And ran till out of breath, sir. Now up and down, throughout the town, Most frantick scenes were acted ; And some ran here, and others there, Like men almost distracted. Some fire cried, which some denied, But said the earth had quaked; And girls and boys, with hideous noise, Ran through the streets half naked. Sir William he, snug as a flea, Lay all this time a snoring. Nor thought of harm, as helay warm, The land of dreams exploring. Now in a fright he starts upright, Awaked by such a clatter : He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries, ,; Alas ! what is the matter 1" At his bedside he then espied Sir Erskine at command, sir ; Upon one foot he had one boot, And the other in his hand, sir. " Arise, arise !" Sir Erskine cries ; " The rebels — more's the pity — Without a boat, are all afloat, And ranged before the city. " The motley crew, in vessels new, With Satan for their guide, sir, Pack'd up in bags, or wooden kegs, Come driving down the tide, sir. " Therefore prepare for bloody war— These kegs must all be routed, ' Or surely we despised shall be. And British courage doubted." The royal band now ready stand, All ranged in dread array, sir, With stomach stout, to see it out, And make a bloody day, sir 173 The cann ins roar from shore to shore, The small arms make a rattle; Since war's'begari, I'm'sure ho mar i^ . E'er saw so strange a battle. The rebel, dales, the rebel vales, With rebel trees surrounded, rhe distant woods, the hills and floods, # With rebel echoes sounded. The fish below swam to and fro, Attack'd from every quarter; " Why sure," thought they, " the d 's to pay. 'Mongst folks above the water." The kegs, 'tis said, though strongly made. Of rebel, staves and hoops, sir, Could notoppose their powerful foes, The conquering British troops, sir From morn to night, these men of might DisplayM amazing courage, And when the sun was fairly down, Retired to sup their porridge. A hundred mon, with each a pen, Or more, upon my word, sir, It is most true, would be too few, Their valour to record, sir, Such feats did they perform that day, Against these wicked kegs, sir. That years to come, if they get home, They'll make their boasts and brags, sir. The treaty between France and America was concluded February 6th, 1778, by which the former agreed to join arms with the latter against the British, and occasioned prodigious joy in the army at Valley Forge, and over the whole country. Gen eral Clinton, hearing of this, thought it necessary to remove to New York. He accordingly evacuated Philadelphia, on the 18th of June, to the great joy of the inhabitants, and took up his march through New Jersey. Washington broke up his quarters at Valley Forge, and immediately pursued him. A hot battle was fought on the 28th, near Monmouth court house, which did not cease till night. Washington slept upon his cloak under a tree, expecting more fighting in the morning ; but the British marched off in the night. Sixty of their soldiers were found dead on the battle-field without wounds. Fatigue and the excessive heat had killed them. Washing ton afterwards passed on to Morristown, and the highlands of the Hudson. OPERATIONS AT THE SOUTH. The operations of the contending armies at the south during the revolutionary war, were extensive, various, and long continued. They were commenced early, and concluded at the latest stage. Their his tory would fill a large and interesting volume — and it would exhibit a detail of the most savage fierceness and brutality, on the part of the enemy, and of the most gallant bravery, skill, suffering and fortitude on the part of our countrymen, that often occur in the whole history ofthe war. A portion of these scenes and operations have recently been invested with a new and superior interest by the aid of the imagina tion, in a recent work of fiction.* ' The battle of Lexington was the tocsin of the revo- As the news of that battle spread, the their preparations. A few days after the battle of Lexington, South Carolina raised two regiments of in fantry and one of cavalry. Virginia also immediate ly exhibited a readiness to yield her aid in defending this country. A great difficulty existed at this time in this province, between the English governor, Dun more, and the Assembly. He feared the people would seize on the powder of the public magazine at Williamsburg, and ordered it to be carried on board a vessel called the Jasper, lying at anchor in the river James. He also talked of setting free the negroes, and of destroying the city, which so greatly incensed the people, that they compelled him to leave Williamsburg, and seek safety on board a royal armed vessel. Having collected a fleet, he re solved to harass the Virginians as much as possible, if he could not govern them. In this he was joined and assisted by the tories. He laid waste the coast, at various places, in the most shocking manner, murdering and burning like a pirate. He burnt Hampton on the bay of Hampton, among the rest, and undertook to establish his camp there. But the Virginians soon drove him back upon the water. He then declared all the negro slaves to be free, and invited them to join him. A few of them succeeded in doing so. He landed again at Norfolk, where the tories were numerous ; and a battle was fought, a few miles from that city, at a place called Great Bridge, with a regiment of Virginia militia and minute men. The governor had only two hundred regulars about him. The rest was a mere mob, of black, white and gray. The first attack was made by the British, on the American intrenchment. The battle lasted some time, with a good deal of spirit. At last the British captain was killed, and the troops fell back upon the bridge. The governor did not like fighting ; so dur ing the battle he contented himself with looking on at a distance. The negroes loved fighting as little as the governor. They found it by no means pleas ant to have their flesh cut to pieces with bullets ; so, after a few shots, they ran away as fast as they could. The governor also thought it best to retreat, and, ac cordingly, he and his men went on board of their vessels. This affair did not serve to sweeten governor Dun- more's temper ; nor did it put him in a better humor to find that his friends, the tories at Norfolk, had been handled roughly by the people there, after his retreat with his negro allies. He now returned into the bay, with a ship of war, and sent a message ashore, de claring that, unless the people furnished him with provisions, he should batter the town down about their ears. They refused to supply him : so he gave them notice in the morning, to remove the women and children ; and then with his own sloop of war, the frigate Liverpool, and two corvettes, he blazed away upon the place, till scarcely one stone was left upon another. The provincials, to disappoint him of his provisions, burnt the whole country round about. In South Carolina, governor Campbell arrived at American people every where awoke to a sense of , Charleston, from England, about the same time, with their immediate danger, and prepared for ihe impen- , the news of the Lexington battle. The people were ding storm The southern provinces were not far be- on their guard, and he tried in vain to get the better hind the northern, in the activity and earnestness of , of them, by inviting the torios to assist him ; but the I tories were afraid to do so. He began to be fright- ' • Horse Shoe Robinson. By James P. Kennedy. REVOLUTIONARY BATTLES ILLUSTRATED. No. 5. ened a little himself, being a man of less courage than governor Dunmore ; so Re said little or nothing for some time. To unmask him, the American leaders sent pri vately to him one Adam Macdonald, captain in a militia regiment. He called himself Dick Williams, and offered his services to the governor. The latter was delighted, and told him all his plans. Having heard them attentively, Adam went away and told the whole to the persons who employed him. They immediately sent a committee, Macdonald among the number, to wait upon his excellency, and request him to show his royal commission, if he had any, as governor. He declined this proposal. There were some hints then thrown out, about putting him in confinement. These came to his ears, and he re treated, with very little ceremony or delay, to an English corvette, anchored in the harbour. The assembly requested him to return ; but he refused. Nothing more was seen of him, or his government, in Charleston. The tories were numerous in other sections of the province, however, and he mustered them "together in great force. The people were alarmed. The militia was ordered out ; and the two parties were on the eve of an engagement. But at length the tories were dispersed, and they gave no more trouble at that time. The provincials in South Carolina continued to be very active. They captured fort Johnson, on James' Island, in Charleston'harbour, and placed batteries ot 175 Point Huddrel. The English ships were at last driven oflj The next thing with the people was to send an expedition after an English vessel laden with powder, which was anchored on the bank, called the Bar of St. Augustine, a town on the coast of East Florida. She was taken, and 15,000 pounds of powder were carried to Charleston. In North Carolina, the provincial congress raised 1,000 regular militia, and 3,000 minute men. The English governor, Martin, disliked the appearance of thmgs,and endeavored to muster a force of the Irish and Scotch part of the inhabitants. He also fortified his^.own house, at Newbern, with artillery. The people seize'd upon his cannon ; and he fled to a fort upon Cape Fear river. The provincials marched after him,, led on by colonel Ashe. He retreated on board a vessel, as the other governors had done. Colonel Ashe burnt the fort to ashes the same night. The assembly declared the governor a traitor. He answered them in a very long letter, which they ordered to be burnt by the common hangman,*' A large quantity of balls and powder was/ound in his cellar and gardens at New bern. The British Generals had contemplated various methods of subduing the southern provinces, in the hope of making a permanent lodgment in the bosom of the country. The strong resistance which they met in the interior, however, convinced them that an attempt to invade the country, without going to work thoroughly and systematically, was totally impracti cable. They therefore determined to make an attack upon the city of Charleston, in South Carolina. Admiral Parker and general Clinton reached Charleston harbor, on the 28th of June, and, with eleven large vessels of war, commenced a tremendous attack upon fort Moultrie. " This stood upon Sulli van's Island, six miles from the city, and was built of a kind of wood called palmetto, so spongy and soft that the balls were buried in it, and no splinters were thrown off. The fort was defended by sixty pieces of cannon. Ship after ship poured in their tremendous broad sides. The whole harbour seemed to be but a sheet of flame. The Americans aimed well, and every shot had its effect. Some of the English vessels were soon stranded. The Thunder, after firing more than sixty bombs, was disabled. The Bristol was almost destroyed, and a great number of men were killed. The fire of the fort suddenly stopped. Their pow der was exhausted. The enemy thought themselves sure of the victory, and the ships moved nearer, with their flags flying and their drums beating. But the Americans were soon supplied from the shore, and the battle lasted, hotter than ever, till seven in the evening. The English drew off in the night,, and the enterprise was abandoned. This defence of Fort Moultrie was one of the most gallant actions of the war. Every man and every officer fought like a hero. Congress voted their thanks to the whole garrison, and to several of the officers by name. A sword was presented to a sergeant of grenadiers, named Jasper. In the heat of the battle, the staff of the fort flag had been cut down by a ball. Jasper sprang after it, fast ened it to the rammer of a cannon, and hoisted it again, amid the fire of the enemy. The British had, however, gained possession of many portions of the southern provinces, particularly of Georgia. The British general, Prevosl, had pos session of Savannah. He was besieged by general Lincoln in 1779, but Lincoln failed of success, and was obliged to relinquish the siege. Prevost ravaged the country, burning and plundering without mercy. He met, however, much brave and determined re sistance, and many interesting anecdotes are related of the most daring and chivalrous deeds on the part of some of the provincials. But notwithstanding the repeated instances of bra very, and the activity and cunning of the hardy bands- that arose every where in the south, the British over run Georgia and the two Carolinas. They had suc ceeded in taking Charleston on the 11th of May, 1780, after a long siege, and a brave defence by gen eral Lincoln. This way then was opened to ravage" the country. Their course was marked with savage barbarity and cruelty, and a reckless waste of prop erty. They not only sacked every village, but burnt every house; destroyed the crops and drove awaj the cattle ; not content with pillaging houses and rob bing individuals of their property, "grasping for gold, they went rummaging amongst the tombs." But their inhuman revelry was not of long continuance. Soon after Charleston was taken, general Gates was sent to take command of the southern army. He was joined by hundreds of the Carolina militia. Con gress sent him some fine Maryland and Delaware troops also. They had a very long and hard march through the woods, finding nothing to eat on the way, but peaches and green corn, with now and then a flock of wild turkeys, or a drove of wild hogs. But they were brave men, and did not murmur. They even joked each other on account of their thin faces, and lank legs. A battle took place on the 16th of August, near Camden, South Carolina, between Gates and the British under lord Cornwallis. The former was de feated, and fled eighty miles into the back country. The lean, northern soldiers, we have just mentioned, fought nobly an hour after all the rest had been routed like an army of rotten sheep. The brave Baron de Kalb was wounded in eleven places. He fell from his horse, and died in the hands of the British. He was_-a Frenchman, and sent his compliments, in his last moments, to his "gallant Maryland and Delaware soldiers." Generals Marion and Sumpter gave the British great trouble during this campaign. Small parties of the mountain militia joined them, and they swept down upon the enemy, wherever they could find them in small^parties. The farmers' wives furnished them pewter spoons and platters, to make into bul lets; and they forged swords of scythes and the saws of sawmills. In October, sixteen hundred of these mountaineers mustered together to attack a British force under ma jor Ferguson, who had encamped not far from the mountains. For weeks, they had no salt, bread, or spirits ; they- slept upon boughs of trees, without blankets, drank only from the running streams, and lived upon wild game, or ears of corn, and pumpkins, roasted by their great log fires in the woods. They were to assault Ferguson in three parties, and colonel Cleaveland addressed his party in these words : — " My brave boys, we have beat the red- 176 coats and the tories, and we can beat them again. I They are all cowards. You must fight, each man for himself, without orders. Fire as quick as you can, and stand as long as you can. If you must retreat, • get behind the trees — don't run, my fine fellows, don't ' run!" "Hurrah for the mountaineers !" cried they,] and rushed down upon the enemy. The Americans were driven back at the point of the bayonet; but they only lay down among the logs and rocks, and being sharp shooters, killed more than two hundred of the enemy. Ferguson was killed himself, and eight hundred of his soldiers surrendered. Ten of the most savage tories, notorious rascals, were hung up on the neighboring trees. With the year 1781, the war drew rapidly toward a close. It was carried on almost entirely in the southern provinces. General Greene was appointed to command the American forces in that quarter. At the time of his arrival, they were a miserable, half- starved militia, of three thousand men. They mark ed the frozen ground with the blood of their bare feet, and lived half their time upon frogs, taken from the swamps, wild game, rice, and wretchedly lean cattle. But they were soon reinforced ; and small parties, under Sumpter, Marion, Morgan and others, often annoyed the forces of Cornwallis. Colonel Washing ton laid siege to a strong blockhouse near Camden, defended by a British colonel and a hundred tories. He had no cannon, and few men; but he carved out a few pine logs in the shape of cannon, mounted them on wheels, and summoned the tories to surren der. They were frightened at the appearance of his big cannon, and surrendered. Not a shot was fired upon either side. On the 17th of January, colonel Morgan, with eight hundred militia, was attacked at a place called the Cowpens, in South Carolina, by Tarlton, a fa mous British officer, with eleven hundred men, and two cannon. The enemy rushed on with a tremen dous shout. The front line of militia were driven back. Tarleton pursued them, at full gallop, with his troopers, and fell upon the second line. They too were giving way. At this moment, colonel Washington charged Tarle ton with forty-five militiamen, mounted and armed as troopers. The whole line now rallied under colonel Howard, and advanced with fixed bayonets. The British fled. Their cannon were left behind ; three hundred British soldiers were killed and wounded, and five hundred were taken prisoners ; eight hundred muskets, seventy negroes, and one hundred dragoon horses also fell into the hands ofthe Americans. Ma ny British officers were killed. Morgan always told his sharp-shooters " to aim at the epaulettes, and not at the poor rascals who fought for sixpence a day." General Greene was now driven back, by Corn wallis, into North Carolina. The latter pursued him through the province, over mountains and swamps, and arrived atthe river Dan, just as Greene had cross ed it. Cornwallis now found it necessary to turn about ; and so he marched back, and Greene soon fol lowed him with new forces. Sumpter joioed him at Orangeburg, having receiv ed orders to do so during his hasty retreat before the enemy. It seems Greene could find no, man in his army who would carry the message to Sumpter. A country girl, named Emily Geiger, at last offered her services, and was sent. She was taken by the British, and confined forthe purpose of being searched. She, however, ate up the letter which she carried, piece by piece. They released her, to go home, as they sup- posed ; but she took a roundabout way,, reached Sump. ter's camp safely, and delivered her message, in her own words. The Americans were defeated near Guilford; court house on the 15th of March. But Cornwallis retreat ed soon after. He had suffered great loss, and his army was small. A militia colonel cried out iu this battle, as the British were marching up, " They will surround us." He was frightened himself, and fright ened his soldiers so much, that they gave way while the enemy was one hundred and forty yards distant. Colonel Washington, at the head of his troopers, nearly captured Cornwallis in this battle. He was just rushing upon the British general, when his cap fell from his head. As he leaped' to the ground for it, the leading American officer behind him was shot through the body, and rendered unable to manage his horse. The animal wheeled round, and gallftped off with his rider ; and the troop, supposing it was Wash ington's order, wheeled about also, and rode off at full speed. Fort Watson, between Camden and Charleston, surrendered in April, with 1 1 4 men, to general Ma rion. The fort was built on a mound of earth thirty feet high ; but Marion, with his mountaineers, had raised a work which overlooked it in such a manner, lhat not a man in the fort could show his head over the purapets, or scarcely point his musket through a hole in the walls, but the riflemen above would shoot him. Greene was again defeated at Camden, on the 25th of April, by nine hundred English under lord Rawdon. But in a month or two, the British lost six forts, and that of Augusta was among them. Here there were three hundred men, as a garrison, almost buried themselves under ground, while the Americans were building up batteries within thirty yards, which swept "the fort through and through. Greene and all his officers, and all his men, fought nobly the whole sea son. " I will recover the province," said the general, "or die in the attempt." It is remarkable, that al though his force was much inferior to that of Corn wallis, and though he was frequently defeated, jet. by his admirable manoeuvres, the result of the campaign was entirely favorable to the Americans, and injurious to the British. Greene attacked the enemy atEutaw Springs, Sep tember 8th, and completely defeated them, killing and capturing eleven hundred of their best soldiers. In pursuing the enemy, one Manning found himself sur rounded by them. He seized upon a small British officer; and being himself a stout man, placed him upon his shoulders and retreated, the English not dar ing to fire at him. The little officer was horribly frightened, but Manning took good. care of him. The war was closed by the capture of Cornwallis, at Yorktown, on York river, Virginia. . 177 REVOLUTIONARY BATTLES ILLUSTRATED. CAPTURE OF BURGOYNE, AT SARATOGA. Wo know of no series of events to be found in the history of our Revolution, more highly fraught with interest than those that were attendant upon the effort of Gen. Burgoyne to penetrate from the Canadas to the city of Albany. To conjoin the greater portion of the British army in the interiour of New York, by opening a way from New York city on one side, and from Canada on the other, while another portion was harassing the South, had for a long time been the favourite plan of the British mmistry.' They looked upon the victorious result of this enterprise as a final blow to the war. 23 General Burgoyne, an officer of undoubted ability , and possessed of an exact knowledge of the country, was appointed to conduct the operations of the north ern army. He was a man of genius and spirit, and of fiery ambition, which led the English ministry to place so great confidence in him. Having arrived in Quebec with his commission in May, 1 777, he im mediately displayed great activity in making those preparations which were necessary to the success of an enterprise which was to decide the fate of America. The regular force placed at his disposal, consisting of British and German troops, amounted to upwards of seven thousand men, exclusive of a corps of artillery composed of about five hundred. 178 To these was added a detachment of seven hundred langers, under Colonel St. Leger, destined to make an incursion into the country of the Mohawks, and to seize Fort Stanwix. According to the plan, the principal army of Burgoyne was to be joined by two thousand Canadians, including hatchet-men, and other workmen whose services were necessary to render the ways practicable. A sufficient number of seamen had been assembled, for manning the trans ports. Besides the Canadians that were to be im mediately attached to the army, many others were called upon to scour the woods in the frontiers, and to occupy the intermediate parts between the army, which advanced towards the Hudson, and that which remained for the protection of Canada; the latter amounted, including the highland emigrants, to up wards of three thousand men. They were furnished by the sanguine ministry with a liberal profusion of provisions, military stores, and other conveniences, amongst which was also comprehended a large quantity of uniforms, destined for the loyalists, who, it was not doubted, would after victory flock from all quarters to the royal camp. A great number of cruel and intractable savages were also added to their num bers, through the influence of Governor Carleton. Burgoyne was seconded by many able and excellent officers ; among whom we may number major-gen eral Phillips, the brigadier-generals Frazer, Powel, Hamilton, and Specht, with the Brunswick major- general Baron Reidesel. The whole army shared in the ardour and hopes of its chiefs, and not a doubt was entertained of an approaching triumph, and the conquest of America. The first movement of Burgoyne was to encamp near the little river Bouquet, on the western bank of Lake Champlain, a short distance north of Crown Point. Here he made addresses to the Indians to repress their ferocious propensities, and sent procla mations into the country to intimidate the people. He next made a short stop at Crown Point, and then proceeded to invest Ticonderoga. The right wing took the western bank of the lake, the left advanced upon the eastern, and the centre was embarked upon the lake itself. The American army, destined to oppose the progress of the royal troops, and to de fend Ticonderoga, was altogether insufficient. Gen eral Schuyler, who commanded the American troops in this quarter, had been disappointed in procuring reinforcements, and his force did not amount to over five thousand men. Ticonderoga was very strongly fortified on every side, and its defence was intrusted to General St. Clair, with a garrison of three thousand men ; one third of them were militia, and all illy equipped. Although Gen. St. Clair used all his exertions to re tard the operations of the advancing enemy, yet in a few days they succeeded in getting possession of Mount Hope and Mount Defiance, two very important positions, one of which commanded the American lines to a dangerous degree, and the other overlook ed the entire fort. Ticonderoga being thus easily hemmed in on every side, a council of officers con cluded to evacuate the fort. They accordingly with drew on the night of the fifth of July. All was done in good order and profound silence, and the stores, artillery and provisions were put on board two hun dred batteaux and five armed galleys. They would probably have escaped unperceived by the British had not a house caught fire on Mount Independence, which betrayed by its light all that had taken place. The Americans were immediately pursued ; and by the next afternoon their boats were overtaken* and at tacked at Skenesboro' falls. Two of the American galleys surrendered; three were blown up; and after setting fire to their works, mills, and batteaux, that portion of the army escaped up Woo3 Creek, to Fort Ann. The vanguard of the corps that set ou,t by land, under St. Clair, had arrived at -Castlefon; \the rear had rested at Hubbardston, when it was over taken and attacked by General.,Frazer, on the moin- ing of the seventh. An obstinate battle ensued, which at length, after Reidesel came up, resulted in dispers ing the Americans, who left many of their soldiers, together with their brave commander, Col.jFrancis, dead on the field. St. Clair after^hearing this news, struck into the woods in an eastern direction. The English generals next resolved to drive the Americans from Fort Ann. After a sanguingry com bat they finally succeeded in this, by bringmg sud denly to their aid their savage allies. The. Ameri cans set the fort on fire, and retired to Fort Edward, where General Schuyler had posted himself. On the twelfth, St. Clair also arrived there with the re mains of the garrison of Ticonderoga, This it was expected would be the next point of attack. But Burgoyne was detained at Skenesboro' by want of provisions and stores. Gen. Schuyler took advan tage of this delay, and neglected no means to procure recruits and to impede the progress of the enemy. The British succeeded in obtaining possession of Fort George, and with much difficulty their army at tained the banks of the Hudson near Fort Edward. The Americans moved down to Stillwater. Bur goyne soon experienced a great deprivation of pro visions. While Col. St. Leger was investing Fort Stanwix, on the Mohawk, he detached five hundred soldiers and Indians to procure cattle at Bennington. To favour this expedition he moved his army dqyB* to the bank opposite Saratoga. A company of pro- ' vincials had assembled from different quarters at Ben nington, and were under the command of Col. Stark. They met the enemy on the borders of the town, and after an obstinate contest bravely repulsed them ; the British, however, were again strengthened by a new detachment that again attacked the Americans; vic tory however declared for the latter, and the former lost seven hundred men and all their baggage. But at this time, General Herkimer, who marched to the relief of Col. Ganzevort at Fort Stanwix, was ambushed by the savages, who dispersed his corps with most frightful carnage. The Indians grew dis affected, however, soon, and the British were obliged to raise the siege and retreat. These successes of the Americans at Stanwix and Bennington, inspired them with new confidence. The harvests were ended, and the country people took arms in multitudes, and hastened to the camp elated wiih the expectation of vanquishing the vaunt ing regulars of the king. Gen. Gates, a man of great military renown, was appointed to the com mand of the army, which also gave a new spur to their alacrity. They were also excited by ihe inhu man cruelties of the savages undei St. Leger and Burgoyne ; the affecting death of Miss M'Crea, which was also fresh in their minds, exasperated them to the extreme. The savages deserted Burgoyne, and 179 the Canadians were frightened to their homes by the sinister aspect of affairs. Gen. Lincoln, with a strong corps. of New Hampshire and Connecticut militia, assisted by Colonels-Brown and Johnston, with great secrecy and celerity obtained repossession of Forts Edward, Ann, and George, Mount Hope, and Mount Dgfiarice. £i Gen. Burgoyne having amassed about thirty days' provisions, resolved to pass the Hudson, engage the American army, and force a passage to Albany. Towards the middle of September, he crossed' the river, and encamped on the heights and plains of Saratoga, Gates being then near Stillwater. Bur goyne had now to rely, almost entirely, on his Ger man and British regular troops, and a battle was soon expected. This was reserved for the nineteenth of September, and the question was to be decided, whether the Americans could resist the English up on equal ground, in fair and regular battle. Some small woods only separating the two armies, they were early on the nineteenth formed in the order of battle. The right wing of the British army rested upon the high grounds, and the left wing and artil lery, under Phillips and Reidesel, kept along the road and meadows by the river side. Gates took the right of the American army, and gave the left to Arnold. Smart skirmishes immediately ensued be tween the foremost marksmen of either party, and the two soon met. General Frazer repulsed the Americans. Finding the right flank of the enemy's right wing so well defended, they left a sufficient guard to. defend this passage, made a rapid move ment to their right, and vigorously assailed the left flank ofthe same wing. Arnold exhibited upon this occasion all the impetuosity of his courage ; he en couraged his men with voice and example. The action became extremely warm ; the enemy fearing that Arnold, by cutting their line, would penetrate between their wings, as was manifestly his intention, hastened to reinforce the points attacked. General Frazer came up with the twenty-fourth regiment, some light infantry, and Breyman's riflemen; he would have drawn more troops from the right flank, but the heights on which it was posted, were of too great importance to be totally evacuated. Mean while, such was the valour and impetuosity of the Americans, that the English began to fall into con fusion ;" but General Phillips soon appeared with fresh men and a part of the artillery: upon hearing the firing he had rapidly made his way through a very difficult wood to the scene of danger. He restored the action at the very moment it was about to be decided in favour of the Americans. The latter, however, renewed their attacks with such persever ing energy, that night only parted the combatants. After this battle, Burgoyne waited nearly a month to hear from General Clinton. At length he received intelligence, but it was of such a nature as only to increase his disappointments and render his situation more hopeless. Driven to extremity, he resolved to make another effort to force a passage to Albany by the enemy's left. In this he utterly failed, and his troops were driven back to their intrenchments, and pursued with eagerness and great loss even to their camp. The Americans' had now acquired an open ing on the right and rear of the British. army, whose situation was therefore rendered very perilous. Bur goyne operated a change of ground. But Gen. Gates had taken the precaution to station strong division* on almost every side, to prevent the enemy's escape. Burgoyne retired to Saratoga, but so miserable was the condition of his army that it occupied nearly two days to effect this small movement of six miles. He left his hospital in the hands of the Americans. He now hoped to cross the river at Saratoga, and retreat to the- lakes to save his army. But he soon found that Fort Edward, on the opposite bank, was too strongly manned to attempt to effect it. He then turned his attention to Fort George, in hopes of crossing there,- but he soon learned that the Amer icans were strongly intrenched in that direction also. General Gates, with the main body of the army, thirsting for battle, was in his rear. In this state of affairs he relinquished all hopes of saying himself by his own efforts. His only refuge from despair was the faint hope of co-operation from the parts down the river; and he looked for the aid of Clinton with the most intense desire. His army was in a pitiable condition. Worn out, abandoned, half their number slaughtered, and amongst them the most distinguished officers; reduced in numbers from ten thousand to five thousand, and invested by an army of four times their own number, who refused to fight from a know ledge of their helpless condition, and who, from the nature of the ground, could not be attacked. But Burgoyne's troops, even while the rifle and grape shot fell thickly around them in this forlorn state, retained their ordinary constancy, and while sinking under a hard necessity, showed themselves worthy of a better fate. They betrayed no want of temper, or of fortitude. The British army had but three day's provisions — no succour came — no hope remained. A capitula tion was concluded upon. Gen. Gates, while he acted in the matter with moderation, also acted with decision. He left but one alternative for the British general— he must either sign the articles- or prepare for battle. On this day, the seventeenth of October, the American army amounted to fifteen thousand men ; the English to five thousand, seven hundred and nine ty-one. The articles were signed, and they were principally these : — The army should march out of camp with all the honours of war and its camp artillery, to a fixed place, where they were to deposit their arms and leave the artillery. To be allowed free embarkation and pas sage to Europe, from Boston, upon condition of their not serving again in America, during the present war The army not to be separated, particularly the men from the officers. Roll-calling, and other duties of regularity to be permitted. The officers to be ad mitted on parole, and to wear their side arms. Al; private property to be retained, and the public de livered upon honour. No baggage to be searched or molested. All persons, of whatever country, apper» taining to, and following the camp, to be fully com< prehended in the terms of capitulation, and the Cana- dians to be returned to their own country, liable to its provisions. Gen. Gates ordered his troops to retire within their lines, that they might not witness the shame of the English, when they piled their arms. Such was the fate of the British expedition upon the Hudson. 180 REVOLUTIONARY BATTLES ILLUSTRATED. CAPTURE OF CORNWALLIS, 1781. The Revolutionary war was closed by the cap ture of Cornwallis, at Yorktown, on York river, Virginia. He had just returned from Carolina, and now hoped to subdue Virginia. But in September, the Americans and French, under Washington, sur rounded him from all quarters on land ; while the French fleet in the Chesapeake Bay blocked up the mouths of the rivers, and shut out the English. Clinton was at New York ; but it was impossible for him to reinforce Cornwallis. Washington had harassed Clinton all summer, and induced him to believe that he was to be besieged in New York. On the 24th of August, Washington left his camp on the Hudson, and marched through New Jersey and Pennsylvania, to the head of the Chesapeake. The French Admiral De Grasse, who had just ar rived, carried the American forces down the bay to Yorktown. The army passed through Philadelphia in a line more than two miles long, and in very splendid style. The streets were filled with crowds, and the windows to the highest stories with ladies, all cheering on the troops with immense applause. Washington, with all his generals ; the French Count Rochambeau, with all his ; General Knox, with one hundred cannon ; and the whole army, 181 pressing on with proud steps and a noble confidence, presented a most magnificent spectacle. In the midst of this scene, news came, that the French fleet had arrived in the Chesapeake. The whole city rang with the notes of the general joy, and all seemed in spired with confidence in a certain victory. Cornwallis was completely invested by the 7th of October. He had raised intrenchments ; but the Americans andTrench had erected breast-works all about him, and now opened their batteries. They fired day and night. The roar was terrible. The ground, for miles, shook with it ; and the bombs and shells were seen whirling and crossing each other in the dark, sky, and blazing like comets. If they fell upon the ground, it was torn up for a rod around, and dozens were killed when they burst. The bombs sometimes went over the heads of the enemy, and fell among the British works st Gloucester Point on the jother side of the river. The water spouted in columns as they fell. One night, an attack was made upon two redoubts, which the British had built out so far, that they stood in the way of some Amer ican works just building around them. The French were ordered to take one redoubt, and the Americans under Lafayette, the other. The- two parties tried to outdo each other. Lafayette carried his redoubt first, however, and sent his aiddecamp to the leader of the French party, through all the fire of the bat teries, to tell him he was in. "So will I be," said the Frenchman, "in five minutes;" and he perform ed his promise. Cornwallis surrendered on the 19th. His army, of about seven thousand men, marched out, at two o'clock, and passed between the American line on one side, and the French on the other, stretched out for more than a mile. They were dressed in their most splendid uniforms, with colours flying, and accompanied with fine music. The English, carry ing their colours bound up, marched with a slow and solemn step. The English general rode up to Washington at the head ofthe line, and excused the ab sence of Cornwallis, who feigned sickness. Wash ington pointed him politely to General Lincoln, and the latter directed him to a large field a little on the south, where'the whole British army laid down their arms, and were led away prisoners. The following article which we extract from a late number of Blackwood's (English) Magazine, describes the consternation of the British ministry when they received the intelligence of the capture of Cornwallis : — " During the month of November, the accounts transmitted to government of Lord Cornwallis's em barrassments, augmented the anxiety of the Cabinet. Lord George Germaine, in particular, conscious that on the prosperous or adverse result of that expedition hinged the result of the American contest, and his own fate, as well as, probably, the duration of the ministry itself, expressed to his friends the strongest uneasiness on the subject. The meeting of Parlia ment stood fixed for the 27th of the month. On the 25th, about noon, the official intelligence of the sur render of the British forces at Yorktown, arrived at Lord Germaine's house. Lord Walsingham, who, previous to his father, Sir William de Grey's eleva tion to the peerage, had been under secretary of state in that department, and who was to second the ad dress in the House of Lords, happened to be there when the messenger brought the news. Without communicating jt to any person, Lord George, for the purpose of despatch, immediately got with him, into a hackney coach, and drove to Lord Stormont's residence in Portland Place. Having imparted the disastrous information to him, and taken him into the carriage, they instantly proceeded to the Chancel lor's house in Great Russel street, Bloomsbury, whom they found at home ; when, after a short consultation, they determined to lay it themselves in person before Lord North. He had not received any intimation of the event when they arrived at his door in Down ing street between one and two o'clock. The first minister's firmness, and even his presence of mind, gave way for a short time under this disaster. I ask ed Lord George afterwards how he took the com munication. ' As he would have taken a ball in his breast,' replied Lord George. He opened his arms, exclaiming wildly, as he paced the apartment during a few minutes, 'O God, it is all over;' words which he repeated many times under emotions of deepest agitation and distress. "Military affairs have since displayed themselves on a broader scale, and we can scarcely conceive that such notions of national calamity could be appended to the capture of a force which, however brave, scarcely amounted to the vanguard of a modern army, certainly not to the twentieth of the army with which Wellington appeared on the frontier of France. The misfortune of the troops under Cornwallis was un questionable, but their character was unstained ; they had been brought by their commander into a cul de sac, where, it is true, they might have held out for ever, if they could have received supplies by sea. But that contingency was too delicate to have been relied on by an officer of any intelligence. The re sult proved the fact. The French fleet took up the position which Lord Cornwallis's imaginary plan had marked out for the British. The army within Yorktown found, that though to Americans they were impregnable, they had a more formidable enemy, famine, to deal with ; and finally, to that enemy, and that enemy alone, they surrendered. " We next have a picture of a Cabinet Council in terror. When the first agitation had subsided, the four ministers discussed the question, whether it might not be expedient to prorogue the meeting of Parlia ment for a few days ; but as scarcely an interval of forty-eight hours remained before the appointed time of meeting, and as many members of both Houses had arrived in London, or were on their way, the proposition was abandoned. It became, however, indispensable to alter, and almost remodel the King's speech. This was done without delay, and at the same time Lord George, as secretary for the Amer ican department, sent off a despatch to the King, then at Kew, acquainting him with the fate of Lord Cornwallis's expedition." The narrative proceeds : — " I dined that day at Lord George's, and although the information which had reached London in the course of the morning from France, as well as from the official report, was of a nature not to admit of long concealment, yet it had not been communicated to me or any other in dividual of the company when I got to Pall Mall between 5 and 6 o'clock. Lord Walsingham, who also dined there, was ihe only person, except Lord George, acquainted with the fact. The party, nine 182 * in number, sat down to ihe table. I thought the master of the house appeared serious, though he manifested no discomposure. Before dinner was over a letter was brought back by the messenger who had been despatched to the king. Lord Walsingham, to whom he exclusively directed the observation — ' The King writes,' said he, 'just as he always does, except that I observe, he has neglected to mark the hour and minute of his writing with his usual precision.' This remark, though calculated to awaken some interest, excited no comment ; and while the ladies, Lord George's three daughters, remained in the room, we repressed our curiosity. But they had no sooner withdrawn, than Lord George having acquainted us that information had just arrived from Paris of the old Count Maurepas, first minister, lying at the point of death ; ' It would grieve me,' said I, ' to finish my career, however far advanced in years, were I first minister of France, before I had witnessed the termi nation of this great contest between England and America.' ' He has survived to see that event,' re plied Lord George Germaine, with some agitation. " The conversation was prolonged until, on the mention of the Virginia campaign, the minister dis closed the full bearing of the intelligence. ' The army has surrendered, and you may peruse the par ticulars of the capitulation in that paper.' The paper was taken from his pocket, and read to the company. The next question was one of rather an obtrusive kind, to see what the king thought on the subject. The narration states the minister's remark, that it did the highest honor to his majesty's firmness, forti tude, and consistency. But this was a complying moment, and we are told that the billet was read to effect; ' I have received, with sentiments ofthe deep est concern, the communication which Lord George Germaine has made to me, of the unfortunate result of the operations to Virginia. I particularly lament it on account of the consequences connected with it and the difficulties which it may produce in carrying on the public business, or in repairing such a misfortune. But I trust that neither Lord Germaine, nor any other member of the Cabinet will suppose that it makes the smallest alteration in those principles of my con- duc , which have directed me in the past time, which will always continue to animate me under every event, in the prosecution of the present contest.' " The Cabinet, strengthened by the royal determi nation, now recovered courage ; they met Parliament at the appointed time, and fought their battle there with unusual vigor. Perhaps in all the annals of senatorial struggle there never was a crisis which more powerfully displayed the talents of the Com mons. Burke, Fox, and Pitt, were at once seen pouring down the whole fiery torrent of declamation on the government. The characteristic distinctions of their public speaking gave a new vividness and force to their assault upon the strongholds of the ministry. Fox's passionate personality hurled the fiercest invective against the ministry, the court, and, fatally for his own ambition, the king. Burke's vast grasp gathered materials of charge from all quarters, and all subjects, and heaped them alike, strong and weak, on the devotefl heads of the culprit Cabinet. Pitt, with keener sagacity, for both the present and the future, tore up the frame of the ministerial po licy, spared persons, avoided all insult to the mo narch, but with the copious and superb combination of fact and feeling, argument and appeal, which from that period was adopted as his great parliamentary weapon and which was made to give him match less superiority in a deliberative assembly, swept all before him with a 'two-handed sway,' and where he smote, left nothing for friends or enemy to com bat or defend after him. " These efforts failed of overthrowing the Cabinet at the time ; but there can be no question that they hastened that precipitate fall which was so speedily afterwards to surprise the nation. The assault had terrified the garrison, and shaken the battlements to a degree which made the result of the next attack secure." WATERLOO AT NOON, THE DAY AFTER THE BATTLE. On a surface of two square miles, it was ascertain ed that fifty thousand men and horses were lying ! The luxurious crop of ripe grain which had covered the field of battle, was reduced to litter, and beaten into the earth ; and the surface trodden down"by the cavalry, and furrowed deeply by the cannon wheels, strewed with many a relic of the fight, Helmets and cuirasses, shattered firearms and broken swords; all the variety of military ornaments ; lancer caps and Highland bonnets ; uniforms of every color, plume and pennon ; musical instruments, the apparatus of of artillery, drums, bugles ; — but, good God ! why dwell on the harrowing picture of a foughten field? — each and every ruinous display bore mute testimo ny to the misery of such a battle. * * Could the melancholy appearance of this scene of death be heightened, it would be by witnessing the research es of the living, amidst its desolation, for the objects of their love. Mothers and wives and children, for days were occupied in that mournful duty ; and the confusion of the corpses, friend and foe intermingled-) as they were, often rendered the attempt at recogniz ing individuals difficult, and in some cases impossi ble. * * In many places the dead lay four, deep upon each other, marking the spot some British square had occupied, exposed for hours to the murderous fire of a French battery. Outside, lancer and cuiras sier were scattered thickly on the earth. Madly at tempting to force the serried bayonets of the British, they had fallen, in the bootless essay, by the musket ry of the inner files. Farther on, you trace the spot where the cavalry of France and England had encountered ; chasseur and hussar were intermingled and the heavy Norman horse of the Imperial Guard were interspersed with the gray chargers which had carried Albyn's chivalry. Here the Highlander and traileur lay, side by side, together ; and the heavy dragoon, with green Erin's badge upon his helmet, was grappling in death with the Polish lancer. — * * On the summit of the ridge, where the ground was cumbered with dead, and trodden fetlock-deep in mud and gore, by the frequent rush of rival cavalry, the thick-strewn corpses of the Imperial Guard, pointed out the spot where Napoleon had been de feated. Here, in column, that favored corps, on whom his last chance rested, had been annihilated ; and ihe advance and repulse of the Guard was trace- able by a mass of fallen Frenchmen. In the hollow below, the last struggle of France had been vainly made; for there the Old Guard attempted to meet the British, and afford time for their disorganized com ¦ panions to rally. — Maxwell's Victories of the British A s o A O 185 YORKTOWN. The opposite cut presents a view of Yorktown, Virginia, as seen from the Williamsburg road. It is situated in York county, upon a river of the same name, and is noted in history as the scene of an important victory to the American troops, during the war of Independence. Situated only five miles from the mouth x>f the river, and ac cessible by vessels of heavy burden, it is a place of considerable trade. But we introduce it here more for its interest as consecrated ground, than to present a portraiture of its present growth, and commercial and trading character. During the American Revolution, Yorktown was made the theatre of one ofthe most important events which characterized that struggle for in dependence. In 1781, Lord Cornwallis with a large portion of the British Army, had taken pos session of several places at the South, and among them, Yorktown and Gloucester: the latter is situated upon the bank of the York river, opposite to Yorktown. La Fayette, with an inferior num ber of troops was at this time at Williamsburg, but was unable to make successful engagements with the superior force of the British. Seeing the importance of checking- the progress of Corn wallis at the south, Washington determined to unite the American and Flench forces, then in the neighborhood of New York, and join La Fayette at Williamsburg. This junction was effected on the fourteenth of September ; Wash ington at the head of the American troops, and the Count de Rochambeau at the head of the French forces. At the same time the Count de Grasse with his fleet, entered the Chesapeake, after a slight engagement with Admiral Graves off the capes, and was joined by the squadron of the Count de Barras from Newport. At the same time three thousand men under the Marquis St. Simon, joined La Fayette. These combined forces then moved toward Yorktown and Glouces ter, where Cornwallis was stationed. The British General had been expecting aid from Sir Henry Clinton at the north, but so ad roitly had Washington withdrawn his troops, that Sir Henry scarcely suspected his design, till it was too late to frustrate it. Cornwallis at once began to fortify the town by throwing up redoubts, and on the thirtieth of September, the siege com menced. Yorktown was completely invested ; the Ameripan army occupying the right, and the French the left, forming a semicircle with each wing resting upon the river. Gloucester was at the same time invested by Lauzun's legion, marines from the fleet, and Virginia militia. The siege commenced with the usual manoeu vres of throwing bombs, hot shot, &c., and the be sieged sustained themselves bravely. Two re doubts were stormed and carried at the same time; one by the American light infantry, under 24 La Fayette, the other by French grenadiers under the Baron de Viomenil. The conflict continued for seventeen days, when, no longer able to abide the vigorous attacks of the combined armies, Cornwallis sent a note to Washington proposing a cessation of hostili ties and a capitulation for surrender. To this Washington acceded, and Cornwallis surrendered upon the following terms. 1. — All troops in the garrison to be prisoners of war — 2. Artillery, arms, military chest and stores, with shipping, boats, and all their furniture and apparel, to be given up. 3. The officers to retain their side-arms, and the soldiers to retain their private property — 4. Sur rendering army to receive the same honors as were awarded to the Americans at Charleston, with a few other requisitions of less importance. This treaty was signed on the nineteenth of October, 1781, and in the afternoon of that day, the garrisons of Yorktown and Gloucester march ed out and surrendered their arms. The whole number of prisoners exclusive of seamen, was over seven thousand ; the British loss was be tween five and six hundred. The combined army consisted of about seven thousand American reg ulars, five thousand French, and four thousand militia. Their loss was about three hundred The land forces surrendered to Washington, the naval to the French Admiral. This glorious event was hailed throughout the country with the greatest demonstrations of joy It had completely destroyed British power at the south, and a speedy conclusion of the war was looked for. Congress passed special thanks to each commander engaged in the siege, and presented to Washington two stands of colors taken from the enemy, and to Counts Rochambeau and De Grasse two pieces of field ordnance. Congress also resolved to commemorate the event by rearing a marble column, to be adorned with devices emblematical of the alliance between France and the United States, and to inscribe it with the record of incidents pertaining to the siege and the surrender. The whole use of a hat is probably not gener ally known — it is of more use than covering the head. If, when a person falls overboard, he had presence of mind to instantly take off his hat, and hold the rim of it to his chin, so that the hollow would be upward, it would keep him above the water as long as ever he could hold it. This has been tried, and actually proved correct. Dean Swift says: It is with little-souled people as it is with narrow-necked bottles : the less they have in them, the more noise they make in pour ing out. 186 MOORE'S HOUSE AT YORK TOWN. Yoke is a pretty little town in the southeastern part of Virginia, and situated on the banks of the beautiful stream whence it derives its name. — It is. in fact, upon a peninsula, formed by James riv er on the south, and York river on the north ; both of which empty into the Chesapeake bay a few miles below. Gloucester is situated upon the north side of York river, directly opposite York town. There is a sweep or bend in the river at this point, and the distance over from York to the headland of the opposite shore is but about a mile. And what of York ? Why, it was at this little local ity, that the famous earl Cornwallis, the darling hope of the British ministry, the gentleman who counted with so much facilityon the reduction of the southern country, and who exhibited so much humane and tender mercy by flaying cattle and killing poultry, destroying haystacks, burning houses, and pillaging villages, it was here, that this notable personifica tion of British grace, was invested, and disarmed of those dangerous instruments with which he fain would have committed so much mischievous havock. Yes, to the joy of America, and the grief and amaze ment of Britain, the great earl, by a series of ma noeuvres conducted with consummate skill, by Lafay ette on land, and the Count de Grasse at sea, was compelled to surrender the posts of York and Glou cester, which he occupied with so much fancied se curity, reduced indeed, with his army of seven thou sand men, to the humiliating necessity of capitulating on any terms his conquerors might propose. And here, in a field, a little above York town, did the whole of that great army march out, with colours cased, and lay down their arms in front and in view of the American posts. When Cornwallis saw that he was completely in vested by the allied armies, by land and sea, and knew that he was cut off from reaching Clinton, at New York, and from receiving aid from any quarter, he sat down in despair, and wrote the following note to General Washington ¦ — York, 17th October, 1781. Sir : — I propose a cessation of hostilities for twenty-four hours, and that two officers may be ap pointed by each side, to meet at Mr. Moore's house, to settle terms for the surrender of the posts of York and Gloucester. I have the honour to be, &c. Cornwallis. After some further preliminary correspondence, the commissioners accordingly met at Mr. Moore's louse, and arranged the articles of capitulation. Opposite, reader, you have a sketch of this very identical Mr. Moore's house. There it is, in its primi tive simplicity, invested as it is with all its glorious associations, precisely as it stands at this very mo ment, just as it was then. The same house — the same windows — the same clapboards — the same dormant roof — the same old kitchen — the same green pasture in front — and the identical beautiful York river, stretching off with its mirrored surface in the distance. The messuage, however, has changed hands ; it is now owned by a Virginia planter — the soil is under cultivation — the house is occupied by the overseer of the plantation, and those cows,.per- adventure, appertain to the dairy thereof. And here follow the identical articles of capitula tion, as they were arranged and signed in that house. Colonel Laurens, and the Viscount de Noailles were the commissioners on the part of General Washington, and Colonel Dundas, and Major Ross, on that of Earl Cornwallis. ARTICLES OF CAPITULATION Settled between his excellency General Wash ington, commander-in-chief of the combined forces of America and France ; his excellency the Count de Rochambeau, lieutenant-general of the armies oi the king of France, great cross of the royal and mil itary order of St. Louis, commanding the auxiliary troops of his most -Christian majesty in America, and his excellency the Count de Grasse, lieutenant- general of the naval armies of his most Christian majesty, commander of the order of St. Louis, com mander-in-chief of the naval army of France, in the Chesapeake,' on the one part, and the Right Honour able Earl Cornwallis, lieutenant-general of his Brit- annick majesty's forces, commanding the garrisons of York and Gloucester, and Thomas Symonds, esquire, commanding his Britannick majesty's naval forces in York river in Virginia, on the other part. Article i. — The garrisons of York and Glouces ter, including the officers and seamen of his Brit annick majesty's ships, as well as other mariners, to surrender themselves prisoners of war to the com bined forces of America and France. The land troops to remain prisoners to the United States, the navy to the naval army of his most Christian ma jesty. Granted. Article ii. — The artillery, arms, accoutrements, military chests, and public stores of every denomi nation, shall be delivered, unimpaired, to the heads of departments appointed to receive .them. Granted. Article hi. — At twelve o'clock this day, the two redoubts on the left flank of York to be, delivered, the one to a detachment of American infantry, the other to a detachment of French grenadiers. Granted. The garrison of York river will march out to a place to be appointed, in front 'of the posts, at two ^, MOORE'S HOUSE, AT YORKTOWN, VIRGINIA. IN WHICH LORD CORNWALLIS SISNED ARTICLES OF CAPITULATION TO THE COMBINED AMERICAN. AND FRENCH FORCES, OCTOBER 19, 1781. 1S9 o'clock, precisely, with shouldered arms, colours cased, and drums beating a British or German march. They are then to ground their arms, and return to their encampment, where they will remain until they are despatched to the places of their desti nation. Two works on the Gloucester side will be delivered at one o'clock, to a -detachment of French and American troops appointed to possess them. The garrison will march out at three o'clock in the afternoon ; the cavalry, with their swords drawn, "trumpets sounding, and the infantry in the manner prescribed for the garrison of York. They are like- wise'to return to their encampments, until they can be finally marched off. Article "fv. — Officers are to retain their side- arms. Both officers and soldiers to keep their pri vate property of every kind ; and no part of their baggage or papers to be at any time subject to search or inspection. The baggage and papers of officers and soldiers taken during the siege to be likewise preserved for them. Granted. It is understood that any property obviously belong ing to the. inhabitants of these states, in the posses sion of the garrison, shall be subject to be reclaimed. Article v.— The soldiers to be kept in Virginia, Maryland, or Pennsylvania, and as much by regi ments as possible, and supplied with the same ra tions of provisions as are allowed to soldiers in the service of America. A field-officer from each na tion, to wit, British, Auspach, and Hessian, and other officers on parole, in the proportion of one to fifty men, to be allowed to reside near their respec tive regiments, to visit them frequently, and be wit nesses of their treatment ; and that their officers may receive and deliver clothing and other necessa ries for them, for which passports are to be granted when applied for. Granted. Article vi. — The general, staff, and other offi cers, not employed as mentioned in the above arti cles, and who choose it, to be permitted to go on parole to Europe, to New York, or to any other American maritime post at present in the posses sion of the British forces, at their own option ; and proper vessels to be granted by the Count de Grasse to carry them under flag of truce to New York with in ten days from this date, if possible, and they to re side in a district to be agreed upon hereafter, until they embark. The officers of the civil department of the army and navy to be included in this article. Passports to go by -land, to be granted to those to whom vessels cannot be furnished. Granted. Article vn. — Officers to be allowed to keep soldiers as servants, according to the common prac tice of the service. Servants not soldiers are not to be considered as prisoners, and are to be allowed to attend their masters. Granted. Article viii. — The Bonnctta sloop-of-war to be equipped, and navigated by its present captain and crew, and left entirely at the disposal of Lord Cornwallis from the hour that the capitulation is signed, to receive an aiddecamp to carry despatch es to Sir Henry Clinton ; and such soldiers as he may think proper to send to New York, to be per mitted to sail without examination. When his de spatches are ready, his lordship engages on his part, that the ship shall be delivered to the order of the Count de Grasse, if she escape the dangers of the sea. That she shall not carry off any publick stores. Any part of the crew that may be deficient on her return, and the soldiers passengers, to be accountsd for on her delivery. Article ix. — The traders are to preserve their property, and to be allowed three months to dispose of or remove them ; and those traders are not to be considered as prisoners of war. The traders will be allowed to dispose of their effects, the allied army having the right of pre-emp tion. The traders to be considered as prisoners of war upon parole. Article x. — Natives or inhabitants of different parts of this country, at present in York or Glouces ter, are not to be punished oh account of having joined the British army. This article cannot be assented to, being altogeth er of civil resort. Article xi. — Proper hospitals to be furnished for the sick and wounded. They are to be attended by their own surgeons on parole ; and they are to be furnished with medicines and stores from the American hospitals. The hospital stores now at York and Gloucester shall be delivered for the use of the British sick and wounded. Passports will be granted for procuring them further supplies from New York, as occasion may require ; and proper hospitals will be furnished for the reception of the sick and wounded of the two garrisons. Article xii. — Wagons to be furnished to carry the baggage of the officers attending the soldiers, and to surgeons when travelling on account of the siok, attending the hospitals at the publick expense. They are to be furnished if possible. Article xiii. — The shipping and boats in the two harbours, with all their stores, guns, tackling, and apparel, shall be delivered up in their present state to an officer of the navy, appointed to take posses sion of them, previously unloading the private pro perty, part of which had been on board for security during the siege. Granted. Article xiv.-^No article of capitulation to be in fringed on pretence of reprisals ; and if there be any doubtful expressions in it, they are to be interpreted 190 according to the common meaning and acceptation of the words. Granted. Done at York town, in Virginia, October 19th, 1781. Cornwallis, Thomas Symonds. Done in the trenches before York town, in Vir ginia, October 19th, 1781. George Washington, Le Comte de Rochambeau, Le Comte de Barras, En mon nom & celui du Comte de Grasse. The success of the siege of York town, it is gen erally understood, decided the revolutionary war. " The infant Hercules," said Dr. Franklin, " has now strangled the two serpents, that attacked him in his cradle. All the world agree that no expedi tion was ever better planned or better executed." For the " great glory and advantage" of the surren der of York, Washington afterwards acknowledged himself chiefly indebted to the French alliance. And in the proceedings of Congress upon the matter, it was amongst other things : " Resolved, That Con gress cause to be erected at York town a mar ble column, adorned with emblems of the alliance between the United States and France, and inscrib ed with a suscinct narrative of the events of the siege, and capitulation." JOHN HANCOCK. During the siege at Boston, General Washington consulted Congress upon the propriety of bombard ing the town of Boston. Mr. Hancock was then President of Congress. After General Washington's ¦ letter was read, a solemn silence ensued. This was broken by a member, making a motion that the house should resolve itself into a committee of the whole, in order that Mr. Hancock might give his opinion upon the important subject, as he was deep ly interested from having all his estate at Boston. After he left the chair, he addressed the chairman of the committee of the whole, in the following words : " It is true, sir, nearly all the property I have in the world, is. in houses and other real estate in the town of Boston ; but if the expulsion of the British army from it, and the liberties of our country, require their being burnt to ashes — issue the order for that purpose immediately." General Putnam. — During the war in Canada, between the French and English, when General Am herst was marching across the country to Canada, the army coming to one of the lakes which they were obliged to pass, found the French had an armed vessel of twelve guns upon it. The general was in great distress ; his boats were no match for her, and she alone was capable of sinking his whole army, in the situation in which it was placed. General Putnam c .ne to- him and said, " General, that ship must be taken." "Ay," said Amherst, " I would give the world, if ehe was taken." "I will take her," says Putnam. Amherst smiled, and asked how? " Give me some wedges, a beetle, (a large wooden hammer or mallet, used for driving wedges) and a few men of my own choice." Am herst could not conceive how an armed vessel was to be taken by a few men, a beetle and wedges. However, he granted Putnam's request. When night came, Putnam, with his materials and men, stole quietly in a boat under the vessel's stern, and in an instant drove in the wedges behind the rudder, in the little cavity between the rudder and the ^hip, and left her. In the morning the sails were seen fluttering about, she was adrift in the middle of the lake, and being presently blown ashore, she " was easily taken. THE MUSICIAN'S LAST HOUR BY PAKE BENJAMIK. The good old man lay dying. Soft and cool Played the light summer breeze among the leaves Of a deep foliaged tree, that cast its shade Into the window of his quiet room. It made a rustling whisper like the hush „ ~ - Of a fond mother o'er' her sleeping babe. , . And all were still— yet many friends were there, ' Who oft had hung enchanted, on the sounds Flowing from those pale lips, springing like thought Beneath the touch of those thin stirlcss lingers. He slept— how calm ! and oh ! methinks he dreamed! -n He dreamed of starry musick — ofthe spheres •?: Making rich harmony — of seraphs' harps, 4% Thrilling and trembling to the heavenly plumes That fanned their golden wires. He heard the song Of cherubim, symphonious, faint and low ; For soft he smiled, and seemed intent to hear — He heard the choir of angels, loud and full, Pouring a flood of musick ; for he stirred With restless fervour, and his eyelids rose. * "^ *„,' Twas but the breeze disquieting his'slumber— Vi?» Throwing the branches of the leafy tree Against the lattice — freshening as the ray Of sunset deepened. Its first, low-sounding tcnei Had mingled with his fancy, and he dreamed Of gentle cadence : when it louder swelled He heard the angel chorus, and awoke ! •&• ¦' --. Turning his feeble gaze upon the forms ' That stood around, subdued to breathless awe, He seemed to seek for some dear countenance. , ''"' The inquiring look was answered — for a girl, ," As lovely as the seraph of his dream, With voice as charming, 10 his pillow leaned And sobbed : " What wilt thou with me, oh ! my father t "I'm dying, Ella, dying! play an air Upon thy harp — its chords I would hear thrill With the deep musick- which I taught and loved, And still love next to thee, mine own, and Heaven !" The maiden went, and with a faltering step Approached her harp. She lightly touched the. strings, Prelusive to some strain, as sad and solemn ¦ As the lone swan's first but last warbled song. Sudden the old man rose. His dim eye lightened j *'[ His hands he threw as if in rapid flight, Across the chords, and clearly spoke—" Not go ! Not so ! my daughter — not a mournful theme j For I would triumph over Death, and soar Victorious as a conqueror to his throne.! Be it a martial air .'" :" jgg| The maiden paused. A moment only ; for new courage flashed -- O'er her bright brow — and Inspiration, caught From her great father's spirit, gave her powei To sweep the chords with firm and brilliant hand. She played a Triumph, such as Miriam sung, When Israel's rescued armies passed the sea ! The sunset's latest b.-ams streamed broadly in Upon the.old man's couch. His visage shone As if the portals ofthe sky were thrown Apart before his sway. The harp still flung Majestick musick on his raptured ear ; And with the utterance of a mighty strain, He fell upon his pillow — and was still ! His soul had floated on that wave of sound To Heaven ! 191 CURIOUS .RELICK OF ANTIQUITY. We have now before us a very'curious and interest ing specimen of ancient art,, presented to us by a friend, the work probably of a people who inhabited this country previous, to the present race of aborigi nes ; for it displays a perfection in the arts far sur passing the rude state in which they at present exist among this people. This relick was found in Michigan, in one of those ancient fortifications which are scattered over our country. It is a piece of sculpture, the material of which resembles, somewhat, black slate, but is as hard as flint. A knife will make no impression up on it. It evidently must have been carved when in a softer state than the .present. It was probably formed of some. earthy material into a proper con sistence to be cut; and was then hardened by baking. The figure is that of a female sitting on the ground, in an attitude and air of sadness and despondencfy', leaning her head upon the back of her left hand, the elbow, resting on the top of a small vessel in the form of a cask ; the Tight hand resting on the knee and holding something which appears to have en graved on it some written characters, but which are too small and indistinct to enable us accurately to discern their form. Over the head is thrown a loose drapery, falling down upon the shoulders and back, leaving the left arm, on which she reclines, and the left breast naked ; but folding across in graceful folds over the right arm and breast, and covering the front part of the figure. On the forepart of the head, which is not covered by the drapery, the hair is gracefully parted, arid a portion of it hangs down in tresses upon the left breast. The little cask on which she leans, shows the staves in regular order, with three hoops at the top, and two at the bottom. The head of the cask comes up even with the chime, , and seems to be formed of narrow strips like the staves ; on the front part of the cask there appears to have been something attached like a handle, but of what form is not distinguishable, as a portion of the front part of the figure is broken off. Around the cask lengthwise, over the hoops, passes something like a band, which was designed, perhaps, for the . purpose of carrying it. From the size' of the vessel, compared with that of the figure, we should judge its use was to carry water. Every part of the figure and its appendages, is very distinct, and the sculpture admirably perform ed, and yet the whole height by exact measurement, is but one inch and one eighth. The head, which dis plays very perfectly the features, and even a couhten- ance indicative of wo, is not larger than, a good-sized pea. What this tiny figure was meant to represent, when was the age in which it was made, and who were .the people whose ingenious artists could pro duce such works — are interesting inquiries, but will probably never be satisfactorily answered. __ Gene3ee Farmer. ON THE KVILS OF WAR. The following thrilling account of the execution of Col. Hayne, of South Carolina, during the war of the American revolution, was related by the Rev. M. Beckwith, in a discourse " On the evils of War.'^ " Among the distinguished men who fell victims in the war of the American revolution, was Col Isaac Hayne, of South Carolina ; a man who, by his amiability of character and high sentiments of honour and uprightness, had secured the good will and affection of all who knew him. He had a wife and six children, the eldest a boy thirteen years of age. His wife, to whom he was tenderly attached fell a victim of disease : an event hastened not im probably by the inconveniences and sufferings inci dent to a state of war, in which the whole army largely participated. Col. Hayne himself was taken prisoner by the English forces, and in a short time was executed on the gallows under circumstances calculated to excite the deepest commiseration. A great number of persons, both English and Ameri cans, interceded for his life ; the ladies of Charles ton signed a petition in his behalf; his motherless children were on their bended knees humble suitors for their beloved father, but all in vain. " During the imprisonment of the father, his eldest son was permitted to stay with him in the prison. Beholding his only surviving parent, for whom he felt the deepest affection, loaded with irons and con demned to die, he was overwhelmed with consterna tion and sorrow. The wretched father endeavoured to console him, by reminding him that the unavail ing grief of his son tended only to increase his own misery ; that he came into this world merely to pre pare for a better ; that he himself was prepared to die, and could even rejoice that his troubles were so near ended. ' To-morrow,' said he, ' I set out for immortality : you will accompany me to the place of my execution, and when I am dead, take my body and bury it by the side of your poor mother.' The youth fell upon his father's neck, crying, ' Oh, my father, my father, I die with you !' Col. Hayne, as he was loaded with irons, could not return the em brace of his son, and merely said, in reply, ' Live, my son ; live, to honour God by a good life, live to take care of your brother and little sisters.' " The next morning, proceeds the narrator of these distressing events, Col. Hayne was conducted to the place of execution. His son accompanied him. Soon as they came in sight of the gallows, the father strengthened himself and said, ' Tom, my son, show yourself a man ! that tree is the boundary of my life and all my life's sorrow. Beyond that the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. Don't lay too much at heart our separation, it will be short. 'T was but lately your mother died — to-day I die. And you, my son, though but young must shortly follow.' ' Yes, my father,' replied the broken hearted youth, ' I shall shortly follow you, for indeed I feel that I cannot live long.' And this melancholy anticipation was fulfilled in a manner more dreadful than is implied in the mere extinction of life. On seeing his father in the hands of the executioner, and then struggling in the halter, he stood like one transfixed and motionless with hor rour. Till then, proceeds the narration, he had wept incessantly — but as he saw that — the fountain of his tears was staunched, and he never wept more. He died insane ; and in his last moments often call ed on his father, in terms that brought tears from the hardest heart". 192 AN INCIDENT OF THE REVOLUTION. In the summer of 1779, during one of the dark est periods of our revolutionary struggle, in the then small village of S (though it now bears a more dignified title) in this state, lived Judge V — , one of the firmest and truest patriots within the limits of the " old Thirteen, " and deep in the confi dence of Washington. Like most men of his times and substance, he had furnished himself with arms and ammunition, sufficient to arm the males of his household. These consisted of himself, three sons and about twenty-five negroes. The female part of his family consisted of his wife, one daugh ter, Catharine, about eighteen years of age, the heroine of our tale, and several slaves. In the se cond story of his dwelling house, immediately over the front door, was a small room, called the ' armory, ' in which the arms -were deposited and always kept ready for immediate use. About the time at which we introduce our story, the neighbourhood of the village was much annoyed by the nocturnal prowl- ings and depredations of numerous Tories. It was on a calm, bright Sabbath afternoon, in the aforesaid summer, when Judge V. and his fam ily, with the exception of his daughter Catharine and an old indisposed female slave, were attend ing service in the village church. Not a breath disturbed the serenity of the atmosphere — not a sound profaned the sacred stillness of the day ; the times were dangerous, and Catharine had locked herself and the old slave in the house until the re turn of the family from church. A rap was heard at the front door. " Surely," said Catharine to the slave, " the family have not yet come home ; church cannot be dismissed." The rap was repeated. " I will see who it is," said Catharine, as she ran up stairs into the armory. On opening the window and looking down she saw six men standing at the front door, and on the opposite side of the street, three of whom she knew were Tories; who formerly resided in the village. Their names were Van Zandt, Fin- ley and Shendon ; the other three were strangers, but she had reason to believe them to be of the same political stamp, from the company in which she found them. Van Zandt was a notorious character, and the number and enormity of his crimes had rendered his name infamous in that vicinity. Not a murder or a robbery was committed within miles of S that he did not get the credit of planning or executing. The characters of Finley and Shendon were also deeply stained with crime, but Van Zandt was a master spirit in iniquity. The appearance of such characters under such circumstances, must have been truly alarming to a young lady of Catharine's age, if not to any lady, young or old. But Catharine V possessed her father's spirit — " the spirit of the times." Van Zandt was standing on the stoop, rapping at the door, while his companions were talking in a whisper on the side walk on the op posite side of the street. «' Is Judge V at home ?" asked Van Zandt, when he saw Catharine at the window above. " He is not," said she. " We have business of pressing importance with him, and if you will open the door," said Van Zandt, « we will walk in and remain till he returns." " No," said Catharine, " when he went to church, he left particular directions not to have the doors opened until the family returned. You had better call when church is dismissed." " No, I'll be d — d if we do," retorted the villain, "we will enter now or never." "Impossible!" replied she, "you cannot enter until he returns." "Open the door!" cried he, "or we'll break it down, and burn you and ihe house up together." So sa3'ing, he threw himself, with all the force he pos sessed, against the door, at the same time calling upon his companions to assist him. The door, however, resisted his efforts. " Do not attempt that again," said Catharine, "or you are a dead man," at the same time presenting from the window a heavy horseman's pistol, ready cocked. At the sight of this formidable weapon, the com panions of Van Zandt, who had crossed the street at his call, retreated. "What!" cried their leader, "you d — d cowards! are you frightened at the threats of a girl ?" and again he threw himself upon the door. The weap on was discharged, and Van Zandt fell. \ The report was heard at the church, and males and females at once rushed out to ascertain the cause. On looking towards the residence of Judge V^— they perceived five men running at full speed, to whom the Judge's negroes and several others gave chase ; and from an upper window of his residence a white handkerchief was waving, as if beckoning for aid. All rushed towards the place, and upon their arri val, Van Zandt was in the agonies of death. He still retained strength to acknowledge that he had long contemplated robbing that house, and had fre quently been concealed in the neighbourhood for that purpose, but no opportunity had offered until that day, when, lying concealed in the woods, they had seen the Judge and his family going to church. The body of the dead Tory was taken and buried by the sexton of the church, as he had no relations in that vicinity. After an absence of two hours, or thereabouts, the negroes returned, having succeeded in capturing Finley and one of the strangers, who were thai night confined, and the next morning, at the earnest solicitation of Judge V , liberated on the promise of amending their lives. It was in the month of October of the same year, that Catharine V was sitting by an upper win dow of her father's house, knitting; though autumn, the weather was mild, and the window was hoist?3 about three inches. About sixty or seventy feet from the rear of the house was the barn, a huge old fashioned edifice, with upper and lowei* folding doors ; the lower doors were closed, and inciden tally casting her eyes towards the barn, she saw a small back door, on a range with the front door and the window at which she was sitting, Open, and a number of men enter. The occurrence ofthe summer immediately presented itself to her mind, and the fact that her father and the other males of the family were at work in a field some dis tance from the house, led her to suspect that that op portunity had been improved, probably by some of Van Zandt's friends, to plunder and revenge his death. 193 Concealing herself, therefore, behind the curtains, she narrowly watched their movements. She saw a man's head slowly rising above^the door, and appa rently reconnoitering the premises — it was Finley's. Their object was now evident. Goingto the " armo ry," she selected a well loaded musket, and resum ed her place by the window. Kneeling upon the floor, she laid the muzzle of the weapon upon the window sill between the curtains, and taking de liberate aim, she fired. What effect she had pro duced,. she knew not, but saw several men hurrying out of the. barn, by the same door they had entered. The report again brought her father and the work men to the house, and on going into the barn, the dead body of Finley lay upon the floor. Catharine V afterwards married a captain of the Continental army, and she still lives, the honour ed mother of a numerous -and respectable line of descendants. The old house is also " in the land of the living," and has been the scene of many a prank of the writer of this tale, in the heyday of mischiev- IOUS boyhood. — Staten Islander. HUNTING EXPLOITS. Many years ago, a Frenchman with his son, was hunting in- a part of Missouri, distant about forty miles from St. Louis. Having wounded a large bear, the animal took refuge in a cave, the aperture leading into which, was so small as barely to admit its passage. The hunter, leaving his son without, instantly prepared to follow, and with some difficulty drew his body through the narrow entrance. Hav ing reached the interior of the cave, he discharged his piece with so true an aim as to inflict a mortal wound upon the bear. The latter rushed forward, and passing the man, attempted to escape from the cave, but on reaching the narrowest part of the pas sage, through which it had entered with some diffi culty, the strength of the animal failed, and it expir ed. The entrance to the cave was now completely closed by the carcass of the animal. The boy on the outside, heard his, father scream for assistance, and attempted to drag out the bear, but found his strength insufficient. After many unavailing efforts, he became much terrified, and mounted his father's horse with the determination of seeking assistance. There was no road through the wilderness, but the sagacious horse, taking the direction to St. Louis, carried the alarmed youth to that place, where a par ty was soon- raised and despatched to the relief of the hunter. But they searched in vain for the place of his captivity. From some cause not now recollected, the trace of the horse was obliterated, and the boy in his agitation, had so far forgotten the landmarks as to be totally unable to lead them to the spot. They returned after a weary and unsuccessful search ; the hunter was heard of no more, and no doubt remain ed of his having perished miserably in the cave. Some years afterwards, the aperture of the cavern was discovered, in a spot so hidden and so difficult of access as to have escaped the notice of those who passed near it. Near the mouth was found the skel eton of the bear, and within the cave, that of the Frenchman, with his gun and equipments, all appa rently in the same condition as when he died. That he should have perished of hunger, from mere ina- 25 bility to effect his escape by removing the body o, the bear, seems improbable, because supposing him to have been unable by main strength to effect this object, it would have cost him but little labour to have cut up and removed the animal by piecemeal. It is most likely either that he was suffocated, or that he had received some injury, which disabled him from exertion. The cave bears a name which commemo rates the event. There are in many parts of the western states, singular depressions or basins, which the inhabitants call sink-holes. They are sometimes very deep, cir cular at the top, with steep sides meeting in a point at the bottom, precisely in the shape of a funnel At the bottom of one of these, in Monroe county, Illinois, a party of hunters discovered the den of a she wolf, and ascertained that it contained a litter of whelps. For the purpose of destroying the latter, they assembled at the place. On examining the en trance to the den, it was found to be perpendicular, and so narrow as to render it impossible or very dif ficult for a man to enter ; and as a notion prevails among the hunters, that the female wolf only visits her young at night, it was proposed to send in a boy to destroy the whelps;' A fine, courageous boy, arm ed with a knife, was accordingly thrust into the ca vern, where, to his surprise, he found himself in the company of the she wolf, whose glistening eye-balls, white teeth, and surly voice, sufficiently announced her presence. The boy retreated towards the en trance, and called to his friends, to inform them that the old wolf was there. The men told him that he was mistaken ; that the old wolf never .staid with her young in daylight ; and advised him to go boldly up to the bed, and destroy the litter. The boy, thinking that the darkness of the cave might have deceived him, returned, advanced boldly, and laid his hand upon the she wolf, who sprang upon him, and oit him very severely, before he could effect his re treat, and would probably have killed him, had he not defended himself with resolution. One or two of the men now succeeded in effecting an entrance, torches were introduced, the wolf shot and her off spring destroyed. — Western Monthly Magazine, PITTSBURGH IN 1784. A Revolutionary worthy who visited Pittsburgh in 1784, thus spoke of the then future Birmingham of the Ohio Valley : — " Pittsburgh is inhabited almost entirely by Scotch and Irish, who live in paltry log houses, and are as dirty as in the north of Ireland, or even Scotland. There is much small trade car ried on : goods are brought at the vast expense of forty-five per cent, from Philadelphia and Bal timore. They take, in the shops, money, wheat, flour and skins. They have four attorneys, two physicians, one schoolhouse, two taverns, and no chapel : so they are likely to be damned without benefit of clergy. The rivers so encroach on the town, that I was told the Alleghany had, in thirty years, carried away one hundred yards. The place, I believe, will never be very considerable." The village which, half a century ago, had no place of worship, has now fourteen churches, four banks, manufactories innumerable, a theatre, and, at the lowest computation, a population of twenty-five thousand. 194 REVOLUTIONARY REMINISCENCES. BENNINGTON BATTLE-GROUND. On the morning of the sixteenth of July 18--, I had the pleasure of joining a party of ladies and gentlemen, riding on horseback, to view the ground where the celebrated Bennington, battle was fought. Although it is called the battle of Bennington, yet the actual engagement took place in Hoosick, near the Vermont line. It probably received its name from the fact, that the objectxif strife was situated in Bennington, and that the people of that place, old and young, contributed much to this small but im portant victory. Our course was northwest, about nine miles from the courthouse. Although the sun did not shine upon us in his strength, yet the interposing clouds seemed only to add fresh coolness to the morning, and thus en hance the pleasure of our ride. The whole com pany appeared in fine spirits ; our horses were gay and lively, and sven the old dog Hector seemed to partake of the general gladness. On either side of the road, the fields were loaded wilh abundance ; while here and there was seen the fanner who seemed to rejoice as his strong hands gathered those fruits of his summer's toil. We continued our way, sometimes upon the green banks of a pure and limpid stream, at others, rising abruptly to the high summits of those hills from whence lay stretched, far in the blue distance, a bold, yet delightful landscape. After a most delightful ride of about seven miles, we were informed that a spot of some interest was near at hand. A farmer, living near, learning the object of our visit, mounted Jiis nag in a twinkling, and came galloping to tell us what he knew about the matter. We all immediately wheeled and gave him audience ; whereupon he raised himself in his stirrups, (or by-the-way, I believe he was bareback,) and pointed to ar orchard upon a steep side-hill to the right, and said : " Fifty-five years ago, the fourteenth day of next August, General John Stark encamped in that orchard, then just planted, to watch the movements of Colonel Baum, who had just ad vantageously posted himself upon a hill about two miles below." Our minds soon ran back to the time when the whole surrounding country sounded with the din of battle ; when even the place whereon we looked, was covered with ardent warriors. But now, how changed ! On the same turf where was the bustle of a camp, the timid flock was lying in perfect quiet, and where were fear and apprehension, are now peace and safety, each " under his own vine and fig-tree, and none to molest or make him afraid." After listening to our informant for some time, we bade him good morning, and resumed our ride. About three quarters of a mile beyond this, we came to the celebrated Mather's place ; a large brick house singularly constructed, built in four towns, three counties, and two states ! Whether placed in this spot to dodge the sheriff, or a worse adversary, I cannot say. I was informed that one of its occupants had im proved the great dodging facilities it afforded, to the frequent discomfiture of the officer. One day, the sheriff being come, duly furnished with the instru ment that readeth " for the want thereof take thq body," he was politely invited to be soated at dinner, then just ready. A seat was assigned the man of writs in Vermont, while " mine host" took a chair opposite, in the state of New York. Dinner being through, the execution was forthcoming, and " mine host" was invited to jail. " Not as you know on " said he ; " not being in your jurisdiction, I must beg leave to decline." How the matter ended, I do no; know. Leaving the old hoUse, we followed upon the banks of the river, which we were obliged to ford in two places. As we approached the last fording- place, the river, being swollen by late rains, rolled its dark waters in a current so strong and deep, that it made the good courage of our ladies to waver. However, we crossed without accident. Comim out of the river we looked directly upon the hill on the summit of which Colonel Baum had halted, being in sight, of General Stark's army drawn up in order of battle ; but not thinking it prudent to attack them, he encamped and sent expresses to inform Colonel Breyman of his situation. This officer was station ed at Batten-kill, with about one thousand troop's, consisting of Brunswick grenadiers, light infantry and chasseurs, to reinforce Colonel Baum in case he needed. General Stark also declined an attack, as his opponent had very much the vantage ground He retreated to, and encamped in the orchard we have just spoken of. That night, a council of war was held, and it was decided to attack Colonel Baum next morning before he could be reinforced ; but the weather being rainy, little was done on either side ; except the skirmish, in which the Americans were for the most part successful. Colonel Baum's forces consisted of fiv&hundred Hessians and tories, besides more than one thou sand Indians. In his pocket, he had those prodi gious instructions which are the greatest curiosity in that way, I have ever seen. Were they not so long, I could insert them here. In substance, they were to have Colonel Baum proceed through the New Hampshire Grants, to take all the horses, carriages, &c, that he found, cross the mountains to Brattle- borough, and come from there to meet Burgoyne at Albany ; make prisoners of all officers, whether civil or military, acting under Congress — make the whole country believe that it was Burgoyne's advance guard, who were going to Boston, and at Spring field, were to be united with the British troops from Rhode Island — to bring all horses, saddles, and bridles ; the horses to be tied together so that one man could lead ten horses ! — And now he was just about to commence the fulfilmenfof these grasping requirements. On the morning of the sixteenth, General Stark was joined by a body of militia from Berkshire, under command of Colonel Symonds: General Stark having assembled his Green Mountain boys, read in their countenances the cer- tainity of his success. He saw before him men who had followed the plough their lives long, and now they stood up shoulder to shoulder, in no feeble ar ray, many of them armed with their usual hunting equipments. Pointing them to where the enemy lay, and then turning to them, he saw in their very eyes that victory or death was the deep and settled 195 purpose of their souls, and he exclaimed : " The enemy are ours, or- Molly Stark lies a widow to night !" Words that will be for ever memorable in the archives of our country. The whole force was now divided into three di visions. Colonel, Nichols, with two hundred and fifty men, was to gain .the rear of the enemy's left wing, and Col. Hendrick, with three hundred and fifty, was to gain their rear right, while General Stark himself attacked them in front. The battle, according to Williams, commenced about three o'clock in the afternoon. The Indians retreated with savage yells at the first onset. And after a severe engagement of nearly two hours, the enemy surrendered. Among the " spoils" were two brass cannon, which the Americans found of great service. This was no sooner accomplished, than General Stark was in formed that Colonel Warner was just arrived with a fresh regiment from Manchester. This brave man went directly to fight Colonel Breyman, while General Stark, collected his forces to sustain him. The. conflict was desperate on both sides. It con tinued until night-fall, when the German troops gave way, and left the field to their Yankee victors. Un der cover of the darkness, many of them escaped. Colonel Baum received a wound in the first engage ment, which soon after proved mortal, The Americans took that day, four fieldpieces, twelve brass drums, two hundred and fifty dragoon swords, four ammunition-wagons, and seven hundred prisoners. Their own loss was thirty slain, forty wounded. The influence of this engagement was very great. A long night of reverses had hung over the northern section of our country, and this was the first dawning of that bright day which was fast approaching. Our company returned by a circuitous route, and after riding about twenty-three miles, we arrived at home, and the long shades of the trees told us cer tainly that the day was ending. A NEW JERSEY HERO. Captain Nathaniel Fitz Randolph, of Wood- bridge, was one of the bravest and most intrepid men. Twice he was offered a colonel's commis sion in the regular army; but he preferred the command of his own select volunteers to any other service, and performed the most desperate deeds of valor. He and his men were once surrounded by a greatly superior force of the British. Their uni form motto was " Death or Victory." The con test was maintained with great slaughter on both sid«s, until he stood literally alone, wading in the blood of his companions, who lay in heaps dead and wounded around him. In this condition, he seized a musket, and, being a man of great mus cular strength, defended himself, and knocked down his enemies right and left with the butt-end of it, until the British commander became heart ily sick of the contest, and begged that for God's sake he would desist and spare the sacrifice of human life, seeing that he must eventually fall into their hands dead or alive. He coolly replied that he was not yet a prisoner, and again placed himself in a posture of defence. The" British officer renewed his entreaties, telling him he was the bravest man he ever saw, and that it was a pity so valuable a life should be lost in so unequal a contest; promising him the kindest treatment. At length, being covered with wounds, and faint and weak from fatigue and loss of blood, and no longer able to raise the weapon of defence, he reluctantly gave himself up, under the pledge that he should be well treated, arid exchanged the first opportunity : which promise was faith fully performed, and he was soon again at liberty to take up his arms in defence of freedom. His bravery, intrepidity, and gigantic strength, made him a terror to the "British wherever hie name was known ; but the tories and London traders were his most inveterate foes. A whole squad dared not encounter him in the daytime, even when he was alone. On a certain occasion, when he was on a scout ing expedition on Staten island, a party of tories secretly dogged him into a house in the evening, and, after he had laid aside his arms, rushed in upon him and made him prisoner — when, to his great grief and mortification, he remained nearly a year before he was exchanged. At the head of his volunteers he once encoun tered a company of Hessians, one of whom be ing somewhat separated from the rest, took de liberate aim and wounded Captain R. in the arm. He plainly saw whence the ball came, the com panies being very near together, and walking deliberately up to the fellow, as though he would say something to him, seized him under his sound arm, and brought him off a prisoner, while his gaping comrades stood motionless with surprise. Captain R. was finally killed by a musket-ball in a battle near Elizabethtown, and buried at Woodbridge with the honors of war. DISTANCES OF STARS IN THE MILKY-WAY. In regard to the distances of some of these stars, we may easily conceive that they are immense, and, consequently, far removed from our distinct comprehension. Sir W. Herschel, in endeavor ing to determine a " sounding line," as he calls it to fathom the depth of the stratum of stars in the Milky-Way, endeavors to prove, by pretty conclusive reasoning, that his twenty feet tele scope penetrated to a distance in the profundity of space not less than four hundred and ninety- seven times the distance of Sirius ; so that a stratum of stars amounting to four hundred and ninety-seven in thickness, each of them as far distant beyond another as the star Sirius is distant from our sun, was within the reach of his vision when looking through that telescope. Now, the least distance at which we can conceive Sirius to be from the earth or the sun is 20,000,000,000,- 000, or twenty billions of miles ; and, consequent ly, the most distant stars visible in his telescope must be four hundred and ninety-seven times this distance, that is, 9,940,000,000,000,000, or nearly ten thousand billions of miles! 196 An Antique. — A venerable and beautiful relick of old times has been disinterred,. as one may say, from a burial of thirty years and more, in Norfolk. This is nothing less than the mace, employed before the Revolution, by the borough-court, as a symbol of authority. It is of richly-wrought silver, three feet six inches long, and weighing eighty-six ounces. It consists of a polished staff, having a crown on the top, with the British arms, the rose and thistle, and other devices. The crown weighs twenty-eight ounces. — From an inscription on the staff, it appears that this beautiful piece of workmanship was presented to the corporation of Norfolk in 1753, by the Hon. Robert Dinwiddie ; then lieutenant-governour of Virginia. In 1790, it was committed to the clerk of the borough-court for safe keeping, and by him deposited, in 1805, in the vault of the Virginia bank, where it has ever since remained undisturbed, and almost for gotten. BATTLE OF THE BRANDYWINE We had been in the saddle about an hour, under the intrepid Pulaski, who, with his own hands, ex amined our swords, pistols, and other equipments, as if assured that the struggle would be a deadly and long-continued one. The day was one of the most beautiful that ever broke over the earth. We were about half a mile from the main body, ranged along a green slope, facing the west, our horses, about four hundred in number, standing as patiently as so many marble statues, until just as the eastern sky began to redden and undulate, and cloud after cloud to roll up, and heave like a great curtain upon the wind ; and the whole heaven seemed discharging all its beauty and brightness upon one spot, I happened to turn about, and saw the tall Pole (Pulaski) bare headed, tilting his horse, like some warlike presence come out of the solid earth, to worship upon the very summit of the hill behind us, it might be (for the no ble carriage of the man, the martial bearing of the soldier, would permit either interpretation) in the aw ful employment of devotion, or in the more earthly one, of martial observation. But suddenly he reined up his charger, shook the heavy dew from his horse man's cap, replaced it, and leaped headlong down the hill, just as a bright flash passed away on the horizon, followed by a loud report ; and the next instant a part of our ranks were covered with dust and turf, thrown up by a cannon-ball that struck near the spot he had just left. Our horses pricked up their ears at the sound, and all at once, as if a hundred trumpets were playing in the wind, came the enemy in his advance. Pu laski unsheathed his sword, called out a select body, and set off at a full gallop to a more distant elevation, where he saw the enemy advancing in two columns; one under Knyphausen, which moved in tremendous steadiness, in a dark solid mass, towards the spot occupied by General Maxwell ; the other under Cornwallis, which seemed to threaten the right flank of our main body. Intelligence was immediately sent to Washington, and reinforcements called in, from the post we had .left. We kept our positions, awaiting for a whole hour the sound of conflict ; at last, a heavy volley rattled along the sky, a few moments passed, and then an other followed, like a storm of iron upon the drum heads. The whole air rung with it ; another, and another followed ; then, gradually increasing in loud ness, came peal after peal, till it resembled a con tinued clap of thunder, rolling about under an illu minated vapour. But Pulaski, with all his impetu osity, was a general, and knew his duty too well to hazard any movement, till he should be able to see, with certainty, the operations of the enemy in the vapour below. Meanwhile, several little parties that had been sent out, came in, one after the other, with the intel ligence that Knyphausen had broken down upon Maxwell in magnificent style — been beaten back again ; but that he had finally prevailed, and that Maxwell had retreated across the river. A thin vapour had now arisen from the green earth below us, and completely covered the enemy from our view It was no longer possible to follow him, except by the sound of his tread, which we could feel in the solid earth, jarring ourselves and our horses , and now and then a quick glimmering in the mist as some standard was raised above it ; some weapon flourished, or some musket shot through it like a rocket. About an hour after, a horseman dashed through the smoke on the very verge of the horizon, and after scouring the fields, for a whole mile within view, communicated with two or three others, who set off in different directions ; one to us, with orders to hurry down to the ford, where the commander-in- chief was determined to fall on Knyphausen with all his power, before. Cornwallis came to his aid. [t was a noble but hazardous game. And Pulaski, whose warhorse literally thundered and lightened along the broken and stony precipice by which we descended, kept his eyes warily to the right, as if not quite certain that the order would not be counter manded. We soon fell in with General Greene, who was posting all on fire to give Knyphausen battle ; and the next moment saw Sullivan in full march, over a dis tant hill towards the enemy's flank. This arrange ment would, doubtless, have proved fatal to Knyphau sen, had not our operations been unfortunately arrest ed, at the very moment we were prepared to fall upon him, man and horse, by the intelligence that Corn wallis had moved off to another quarter. It was a moment of irresolution— doubt. It was the death blow to our brilliant hopes of victory. Greene was recalled, and Sullivan commanded to halt. Hardly had this happened, our horses being covered with sweat and froth, fretting on the bit like chained tigers, and ourselves covered with dust, it being an excessively hot and sultry day, when a heavy cannonade was heard on our right flank, and Greene, to whose division we had been attached, was put in motion towards Sullivan, whom we had left some hours ,before. The truth now broke upon us like a thunderclap. The enemy had passed, concentrated, as we supposed, and fallen upon our right. 197 I shall never forget Greene's countenance, when the news came ; he was on the. roadside, upon an almost perpendicular bank ; but he wheeled where he was, dashed down the bank, his face white as the bleached marble, and called to us to gallop for ward, with such a tremendous impulse, that we . marched four miles in forty minutes. We held on our way in a cloud of dust, and met Sullivan all in disorder, nearly a mile from the field, retreating step by step, at the head of his men, and shouting him self hoarse, covered with blood and sweat, and striving in vain to bring them to a stand, while Corn wallis was pouring in upon them an incessant volley. Pulaski dashed out to the right, over the broken fen ces, and there stood awhile upright in his stirrups, reconnoitring, while the enemy, who appeared by the smoke and the dust that rolled before them in the wind, to be much nearer than they really were, redoubled their efforts ; but at last, Pulaski saw a favourable opportunity — the column wheeled ; the wind swept across their van, revealing them like a battalion of spirits, breathing fire and smoke. He gave the signal ; Archibald repeated it ; then Arthur ; then myself- In three minutes we were ready for the word. When Pulaski, shouting in a voice that thrilled through and through us, struck spurs to his charger, it was half a minute, so fierce and terrible was his charge, before we were able to come up with him. What could he mean ? Gracious Heaven ! my hand convulsed, like that of a drowning man, reined up for a moment when I saw we were galloping straight forward into a field of bayonets ; yet he was the first man ! and who would not have followed him. We did follow him, and with such a hurricane of fire and steel, that, when we wheeled, our whole path lay broad before us, with a wall of fire on the right hand and the left ; but not a bayonet or a blade in front, except what were under the hoofs of our horses — my blood rushes now, like a flash of fire through my forehead, when I recall the devastation that we then made, almost to the very heart of the enemy's column. But Pulaski, he who afterward rode into their in- trenehments on horseback, sword in hand, was ac- customed to it, and having broke over them once, aware of his peril if he should give them time to awake from their consternation, he wheeled in a blaze of fire, with the intention of returning through a wall of death, more perilous than that which shut the children of Israel, upon the Red sea. But lo ! the wall had rolled in upon us ; and we were left no alternative, but to continue as we had began. The undaunted Pole rioted in the excess of his joy. I remember well how he passed me, covered with sweat and dust, riding absolutely upon the very points of their bayonets. But, at last, they pressed upon him, and horseman after horseman fell from our saddles ; when we were all faint and feeble, and even Archibald was fighting on foot, over his beautiful horse, with Arthur battling over his head, we heard the cry of " Succour, succour !" Imme diately we felt the enemy give way, heaving, this way,- then that, and finally concentrated beyond us. "Once more! once more!" cried Pulaski, and away he went, breaking in upon them as they were forming, and trampling down whole platoons in the charge before a man could plant his bayonet or bring his gun to an aim ;' our aspect as we came thundering round upon them, was sufficient ; the enemy fled, and we brought off our companions unhurt. I have been in many a battle, many a one that made my hair afterward stand when I dreamed of it — but never in one where the carnage was so dread ful, and fire so incessant, as that which followed the arrival of Greene. But the enemy had so effectually secured his exposed points by ranks of men kneeling with planted bayonets, that we could make no im pression upon them, although we rode upon them again and again, discharging our pistols in their faces. MY NATIVE HOME.— ALEXANDER b. meex Land of the South ! — imperial land ! How proud thy mountains rise, How sweet thy scenes on every hand, How fair thy covering skies ! But not for this, — oh, not for thee, I love thy fields to roam, Thou hast a dearer spell to me, Thou art my native home ! The rivers roll their liquid wealth, Unequalled, to the sea, Thy hills and valleys bloom with health, And green with verdure be ! But not for thy proud ocean streams, Nor for thine azure dome, Sweet sunny South ! — I cling to thee. Thou art my native home ! I 've stood beneath Italia 's clime, Beloved cf tale and song, On heaven's hills, proud and sublime Where Nature's wonders throng; By Tempe's classic sunlit streams, Where gods, of old, did roam, But ne'er have found so fair a land As thou — my native home ! And thou hast prouder glories too, Than Nature ever gave, Peace sheds o'er thee her genial dew, And freedom's pinions wave, Fair science flings her pearls around, Religion lifts her dome, These, these endear thee to my heart, My own, loved native home ! And heaven's best gift to man is thine, God bless thy rosy girls ! Like sylvan flowers, they sweetly shine, Their hearts are pure as pearls ! And grace and goodness circle them, Where'er their footsteps roam, How can I then, while loving them, Not love my native home ! Land of the South ! imperial land ! Then here 's a health to thee ! Long as thy mountain harriers stand, Mayst thou be blessed and free ! May dark dissension's banner ne'er Wave o'er thy fertile loam, But should it come, there 's one will die To save his native home ! 198 BATTLE OF SARATOGA. 'See Map, page 177.) The following graphically simple narrative, from the personal recollections of an eyewitness and participator, of the glorious series of events immedi ately preceding and attending the capture of Bur goyne — forming what we must regard as the bright est page in American history — is from the pen of E. Mattoon, Esq., of Amherst, Mass., an officer in the Revolutionary army of the North — one of the few yet spared to invigorate the patriotism and inspire the reverential gratitude of the existing and rising generations. The circumstances which awakened and drew forth these reminiscences, are best explained by the letter itself: — Amherst, (Mass.,) October 7, 1835. Philip Schuyler, Esq. Sir : Yours of the 17th ult., requesting me to give you a detailed account of the battle of Sara toga, surrender of Gen. Burgoyne, &c., was duly re ceived. When I left home on a visit to my friend Frost, at Union village, it was my intention to have visited the ground on which the army of Gen. Burgoyne was met, and compelled to surrender. But the ab sence of Mr. Frost prevented. Had I known, however, that a descendant of that venerable patriot and brave commander, Gen. Schuyler, was living on the ground, I should have found means to pay him my respects. General Gates, indeed, obtained the honour of capturing Burgoyne and his army ; but let me tell you, sir, that it was more through the wise and pru dent counsels of your brave and distinguished an cestor, and the energy and intrepidity of Generals Lincoln and Arnold, than through the ability and foresight of Gates. In my narrative, I shall confine myself to what transpired from the 7th to the 17th October, 1777, both days included. This will necessarily lead me. to correct the statement of Gen. Wilkinson, and a Mr. Buel in your neighbourhood, respecting the fall of Gen. Frazier. By confounding the two actions of the 19th of September and 7th of October, nei ther of them is correctly described. The action ofthe 19th of September commenced about ten o'clock, A. M., and continued during the day, each army alternately advancing and retiring. On that day, Col. Morgan posted a number of his riflemen to pick off the officers as they appeared out of the woods ; but no such posting of riflemen oc curred on the 7th October, Gen. Wilkinson to the contrary notwithstanding. On ihe 7th of October, the American army was posted with their right wing resting on the North viver, *nd their left extending on to Bemis's heights ; Geneials Nixon and Glover commanding on the right, Lincoln the centre, and Morgan and Larned the left. The British army, with its left resting on the river, was commanded by Philips ; their centre by Gen. Redheisel, and the extreme right, extending to the heights was commanded by Lord Balcarras, where he was strongly fortified. Their light-troops were under the command of Gen. Frazier and Lieut. Auckland. About one o'clock of this day, two signal guns were fired on the left of the British army, which in dicated a movement. Our troops were immedi ately put under arms, and the lines manned. Al this juncture, Gens. Lincoln and Arnold rode with great speed towards the enemy's lines. While they were absent, the picket guards on both sides were engaged near the river. In about half an hour, Generals Lincoln and Arnold returned to headquar ters, where many of the officers collected to hear their report, Gen. Gates standing at the door. Gen. Lincoln says : " Gen. Gates, the firing at the river is merely a feint ; their object is your left. A strong force of 1500 men are marching circuitous- ly to plant themselves on yonder height. That point must be defended, or your camp is in danger." Gates replied : " I will send Morgan with his rifle men, and Dearborn's Infantry." Arnold says : " That is nothing ; you must 3end a strong force." Gates replied : " Gen. Arnold, I have nothing for you to do ; you have no business here." Arnold's reply was reproachful and severe. Gen. Lincoln says : " You must send a strong force to support Morgan and Dearborn, at least three regiments.'' Two regiments from Gen. Larned's brigade and one from Gen. Nixon's, were then ordered to that station, and to defend it at all hazards. Generals Lincoln and Arnold immediately left the encamp ment, and proceeded to the enemy's lines. In a few minutes, Capt. FurnivaPs company of Artillery, in which I was lieutenant, was ordered to march towards the fire which had now opened upon our picket in front, the picket consisting of about three hundred men. While we were marching, the whole line, from the river up to our picket in front, was engaged. We advanced to a height of ground which brought the enemy in view, where. we open ed our fire. But the enemy's guns, eight in num ber, much heavier than ours, rendered our position untenable. We then advanced into the line of infantry. Here Lieut. M'Lane joined me. In. our front there was a field of corn, in which the Hessians were secret ed. On our advancing towards the cornfield, a num ber of men rose up and fired upon us. M'Lane was severely wounded. While I was removing him from the field, the firing still continued without abatement. During this time, a tremendous firing was heard on our left. We poured in upon them, our canister- shot as fast as possible, and the whole line from left to right, became warmly engaged. The smoke was very dense, and no movements could be. seen, but as soon as it arose, our infantry appeared to be slowly retreating, and the Hessians slowly ad vancing, their officers urging them on with then- hangers. Just at this moment, an elderly man, with a long hunting gun, coming up, I said to him : " Daddy, the infantry mus'n't leave me — I shall be cut to pieces." He replied : " I'll give them another gun." The smoke then rising again, several officers, led by a general, appeared moving to the northward, in the rear of the Hessian line. The old man, at that in stant, discharged his gun, and the general officer pitched forward on the neck of his horse, and in stantly they all wheeled about, the old man observ ing : " I have killed that officer, let him be who he will." I replied : " You have, and it is a general 199 officer, and- by his .dress. I believe it is Frazier." While they were turning about, three of their horses dropped down ; but their further movements were then concealed by the smoke. Here I will offer the reasons why I think this of ficer was Gen. Frazier, and that he was killed by the shot of. this old man. In the first place, the dis tance, by actual measurement, was within the reach of a gun. For the next morning, a dispute arising about the distance, some contending that it was eight rods, and others fifteen, two respectable sergeants, both of whom have since been generals in the militia of Massachusetts, were selected to de cide the dispute by pacing the ground. They did so, and found . the distance, from the stump where the old man stood to the spot where the horses fell, just twelve rods. In the next place, the officer was shot through the body from the left to the right, as was afterward ascertained. Now, from his relative* position to the posted riflemen, he could not have been shot through in this direction, but they must have hit him in front. Moreover, the riflemen could not have seen him, on account of the smoke in which he was enveloped. The troops continuing warmly engaged, Col. Johnson's regiment came up, threw in a heavy fire, and compelled the Hessians to retreat. Upon this, we advanced with a shout of victory. At the same time Auckland's corps gave way. We proceeded but a short distance before we came upon four pieces of brass cannon, closely sur rounded by the dead and dying; at a few yards far ther, we came upon two more. Advancing a little farther, we were met by a fire from the British in fantry, which proved very fatal to one of Col. John son's companies, in which one sergeant, one cor poral, and fourteen privates, were killed and about twenty were wounded. They advanced with a quick step, firing as they came on. We returned them a brisk fire of canister- shot, not allowing ourselves even to sponge our pie ces. In a short time, they ceased firing, and advan ced upon us -with trailed arms. At this juncture, Arnold came up with a part of Brooks's regiment, and gave them a most deadly fire, which soon caus ed them to face about, and retreat with a quicker step than they advanced. - The fire had principally ceased on our left, but was brisk in front and on the right. At this mo ment, Arnold says to Col. Brooks, (late governour of Massachusetts) : " Let us attack Balcarras's works." Brooks replied : " No. Lord Auckland's detach ment has retired there ; we can't carry them." — " Well then let us attack the Hessian lines." Brooks replied : " With all my heart." We all wheeled to the right, and advanced. No fire was received, except from the cannon, until we got with in about eight rods, when we received a tremen dous fire from the whole line. But few of our men, however, fell. Still advancing, we received a sec ond fire, in which a few men fell, and Gen. Arnold's horse fell under him, and he himself was wounded. He cried out : " Rush on, my brave boys !" After receiving the third fire, Brooks mounted their works, swung his sword, and the men rushed into their works. When we entered the works, we found Col. Bremen dead, surrounded by a number of his companions, dead or wounded. We pursued them slowly, the fire, in the meantime, decreasing. Nightfall now put an end to this day's bloody con test. During the day, we had taken eight cannon, and broken the centre of the enemy's lines. We were ordered to rest, until relieved from the camps. The gloom of the night, the groans and shrieks of the wounded and dying, and the horrours of the whole scene baffle all description. Under cover of this night, (the seventh,) the British army changed their position, so that it be came necessary to reconnoitre the ground. While Gen. Lincoln was doing this, he was severely wounded, so that his active services were lost to the army, during that campaign. A heavy rain commenced about eleven o'clock, which continued without abatement till the morning of the ninth. In this time, information came that Gen. Burgoyne had removed his troops to Saratoga. At nine o'clock, A. M., of October eighth, Capt. Furnival received orders to march to the river, to cross the floating bridge, and repair to the fording place, opposite Sara toga, where we arrived at dusk. There we found. Gen. Bailey, of New Hampshire, with about nine hundred men, erecting a long range of fires, to indi cate the presence of a large army. The British troops had covered the opposite heights with their fires. In the early part of the evening, Col. Mosely ar rived with his regiment of Massachusetts militia. when our company was directed by Gen. Bailey to make a show of our field-pieces at the river. We soon extinguished their lights. We were then or dered to pass the Battenkill river, and erect works there during the night. In the morning, we perceived a number of officers on the stairs, and on the east side of the house, on the hill, a little north of the Battenkill river, apparently surveying our situation and works. My captain being sick at the time, I levelled our guns, and with such effect as to disperse them. We took the house to be their headquarters. We continued our fire till a nine or twelve pounder was brought to bear upon us, and rendered our works useless. Next we were ordered in haste to Fort Edward, to defend the fording place. Colonel Mosely's regiment accompanied us. Some slight works were thrown up by us ; while thus employed, a number of British officers appeared on the oppo site side of the river. We endeavoured to salute them according to their rank. They soon disap peared During this day, (the tenth,) we captured fifty In dians, and a large number of Canadians and Tories We remained at Fort Edward till the morning of the thirteenth. Being then informed, of the ar mistice which had been agreed upon, we were or dered to return to our position on the Battenkill, and repair our works. Here we remained till the morn ing of the seventeenth, when we received orders to repair to Gen. Gates's headquarters on the west side of the river. As we passed along, we saw the British army piling (not stacking) their arms ; the piles of arms extending from Schuyler's creek northward nearly to the house on the hill beforementioned. The range of piles ran along the ground west of the road then travelled, and east of the canal, as, I am in formed, it now runs. 200 Just below the island we passed the river, and came to Gen. Gates's markee, situated on a level piece of ground, from a hundred and thirty to a hun dred and fifty rods south of Schuyler's creek. A little south and west of this, there is a rising ground, on which our army was posted, in order to appear to the best advantage. A part of it w^s also advanta geously drawn up on the east side of the river. About noon on the seventeenth, Gen. Burgoyne, with a number of his officers, rode up near to the markee in front of which Gen. Gates was sitting, attended by many of his officers. The sides of the markee were rolled up, so that all that was transact ed might be seen. Gen. Burgoyne dismounted and approached Gen. Gates, who rose and stepped for ward to meet him. Gen. Burgoyne then delivered up his sword to Gen. Gates, who received it in his left hand, at the same time extending his right hand to take the right hand of Gen. Burgoyne. After a few minutes' conversation, Gen. Gates returned the sword to Gen. Burgoyne, who receiv ed it in the most graceful and gentlemanly manner. The rest of Burgoyne's officers then delivered up their swords, and had them restored to them like wise. They then all repaired to the table and were seated ; and while dining, the prisoners were passing by. After they had all passed by, a number of us went in search of a gun which was upon a carriage the day previous to the seventeenth, near what was called the Hessian burying-ground. But the tracks of the carriage were so confused, and the stench from the dead bodies was so offensive, that the search was discontinued. Thus I have replied to your inquiries, as far as my recollection extends. I should be very happy to meet you, and spend a day or two in walking over the battle-ground, and to enter into other particulars concerning that engagement, which, however, are of minor importance. With much esteem, I am, dear sir, yours, E. Mattoon GIVE IT TO 'EM. The following anecdote of the glorious days of seventy-six we do not remember to have met be fore. The battle of Bunker's Hill had already be gun and was raging with fury, when a little spare- faced captain of a company of six volunteers from Concord, N. H., arrived as far as Winter Hill, much fatigued by the day's maich and the heal of the day, but still pressing steadily forward. Information being received at headquarters of this reinforcement, an express was immediately sent for them to hurry along, as their assistance was very much needed. The captain thinking to hurry faster might disable his men for action, replied : " Don't think it best to hurry — may be all killed when we get there!" On arriving at Charlestown Neck the request was repeated, the lines being in imminent danger ; and the captain made the same laconic reply. At length he came up to the scene of action, and bringing his men up square to the line, he pulled off his chapeau and swinging it in the air, he exclaimed : " Now, my hoys, give it to 'em ! give it to 'em ! give it to 'em ! " REVOLUTIONARY INCIDENT. Royalton, Vt. during the Revolutionary war was one of the frontier towns of the State and was subjected at one time to the inroads of the tories and Indians from Canada in a more fearful shape than ever befel any other town in Vermont. In the beginning of October, 1780, an expedition was planned against Newbury on Connecticut river, the principal object of which was to capture aLieutenant Whitcomb, who the Canadians assert ed, had mortally wounded and robbed a British General Gordon, during Montgomery's disastrous campaign severalyears before. Against this man the Br'tish and Indians had conceived a violent aversion, and planned the present expedition in order to get him into their power. The expedi tion consisted of two hundred and ten men, nearly •all of whom were Indians, under the command of a British officer named Horton. In proceeding up Onion river, they fell in with two hunters, who informed them that the people of Newbury were expecting an attack and had prepared themselves for it ; and they therefore decided to direct their course toward Royalton. They found the inhab- itants wholly unprepared for an attack, and an easy prey to their rapacity. After destroying twenty houses at Royalton and several in the neighboring towns, killing some persons who at tempted to escape, and taking many prisoners and much plunder, they commenced a hasty re treat. The news quickly spread, ami a party of the resolute inhabitants of neighboring towns soon assembled, chose a leader and commenced a pursuit. So great was their despatch that they soon came up with the trail of the savages, in the night, who, having posted their sentries, and par taking excessively of the intoxicating portion of their spoils, had lain down to rest, not dreaming of an attack. Great was their consternation on finding that their sentries were fired upon; but with savage cunning they sent word to their pur suers that if attacked, they would put all the prisoners to death ; and while the subject matter of this threat was debating among their enemies,- they picked up their prisoners and camp-equipage, and made a hasty retreat under the cover of the darkness. In the morning it was thought useless to pursue them, and the party returned. Most of the prisoners eventually made their way back from captivity. Several authentic anecdotes are re lated of this expedition, which go to show the Indian character in a less ferocious light than it has generally been held, under similar circum stances. They did not evince any desire to molest- the women or female children. In some of the cases where the women who had left their burn ing houses, stood motionless and stupified, not knowing what to do, the Indians brought them their clothes, with the assurance that "Indian would'nt hurt 'em." One woman had firmness enough to reproach them for their conduct in burning down houses, and taunted them for not daring to cross the river and attack the men at the fort. They bore her gibes with the utmosl patience, and only replied that " squaw should'nt talk too much." Another woman, whose young son they were carrying off, followed them with 201 another child in her arms, andbeseeched them to return her little boy. They complied ; and following up her success, she prevailed upon them to give up ten or fifteen of the children of her neighbors. One of the Indians offered to carry her on his back across the stream; she accepted his politeness, and though the water was up to his waist, he conveyed her over in safety, and she returned with her little band of boys, to the surprise and joy of their parents. These, and several other authentic anecdotes of a similar nature, show that the savages -did not at this time practise those ferocities which in- more recent hostile expeditions have marked their course with the worst possible horrors of blood and car nage. DANIEL BOOK Daniel Boon, one of the first, one of the most fearless of the pioneers to what was then a wilder ness, ' a dark and bloody ground,' deserves a volume ; and we trust ere long he will have one all to himself. We wish the old man had lived to see himself the hero, the sole hero of a story. The idea that his name would be in print was more fatal to his philo sophy than the idea of suffering and death ; and had he dreamed of being one day as noted as man ever can hope to be, it would have done more towards dis turbing his saturnine gravity, than all the Indians that ever roamed Kentucky. He was a strange com pound ; born in the good old state of Virginia, he first tried North Carolina, then Kentucky, and at last swept on to Missouri, to his dying day, a pioneer. Thirty years old, he crossed the mountains, not to seek, as most at his age do, a competence and com fort, but to go through perils, and dangers, and hard ships, that would have tried the heart and frame of any youth in Christendom. For two months, without one companion — not even a dog — without home or help, he wandered among the wilds, his bed the ground ; his canopy the trees ; his lullaby the howl of the wolf and the yell of the savage. Taken by the Indians, he so won their regard and so tickled their vanity, by never quite, outdoing them with the rifle, that money would not purchase his freedom. Escaping, for four days in succession he went on foot forty miles, and eat during, the time but one meal. Without fear and without fierceness ; abomi nating society, but a kind husband, and father, and fellow-man ; daring, when daring was the wiser part ; prudent, when discretion was valour's better half; sa gacious and clear-headed, but ever averse to civili zations—he walked through life with the hardihood of youth, the decision of manhood, and the cool rea son of age. He had his vices and faults, but had so few, that in his place and with his education, he was a marvel of virtue as well as of fortitude. So calm ly did he anticipate death, that he prepared his own coffin beforehand. One he made, but finding it too small, he presented it to his son-in-law, and having fitted himself with a second, and polished it by long rubbing, he laid himself down and died, in life and death a veritable ' Leatherstocking.' 26 THE PIONEERS. 1)1 (IIAIH.ES A. JOSES. Where are the hardy yeomen Who battled for this land, And trode these hoar old forests, A brave and gallant band ? Oh, know ye where they slumber No monument appears, For Freedom's pilgrims to draw nigh, And hallow with their tears? Or were no works of glory Done in the olden time ? And has the West no story Of deathless deeds sublime ? Go ask yon shining river, And it will tell a tale Of deeds of noble daring, Will make thy cheek grow pale ; Go ask yon smiling valley, Whose harvest blooms so fair, 'T will tell thee a sad story Of the brave who slumber there : Go ask yon mountain, rearing Its forest crest so high; Each tree upon its summit Has seen a warrior die. They knew no dread of danger, When rose the Indian's yell ; Right gallantly they struggled, Right gallantly they fell : From Alleghany's summit, To the farthest western shore, These brave men's bones are lying Where they perished in their gore; And not a single monument Is seen in all the land, In honor of the memory Of that heroic band. Their bones were left to whiten The spot where they were slain ; And were ye now to seek them, They would be sought in vain. The mountain cat has feasted Upon them as they lay ; Long, long ago they mingled Again with other clay : Their very names are dying, Unconsecrate by fame, In oblivion they slumber, Our glory and our shame. Affectation may be compared to a coat of many pieces and divers colors, ill fitted, and neither stitch ed nor tied. Wise sayings often fall on barren ground : but a kind word is never thrown away. Every man has as much vanity as he wants un derstanding. Idleness is the Dead Sea, that swallows all vir tues, and the self-made sepulchre of a living man. 202 BATTLE MONUMENT, BALTIMORE. The Battle Monument was erected in 1815, at Bal timore, to the memory of those who fell bravely de fending that city from the attack of the British, at North Point and the bombardment of Fort M'Henry, on the 12th and 13th of September, 1814. It cost about 60,000 dollars. For perfect propriety of design, as well as for the masterly execution of its various parts, it is not equalled by any work of similar character in this or any other country. It was planned by Maximilian Godefroy, who presented the drawings to the city, and directed its construction. It is entirely of pure white marble, and rests upon a square plinth or terrace of the same material, forty feet square, and four feet high, at each angle of which is placed erect a brass cannon, having a ball, as it were, issuing from" its mouth. Between the cannon and along the verge of the platform, extends a railing or chevaux- defrise of brass-headed spears, the beauty and effect of which are much heightened by the disposal, at equal distances, of eight fasces, forming a part of and supporting the railing. These fasces are com posed of corresponding spears bound with iron fil lets. The whole protected by massive chains in festoons, suspended from posts of granite, enclosing a walk of five feet on every front. From the platform rises a square Egyptian base ment, eiitirely rusticated, to indicate strength. It is composed of eighteen layers of stone, to signify the number of the states which formed this confedera tion at the period of the event which the monument commemorates. The style of this basement is espe cially consecrated to tombs. It is surmounted by a cornice, each of the four angles of which bears an elegantly executed Griffin, with an eagle's head, as an emblem of the eagle of the Union. The decorative hieroglyphick, having been dedi cated to the sun, and often employed by the ancients in front of their temples, is, therefore, regarded as the emblem of glory and veneration. A winged globe adorns each centre of the Egyptian cornice, symbolical of eternity and the flight of time. On each of the four fronts of the basement is a falsa door, in the antique style, closed with a single tablet of black marble — imparting the character of a ceno taph, with the remains of the dead deposited therein. Three steps to ascend to these doors, are intend ed to indicate the three years of the war. We now carry the description up to the principal part of the monument, which presents the appear ance of a fasces, (symbolical of the Union,) the rods of which are bound by a fillet — on this are inscribed in letters of bronze, the names of the brave, who were killed in defending their city ; and who, by their glorious death, strengthened the bands, of the Union. Around the top of the fasces are bound a wreath of laurel, and a wreath of cypress, the, first expressive of glory, the other sepulchral and. mourn ing. Between these wreaths, in letters of bronze, are inscribed the names of the officers who perished at the shrine of glory. They are : — JAMES LOWRY DONALDSON, Adjutant 27th regiment. GREGORIUS ANDREE, Lieutenant 1st rifle battalion. LEVI CLAGETT, 3d Lieutenant Nicholson's artillerists. The names of the non-commissioned officers and privates, who were killed in the action, as inscribed on the fillet binding the fasces, are : — John Clemm, T. V. Beaston, S. Haubert John Jephson, T. Wallace, J. H. Marriot, of John, E. Marriot, Wm. Ways, J. Armstrong, J. Richardson, Benin. Pond, Clement Cox, Cecelius Belt, John Garrett, H. G. M'Comas, Wm. M'Clellan, John C Bird M. Desk, Danl. Wells, Jr John R. Cop, Benjn-. Neal, C Reynolds, D. Howard, Uriah Prosser A. Randall R. R. Cooksey, J. Gregg, J. Evans, A. Maas G. Jenkins, W. Alexander, C Fallier, T. Burkeston, J. Dunn, . P. Byard, J. Craig. The fasces is ornamented with two basso-re- lievoes — the one on the south front, representing the battle of North Point, and the death of General Ross, the British commander — the other on the north front, representing a battery of Fort M'Henry at the moment of the bombardment. On the east and west fronts are Lachrymal urns, emblematick of regret and sorrow. On the south part of the square base, beneath the basso-relievo is this in scription in letters of bronze : — 203 BATTLE OF NORTH POINT, 12th September, A. D. 1814, And ofthe Independence ofthe United States the thirty-ninth. On the north front, beneath the basso-relievo on that side, is the following inscription, also in letters of bronze : — BOMBARDMENT OF FORT M'HENRY, 13th September, A. D. 1814 ; And of the Independence of the United States, the thirty-ninth. The basement and fasces thus described, form to gether thirty-nine feet, to show that it was founded in the thirty-ninth year of the Independence of the United States. The colossal, but exquisitely beautiful statue, which surmounts the fasces, is a female figure, rep resenting the city of Baltimore— upon her head is a mural crown, emblematick of cities ; in one hand she holds an antique rudder, symbolick of naviga tion ; arid in the other she raises a crown of laurel, as, witha graceful inclination of the head, she looks towards the fort and field of battle. At her feet, on the right, is the Eagle of the United States ; and near it a bomb, commemorative of the bom bardment. The height of the monument, including the statue, is fifty-two feet, two inches. A single glance at this monument, -.trikes the beholder with admiration, and suffices to convince him, that its various parts have been designed and combined by the effort of talent and genius of the first order. But if the architect, fully impressed with the moral dignity and beauty of his subject, has conceived a plan worthy of his exalted genius, the master-hand of the sculptor has been no less happy in communicating to the pure marble the most admi rable proofs of the power of his chisel and the per fection of his art. The attitude ofthe noble statue, and the natural flow of its drapery, afford a true per sonification of ease, grace, and dignity: the propor tions are strikingly beautiful and correct, and its execution, including all the sculptured parts of the monument, is that of the finished artist. This ele gant structure presents a glorious testimony of the patriotism, devotion, and gratitude'of the citizens of Baltimore, and a no less gratifying evidence of the rapid advancement of the arts in this country. TO YOUNG MEN. There id no moral object so beautiful to me as a conscientious young man ! I watch him as I do a star in the heavens : clouds may be before him, but we know that his light is behind them, and will beam fcgain ; the blaze of other's prosperity may outshine liifn but we know that, though unseen, he illumines his own true sphere. He resists temptation not without a struggle, for that is not a virtue, but he does resist and conquer ; he hears the sarcasm of the profligate and it stings him, for that is the trial of virtue, but he heals the wound with his own pure touch. He heeds not the watchword of fashion, if it lead to sin ; the Atheist who says, not only in his heart, but with his lips, "there is no God," con trols him not, for he sees the hand of a creating God and reverences it, of a preserving God and rejoices in it. Woman is sheltered by fond arms and guided by loving counsel, old age is protected by its expe rience, and manhood by its strength ; but the young man stands amid the temptations of the world like a self-balanced tower. Happy, lie who seeks and gains the prop and shelter of Christianity. Onward, then, conscientious youth ! raise thy standard and nerve thyself for goodness. If God has given thee intellectual power, awaken it in that cause ; never let it be said of thee, ho helped to swell the tide of sin, by pouring his influence into its channels. If thou art feeble in mental strength, throw not that poor drop into a polluted current. Awake, arise, young man ! assume the beautiful garments of virtue ! It is easy, fearfully easy to sin, it is difficult to be pure and holy. Put on thy strength,. then, let thy chivalry be aroused against errour, let truth be the lady of thy love^defend her. Southern Rose. AN AMERICAN CEDAR SWAMP. These swamps are from half a mile to a mile in breadth, and sometimes five or six in length, and appear as if they occupied the former chan nel of some choked-up river, stream, lake, or arm of the sea. The appearance they present to a stranger is singular: — a forest of tall and per fectly straight trunks, rising to the height of fifty or sixty feet, without a limb, and crowded in every direction, their tops so woven together as to shut out the day, spreading the gloom of a perpetual twilight below. On a nearer approach, they are found to rise out of the water, which, from the impregnation of fallen leaves and roots of the cedars, is of the colour of brandy. Amidst this bottom of congregated springs, the ruins of the former forest lie in every state of confusion. The roots, prostrate logs, and in many places the water, are covered with green mantling moss, while an undergrowth of laurel, fifteen or twenty feet high, intersects every spring so completely as to render a passage through, laborious and ha rassing beyond description. At every step you either sink to the knees, clamber over falling tim ber, squeeze yourself through between the stub born laurels, or plunge to the middle in ponds made by the uprooting of large trees, and which the green moss concealed from observation. In calm weather, the silence of death reigns in these dreary regions; a few interrupted rays of light shoot across the gloom ; and unless for the occa sional hollow screams of the herons and the melancholy chirping of one or two small birds, all is silence, solitude, and desolation. When a breeze rises, at first it sighs mournfully through the tops ; but as the gale increases, the tall, mast like cedars wave like fishing-poles, and rubbing against each other, produce a variety of singular noises, that, with the help of a little imagination, resemble shrieks, groans, growling of bears, wolves, and such like comfortable music. Wilson, 204 REVOLUTIONARY ANECDOTES. We have gleaned from the publications of the day, the following anecdotes of the revolution. The first relates to the battle of Bunker's Hill — and is from the pen of A. E . Everett, Esq. : — "The veteran Pomeroy, to whom I have already particularly adverted, and who at this -time held no commission in the line, when he heard the pealing artillery, felt it as a summons to action, and could not resist the inclination to repair to the field. He accordingly requested Gen. Ward to lend him a horse, and taking his musket, set off at full speed for Charlestown. On reaching the neck, and finding it, enfiladed by a hot and heavy fire of round, bar and chain shot from the British batteries, he began to be alarmed — not, fellow-citizens, as you might well sup pose, for his own safety, but for that of Gen. Ward's horse ! Horses, fellow-citizens, as I have already remarked, were at this time almost as rare and pre cious as the noble animals that rode them. Too honest to expose his borrowed horse to the ' pelting of this pitiless storm,' and to dream for a moment of shrinking from it himself, the conquerer of Baron Dieskieu dismounted, and delivering Gen. Ward's horse to a sentry, shouldered his musket and march ed very coolly on foot across the neck. On reach ing the hill, he took his place at the rail-fence. His person was known to the soldiers, and the name of Pomeroy rang with enthusiastick shouts along the line !" COMMODORE DECATUR. The Knickerbocker tells the following anec- dotes of Commodore Decatur : — " The late gallant Decatur was a sailor to the very heart's core, and loved to tell anecdotes of the common sailors. I recollect one which he used to relate, to the following purport : — " In one of the actions before Tripoli, while fight ing hand to hand with the captain of a gun-boat, Decatur came near being cut down by a Turk, who attacked him from behind. A seaman named Reuben James, who was already wounded in both his hands seeing the risk of his commander, rush ed in and received the blow of his uplifted sabre on his own head Fortunately, the honest fellow survived to receive his reward. Some time afterward, when he had recovered from his wounds, Decatur sent for him on deck, ex pressed his gratitude for his self-devotion, in presence of the crew, and told him to ask for some reward. The honest tar pulled up his waistband and rolled his quid, but seemed utterly at a loss what recompense to claim. His mess mates gathered around him, nudging him with their elbows, and whispering in his ear ; ' He had all the world in a string, and could get what he pleased ;' the 'old man could deny him nothing,' etc. One advised this thing, another that ; ' double pay,' ' double allowance^' ' a boatswain's berth,' ' a pocket full of money and a full swing on shore,' etc. Jack elbowed them all aside, and would have none of their counsel. After mature deliberation, he announced the reward to which he aspired ; it was, to be excused from rolling up the hammock-cloths ! The whimsical request was of course granted; and from that time forward, whenever the sailors were piped to stow away their hammocks, Jack was to be seen loitering around, and looking on, with the most gentlemanly leisure. He always continued in the same ship with Decatur. 'I could always know the state of my bile by Jack,' said the commodore. ' If I was in good humor, and wore a pleasant aspect, Jack would be sure to heave in sight, to receive a friendly nod : and if I were out of humor, and wore, as I sometimes did, afoul-weather physiog. nomy, Jack kept aloof, and skulked among the other sailors.' It is proper to add, that Reuben James received a more solid reward for his gallant devotion, than the privilege abovemen- tioned, a pension having been granted to him by government. On another occasion, Decatur had received at New York the freedom ofthe city, as a testimonial of respect and gratitude. On the following day, he overheard this colloquy between two of his sailors : ' Jack,' said one, ' what is the meaning of this freedom of the city, which they've been giving to the ' old man V ' Why don't you know 1 Why, it's the right to frolic about the streets, as much as he pleases ; kick up a row ; knock down the men, and kiss the women!' '0 ho !' cried the other ' that's something worth fighting for !' " According to an estimate made sometime since by the New Bedford Mercury, the printing busi ness in the United States gives employment to two hundred thousand persons, and thirty millions of capital. THE SCHOOLROOM. It is believed that there are lasting and painful infirmities which begin in the school-r.dom. It is a convenience and a relief to a busy mother to send her children to school for several hours in the day. She considers them safe while so em ployed ; not only so, they are getting learning and preparing to get a living, But at this tender age, while the bones are hardening, and the deli cate structure of the human frame is easily de ranged, it is more than probable that long-contin ued sitting lays the foundation for diseases which show themselves in after life, and occasion afflic tion to the child, and cost and pain to parents. The learning that may be acquired in these early years can be no compensation for such evils. It would be far better for parent and child, to have good schools for playing, as well as for learning, during the early years of infancy. The natural athletic action of the human system has no ten dency to deform or enfeeble it ; while the tedious confinement of the school-room is certain to do both. All that is contended for, is, that there should be a rational mixture of bodily action and mental employment for children, as mutually auxiliary in preserving health and in acquiring learning ; and, however common such thoughts may be, they cannot be too often expressed unti] they are carried into practical and general effect 205 " BRITISH AUTHORITIES." It was during the last war, when the vessels of Admiral Gordon were making their way up the Po tomack, that a negro-woman was arraigned in a court of Virginia for killing one of her own sex and colour ; she had been committed for murder, but the evidence went clearly to establish the deed to be manslaughter, inasmuch as it was done in sudden heat, and without malice-aforethought. The at torney for the commonwealth waived the prose cution for murder^ but quoted British authorities to show that she might-be convicted of manslaughter, though committed for murder. The counsel for the ' accused rose, and in a most solemn manner asked thef court if it was a thing ever heard of, that an indi vidual, accused of one crime and acquitted, should be arraigned immediately for another, under the same prosecution? At intervals — boom, boom, boom, went the British cannon — " British authorities !'' ex claimed the counsel ; " British authorities, gentlemen ! Is there any one upon the bench so dead to the feel ings of patriotism, as at such a moment to listen to British authorities, when the " British cannon is sha king the very walls of your courthouse to their found ation." This appeal was too cogent to be resisted ? Up jumped one ofthe justices, and protested that " it was not to be borne ; let the prisoner go : away with your British authorities !" The counsel for the ac cused rubbed his hands arid winked at the attorney ; the attorney stood aghast ; his astonishment was too great for utterance, and the negress was halfway home, before he recovered from his amazement. CONSTITUTION AND GUERRIERE. We find the following characteristic anecdote of the capture of the Guerrierre, in the Springfield Re publican. The correspondent says he gives it as he heard it in the circles of Virginia, and believes it has not before" appeared in print. A short time previous to her capture by the Con stitution, the Guerriere had fallen in with, and taken a French prize. Among the passengers transferred to the deck of the Guerriere, was a French gentleman charged with despatches to the American govern ment, who, on presenting himself to the British com mander, was dispossessed of his books and papers and peremptorily ordered to go below. Overwhelmed "with this sudden and unexpected termination of his mission, the gentleman passed several days in great distress and agony of mind, which was not a little heightened by the haughty bearing and insolence of his victor. Once or twice, addressing him with his blandest manner and best English, he said:— "Captain Dacre, I tank you, sare, for my govern ment despatch and my law-books." " Go below ! you frog-eating, swallow-faced wretch !" was the only reply of the proud Briton. Ere long, however, a sail was descried on the edge of fhe distant horizon. Her gradually increas ing size' gave token that she approached — and, as she neared to view, the tapering spars and the grace ful trim of the Yankee were seen. Captain Dacre, with glass in hand, had observed her from a mere speck, and as soon as he was satis fied that she was American gave vent to the wildest expression of joy. He paced the deck with exulting step — swore he would take thai ship in fifteen min utes~-and to crown his anticipated triumph, directed that a hogshead of molasses be hoisted upon deck, to treat the d — d Yankees.* Our Frenchman, who was meanwhile a silent though not an uninterested observer of what was passing before him, again put on his most winning smiles, and remarked :— " Captain Dacre, sare, wid your permission I stay upon deck and see de fight." " Go to the devil," responded the vain and self- conceited boaster — now busied in preparations for a bold and brilliant achievement. Our hero was soon snugly ensconced among the rigging ; and the two vessels continued gradually and silently to approach each other. The Constitution having now got within reach of the enemy's long guns, the scene that followed is thus described by the lively Frenchman. "Captain Dacre, he sail dis way, and den he sail dat way, and den he go — boom! "De Yankee man, he say nothing — but still keep comin'. "Again Captain Dacre sail dis way, and den he sail dat way, and again he go — boom ! "Enfin, de Yankee man go pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop ! t "I say to Captain Dacre — Sare, wid your permis sion I go below — 'tis too hot here." He went below ; and the action continued. When the firing ceased, our little Frenchman, peeping up the hatchway, espied "one offieer-Iike man, and Captain Dacre handing his sword." The truth flashed upon him in an instant. He rushed upon deck ; and finding himself again at liberty, he capered about like one " possessed." Finally ad vancing to the now mute and fallen Dacre, he said, with an air which defies our humble pen : — " You tell me, sare, you take dis ship in fifteen minute, by gar, he take you !" "Now, sare," he added, with a low and bitter emphasis, " I tank you for my government despatch and law-books." Ability required for Instruction.- — No mistake is more gross than that of imagining that undiscip lined teachers are the fittest to deal with ignorance and mental rudeness. On the contrary, to force the rays of thought intelligibly through so opaque a me dium, demands peculiarly and emphatically a great clearness and prominence of thinking, and an exact feeling of the effect of words to be chosen, combined, and varied. Foster. Beauty. — Beauty is as summer fruits, which are easy to corrupt and cannot last ; and, for the most part, it makes a dissolute youth, and an age a little out of countenance ; but yet certainly again, if it light well, it maketh virtues shine, and vices blush. Lord Bacon's Essays. * Strange as it may. appear, this order was actually obeyed. And at almost the first shot the Constitution struck the hogshead; its contents spreading over the deck conduced, no doubt, to the Guerriere's defeat. f It is proper to state, that after the broadside, the action on the part of the Constitution was continued by one gun at a time — but in such rapid succession, that the captain of the Guer riere believed her to be on fire ; and in consequence ordered a momentary suspension of operations. OLD TICONDEROGA. A PICTIEI OP THE PAST. In returning once to New England, from a visit to Niagara, I found myself, one summer's day, before noon, at Orwell, about forty miles from the southern extremity of lake Champlain, which has here the aspect of a river or a creek. We were on the Ver mont shore, with a ferry of less than a mile wide, between us and the town of Ti, in New York. On the bank of the lake, within ten yards of the water, stood a pretty white tavern, with a piazza along its front. A wharf and one or two stores were close at hand, and appeared to have a good run of trade, foreign as well as domestick ; the latter with Vermont farmers, the former with vessels plying be tween Whitehall and the British dominions. Alto gether, this was a pleasant and lively spot. I de lighted in it, among other reasons, on account of the continual succession of travellers, who spent an idle quarter ef an hour in waiting -for the ferry-boat ; af fording me just time enough to make their acquaint ance, penetrate their mysteries, and be rid of them without the risk of tediousness on either part. The greatest attraction in this vicinity, is the famous old fortress of Ticonderoga ; the remains of which are visible from the"- piazza of the tavern, on a swell of land that shuts in the prospect of the lake. Those celebrated heights, mount Defiance and mount Independence, familiar to all Americans in history, stand too prominent not to be recognised, though neither of them precisely correspond to the images excited by their names. In truth, the whole scene, except the interiour of the fortress, disappointed me. Mount Defiance, which one pictures as a steep, lofty, and rugged hill, of the most formidable aspect, frowning down with the grim visage of a precipice on old Ticonderoga, is merely a long and wooded ridge ; and bore, at some former period, the gentle name of Sugar Hill. The brow is certainly difficult to climb, and high enough to look into every corner of the fortress. St. Glair's most probable reason, however, for neglecting to occupy it, was the defi ciency of troops to man the works- already construct ed, rather than the supposed inaccessibility of mount Defiance. It is singular that the French never for tified this height, standing as it does in. the quarter whence they must have looked for the advance of a British army. In my first view of the ruins, I was favoured with the scientifick guidance of a young lieutenant of en gineers, recently from West Point, where he had gained credit for great military genius. I saw nothing but confusion in what chiefly interested him ; straight lines and zigzags* defence within de fence, wall opposed to wall, and ditch intersecting ditch ; oblong squares of masonry below the surface of the earth, and huge mounds, or turf-covered hills of stone, above it. On one of these artificial hillocks, a pine tree has rooted itself, and grown tall and strong, since the banner-staff was levelled. But where my unmilitarj- glance could trace no regular ity, the young lieutenant was perfectly at home. — He fathomed the meaning of every ditch, and form ed an entire plan of the fortress from its half obliter ated lines. His description of Ticonderoga would be as accurate as a geometrical theorem, and as bar ren of the poetry that has clustered round its decay I viewed Ticonderoga as a place of ancient strength, in ruins for half a century ; where the flags of three nations had successively waved, and none waved now ; where armies had struggled, so long ago that the bones of the slain are mouldered ; where peace had found a heritage in the forsaken haunts of war. Now the young West-Pointer, with his lectures on ravelins, counterscarps, angles, and covered ways, made it an affair of brick and mortar and hewn 207 stone, arranged on certain regular principles, hav ing a good deal to do with mathematicks but nothing • at all with poetry. I should have been glad of a hoary veteran to totter by my side, and tell me, perhaps, of the French garrisons and their Indian allies, of Abercrombie, Lord Howe and Amherst ; of Ethan Allen's triumph and St. Clair's surrender. The old soldier and the old fortrj(|s would be emblems of each other. His reminiscences, though vivid as the image of Ticon deroga in the lake, would harmonize with the gray influence of the scene. - A survivor of the long-dis banded garrisons, though but a private soldier, might have mustered his dead chiefs and comrades, some from Westminster Abbey, and the English church-yards and battle-fields in Europe, others from their' graves here in America ; others, riot few, who lie sleeping round the fortress ; he might have mustered them .all, and bid them inarch through the ruined gateway, turning their old historick faces on me. as they passed. Next to such a companion, the best is one's own fancy. At another visit I was alone, and, after rambling all over the ramparts, sat down to rest myself in one of the roofless barracks. These are old French structures, and appear to have occupied three sides of a large area, now overgrown with grass, nettles, and thistles. The one in which I sat, yas long and narrow, as all the rest had been, with peaked gables. The ex- teriour walls were nearly entire, constructed of gray, fiat, unpicked stones, the aged strength of which promised long to resist the elements if no other vio lence should precipitate their fall. The roof,. -floors, partitions, and the rest of the woodwork, had prob ably been burnt, except some bars of stanch old oak, which were blackened with fire, but still re mained imbedded into the window-sills and over the doors. There were a few particles of plastering near the chimney, scratched with rude figures, per haps by a soldier's hand. A most luxuriant crop of weeds had sprung up within the edifice and hid the scattered fragments of the wall. Grass and weeds grew in the windows, and in all the crevices of the stone, climbing, step by step, till a turf of yellow flowers was waving on the highest peak of the ga ble. Some spicy herb diffused a pleasant odour through the ruin. A verdant heap of vegetation had covered the hearth of the second floor, clustering on the very spot where the huge logs had mouldered to glowing coals, and flourished beneath the broad flue, which had so often puffed the smoke over a circle of French or English soldiers. I felt that there was no other token of decay so impressive as that bed of weeds in the place of the back-log. Here I sat, with those roofless walls about me, the clear sky over my head, and the afternoon sunshine falling gently bright through the window-frames and doorway. I heard the tinkling of a cow-bell, the twittering of birds, and the pleasant hum of insects. Once a gay butterfly with four gold-speckled wings, came and fluttered about my head, then flew up and lighted on the highest tuft of yellow flowers, and at last took wing across the lake. Next a bee buzzed through the sunshine, and found much sweetness amongthe weeds. Afterwatchinghimtillhe wentoffto his distant hive, I closed my eyes on Ticonderoga in , ruins, and cast a dreamlike glance over pictures ofthe past, and scenes of which this spot had been the theatre. I At first, my fancy saw only the stern hills, lonely lakes, and venerable woods. Not a tree, since their seeds were 'first scattered over the infant soil, had v felt the axe, but had grown up and flourished through its long generation, had fallen beneath the weight of years, been buried in green moss, and nourished the roots of others as gigantick. Hark ! A light paddle dips into the lake, a birch canoe glides round the point, and an Indian chief has passed, painted and feather-crested, armed with a bow of hickory, a stone tomahawk, and flint-headed arrows. But the ripple had hardly vanished from the water, when a white flag caught the breeze, over a castle in the wilderness with frowning ramparts and a hundred cannon. There stood ' a French chevalier, com mandant of the fortress, paying court to a copper- coloured lad}', the princess ofthe land, and winning her wild love by the arts which had been successful with Parisian dames. A war-party of French and Indians were issuing from the gate to lay waste some village of New England. Near the fortress there was a group- of dancers. The merry .soldiers footing it with the swart savage maids ; deeper in the wood, some red men were growing frantick around a cog of the fire-water ;, and elsewhere a Jesuit preached the faith of high cathedrals beneath a canopy of forest boughs, and distributed crucifixes to be worn beside English scalps. I tried to make a series of pictures from the old French war, when fleets were on the lake and armies in the woods, and especially of Abercrom- bie's disasterous repulse, where thousands of lives were utterly thrown away ; but being at a loss how to order the battle, I chose an evening scene in the barracks after the fortress had surrendered to Sir Jeffrey Amherst. What an immense fire blazes on that hearth, gleaming on swords, bayonets, and mus ket-barrels, and blending with the hue of the scarlet coats till the whole barrack-room is quivering with ruddy light ! One soldier has thrown himself down to rest, after a deer-hunt, or perhaps a long run through the woods, with Indians on his trail. Two stand up to wrestle, and are on the point of coming to blows. A fifor plays shrill accompaniment to a drummer's song ; a strain of light love and bloody war, with a chorus thundered forth by twenty voices. Meantime, a veteran in the corner is pro sing about Dettingen and Fonterioye, and relates camp-traditions of Marlborough's battles , till his pipe, having been vigorously charged with gunpow der, makes a terrible explosion under his nose. And now they all vanish in a puff of smoke from the chimney. I merely glanced at .the ensuing twenty years, which had glided peacefully over the frontier for tress, till Ethan Allen's shout was heard, summoning it to surrender "In the name of the great Jehovah and of the continental Congress." Strange allies ' thought the British captain. Next came the hurried muster of the soldiers of liberty, when the cannon of Burgoyne, putting down upon their stronghold from the brow of mount Defiance, announced a new conquerer of Ticonderoga. No virgin fortress, this ! Forth rushed the motly throng from the barracks, one m^n wearing the blue and buff of the Union, another the red coat of Britain, a third, a dragoon's jacket, and a fourth, a cotton frock ; here was a pair of leather breeches, and striped trousers there ; a 208 grenadier's cap on one head, and a broad-brimmed hat, with a tall feather, on the next ; this fellow shoul dering a king's arm that might throw a bullet to Crown Point, and his comrade a long fowling- piece, admirable to shoot, ducks on the lake. In the midst of the bustle, when the fortress was all alive with this last warlike scene, the ringing of a bell on the lake made me suddenly unclose my eyes, and behold only the gray and weed-grown ruins. They were as peaceful in the sun as a warrior's grave. Hastening to the rampart, T perceived that the sig nal had been given by the steam-boat Franklin, which landed a passenger from Whitehall at the tavern, and resumed its progress northward, to reach Cana da the next morning A sloop was pursuing the same track ; a little skiff had just crossed the ferry ; while a scow, laden with lumber, spread its huge square sail and went up the lake. The whole country was a cultivated farm. Within musket-shot of the ramparts lay the neat villa of Mr. Pell, who, since the revolution has become proprietor of a spot for which France, England, and America have so often struggled. How forcibly the lapse of time and change of circumstances came home to my apprehen sion ! Tall trees had grown upon its ramparts, since the last garrison inarched out, to return no more, or only at some dreamer's summons, gliding from the twilight past to vanish among realities. REVOLUTIONARY REMINISCENCES. The following interesting passage from a private journal, never before published, has been communicated to the Platts- burgh Republican. The author is a distinguished American traveller, who still lives to recall the proudly thrilling scene which hc.has so vividly sketched : — New Yorker. EXTRACT FROM THE JOURNAL OF London, Thursday, Dec. 4, 1782. — The great, the glorious day has arrived, when our uncondition al Independence will be solemnly recognised by George III. in the presence of God and man. Such, at last, are the well-earned fruits of a sanguinary and eventful contest of eight long — long years, in which period one hundred thousand brave Americans have cemented, on the altar of their country, with their precious blood, a prize which will bless unborn mill ions, and in its eventual effects produce a new era over the entire surface of this benighted world. At an early hour, in conformity to previous ar rangements, I had the honour to be conducted, by the earl of Ferers, to the very entrance of the house of lords. At the small door, he whispered softly into my ear : " Get as near the foot of the throne as possible — maintain your position~—J 'car not." I did so with all the assurance of a travelled yankee, and found myself exactly in front of the throne, elbow to elbow with the celebrated admiral Lord Howe, who had just returned from a successful relief of Gibraltar. The ladies of the nobility occupied the lords' seats on the woolsacks, so called, as an emblem of the power and wealth of Old England, because that it has been mainly derived from wool. The lords were standing here and there promiscuously as I entered. It was a dark foggy day — a proper En glish hanging day. To add to its gloomy effects, the old Saxon windows stand high up, with leaden bars to contain the diamond cut panes of glass. The walls were also hung with dark tapestry, rep resenting the defeat of the great Spanish Armada in 1588. I had the pleasure of recognising the celebrated American painters, West and Copley, and some American ladies in the group — all rebels at heart — intermixed with many American royalists, some of whom were my near relatives, with long dejected faces, and rage and despair depicted in every lineament of their features. How opposite were our feelings ! After standing for two hours in painful suspense, the approach of the king was an nounced by a tremendous roar of cannon. .He en tered the same small door on the left of the throne, and immediately seated himself in the chair of state, decorated in his royal robes, in a graceful, formal and majestick posture, with his right foot resting on a stool. He was evidently agitated ; and drew slow ly from his pocket a scroll containing his humilia ting speech. I was exactly in his front, six or eight feet distant, with my left foot braced upon the last step of the throne, to sustain my position from the pressure in my rear, and critically watched, with the eye of a Lavater, at that moment, every emotion of his agitated countenance. He began: — " My Lords and Gentlemen :" and in direct refer ence to our independence said — "T lost no time in giving the necessary orders to prohibit the farther prosecution of offensive war upon the continent of North America. " Adopting as my inclination will always lead me to do, with decision and effect, whatever I collect to be the sense of my parliament, and my people ; I have pointed all my views and measures in Europe, as in North America to an entire and cordial recon ciliation with the Colonies. Finding it indispen sable to the attainment of this object, I did not hesi tate to go the full length of the power vested in me, and therefore I now declare them" — (here he paused, and hesitated for a moment, and was in evident agitation — the pill he had to swallow in the next breath was repugnant to his digestive organs, In 1775, he repelled our humble petition with indignity — but in 1782, he found himself prostrate at our feet ;) he recovered himself by a strong convulsive effort and proceeded thus : — " I declare them free and independent states. In thus admitting theii separation from the crown of their kingdom, I have sacrificed every consideration of my own to the wishes and opinions of my people. I make it my humble and ardent prayer to Almighty God, that Great Britain may not feel the evils which might result from so great a dismemberment of the empire and that America may be free from the calamities which have formerly proved in the northern country how essential monarchy is to the enjoyment of con stitutional liberty. Religion, language, interests, and affection may, and I hope will yet prove a bond of permament union between the two countries." It is impossible to describe the sensations of my rebellious mind, at the moment when the king hesi tated to pronounce the words— -Jree and independent ! and to notice with what a bad grace he had to swal low the dose : every artery was in full play, and beat high in unison with my proud American feel ings. — It was impossible not to revert my eyes across the Atlantick and review in rapid succession, the miseries and wretchedness I had witnessed in several stages of the war, prior to my leaving 209 America — the wide-spread desolation, resulting frOm the obstinacy of this very man — turning a deaf ear to' our humble appeals to his justice and mercy, as if -Ta god — but now prostrate in his turn. In his speech he tells us in one breath that he has sacri ficed every personal consideration, in other words, not yet satiated with innocent blood shed by his Indian allies ; and in the next, hypocritically invo king high heaven to guard us against calamities, &c. The great drama is now closed — the ball was open ed at Lexington, where the British red-coats were taught to dance down to Charlestown, to the tune of " Yankee-Doodle." On this occasion it fell also to my lot to march from Providence, R. I., with a company of seventy-five well-disciplined young men, all dressed in scarlet, on our way to Lexington, with packs on our backs ; but they had fled before we could- reach the scene of action. From the house of lords, I proceeded to Mr. Cop ley's dwelling in Leicester-square, to dine ; and, through my ardent solicitation^ he mounted the American 'stripes on a large painting in his gallery the same day — the first which ever waved in tri umph in England.* In leaving the house of lords, I jostled in side by side witlrWest and Copley — enjoying the rich polit ical repast of the day, and noticing, with silent grat ification, the anguish and despair of the tories. In the house of commons, the ensuing day, there was not much debate, but a good deal of acrimony. Commodore Johnston attacked Lord Howe's expedi tion to Gibraltar, because he had not gained a de cisive victory over the combined fleet ol forty-five sail ofthe line, with thirty-seven ships. Burke then rose, indulging in a vein of satire and ridicifle, a severe attack on' the king's speech the day previous on the subject of American independence— saying it was a farrago of nonsense and hypocrisy. Young Pitt, the' newly created chancellor ofthe exchequer, then rose, and handled Burke with dignified severity, charging him with buffoonery and levity. Having received from Alderman Wood a card of admission to the gallery of the house of commons, as the house was about rising, the Alderman (who is a member) came into the gallery and invited me to descend with him to the floor of the house. I met Mr. Burke, with whom I had breakfasted, who introduced me as a messenger of peace to Pitt, Con way, Fox, Sheridan, and two or three other mem bers grouped on the floor. I never felt more eleva ted in my life. — In describing this scene to a friend in France, in a moment of exultation, I subjoined : — " Figure to yourself, my dear friend, a young American traveller of twenty-four, in the full gaudy dress of a Parisian, hailed in the publick papers, and standing on the floor of the British house of commons, (where the destiny of dear America in its infancy has been so often agitated,) as a messen ger of peace, surrounded by a group, the brightest constellation of political men that ever graced the annals of English history! — and, what is more grat ifying to my American pride, the very men, with one exception, who have recently compelled the * Note— 1833— Dining frequently at Copley's I noticed an un common smart lad, who is now the celebrated Lord Lyndhurst, Lord Chancellor of England— the son of an American painter. His mother was a Miss Clark of Boston; his father, one of the tea consignees, a great tory — then residing with Copley. 27 tyrant George to yield with a bad grace to ail out just-demands, in my presence ! Not to have beers thus affected at that tremendous crisis, I should have been more or less than a man." INDIANS IN THE UNITED STATES. We have taken pains to make out alphabetically, from official documents before us, a list of all the tribes within the American territory. Italics, are used in the names of tribes resident west of the Mississippi. — The number under the letter W., shows how many ofthe tribe named, have emigrated to the west of the river, and the number under the letter E., shows how many remains on the east — the whole corrected to February last, since which time to the present date, July 18th, 1836, not less than 5,000 have emigrated, or are in the act of doing so. Names of tribes, cjc. E. W. Apalachicolas, 340 265 Arickaras, estimated not to exceed 3,000 Assinaboins, 8,000 Arepahas, Keawas, fyc 1,400 Black feet, along the upper Mis souri, &c. 30,000 Caddoes, estimated at 800 Choctaws, west ofthe state of Ar kansas and between Red river and the Canadian, 3,500 15,003 Chayennes, south of the Gros Ventres, 2,000 Camanches, on the confines of the republick of Texas, but there are supposed in the United States, 7,000 Cherokees, between lat. 30, and lat. 37, west of the Arkansas, and east of Texas lands, 10,000 5,000 Chicasaws, will have no lands allot- ed them, 5,429 Chippewas, 6,793 Chippewas, Ottowas, and Potawat- omies, 8,000 Crees, estimated at 3,000 Creeks, east of Texas, north of the Canadian, and along the north fork ofthe same, 22,668 2,459 Crow, estimated too high, we think at, 45,000 Delawares, north of the Kansas tribe, 826 Foxes, computed to be not exceed ing 1,600 Gros Ventres, or Big Bellies, be tween the south fork ofthe Platte and Arkansas, 3,000 Indians ofthe state of New York, 4,716 Indians from New York, at Green- bay, Michigan, 725 Ioways, near the Missouri, and in the south of Wisconsin territory, in lat. 40°, 1,200 Kansas, on Kansas river, in lat. 39°," 1,471 Kickapoos, between the Delawares and the Missouri river, in lat. 39° and Ion. 18°, 470 Mandans, on the upper Missouri, 15,000 Mendmonies, in Wisconsin terri tory, 4,200 Minetarees, estimated, too high, we think, at 15,000 210 , and Ion. Shawa- of lake lat. 41- west of Osages, properly Wausawshies, on both sides of the Arkansas, lat. 37° 30' Ion. 20 to 21 west : they are north of the Cherokees, Omahas, west of Council bluffs, be tween the Platte and the Mis souri ; lat. 42°, Ottoes and Missourias, south of the Omahas,Ottowas, in lat. 38° 30', 18° west ; south of the nees, Ottowas and Chippewas Michigan, Pawnees, on Platte river, 42°, and Ion. 21-22°, Washington, Peorias and Kaskaskias, east of, and adjoining the Ottowas, Piankeshaws, on Osage river, east of, and adjoining the Peorias, Poncas, estimated at Potawatomies, in lat. 42°, east of the Missouri, and west of Des Moines river, Quapaws, on the Neosho, near lat. 37° and Ion. 18° west, Sac's, in Wisconsin territory, Sacs, ofthe Missouri, Shawanees, south of the Kansas, Senecas from Sandusky, south of Quapaws, Senecas and Shawnees, do. do. Seminoles, part now at the fork of the Canadian and its north fork, north of the Choctaw lands ; east of the Creeks, Sioux, in Wisconsin territory, Wyandots in Ohio and Michigan, Winnebagoes, on the Mississippi, in Wisconsin territory, Weas, with the Piankeshaws, 5,420 1,4001,600 200 530 10,000 132162800 1,400 141 450 4,800 500 1,200 251211 2,420 623 4,591 60 27,500 222 Totals, 76,465 216,063 Aggregate number of Indians, 292,528. INDIAN TERRITORY. The following table exhibits, as nearly as we are able to say, at present, the number of square miles allotted to certain tribes, with the population of each, when all who remain on the east, shall have emi grated to the west of the Mississippi : — THIBES. SO.- MILES. POPULATION. Choctaws, 23,440 18,503 Creeks and Seminoles, 20,531 27,547 Delawares, 3,450 826 Kaskaskias and Peorias, 150 132 Kickapoos, 1,262 470 Ottowas, 53 200 Piankeshaws and Weas, 250 222 Quapaws, 150 450 Shawnese, 2,500 1,250 Senecas and Shawanees, 156 211 ly be called poor ; if so, they enjoy a poverty, which, if proportioned for all the people of our Union, would give us half the habitable' world for our share. If the United States pursues a course as liberal, with respect to all the Aborigines within our limits, there will yet remain two millions of square miles for us — Enough to make up fifty states, and to sustain " FIVE HUNDRED MILLIONS OF SOULS !" Totals, 51,942 49,811 These Indians, having 640 acres or more to every warrior, squaw and papoose, besides annuities, equal to the interest on millions of dollars, can hard- [From the Southern Literary Journal.] THE FOUNTAIN OP YOUTH. The belief which prevailed amon' the early adventurers of the Portuguese and Spanish nations, that there existed', somewhere among the recesses of the New World, a fountain, the waters ol which, when drank from, had the virtue of giving perpetual youth to those who did so, has been made the subject of frequent story. The tradition itself is lovely in the extreme, and will, doubtless, be one day made available by some high genius, who shall link its golden promises to the richest strains of harmony and romance.'Twas a fond dream among the Portuguese, Those rovers of old ocean, that, afar, Embosom'd in the calm of Indian seas, And hallow'd by some sweet and singular star, There murmur'd ever forth a cooling wave, Whose waters, troubled not by human strife,' By the kind Destinies ordain'd to save, Boqueath'd, to all who drank, perpetual life. Nor life alone — that narrow boon of breath, The nobler spirit learns so sbon to scorn That profitless flow of years which end in death, • - ¦'•:-. ' Ere yet the joy they labour for is born : — But, at that gracious fount, the broken heart, Each wreck' d affection, sternly tried, but true, And loves that ran not smooth, and forced apart. One draught makes whole, one draught unites anev. The heart grows young, the spirit quails no more, By that false star which blinded, still misled — Lo ! the good vessel finds the friendly shore, While lights, more bright and certain, shine o'erheadj— The pilgrim seeks, and gladdens at, that spring, Which the bland Seasons, from their fruitful store, Crown with each blooming and each blessed thing, Hope ever dream' d, or rapture knew, before. A bird of beauty sings among the trees, A silver strain, inviting, ever sweet. — The waters ripple in the murmuring breeze, That, to the minstrel, is an echo meet. Their ditty is a soothing to the ear, The tale they murmur hath a power to calm The chiding pulse of love, the heart of fear— And those sweet waters, they are full of balm. Was thy fond plan of boyhood wild — untaught By sage experience, and reflection cool1? — Did thy warm passions banish the true thought, Till, grown to phrensy, folly seized the rule : ' And, blight was in thy 6osom and thy brain, And death seemed sweet, and life grew dark like night 1 Thou art not hopeless '.—thou shalt joy again, Blessed by these waters with eternal light ! Wast thou a dreamer1? Hadst thou in thy heart Some pregnant fancy, which became, at length, Of thy own spirit and wild sense, a part, Born at thy birth and strengthening with thy strengtV And did stern Time, and still relentless Truth, Rob thee of thy delusion, when late years Had taught thee, what a credulous thing is youth 1— Drink of these waters and forget thy tears. Had thy stern Fortune interposed to blast The growing buds of Nature, and to burst The sacred mould in which twin hearts are cast, Each wedded to the other from the first — Or was she false, who pledged herself to be, Even to the last, through every change, to prove The witness of a deathless faith to theel — Drink, and forget the false, in firmer, love ! Oh, give me of those waters ! Let me haste To dwell upon their verdant banks, and find, Upon my fever'd lips, a fresher taste, And a new feeling for my baffled mind. Oh, let me all forget ! — the dreary hours, The faithless love, the fond, unfruitful dreams- Reposing on its banks of living flowers, And quaffing freely of its sacred streams. 211 REVOLUTIONARY REMINISCENCES. The following account of a traitor and spy, from the pen of Joseph L. Chester, Esq., was first published some years since in the Brooklyn (L.I.) Advocate. Mr. Chester has collected, with much care, a large amount of information concerning the war of the Revolution, from the lips of vete ran soldiers still living. Such information, though it may not add very important items to our na tional history, yet it contributes largely to that fund of incident from which is yet to be gleaned the materials for the establishment of an Ameri can national literature, Joseph, or as he was more laconically called, Joe Bettys, the hero of the following sketch, was a renegado from the American army, and bore a conspicuous part in the border difficulties during the few first years of the revolution. In a letter which I have before me, from one of the survivors of those times, and who was himself a sufferer from the treason and consequent barbarities of Bettys, he is described as an " athletic, bold, and daring young man, with a heavy share of deviltry in his composition." The life of any one who may an swer to this description, will be sure to be event ful, but that of the present subject was so in no ordinary degree. Bettys was the representative of a class, by far too numerous, whose members, during the revo lutionary struggle, deserted from the ranks of their country's forces, and, if they did not abso lutely take up arms against their brethren, they at least left no means of annoyance untried, and scrupled at no acts of hostility even toward those who were allied to them by natural as well as by social ties. The annals of border warfare are rife with accounts of the depredations of these ma rauders, who usually formed themselves into clans or hordes, though they claimed not those distinc tive appellations, and made by common and tacit consent, the most daring and powerful their leader. This latter personage was a kind of prince amid his band, and exercised all the powers of sov ereignty that such lieges or vassals would natu rally acknowledge. The principal employment of these clans con sisted in making captives of those who were avowedly inimical to the king, and bearing them to the British camp, or more frequently into Can ada. For every prisoner so delivered, a premium or bounty was bestowed on the captors, thus in ducing them to make more strenuous exertions, to become less affected by the ties of relation ship, and to devote their whole time and energies to 'the destruction of those altar-fires which had just begun to burn freely in the wilderness. A small party of Indians often accompanied them on their predatory incursions, which were usually made in the night, for the purpose of striking ter ror upon the unsuspecting victims, as the appear ance even of a solitary savage always created confusion throughout the little settlements. Joseph Bettys was the leader of one of these hordes, and for his daring exploits deserves more notice than has ever been awarded to him by his torians. The history of his life is that of a great portion of his contemporaries. Wilton, a small parish in the county of Fairfield and state of Connecticut, claims the honor of be ing the birthplace of this personage, and also of fostering him during his earlier years. I have no means of arriving at the precise day or year of his birth, and it is a matter of no great importance. He probably spent the first fifteen or eighteen years of his life in the place of his nativity. His character at this early period, as described by one of his playmates, now living, was notoriously bad. He was a tyrant as soon as he was able to exercise the powers of tyranny. He was wilful, headstrong, disobedient to parental authority, overbearing, hasty, and ill-tempered, and in the words of the letter, "as great a scoundrel as ever breathed." I believe that the same description has been given to the earlier days of most who have been notoriously bad in their latter lives— for instance, Arnold, the traitor, and others of his class. It seems that these exhibitions are those of a nature naturally depraved, and that some evil spirits are permitted to dwell in human bodies from the beginning. In about the year 1772 the family of Bettys re moved to the present town of Ballston in the county of Saratoga, then one of the border-settle ments. Joe Bettys was about eighteen years of age, " full of spite and malice," and was in a very short time placed in bonds by the court as secu rity for his future good behavior. This seemed at first to operate upon his feelings, and was a degradation to which his independent spirit could not brook ; but he eventually conquered the exhi bition of his feelings, and remained in Ballston until the month of March, in the year 1776. At this time, by the influence of one John Ball, then second-lieutenant, but afterward a colonel in the revolutionary army, he enlisted as a sergeant un der Captain Samuel Van Veghten, in the regiment of New York forces, commanded by Colonel Cor nelius Wineoop. In this capacity he served his country faithfully, until the summer of the same year, when being abused, unprovokedly, as he maintained, by an officer of superior rank, he re torted with threats and menaces, and was in con sequence by a court-martial, reduced to do _duty as a private sentinel. This was too much for him to bear, and Lieutenant Ball, who had before be friended him, conscious that his desertion would prove a great loss to the Americans, and a great gain to the enemy, endeavored to sooth his irri tated spirit, and applied to General Waterbury, who then commanded the troops at Skenesbo- rough, who readily gave him the appointment of sergeant on board one of the vessels on lake Champlain, commanded by General Arnold. It may be a matter of conjecture whether the seeds of treason were not then sown in his heart by this ill-fated man. But he showed no symptoms of dissatisfaction, and was as brave a man as any in the fleet. By the testimony of General Water- bury, he was the bravest man in action that this officer had ever seen. After every commissioned officer on board the ship on which Bettys was stationed was killed, and the vessel badly crip- 212 pled, he assumed the command and fought brave ly until General Waterbury seeing that the ship was likely to sink, ordered the survivors to aban don her and come on board his own. They did so, and the general having marked the gallant conduct of Bettys, and being himself much ex hausted, placed him at his side on the quarter deck, and made him his organ until obliged to strike his colors and yield the victory. Yet for all this Bettys received no other notice than the thanks of his general, which ought to have been sufficient for a true patriot. But Bettys thought otherwise, and determined to retaliate for the supposed slight which he had received. Sometime during the spring of 1777, Bettys de serted the standard of his country, and passing over into Canada, joined the British forces. In a very short time he was elevated to the rank of a spy, and frequently returned, even to his own set tlement, with a band whom he had selected, and making his former acquaintances his prisoners, bore them off into Canada. About this time one Samuel Patchin, afterward a captain in the army, of whom I have had occasion before to speak, became a prisoner and victim to the consequent barbarities of Bettys. This old veteran is still living, and the following account of his captivity and subsequent hardships, I have in substance in his own handwriting : — " I was captured by Bettys and party," says the letter, " in the year '81, and taken to Canada. I was there put in irons, and confined in Chambly prison. I was the only prisoner whom he had on this excursion brought to Canada. There were six or seven more of my neighbors when we started, to whom he gave the oath of allegiance, and sent them back. As for myself, he said I had served congress long enough, and that I should now serve the king. He wished me to enlist in his company, but soon found that this was not agree able to my feelings. He then swore that if I would not serve the king I should remain in irons. I was confined in Chambly prison four months ; then I was removed to Montreal, and from thence to an island forty-five miles up the St. Lawrence, opposite Cadalake fort. There I remained about one year. There were five prisoners in all, and we were guarded by sixty soldiers ! — seven sen tries at night. They had left no boats on the island by which we might make our escape, yet we all crawled out of the barracks one night, and went to the riverside, there we made a raft by means of two or three logs and our suspenders, on which we sailed down the river five miles, when we landed on the Canada shore. There we appropriated to our own use a boat belonging to the British, and crossed over to the American shore. While go ing down the rapids, we had lost our little stock of provisions, and for eight days out of twelve which we spent in the woods we had nothing to eat save frogs and rattlesnakes, and not half enough of them. We were chased eight days by the Indians, and slept every night on the boughs of some hemlock trees. At length we arrived at Northwest Bay, on lake Champlain, when my companions, unable longer to travel, utterly gave out I then constructed a raft on which to cross the lake, and having stripped my companions o( their clothing, in order to make myself comforta ble, left them to die of hunger and fatigue, and committed myself to the wintry waves. When in about the centre of the lake, I was taken by the crew of a British ship, and conveyed to St. John's, from thence to Quebec, and finally to Boston, -where I was exchanged and sent home." The above is but an account of what happened to many. Bettys seemed to take especial delight in making prisoners of his own townsmen, and particularly those toward whom he cherished any grudge, such as the officers of the court before whom he had been cited, not omitting even the members of his own family. It seems that on one occasion he made a fearful mistake." Having ta ken one whom he supposed to be the object he sought, and his prisoner having found an opportu nity to escape, he deliberately shot him dead, and then discovered that he had killed one of his best friends. The rock on which he fell is shown by the inhabitants of .Ballston, and a dark stain is yet to be seen upon it, which the common people assert to be the blood of the ill-fated man. During these excursions Bettys did not always escape danger. On one occasion he was taken, tried, condemned, and sentenced to be executed as a spy at West Point. But it seemed his good fortune to escape, for, on the humble petition of his aged father, supported by a number of the most respectable whigs in Ballston, he was par doned by the commander-in-chief General Wash ington. No sooner was he at liberty, however, than he returned to Canada and again renewed the practices to which he had been so long ad dicted. He received the appointment of ensign in one of the British Levy regiments, but was seldom in action, as his complicated employments of spy and " catcher of men," occupied his whole time. He scrupled not, in company with one Walter Myers, a congenial spirit, to attack the dwellings of the greatest in the colonies. Old General Van Rensselaer at one time very narrow ly escaped captivity, and actually lost a great part of his valuable family plate. After his first cap ture and trial by the Americans, Bettys scrupled not at bloodshed, and became even more sangui nary than before. " But it pleased God," (in the words of an old manuscript,) "to put an end to his bloody career, and bring him at length to final condemnation and death." I have before me the original account of his capture and subsequent treatment, drawn up by one of his captors, and as it is a narrative full of simplicity, and at the same time gives a concise history of the fortunate individuals, who have nevertheless received no credit from their coun try for their bold and daring feat, I cannot forbear to give it in substance. It constitutes the affida vit on which an application was sometime since made for a pension to be given to the old vete ran, and is as follows : — " State of New York, ) Saratoga County, ss. I I, Jacob Fulmer, aged sixty-eight years, a native of the town of Rhine- beck, in the county of Dutchess, and state of New York aforesaid, do make oath as follows : — 213 . " My father, John Fulmer, moved to Clifton Park, in the town of Halfmoon, and then county of Ajbany, in about the year 1773, and purchased a farm of one hundred and thirty acres about one mile from the foot of Ballston or Long Lake, on which he resided with his family. I was then about fifteen years of age. " In the winter of 1781-2, my father had a sap- bush about one mile south from where we resided, which I usually tended during the season for man ufacturing maple-sugar. My father being an old man, and not able to do hard labor, would some times, with the assistance of my sisters, tend the kettles at the bush, while I performed the neces sary, work at the house. " One day early in the month of March, I was engaged on the farm in conveying some stalks frorri a stack in the field to the barn, while my father with my two young sisters were at the bush. It was early in the forenoon, and after I had unloaded- the stalks and turned out the horses, I entered the house, where I was met by my sis ters, who came running in the greatest haste, and informed me that my father requested me to come to the bush immediately, as a man, armed, with a pack on his back, and snowshoes under his arm, had passed by the hush ; who, said they, " father says, is an enemy." I went immediately to John Cory, a near neighbor, whom I knew to be a whig, a true fellow, and a good man for our country, and requested him to go with me in pursuit of the supposed tory. With him were James Cory, his brother, and Francis Perkins, all good, true-heart ed fellows. Having told them what my sisters had said, they all agreed to go with me in pursuit of him, and we started immediately, running like hounds for the sap-bush. When we reached it, my father showed us the track of the man in the snow, which had fallen two or three inches the night before, and rendered his footsteps distinctly visible. The morning had been foggy, and it ap peared by the track that the man had made a circuitous route, as if lost or bewildered. After making several turns, we came at length in sight of a Jog house, where one Hawkins, a noted tory, 'lived, toward which it appeared he had laid a regular line. We followed the track and found that it went into the house. We approached un discovered, for the snow was soft and our foot steps were not heard. We went up to the door and found it was fastened, but heard people talk ing within. " John Cory, who was the strongest of the par ty, now went forward, we following closely be hind, and burst open the door. The man, who was the object of our suspicions and search, sat at the table eating his breakfast, with the muzzle of his gun leaning upon his shoulder, and the breech upon the floor between his legs. He grasped his musket and presented it to fire at us, but was hin dered for a moment to remove the deer-skin cov- erino-from the lock, and that moment cost his life. We Seized him, took possession of his- gun and also two pistols, which he had in his coat pock ets, and a common jackknife. We then bound his arms behind him with a pocket handker chief, and conveyed him to my father's house. As yet we' knew not the name of our prisoner, but having asked him, he said, 'My name is Smith.' "My .mother knew him, and said, ' It is Joe Bettys.' He hung his head, and said, 'No, my name is Smith.' My sister Polly then came to the door and said ' This is Joe Bettys. — I know him well.' She had known him before he went to Canada, as he had boarded at Lawrence Van Eps, in Schenectady Patent, while she lived in the same house. '' We then conveyed him to John Cory's house, about a quarter of a mile distant, where we pin ioned him more firmly. He sat down in a chair by the fire, and asked permission to smoke, which was granted, and he then took out his tobacco- box, and seemed to be engaged in filling his pipe, but, as he s-tooped down, under pretence of light ing it, he threw something toward the fire, which bounded from the forestick and fell upon the hearth. He then seized it and threw it into the fire before any one could prevent. John Cory then snatched it from the fire with a handful of live coals. It was not injured. It was a piece of lead about three inches long and one and a quarter inches wide, pressed together, and con tained within it a small piece of paper on which were twenty-six figures, which none of our com pany could understand. It also contained an or der drawn on the mayor of the city of New York for thirty pounds sterling, payable on the delivery of the sheet-lead and paper enclosed. Bettys showed much uneasiness at the loss of the lead, and offered us one hundred guineas to allow him to burn the paper. This we refused, for, though we did not understand the figures, we well knew the character of Joe Bettys, as I had heard that he had killed two men at Skenesborough, now Whitehall, for fear of being betrayed in regard to the burning and plundering of a house in Caugh- nawaga, and that he was generally known as a spy. I knew, and my companions also knew, that he was the same Joe Bettys, who, with one Wal ter Myers, had stolen into our neighborhood and carried off the whigs into Canada, and that many of them were then in Canada suffering most cruel treatment. He had, at one time, attempted to capture both my brother and myself, but we suc ceeded in eluding his grasp. " When Bettys found that the paper would neither be destroyed nor returned to him, he said ' It will take my life.' While we remained at Co ry's with our prisoner, a number of our tory neighbors came in to see him, and we, deeming it unsafe to let them know the precise route which we should take in conveying him to Albany, for fear that they would attempt a rescue, told them that we should go by the way of Schenectady. "About three o'clock in the same afternoon we started with our prisoner for Albany. We were all armed and prepared for a surprise. I tied his arms behind him, and also another rope into that rope as it crossed his hack, by which I led him on, and my three companions followed closely behind. We travelled eastward, leaving our in quisitive tory neighbors to guess our route, and arrived at the borough on Hudson river before dark. Here we found ourselves safe among friends, who were rejoiced that the noted Bettys was ta 214 ken, and gave us every necessary supply during our stay. About thirty good fellows stayed with us to guard the prisoner during the night. In the morning, after breakfast, we moved on in the or der of the preceding day, passed down the west side of the Hudson seven or eight miles to Lan sing's ferry, then crossed to the east side and passed down to Troy, and from thence crossed again to the west side and hurried on to Albany, for fear that night and the tories should overtake us. But fortunately our friends at Albany had heard of the capture of Joe Bettys and of our at tempt to convey him there, and a company of officers and other gentlemen, mounted and well armed with swords and carbines, met us about two or three miles from the city. They divided into four ranks ; one stationed in front, one in the rear, and one on each side of the prisoner. I still continued to lead him with the rope, and in this manner we entered the city, and were con ducted into the house of an officer. The doors being closed, the prisoner, myself, and compan ions were examined by the officers. The paper taken from him at Cory's was also examined, and the figures explained by one of the officers, hut I do not recollect the explanation. "After the examination they ordered us to convey him to the jail, which we did in the same manner that we came from the Flatt after the company met us. The streets were crowded with spectators anxious to see the noted Bettys, but they were kept out by the guards, and not allow ed to come within the ring. Bettys appeared much mortified, and said to me: 'The people gather as though King George was passing through the streets.' I replied : ' They are glad to see you.' We delivered him to the keeper of the prison, and the same day set out for home. "About fourteen days after this, we were all or dered to appear at a court then sitting in the city of Albany, to give evidence against the said Jo seph Bettys, he being then and there tried on the charge of being a British spy. He was found guilty, sentenced to be hung, and was according ly executed about the first of April following. "JACOB x FULMER. mark. ' Sworn and subscribed to, the third of Februa ry, 1827. " Thomas Palmer, "Justice of the Peace, in and for the county of Saratoga." Thus lived and died the celebrated Joe Bettys. A parallel might be drawn between the circum stances of this capture and that of the ill-fated Andre. But the two names ought not to be men tioned in the same breath. Andre was taken un armed and unresistingly. A little child might almost have led him. But Bettys was a despe rado, well armed, and resisted as far as he was able. Yet the captors of the former have been lauded with praises and the honors of their coun try, while those of the latter have gone down to their graves unnoticed and unhonored. The names of Fulmer, Cory, and Perkins, are full as musical as those of Paulding, Williams and Van Wart. The moral is, that "Republics are some times ungrateful.' STANZAS. The author of the following lines is the R^-v. M „ u.« A a native of Plymouth. New Hampshire, and a gu&itA tt Dartmouth college. They were written in his sixteenth year, There was a lyre, 't is said, that hung High waving in the summer air ; An angel hand its chords had strung, And left to breathe in music there. Each wandering breeze that o'er it flew Awoke a wilder, sweeter strain, Than ever shell of mermaid blew In coral grottoes of the main. When, springing from the rose's bell, Where all night long he 'd sweetly slept, The zephyr left the flowery dell, Bright with the tears that morning wept ; He rose, and o'er the trembling lyre Waved lightly his soft azure wing ; What touch such music could inspire ! What harp such lays of joy could sing ' The murmurs of the shaded rills, The birds that sweetly warbled by And the soft echo from the hills, Were heard not where that harp was nigh. When the last light of fading day Along the bosom of the west, In colors softly mingled lay, While night had darkened ail the rest, There, softer than that fading light, And sweeter than the lay that rung Wild through tho silence of the night, As solemn Philomela sung, That harp its plaintive "murmurs sighed, Along the dewy breeze of even ; So clear and soft they swelled and died, They seemed the echoed songs of Heaven. Sometimes, when all the air was still, And not the poplar's foliage trembled, That harp was nightly heard to thrill, With tones, no earthly tones resembled. And then upon the moon's pale beams Unearthly forms were seen to stray, Whose starry pinions' trembling gleams Would oft around the wild harp play. But soon the bloom of summer fled — In earth and air it shone no more ; Each flower and leaf fell pale and dead, While skies their wintry sternness wore. One day, loud blew the northern blast — The tempest's fury raged along — Oh ! for some angel, as they passed, To shield the harp of heavenly song ! It shrieked ! — how could it bear the touch, . The cold, rude touch of such a storm, When e'en the zephyr seemed too much Sometimes, though always light and warm. It loudly shrieked, but ah ! in vain — The savage wind more fiercely blew ; Once more — it never shrieked again, For every chord was torn in two. It never thrilled with anguish more. Though beaten by the wildest blast ; The pang that thus its bosom tore, Was dreadful — but it was the last. And though the smiles of summer played Gently upon its shattered form, And the light zephyrs o'er it strayed, That lyre they could not wake or warm. 215 From the Christian Keepsake, for 1840. THE SOLITARY GRAVE— A SCENE ON THE OHIO BY REV. J. TODD. Beneath yon tree where rolls the flood- Ohio's gentle .wave — There stands the stone, still marked by blood, And there, the stranger's grave. * * * It now rained in torrents, and I took shel ter under the branches of a huge hemlock which stood near the river. Seated upon a decaying log, I was in a fair way to rest, and even to sleep, for not a drop of rain could penetrate the covering of the giaflt tree whose arms were spread over me. Just then the hunter's dog came bounding towards me, with cheer ful look and wag of the tail which seemed to say, 'you are just what I was looking for.' He opened his deep mouth, and a single bay brought his master to my side. His hard, weather-beaten,, yet kind countenance lighted up, as he gave me his sinewy hand ; but the smile and the light passed away in a moment, as the heat lightning of summer will flash across the face of the cloud and be gone in an instant. I had never seen him so moody hefore, and for along time sat silently watching him, to see if the clouds which I saw, were those which precede or those which follow the storm. In a short time the paddles and the machinery of a steamboat were heard, and in a few moments more she was in sight— a vast floating ark moving with amazing rapidity and grandeur. The shower had driven the passengers under cover, and though she was crowded with human beings, yet scarcely one was to be seen. I gazed upon it as I would upon a moving thing in a beautiful diorama — they were all strangers to me. It is astonishing to notice how dif ferently we look at a moving steamboat full of entire strangers, from what we do if we know it contains one being whom we know and love ! The boat moved on, as heedless, of the hunter, his dog and my self, as we could possibly be of her. We had not spoken a word since she came in sight; but just as she rounded a point above and was going out of sight, the old man broke out — ' Ay, ay, she can double the point safely enough now, and go puffing on as proudly as a boy with a new rifle, but I have seen the day when she would not dare to go so near that point, or if she did she. would be glad to be off at any rate. She's a grand creature though, and goes like a hound.' ' What are you thinking of, friend Rogers. What day are you thinking of, when that point was so dan gerous 1 — The trees and the banks look to me as if there had been no great alteration here since your day.' ' No, no, the banks and, the trees stand just as they did. I said nothing about them ; but you yankees are alwa}-s for skinning the bear before you have caught him, and this you call drawing inferences' ' Well, well, I own I was on the wrong scent for this once ; but do tell me the story, for I cannot but draw the inference that you have some story con nected with that bend of the river.' At once the face of the old man became sad and melancholy. He was silent again, and I began to repent that I had pressed him. He leaned on his well-tried rifle, and I thought I could see his keen eye moisten. ' Did you notice that I felt bad when I came and found you here V ' Yes, I noticed that you were ,silent, but I did not know it was because you found me here, trying to keep me dry under this hemlock.' ' On the wrong scent again ! But, look this way. Do you see that grave down in that little hollow with a stone at is head V ' I do indeed, and wonder I had not seen it be fore.' ' It's easy to see things when they are shown to us. I have pointed out many a deer to a young hun ter when he was just going to see it, and wondered why he had not. But that grave, and that point, and my story are all connected. The story however is short, and now that we are here, I must think it all over again, and I may as well think aloud and let you hear it. 'It was many, many years ago, long before such a thing as a steamboat was heard of, or even dreamed of, that the event happened. I was young then, strong, and full of life and hope ; no one seeing me then, would have thought that I should ever become this withered old man.' ' As straight as a rifle, and as strong as a buffalo, and with an eye and an ear as keen as an eagle's,' said I. ' Yes, I can split a ball on the point of a knife at two hundred yards, but this will not be long. My hand sometimes trembles. But don't you talk if you want my story.' ' Go on, and 1 will not interrupt you again.' 'Well, it is now nearly forty years since I first saw the glorious Ohio. I shouted when I first saw it ; I have loved it ever since, and when I die, I hope I shall be buried on its banks. On a certain day I engaged to go down the river to Kentucky, with captain Ward, as he was removing his family from the east. The journey was long, and at best would be tedious. I went as a kind of pilot, for I was well acquainted with the river, and all points of danger. The coun try was full of Indians, and no settlements of any note had been made in Ohio. The whites and the Indians too, were continually making war upon each other. I do not know who was the most to blame. The whites killed the most, and the Indians were most cruel. We purchased an old, crazy, square- built boat, between forty and fifty feet long, and about eight or ten wide. We contrived to spike on a sin gle pine plank on each gunnel, and this was the only thing we had to defend us. We had a heavy load, furniture, baggage, horses, pigs, fowls and ploughs, besides nearly a dozen people. These consisted of the captain, his wife, and their young children, a widowed sister and son, besides several men to man age the boat. When we left, we were fearful lest the Indians should attack us from the shore, but we knew that by keeping in the middle of the river, we should be beyond the reach of their rifles, or could be in a few moments. Thus we passed on for seve ral days, till we supposed we were beyond the haunts of the Indians. One day, just at sunset, after we had become tired with rowing, we let our boat drift lazily and carelessly along the current. We were just getting ready to put up for the night. The mother was promising the children a good run on the shore. The widow was getting out the provisions, and making arrangements for our supper. The cap 216 tain and his nephew had hold of the oars, and moved them only just enough to allow me to steer the boat.' ' Rogers,' said the captain, ' suppose we put in this side of that point, and tie our boat to one of those big trees, and there encamp for the night.' ' It's a right good place, captain, and I like it. Be- ^ sides, I thought a few moments ago, I heard wild * turkeys over the hill, and I should like to have one for supper.' ' So we put in towards the shore, and had got with in about fifty yards of that point around which the steamboat has just passed, when I heard a stick crack as if broken by the foot. 'A deer,' said the captain. ' No, no,' I shouted, ' row, row for life, or we are all dead.' 'At that instant, down rushed scores of Indians to the shore, with a shout that made the hills across the river echo it back again. The murderous creatures rushed down to the water's edge, and presented their guns, and opened a heavy fire upon us. In an instant the young man snatched his rifle, and rising up his full length, fired at the nearest Indian, who had a shag gy head-dress. The Indian fell, and so did the young man at the same instant. As he fell, his oar dropped overboard, and the rowing of the captain brought the boat round and still nearer. The Indians yelled, the women screamed, the horses were falling and plung ing, and bullets were flying thick around us. Yet above it all, the voice of captain Ward rose cool — ' Rogers, take my oar.' ' I took it, and he at the same instant, seized a piece of plank, and rowed to such purpose, that in a few minutes we were beyond the reach of their rifles. We knew they had no canoes, being on a hunting excursion, and that we were then safe. But oh ! what a sight ! the horses were all dead or dying, one child badly wounded, the boat half filled with water, and the young man in his blood in the bottom of the boat. By this time the coolness of the captain was all gone. He lay down by the side of his nephew, whom he loved as his own son, and exclaimed, ' O John, John ! O Lord, have mercy, have mercy ! I have brought the dear boy to this death !' But the widowed mother ! She was pale as a sheet ; but she came to her son, raised his head in her lap, and open ed his bosom where the blood was coming still. He was yet alive. ' John,' said she in a sweet voice, as if speaking to a babe, ' John, do you know me ?' ' My mother,' said he, in a whisper. ' Can you swallow, John V said she, putting her hand over and dipping up some water from the river. ' He tried, but could not. 'My son, do you know you are dying?' 'Yes, mother; but are you hurt.' ' No, no ; but don't think of me now. Can you pray with the heart now, my dear son ?' ' He looked up a moment, and gasping said, ' God be merciful to me a sinner for the sake of ' • Jesus Christ,' said the mother, for he was gone. She bent over him a few moments as if in silent prayer, then kissed his lips, and for the first time, tears filled her eyes. Till that moment you would have thought she had been talking to a child just going to sleep — her voice was so calm and so mild. She was a widow, and this was her only child, and a noble fel low he was. But she was a religious woman. 1 never saw religion like that before nor since. It was all — ' God has done it, and He cannot do wrong.' ' We lay off in the river till dark, and then silently came to the shore on this side for the night. We dared not to light a candle, lest the Indians should see it. We milked our only cow, and fed the chil dren, and got them asleep. We then brought the body of the young man up the bank, and when the moon rose up, we dug that grave which you see yon der. We had to be careful not to make a noise, nor even to weep aloud. But after we had opened the grave and were ready to put the corpse in it, the wid owed mother spoke. ' Is there no one here that can offer a prayer as we bury my only child? — There was no answer. We could all sob, but we had never prayed for ourselves. She then knelt down, the widow, and laying her hand on the bosom of her boy, she, in a subdued voice, uttered such a prayer as few ever made ! She was calm as the bright waters at our feet. And when she came to pray for the whole of us — for the poor Indians who had murdered her boy — when she gave thanks to God, that he had so long comforted her heart with her son, and when she gave thanks that God had given her such a son to give back to him — it was awful I — we could not sob aloud ! You preach ers, talk about sublimity, but if this was not it, I do not know what it is. Well, there we buried him, and there he sleeps yet. In the morning I got up at daylight, and came up here to place that stone at the head of the grave. It was bloody, for his head had rested upon it. I found the mother was here before me — perhaps she had been here all night. She was trying to do the very thing ; and so, without saying a single word, I took hold and helped her to put the stone at the head of the grave. It is now nearly sunk in the ground ; but it stands just as we placed it. When we had done, the widow turned and said ' Rogers,' but tears came, and I was thanked enough. I have sat on this log many times, and thought over the whole scene ; and though the mother has been in the grave many years, yet I can see her even now, just as she looked when she turned to thank me, and I can hear her voice just as it sounded when she spoke to her dying boy. I have never seen such religion since.' ' Well, Rogers, though you have never seen such religion since, because you have never seen such a call upon a Christian since, may I not hope you have felt something like it V ' I am an old sinner, and have a hard heart,' and the tears ran down his cheeks. We conversed a long time, and it was good to do so. As we rose up and cast a last look upon the grave and upon the spot where the Indians fired, I said — ' Rogers, would you like a picture of this story?' ' I have it, sir, on my heart, and need no other ; and yet, perhaps my children might understand it better if they had one. But the story don't need a pic ture.' ' Nq, nor would the picture need the story.' The sphere in which every one lives contains the circle of his duties ; he may easily know them. 217 REVOLUTIONARY ANECDOTES. BARON STEUBEN. " In the society of ladies, the baron appeared to he very happy ; engaged in their amusements, and added by his .wit and pleasantry to the delights of the evening. His sternness and stentorian voice was on ly seen and- heard in the field. ' Oh !' said an old man, who had been a captain in the war, and then kept a publick house, near Utica ; ' oh ! baron, how glad I am to, see you in my house, but I used to be dread fully afraid of you!' — 'How so, captain?" — 'You halloed, and swore, and looked so dreadfully at me, once when my platoon was out of its place, that I almost melted into water !' — ¦' Oh, fie done, fie, cap tain ;' — 'It was bad, to be sure,' said the old man, 'but you did- hallo tremendously!' It is true, he was rough as the ocean in a storm, when great faults in discipline were committed ; but if in the whirlwind of his passion, he had injured any one, the redress was ample. " I recollect at a review at Morristown, a Lieuten ant Gibbons, a brave and good officer, was arrested on the spot, and ordered in the rear, for a fault which it appeared another had committed. At a proper moment, the commander of the regiment came for ward, and informed the baron of Mr. Gibbons's inno cence, and worth, and of his acute feelings under this unmerited disgrace. ' Desire Lieutenant Gib bons,' said the baron, ' to come in front of the troops.' ' Sir,' said heto him, ' the fault which was commit ted by throwing the line into confusion, might in the presence of an enemy, have been fatal ; and I arrest ed you. Your colonel has informed me, that you are in this instance blameless. I ask your pardon ; return to your command, I would not do injustice to any one, much less, to one whose character is so re spectable.' All this was said with his hat off, and the rain pouring on his reverend head ! Was there an officer who saw this, unmoved with feelings of respect and affection ? Not one, who had the feelings of a soldier. '' The baron, though never perfectly master of our language, made very few mistakes in speaking, ex cept designedly, for pleasantry or for wit. I remem ber, that dining at headquarters at New Windsor, New York, Mrs. Washington asked him what amuse ments he had, now that peace was certain, and the business of his profession less pressing. ' I read and play chess, my lady,' said the baron, ' and yes terday I was invited to go a-jishing. It was under stood to be a very fine amusement. I believe I sat in tfie boat two hours ; it was very warm but I caught two fish.' — ' Of what kind, baron V ' Indeed, my la dy, I do not recollect perfectly, but one of them was a whale.' ' A whale ! baron, in the North river !' ' Yes, upon my word, a very fine whale, as that gen tleman informed me ; did you not tell me ? was it Unot a whale, major ?' ' An eel, baron.' ' I beg your pardon, my lady; I am very much mistaken if that gentleman did not call it a whale, but it is of little consequence, I shall abandon the tra Je notwithstand ing the fine amusement it affords.' " On another occasion, in the house of the respect able Mrs. Livingston, mother of the late chancellor, where virtue and talents, and modest manners al ways met welcome, the baron was introduced to a Miss Sheaffe, an amiable and interesting young lady, sister of the present British General Sheaffe. ' 1 am very happy,' said he, 'in the honour of meeting you, mademoiselle, at whatever risk, though I have from my youth, been cautioned to guard myself against mis-chief; but I never before thought her attractions were so powerful.'* " The adroitness, and above all the silence, with which manceuvres were performed, in the command of the baron, was remarked with astonishment by the officers of the FreTtich army. The Marquis la Val de Montmorency, a brigadier-general, said to the bar on, ' I admire the celerity and exactitude with which your men perform ; but what I cannot conceive, is the profound silence with which they manoeuvre !" ' I don't know, Mons. le Marquis, from whence the noise should come,' answered the baron, ' when even my brigadiers dare not open the mouth, but to repeat the order !' ' Ah ! hah ! Mons. le Baron,' vocifera ted the Marquis, for he was perhaps the noisiest man in the French Army ; 'je vous comprend ! je vous comprend !' " The baron, after the defeat of Gates in Carolina, was engaged in raising a regiment in Virginia ; men sufficient to form a regiment had with difficulty been collected ; the corps was paraded, and on the point of marching to Carolina. A good looking man on horseback, with his servant as it appeared, also well mounted, rode up, andintroducing himself to the baron, informed him he had brought a recruit. ' I thank you, sir,' said the baron, ' with all my heart, he has arrived in a happy moment. Where is he, colonel V for the man was a colonel in the militia. 'Here, sir,' ordering his boy to dismount. The baron's counte nance altered ; a sergeant was ordered to measure the lad, whose shoes when off, discovered something by which his height had been increased. The baron patted the child's head, with a hand trembling with rage, and asked him how old he was ? He was very young, quite a child ; ' Sir,' said the baron, turning to him who brought him, ' you think me a rascal !' ' Oh, no baron, I don't'. ' Then, sir, I think you are one, an infamous scoundrel, thus to attempt to cheat your country! Take off this fellow's spurs, place him in the ranks, and tell General Green from me, Col onel Gaskins, that I have sent him a man able to serve, instead of an infant, whom he would have basely made his substitute. Go, my boy, carry the colonel's horses and spurs to his wife ; make my re spects to her, and tell her that her husband has gone to fight, as an honest citizen should, for the liberty of his country. By platoons ! to the right wheel ! for ward march !' " * The beauty of this pun, it will be perceived, consisted very much in the baron's having imparted to it the foreign accent, making Miss Sheafie and mischief similar in sound. 218 REVOLUTIONARY ANECDOTES. MRS. CHARLES ELLIOT. There was in the_ legion of Pulaski, a young French officer of singular fine form and appearance, named Celeron. As he passed the dwelling of Mrs. Charles Elliot, a British rriajor, whose name is lost, significantly pointing him out, said, " See, Mrs. Elliot, one of your illustrious allies — what a pity it is, that the hero has lost his sword." "Had two thousand such men," replied the lady, " been present to aid in the defence of our city, Charlestown, think you, sir, that I should ever have been subject to the malignity of your observation 1" At the moment, a negro, trigged out in full British uniform, happened to pass : " See, major," continued she, " one of your allies ; — bow with gratitude for the service received from such honourable associ ates — caress and cherish them — the fraternity is excellent." MRS. RICHARD SHUBRICK. An American soldier, flying from a party of the enemy, sought Mrs.. Richard Shubrick's protection, and was promised it. The British, pressing close upon him, insisted that he should be delivered up, threatening immediate and universal destruction in case of refusal The ladies, her companions, who were in the house with her, shrunk from the con test and were silent ; but, undaunted by their threats, this intrepid lady placed herself before the chamber into which the unfortunate fugitive had been con ducted, and resolutely said : "To men of honour, the chamber of a lady should be as sacred as the sanc tuary ! I will defend the passage to it, though I perish. You may succeed and enter it, but it shall be over my corpse." " By God !" said the officer, " if muskets were pla ced in the hands of a few such women, our only safety would be found in retreat ; your intrepidity, madam, gives you security ; from me you shall meet with no further annoyance." MRS. JACOB MOTTE. When compelled by painful duty, Lieutenant- Colonel Lee informed Mrs. Jacob Motte, that in or der to accomplish the immediate surrender of the British garrison, occupying her elegant mansion, its destruction was indispensable, she instantly replied, " The sacrifice of my property is nothing, and I shall view its destruction with delight if it shall in any degree contribute to the good of my country." In proof of her sincerity, she immediately presented the arrows by which combustible matter was to be conveyed to the building. MRS. WRIGHT. At the commencement of the Revolution, Mrs. Wright, a native of Pennsylvania, a distinguished modeller of likenesses and figures of wax, was ex hibiting specimens of her skill in London. The king of Great Britain, pleased with her talents, gave her liberal encouragement, and, finding her a great politician, and an enthusiastick republican, would often enter into discussion relative to passing occur rences, and endeavoured to refute her opinion with regard to the probable issue of the war. The frank ness with which she delivered her sentiments, seem ed rather to please than to offend him ; which was- a fortunate circumstance, for, when he asked an opinion, she gave it without constraint, or the least regard to consequences. I remember to have heard her say, that on one occasion, the monarch, irritated by some disaster to his troops, where he had prog nosticated a triumph, exclaimed with warmth : " I wish, Mrs. Wright, you would tell me how it will be possible to check the silly infatuation of your countrymen, restore them to reason,and render them good and obedient subjects." — " I consider their submission to your majesty's government is now al together out of the question," replied Mrs. Wright: "friends you may make them, but. never subjects; for America, before a king can reign there, must become a wilderness, without any other inhabitants than the beasts of the forest. The opponents of the decrees of your parliament, rather than submit, would perish to a man; but if the restoration of peace be seriously the object of your wishes, 1 am confi dent that it needs but the striking off of THREE HEADS to produce it."—" 0, Lord North's, and Lord George Germaine's, beyond all question ; and where is the third head ?" " 0, sire, politeness for bids me to name HIM. Your majesty could never wish me to forget myself, and be guilty of an inci vility." In her exhibition room, one group of figures par ticularly attracted attention ; and by all who knew her sentiments, was believed to be a pointed hint at the results which might follow the wild ambition of the monarch. The busts of the king and queen of Great Britain, were placed on a table, apparently intently gazing on a head, which a figure, an excel lent representation of herself, was modelling in its lap. It was the head of the unfortunate Charles the First. BARON STEUBEN. When General Arnold apostatized and attached himself to the British standard, Baron Steuben, the inspector-general of the army, to shew his perfect abhorrence of the traitor, commanded that every sol dier who bore the name, should change it, or be immediately dismissed the service. Some days after, finding a soldier of Connecticut, who had paid no attention to the mandate, he insisted that he should be instantaneously expelled from the rank. t " I am no traitor, my worthy general," said the soldier, " and will willingly renounce a name that the perfidy of a scoundrel has for ever tarnished, if allowed to assume one which is dear to every Amer ican soldier. Let me bo Steuben, and be assured that I will never disgrace you." — "Willingly, my worthy fellow," replied the baron. , ." Be henceforth Steuben, and add to the glory of a name that hath already acquired lustre, by the partial adoption of a brave man." The soldier, at the conclusion of the war, kept a tavern in New England, exhibiting a representation of his patron as a sign, and, as lon^ as the baron lived, received a pension from him as a reward for his partial attachment. 219 REVOLUTIONARY ANECDOTES. MRS. CHARLES ELLIOT. A British officer, distinguished by his inhuman ity and constant oppression of the unfortunate, meet ing Mrs. Charles Elliot in a garden adorned with a great variety of flowers, asked the name of the Cam omile, which appeared tb flourish with peculiar lux uriance. " The Rebel Flower," she replied. " Why was that name given to it?" inquired the officer. " Because," rejoined the lady, " it thrives most when most trampled upon." MRS. DANIEL HALL. Mrs. Daniel Hall having obtained permission to ..pay a visit to her mother on John's Island, was on the point of embarking, when an officer stepping forward in the most authoritative manner, demanded the key of her trunk. " What do you expect to find there ?" asked the lady. " I seek for treason," was the reply. " You may then- save yourself the trouble of search," said Mrs. Hall. " You may find plenty of it at my tongue's end." MRS. THOMAS HEYWARD. Mrs. Thomas Heyward, in two instances, with the utmost firmness, refused to illuminate for British victories. An officer forcedhis way into her pres ence,, and sternly demanded of Mrs. Heyward, " How dare you disobey the order which has been issued; why, madam, is not your house illumina ted?"- — " Is it possible for me, sir," replied the lady, with perfect calmness, " to feel a spark of joy ? Can I celebrate the victory of your army, while my husband remains a prisoner at St. Augustine?" — "That," rejoined the officer, " is of but little conse quence ; the last hopes of rebellion are crushed by the defeat of Green at Guildford. You shall illu minate." — " Not a single light," replied the lady, " shall be placed with my consent, on such an occa sion,.^ any window of my house." — " Then, mad am,' I will return with a party, and, before mid night, level it with the ground." — "You have power to destroy, sir, and seem well disposed to use it; but over my opinions you possess no control : I disregard your menaces, and resolutely declare — I will not illuminate !" MRS. M'COY. A remarkable scene is related by Dr. Ramsay to have occurred on the occasion of Fort Augusta, commanded by Colonel Browne, being taken, which well deserves to be recorded. Passing through the settlement where the most wanton waste had re cently been made by the British, both of lives and property, a Mrs. M'Koy having obtained per mission to speak to Colonel Browne, addressed him in words to the following effect : " Colonel Browne — in the late day of your prosperity, I visited your camp, and on my knees supplicated for the life of my son ; but you were deaf to my entreaties. You hanged him, though a beardless youth, before my face ! These eyes have seen him scalped by the savages under your immediate command, and for no better reason than that his name was M'Koy. As you are a prisoner to the leaders of my country, for the present I lay aside all thoughts of revenge ; but when you resume your sword, I will go five hun dred miles to demand satisfaction at the point of it for the murder of my son." MRS. CHANNING. Shortly after the commencement of the war, the family of Dr. Channing, then residing in Eng-^ land, removed to France, and sailed in a stout and well-armed vessel for America. They had pro ceeded but a little way when they were attacked by a privateer. A fierce engagement ensued, during which Mrs. Channing kept the deck, handing' car tridges, aiding the wounded, and exhorting the crew to resist until death. Their fortitude, however, did not correspond with the ardour of her wishes, and the colours were struck. Seizing the pistols and side-arms of her husband, she threw them into the sea, declaring that she would rather die than see him surrender them to an enemy. MRS. WILEY JONES. The haughty Tarleton, vaunting his feats of gal lantry, to the great disparagement of the officers of the continental cavalry, said to a lady at Wilming ton — " I have a very earnest desire to see your far- famed hero, Colonel Washington." — " Your wish, colonel, might have been fully gratified," she prompt ly replied, " had you ventured to look behind you, after the battle of the Cowpens." It was in that battle that Washington had wound ed Tarleton, which gave rise to a still more pointed retort. Conversing with Mrs. Wiley Jones, Colonel Tarleton observed : " You appear to think very highly of Colonel Washington ; and yet I have been told that he is so ignorant a fellow, that he can hardly write his own name." — " It may be the case," she readily replied, " but no man better than yourself, colonel, can testify, that he knows how to make his mark." MRS. PINKNEY. Pre-eminent in malignity stood the Engineer Moncrief. The instances of oppression issuing from his implacable resentment would fill a volume. I shall confine myself to one anecdote. Mrs. Pinkney, mother of C. C. Pinkney, solicited as a favour that he would not suffer certain oak trees of remarkable beauty on a farm which he oc cupied, to be destroyed, as they were highly valued by her son, having been planted by his father's hand. " And where is your son, madam ?" — " At Haddrels, sir, a prisoner." — •" And he wishes me, madam, to have these trees preserved ?" — " Yes, sir, if possible." — " Then tell him, madam, that they will make excellent firewood, and he may depend upon it they shall 'be burnt."1 Colonel Moncrief was no jester. The promptitude of his actions left no room for suspense. An opportunity was offered to injure and to insult, and he embraced it. Tha trees were burnt. 220 REVOLUTIONARY ANECDOTES. GENERAL PUTMAN. During the revolutionary war, when General Putman was in command of an important fortress in the Highlands of the Hudson river, his force had been so much weakened by the expiration of limited enlistments, and the withdrawal of troops for the protection of other important passes, that the enemy ventured to besiege his fort. The siege was extend ed beyond the patience of a veteran, whose feelings were more in favour of field fights, than of artificial manc3uvres. He was still more annoyed by a ban dylegged drummer, who approached an angle of the fort every morning, to beat an insulting reveille. After having chafed under the insult, like a caged lion, he procured one of the Dutch ducking-guns, of caliber and length sufficient to reach the drummer, and punish his audacity. He stationed himself with this weapon at the parapet, and soon saw his insult ing victim approaching. He had scarcely struck the first note of defiance, when drum and drummer rolled in the dust. — -" There," exclaimed the satis fied general, "go to **** with your sheep-skin fiddle !" LIEUTENANT MOORE. A few days previous to the evacuation of Charles" ton, a very rash expedition, suggested by General Kosciusko, occasioned the loss of Captain Wilmot and Lieutenant Moore, two of the most distinguished partisans in the service. The object was to sur prise a party of wood-cutters from Fort Johnstone, working in view of the garrison of Charleston. The party found their enemy prepared, and received so deadly a fire, that Wilmot and several of his men fell lifeless, while Moore and many others remained on the field covered with wounds. Kosciusko, al though a spontoon was shattered in his hand, and his coat pierced with four balls, escaped unhurt. A British dragoon was in the act of cutting him down, when he was killed by Mr. William Fuller, a very young and gallant volunteer, who had joined the expedition. This was the last blood shed in the revolutionary contest. The British buried Wilmot with the hon ours of war ; and shewed the greatest attention to Moore, who was removed to Charleston, to receive the best surgical assistance. The amputation of the limb, in which he received his principal wound, be ing indispensible, it was performed within a few days after the evacuation by their own surgeons; but mortification rapidly following, he died greatly and universally lamented. When first brought into town, great pains were taken by the British surgeons to extract the ball, but without success. Mrs. Daniel Hall, in whose house he lodged, and who had watch ed over him unremittingly, being apprized of the business which brought the most distinguished sur geons together, entering the apartment of Moore, as soon as they had retired, said, "I am happy to find that you have not been subjected to so severe an operation as 1 had anticipated ; you appear to have experienced hit little agony. I was constant ly in the next room, and heard not a groan." — " My kind friend," he replied, " I felt not the less agony; but I would not have breathed a sigh in the pres ence of British officers, to have secured a long and fortunate existence." GENERAL JACKSON. General Jackson, at a very early period of his life, aspired to obtain celebrity. At the age of four teen he commenced his military career, and shared the glory of the wt,ll-fought action at Stono. Made a prisoner in his native settlement at the Wacsaws, shortly after the surrender of Charleston, his manly opposition to the orders of an unfeeling tyrant. who wished to impose on him the duties of a hireling, gave- superiour claims to applause. WoundS:were inflicted and increase .given to persecution, but with out affecting either the steadiness of his principles or the firmness of his resolution. He told his op pressor — " You may destroy, but can never bend me to a submission." The severity of this treatment arose from his re fusal to obey an officer who ordered him to clean his boots. The spirit of the youth, which ought, to have called forth applause, excited no sentiment but that of unbridled resentment. BRITISH ATROCITIES. When General Provost invaded Carolina, a con siderable British force occupied the house and plan tations of Mr. Robert Gibbes, on the Stono river. At the period of their arrival there, Mr. John Gibbes, a respectable gentleman, worn down by age and, in firmity, was on a visit to his brother. His usual • residence was on a farm called* the Grove, where the race-ground is now established. In addition tc numberless exoticks, he had a green-house and pi nery in the best condition. A Major Sheridan, arri ving from the army on the Neck, at Mr. Gibbes's was asked by an officer in the presence of the broth ers — " What news ? Shall we gain possession a, the city?" — "I fear not," replied Sheridan,* " but we have made glorious havock of the property in the vicinity. I yesterday witnessed the destruction of an elegant establishment, belonging to an arch-rebel who, luckily for himself, was absent. You would have been delighted to see how quickly the pineap ples were shared among our men, and how rapidly his trees and ornamental shrubs were levelled with the dust." „ Mr. John Gibbes, who was a man of strong pas sions, could hear no more, and, regardless of conse quences, with indignation exclaimed, " I hope that the Almighty will cause the arm of the scoundrel who struck the first blow, to wither to his shoulder.'' " How is this, sir ?" said Sheridan, " dare you use such language to me ?" — " Yes," said Mr. Gibbes " and- would repeat it at the altar !" — " The provo cation," said the commanding officer present, " suffi ciently justifies the anger of Mr. Gibbes ; for your own credit, Sheridan, let the matter drop." The catastrophe was dreadful. To banish thought, Mr. Gibbes, unhappily driven to an intemperance before unknown, retired to his bed, and rose no more. 221 ¦'"General Putnam. — Among the worthies who figured during the era of the American revolu tion, perhaps there was none possessing more origi nality of character than General Putnam, who was e.ccentrick and fearless, blunt in his manners, the daring soldier, without the .polish of the gentleman. He might well be» called the Marion of the north, though he disliked • disguise, probably from the fact of his lisping,' which was very apt to overthrow any trickery he might have in view. At the time a stronghold, called Horse-neck, some miles above New York, was in possession of the British, Putnam, with a few sturdy patriots, was lurking in . its vicinity, bent on driving -them from the place. Tired of lying in ambush, the men be came impatient, and importuned the general with questions, as tp when, they were going to have a 'bout with the foe. One morning, he made a speech something to the following effect, which convinced them that something was in the wind :—^" ,; " Fellers — You've been idle too long, and so have II — I'm going down tp Bush's at Horse-neck, in an hour, with an ox-team, and a load of- corn. If I come back, I will let you know the particulars ; if I should not, let them have it, by the hokey !'' He shortly afterward mounted his ox-cart, dress ed as one of the commonest order of yankee-farmers, and was soon at Bush's tavern, which was in pos session of the British troops. No sooner did the officers espy him, than they began to question him as to his whereabout, and finding him a complete simpleton, (as they thought,) they "began to quiz him, and threatened to seize his corn and fodder. " How much do you ask for your whole concern?" asked they. " For marcy sake, gentlemen," replied the mock clod -hopper, with the most deplorable look of en treaty, " only let me off, and you shall have my hull team and load for nothing; and if that wont dew, I'll give you my word, I'll return to-morrow, and pay you heartily for your kindness and condescension." " Well," said they, " we'll take you at'your word ; leave the team and provender with us, and we won't require any bail for your appearance." Putnam gave up the team, and sauntered about an hour or so, gaining all the information that he wish* ed: he then returned to his men, and told them of the foe and his plan of attack. The morning came, and with it sallied out the gallant band. The British were handled with rough hands, and when they surrendered to General Putnam, the clodhopper, he sarcastically remarked, " Gentlemen, I have only kept my word. I told you I would call and pay you for your kindness and condescension." RETORT COURTEOUS. The enmity of the contending armies during the siege of Charleston, was not confined to open hostil ity, but manifested itself in the indulgence of irony too pointed not to give increase to mutual animosity. Towards the conclusion of it, the British, believing that the fare of the garrison was both indifferent and scanty, a thirteen-inch shell was thrown from the lines, which passing immediately over the horn-work, manned from a detachment of the ancient battalion of artillery of Charleston, fell into a morass immedi ately in the rear, without exploding. An officer of the corps, who saw it lodge, approaching it after a little time, perceived a folded paper attached to it, directed " To the Yankee officers in Charleston ;" the contents of which expressed a wish, " that in their known state of starvation, they would accept from a compassionate enemy, a supply of the neces saries they so much delighted in." The shell was filled -with rice and molasses. To return the compliment, a shell was immediate ly filled with hog's lard and brimstone, and thrown into the British works, accompanied by a note, ex pressing thanks for the present received, and begging .that the articles returned by a considerate enemy might be appropriated to the use of the Scotch gen tlemen in the camp, to whom, as they were always of consequence, they might now prove peculiarly ac ceptable. It was understood after the siege, that the note was received, but not with that good humour that might have been expected, had it been consider ed as a jeu d'esprit, resulting from justifiable retalia tion. MAJOR EDWARDS. Major Evan Edwards was of the Baptist per suasion, and originally designed for the ministry, but. imbibing the military spirit of the times, entered the army and appeared at the commencement of the war as one of the defenders of Fort Washington. A brave and stubborn resistance could not save the post which fell into the hands of the enemy, and Ed wards became a prisoner. I have often heard him make a jest of the whimsical and fantastick figure which he exhibited on this occasion. " It was not to be wondered at," said he, "that starch in my person, emaciated as an anatomy, with a rueful countenance, rendered more ghastly by misfortune, my dress part ly military, but showing much of a clerical cut, the risibility of our conquerors should have been highly excited. " One of the leaders, however, of the successful assailants, anxious to excite a still higher degree of merriment, ordered me to ascend a cart, and as a genuine specimen of a rebel officer, directed that I should be paraded through the principal streets of New York. It was at the entrance of Canvass Town that I was much amused by the exclamation of a Scottish female follower of the camp, who call ed to a companion : ' Quick, quick, lassie, rin hith er a wee, and divarte yoursel : they've cotched a braw and bonnie rebel, 't will de ye gude to laugh at him.' Hooting and derision attended my whole ca reer, and at the conclusion of the farce I was com mitted to prison." A STANDING ARMY. In ihe battle before New Orleans in 1814, under Gen. Jackson, Col. Kemper of Gen. Coffee's brigade found himself almost surrounded by the enemy. Per- ceiving'his perilous situation, and that his only chance of escape was by stratagem, he exclaimed in an au dible voice to a group of the enemy, " What the devil are you doing there ? Where is your regiment ? Come along with me immediately !" and they all followed him into the American lines and were made prison ers. 222 AMERICAN REVOLUTION. The following is taken from the National Trades Union Journal, being an extract from Mr. Moore's Washington Monument speech. " In no instance, perhaps, was his influence with the army so strikingly exemplified, as in his attack on the enemy at Trenton. O'er and o'er have I lis tened with intense anxiety, in days of my boyhood, whilst my now departed sire, who fought and bled on that proud field, recited, with thrilling interest, all that related to the enterprise. ' It was a December's night, (would he say,) when our little heart broken army halted on the banks of the Delaware. That night was dark,— cheerless, — tempestuous, — and bore a strong resemblance to our country's fortunes ! It seemed as if Heaven and earth had conspired for our destruction. The clouds lowered — darkness and the storm came on apace. The snow and the hail de scended, beating with unmitigated violence upon the supperless, half-clad, shivering soldier — and in the roarings of the flood and the wailings of the storm, were heard, by fancy's ear, the knell of our hopes and the dirge of liberty ! The impetuous river was filled with floating ice ; an attempt to cross it at that time, and under such circumstances, seemed a des perate enterprise ; yet it was undertaken, and thanks to God and Washington, was accomplished. " ' From where we landed on the Jersey shore to Trenton, was about nine miles, and on the whole line of march there was scarcely a word uttered, save by the officers when giving some order. We were well nigh exhausted, said he, many of us frost bitten, and the majority of us so badly shod, that the blood gushed from our frozen and lacerated feet at every tread ; yet we upbraided riot, complained not, but marched steadily and firmly, though mournfully, onward, resolved to persevere to the utmost ; — npt for our country — our country alas ! we had given up for lost. Not for ourselves — life for us no longer wore a charm — but because such was the will of our beloved chief — 'twas for Washington alone we were willing to make the sacrifice. When we arrived within sight of the enemy's encampments, we were ordered to form a line, when Washington reviewed us. Pale and emaciated, dispirited and exhausted, we presented a most unwarlike and melancholy aspect. The paternal eye of our chief was quick to discover the extent of our sufferings, and acknow ledged them with tears ; but suddenly checking his emotions, he reminded us that our country and all that we held dear was staked upon the coming bat tle. As he spoke, we began to gather ourselves up, and rally our energies ; every man grasped his arms more firmly, and the clenched hand, the compressed lip, and the steadfast look, and the knit brow, told the soul's resolve. Washington observed us well ; then did he exhort us with all the fervour of his soul, " On yonder field to conquer ; or die the death of the brave." At that instant the glorious sun, as if in prophetic token of our success, burst forth in all his splendour, bathing in liquid light the blue hills of Jersey. The faces which but a few minutes be fore were blenched with despair, now glowed with martial fire and animation. Our chief, with exulta tion, hailed the scene ; then casting his doubts to the winds, and calling on the " God of battles," and his faithful soldiers, led on the charge. The conflict was fierce and bloody. For more than twenty minutes, not a gun was fired — the sabre and the bayonet did the work of destruction, 'twas a hurri cane of fire, and steel, and death. There did we stand, " foot to foot, and hilt to hilt," with the serried foe ! and where we stood we died or conquered." ANIMALS OF SOUTH AFRICA. It is remarkable that, notwithstanding the. singu la* barrenness of many parts of the country, there should have been found within eight or nine degrees of latitude from the Cape point, the largest, as well as the most minute, objects in almost every class of the animal world. Thus, like the ostrich and cree per among the feathered tribes, among the' beasts we have the elephant and the black-streaked mouse ; the one weighing four thousand pounds, the other about the fourth part of an ounce ; the cameloparda- lis, seventeen feet high, and the little elegant zenik, or viverra, of three inches. Here too, as above stated, is the abode of the prodigious hippopotamus, more bulky, though not so high as the elephant: and also the rhinoceros, equally ponderous and sow-like in its formation. Of the thirty different species of antelope known in natural history, this country alone possesses eighteen. Besides these, there is thelargest of the eland or oreas that exists, six feet high ; together with the little pigmy, or royal antelope, which is little more than six inches. •¦ The spring-bok, or leaping antelope, is, as before observed, sometimes met with in herds of four or five thousand. The lion, the leopard, the panther, and various species of the tiger-cat are likewise in digenous ; but not the striped tiger of India. The wolf, hyaena, and three or four different kinds of jackals are every where found ; as also the ant-eater, the iron hog, or crested porcupine, the viverra, that burrows in the ground, the jerboa, nearly allied to the kangaroo, and several species of hares. Buffa loes infest the woods and thickets ; and many of the plains abound with zebras ; with the stronger and more elegant-shaped quacha; as well as with whole.. herds of the singular gnu, partaking of the form .of the ox, the horse, the antelope, and the stag. In the mountains there are numerous and large troops. of that disgusting animal, the dog-faced baboon ; and likewise swarms of apes and monkeys of all sizes. Sadness. — There is a mysterious feeling that fre quently passes like a cloud over the spirit. It comes upon the soul in the busy bustle of life, in the social circle, in the calm and silent retreats of solitude. Its powers are alike supreme over the weak and iron-hearted. At one time it is caused by the flit ting of a single thought across the mind. Again, a sound will come booming across the oceai of me mory, gloomy and solemn as the death-knell, over- shading all the bright hopes and sunny feelings of the heart. Who can describe it, and yet who has not felt its bewildering influence ? Still it is a deli cious sort of sorrow : and like a cloud dimming the sunshine of the river, although causing a momen tary shade of gloom, it enhances the beauty of re turning brightness. 223 "POPULATION OF THE UNITED STATES. . The1 following table is the first official account of the census of 1:840, then published. It was furnished to the Senate by 'the Secretary of State, in obedience to- a resolution of that body, and ordered to be print ed. STATEMENT Showing the aggregate in the population of the several states and territories, and in the District of Columbia, under the late census,L distinguishing the number of whites, free persons of color, and all other persons, as nearly as can be ascertained at this time. . Statecand Terri tories. Maine------ — -¦ N. Hampshire Massachusetts R. Island Connecticut Vermont N.York-- — N.Jersey Pennsylvania Delaware- ¦ Maryland — -— Virginia-—-- -— N. Carolina ¦ S. Carolina -- — Georgia--!-—- - Alabama — ¦? ¦ Mississippi* ------- - Louisiana------- Tennessee-— ---¦ Kentucky Ohio Indiana ----- --¦ Illinois-.--? Missouri— -—-r -¦ Arkansas-—*—---—Michigan Florida Territory—-.- Wisconsin do.—- — Iowa do. District of Columbia- 3a* ^3 - . S a o o ° 2 sp a fa CD © g n, < a. * fc 500,438 1,355 a 284,036 537. 1 729,030 8,668 1 105,537 3,2 8 5 301,856 8,105 17 291,218 7,i0 " 2,378,890 50,027 4 351 588 21,044 674 1,676,115 47,854 64. 68,561 16,919 2,61)?' 317,717 62,020 89,495 ' 740,968 49,842 418,987 481,870 22,732 245,8*7 259,084 8,276 327,038 407,695 2,753 280,844 a35,184 . 2,039 253,532 179,'f74 1,366 195,211 151,983 24,368 165,219 640,627 ¥'-i 183,059 587,5 12 7,309 182,072 1,502,122 17,342 3 678,698 7,165 -.3 472,354 . 3,593 331 323,888 1.B74 58,040 77,174 465 19,935 211,560 - 707 " 27,728 ." 820 25,559 30,566 178 8 42,864 153 18 30,657 4,361 386,069 4,694 14,181,575 2,483,536 501,793284,574 737,699108,830309,948 291,948 2,428,921 273,308 1,724,033 78,(185 469,232 1,239,797 753,419 59-1,398691,392 590,756 375,651344.570 829,510 776.92J 1,619,467 685,866 476,183383,702 97,574 212,267 54,107 30,75243,035 43,712 17,051,180 La Fayette Parish, Louisiana, not included in the above, • • • • 7,832 Estimated population of Carter county, Ken- . tucky, not included 3,000 Seamen in the service of the U. S., June 1st, 1840 17,062,012 6,100 Total population of the U. States, 17,068,112 NATULRAIST'S WALK. The little excursions of the naturalist, from habit and from acquirement, become a scene of constant observation and remark. The insect that crawls, the note of the bird, the plant that flowers, or the ver-nal leaf that peeps out, engages his attention, is recog nized as an intimate, or noted for some novelty that it presents in sound or aspect. Every season has its peculiar product, and is pleasing or admirable from causes that variously affect our different tempera ments or dispositions ; but there are accompaniments in an autumnal morning's woodland walk that call for all our notice and admiration : the peculiar feeling of the air, the solemn grandeur of the scene around us, dispose the mind to contemplation and remark; there is a silence in which we hear everything, a eauty that will be observed. The stump of an old oak is a very landscape, with rugged Alpine steeps bursting through forests of verdant mosses, with Some pale, denuded, branchless lichen, like a scathed oak, creeping up the sides or crowning the summits. Rambling with unfettered grace, the tendrils of the briony (tomus communis), festoon with its brilliant berries, green, yellow, red, the -slender sprigs of the ,hazel or the thorn ; it Ornaments 'their plainness, and receives a support its own feebleness denies. The agaric, with all its hues, its shades, its elegant variety of forms, expands its cone sprinkled with the fresh ness of the morning : a transient fair, a child of decav, that ' sprang up in a night, and will perish in a night.' The squirrel, agile with life and timidity, gambling round the root of an ancient beech, its base overgrown with the dewberry (rubits esesius) blue with unsul lied fruit, impeded in his frolic sports, half angry, darts up*the silvery bole again, to peep and wonder at the strange intruder upon his haunts. The jay springs up, and screaming, tells of danger to her brood: the noisy tribe repeat the call, are hushed, and leave us. The loud laugh of the woodpecker, joyous and vacant ; the hammering of the nuthatch (sitta Europsea) cleaving its prize in the chink of some dry bough ; the, humble bee, torpid on the disc of the purple thistle, just lifts a limb to pray forbear ance of injury, to ask for peace, and bids us " Leave him, leave him to repose." The cinquefoil, or the vetch, with one lingering bloom, yet appears, and we note it for its loneliness. Spreading on the light foliage of the fern, dry and mature, the spider has fixed her toils, and motionless in the midst watches her expected'prey, every thread and mesh beaded with dew trembling with the ze phyr's breath. Then falls the "sere and yellow leaf," parting from its spray without a breeze, tink ling in the boughs, and rustling scarce audibly along, rests at our feet^, and tells us that we part too. All these are distinctive symbols of the season, marked in the sobriety and silence of the hour, and form per haps a deeper impression on the mind than any af forded by the verdant promises, the vivacities of spring, or the gay, profuse luxuriance of summer. Journal of a Naturalist. Why the nettle stings.— The common or large nettle is known by grievous experience to every one, though perhaps you have never yet inquired whence the pain arises from touching it. The sting is not, like a pin or needle, solid throughout, but is hollow at the centre and perforated at the point; and, when touched, it is not only sharp enough to pierce thg skin, but also is so constructed as to inject a particle of poi sonous fluid into the wound it makes, and this is the source of the pain which follows. The wound itself is so minute that it would scarcely be felt ; but the poison irritates, inflames, and causes*the well-known pain alluded to. The plant, the small species of which sting most severely, is covered all over with hairs ; but, by using a microscope or a magnifying- glass, you may perceive that these are not all of one kind, some being perforated, which are the stings, whilst others are not. Each sting stands upon a pe destal, and the pedestal performs the office both of gland and poison-bag. lb. 224 THE UNITED STATES SEAT OF GOVERNMENT- The District of Columbia, in which is situated the city of Washington, the seat of the Federal Government, is a tract ten miles square, embra cing within its area, the confluence of the east and west branches of the noble Potomac, or Potowmak. It was ceded to the United States in 1800, by the states of Maryland and Virginia, at which time the seat of the Federal Government .was transferred thither, from Philadelphia. It contains about 40,000 inhabitants, including about 12,000 blacks, one half of whom are slaves. It is divided into two counties, Alexandria and Washington, and contains three cities, Washing ton, Alexandria and Georgetown ; the whole Dis trict is under the immediate control of con gress. Map of the District of Columbia and Vicinity. The city of Washington is situated on the east side of the Potomac, at the point of junction of the two branches, to which place the river is nav igable for ships of the line. The city is beautifully and extensively laid out, the streets all running in the direction of the cardinal points of the compass, and crossing each other at right angles. Besides these streets, avenues, named after the different states of the Union, traverse these rectangular sections, diag onally ; and, like some of the streets are from one hundred to one hundred and sixty feet wide, handsomely shaded with trees. Many of them terminate on the hill on which the Capitol is situated, and diverge like rays from a centre. On the eastern side of the city, upon the Anacostia or east branch of the Potomac, is the navy-yard. On the west it is separated from Georgetown by Rock creek; the Potomac, which separates it from Alexandria, is crosse -< I see thee in the slumb'rous hour of night, When sleep hath wrapped me in her dreamy wing ;, I see thee in a vision blest and bright, And press thy hand, and hear thee sweetly sing :— Surely, sweet sister ! thou canst not be dead, When such blest visions on my sleep are shod. Alas ! alas ! I have no sister now !¦» For she, on whom I placed my every trust , When first thou left me here, hath died as thou, And yielded up, like thou, her form to dust, Her soul to God who gave it. All alone, ,. I breathe upon the air my sorrowing moan. J have no sister now ! Oh ! blame me not, If from mine eye I cannot keep the tear :— ,r\ A sister's love can never be forgot, And she to my lone heart was doubly dear. I have no sister now ! Oh ! let me weep, . ' And o'er her grave my lonely vigils keep. "-.•' i Oh ! blame me not, if my o'erburdened heart, •- Be almost bursting in its wild excess. Alas ! it is a dreadful lot to part For ever with a sister's fond caress — To feel no more her kiss upon my cheek — Nor meet her glancing eye — nor hear her speak.- Alas ! I am a lonely being now — Shut out for ever from a sister's love. My young heart hath been early taught to bow, And mourn its loss as doth the widowed dove. Forgive me, then, if on my youthful face, The hand of sorrow leaveth many a trace. Forgive me, if my voice no more is heard* To breathe the merry tones of former days — And blame me not,, if grief should tinge each worf And oh ! forbear within my h*art to gaze : — For lowly I have been constrained to bow— . Alas ! alas ! I, have no sister now ' New York, September 20, 1838 241 VIEW OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK. Ouu readers will perceive, that we have been »m- ple in our illustrations of American subjects, in the preceding part of this work. In continuance of our design, we now present a view of the city of New York, as it is, from a beautiful design by a distin guished artist : and as farther interesting, we also give the view of the city in 1 673, that the reader may the more readily, perceive the radical change it has undergone since then. To that highly distinguished gentleman, Professor f. W. Francis, we are indebted for the extracts which follow, descriptive of the great Commercial Metropolis of the Union. They are taken from an elaborate and minute account of New York and its institutions, by Dr. F., published in Hinton's United States, Vol. II., printed in 1834. \ New York is the chief city of the state of New [York, and the most papulous and commercial town in the United States. It is situate on York Island, at the confluence of Hudson and East rivers, in lat. 40° 42' 45" N. and 74° 4' W. ion. from Green wich ; or 3° 14' 15" E. from the city of Wash ington. The island is essentially primitive, and consists mainly of one formation, gneiss. It is about four teen and a half miles long from N. to S., and vary ing in breadth from half a mile to nearly two miles, comprehending about twenty-one and a half square miles. 'The limits of the city and county are the same, and the only legal subdivisions are the wards, it present fifteen in number. It is separated on the north from the continental part of the state by Har lem river ; from New Jersey on the west by the river Hudson ; from Staten Island on the south by the bay or harbour; and by the East river from Long Island. The city of New York was originally settled by he Dutch, in 1614, and its progress has been, since he revolutionary war, rapid beyond precedent, in lumbers, wealth, commerce, and improvements. According to the researches of a writer on Ameri- :an Antiquities,* Henry Hudson arrived at the island if Manhattan, (York Island,) called by the natives Hanhadoes, on the fourth of September, 1609, then tccupied by a ferocious tribe of Indians ; he naviga- ed as high as Albany, and on his return to Holland ransferred his right of discovery to the Dutch, who tfterward granted it to their West India company. [Tie latter, the next year, sent ships to Manhattan, o trade with the natives. In 1614, a fort was built iy the Dutch at the southwest extremity of the aland, and another, called Fort Aurania, at Orange, vhere Albany now stands, which was settled before he city of New Amsterdam, (New York ;) the latter vas most probably not permanently occupied until he year 1619. From this period it remained in lossession of the Dutch, until the conquest of the olony by the English, in 1664. A few years after, t was granted by Charles II. to his brother James, Juke of York and Albany ; and the two principal, lohn Pintard, LL. D. 31 indeed the only cities at that time in the colony were called after his title. Richard Blome< in his book entitled " The Present State of his Majesties Isles and Territories in Amer ica," printed at London, in 1687, in discoursing on these occurrences, thus expresses himself : — " New York was first discovered by Mr. Hudson, and sold presently by him to the Dutch, without authority from his sovereign, the king of England, in 1608. The Hollanders, in 1614, began to plant there, and called it New Netherland ; but Sir Samuel Argal, governour of Virginia, routed them ; after which, they got leave of King James to put in there for fresh water, in their passage to Brazil, and did not offer to plant till a good while after the English were settled in the country. In 1664, his late majesty King Charles the Second, sent over four commissioners to reduce the colony into bounds, that had been en croached by each other, who marched with three hundred red coats to Manhadees, and took from the Dutch the chief town, then called New Amsterdam, now New York, and August twenty-nine, turned out their governour with a silver leg, and all the rest but those who acknowledged subjection to the king of England ; suffering them to enjoy their houses and estates as before. Thirteen days after, Sir Robert Car took the fort and town of Aurania, now called Albany ; and twelve days after that, the fort and town of Arasapha, then Delaware Castle, manned with Dutch and Swedes ; so that now the English are masters of three handsome towns, three strong forts, and a castle, without the loss of one man. The first governour of these parts for the king of England was Col. Nicols, one the commissioners." Herman Moll, geographer, who published in Lon don, in 1708, the British Empire in America, 2 vols, 8 mo., in his account of the city of New York, states it to have at that time contained one thousand houses, most of them " very well built." The great church [Trinity] was built in 1695. A library, he states, was erected in 1700 ; and the Dutch built mills to saw timber, " one of which would'do more in an hour than fifty men in two days."f Tradition reports, that the first white child was a female.,, of the parentage of Isaac Bedlow, who arrived in New York in 1639, as secretary of the Dutch West In dia Company ; but records in the New York His torical Society affirm, that the first child of Euro pean parentage in New Netherlands, was a Sarah Rapaelje, daughter of Jan Joris Rapaelje, born June 9, 1625. The limited extent of settlements, the age, single condition, and peculiar pursuits of those who had arrived previously to 1625, may, as Moulton remarks, be justly inferred from this fact. The earliest authentick record extant of the popu'-1 lation of this city, is of the date of 1656, when several new streets were laid out, and a plan of the town sent to the city of Amsterdam, for the exami nation and approval of the directors of the West In dia Trading Company. At that time the village by the name of New Amsterdam contained only one hundred and twenty houses of the humblest descrip tion, and one thousand inhabitants, including the garrison. Several rough engravings of the city, t Neither of these authorities, Blome nor Moll, are mentioned by Holmes, (Annals,) copious and accurate as is that excellent author. The Oldmixon cited by Holmes, is the edition of 1741 the work of Moll and Oldmixon has the imprint of 1708. 242 illustrative of its appearance at about this time, and for one hundred years after, are preserved among the records of the New York Historical Society. In 1686 the first charter was granted which was renewed in 1730, with new privileges. POPULATION AT DIFFERENT PERIODS. 1696, 4,302 1731, 6,628 1756, 10,381 1773, 21,876 1786, 23,614 1790, 33,131 1800, 60,489 1810, 96,373 1820, 123,706 1825, 167,059 1830, 203,007 1832, 213,500 Averaging somewhat more than a tenth part of the entire population of the state. The most compact part of the city is at its south ern extremity, whence it extends on the north side along the course of the Hudson river, about two and three quarters of a mile, and along the East river, from the southwest angle of the battery, three miles ; its circuit about eight and a half miles. The ancient irregularity of the city has been materially corrected by recent improvements ; the upper, or northern parts have been laid out with systematick regularity. Many of the streets are spacious, running in right lines, and intersected by others at right angles ; in short, the whole of the upper portion of the city is laid out in this manner, and though the spirit of im provement has been active, and at a tremendous ex pense here, to reduce the site of New York, to an entire level, there is a gentle ascent from Hudson and East rivers, and a commanding view of the city is afforded. The most distinguished streets are Broadway, commencing at the Battery, and running north by east nearly three miles, Greenwich street, Wall street, Pearl street, South street, Canal street, Grand street, the Bowery, East Broadway, &c, &c. Besides the Battery, a delightful promenade at the lowest or southern portion of the city, there are several open squares, which serve the important purposes of ventilation and health, as the Park, Hudson square.Washington square, Hamilton square, Lafayette place, Union place, Clinton square. The approach toward the city on the north, has also been made more advantageous by several new roads, denominated avenues, agreeably to a plan of the late Gouverneur Morris and De Witt Clinton. The materials of which the earlier buildings of the city were constructed, were wood and bricks, imported from Holland. The style of'architecture was steep roofs, tiled gables to the streets and alleys between the houses. Speaking of New York, in 1681, Blome remarks, the town is large, containing about five hundred well-built houses, built with Dutch brick, and the meanest not valued under one hundred pounds. Of this latter construction not an edifice now remains ; the last of this character, situate in Broad street, and bearing date, according to the Dutch fashion, 1698, having been torn down for modern architecture in the spring of 1831. The wooden edifices are comparatively few in number, and are chiefly located in the suburbs. The modern taste in building is almost exclusively confined to brick, though a few houses in different places are constructed either of granite, free-stone, or of mar ble, obtained within the neighbourhood. The prin cipal streets and publick buildings and stores are lighted by gas, under the management of the Gas Light Company, which went into successful opera tion in 1825. Bay and Harbour. — The bay and harbour of New York may bo classed among the most convenient and beautiful in the world ; the banks are bold, and the bay interspersed with many handsome islands j the city and surrounding land, when viewed on the bay in approaching the city, present a scene truly charming and picturesque, and excite general ad miration. The bay may be estimated at nine miles long and five broad, without including the branches of the rivers each side of the city. From the ocean, Sandy Hook, to the city at the head of the bay, is about twenty miles. The water is of sufficient depth to float the largest vessels, and ships of one hundred and ten guns have anchored opposite the city. On the bar at Sandy Hook, the depth of wa ter at high tide is twenty-seven feet, and at low- water twenty-one feet; from thence to the city the channel has a depth of from forty to fifty feet. In describing the bay of New York, a late En glish traveller thus writes : — " I have never seen the bay of Naples. I can therefore make no compari son ; but my imagination is incapable of conceiving anything more beautiful than the harbour of New York. Various and lovely are the objects which meet the eye on every side ; but the naming of them would only be to give a list of words, without giving the faintest idea ofthe scene. I doubt if ever the pencil of Turner could do it justice, bright and glo rious as it rose upon us. We seemed to enter the harbour of New York upon waves of liquid gold ; and as we dashed past the green isles which rise from its bosom like guardian sentinels of the fail city, the setting sun stretched his horizontal beams further and further, at each moment, as if to point out to us some new glory in the landscape." ; It has been repeatedly observed, that the cold oil winter has less effect upon the waters of New York harbour, than in several places further south. The 1 usual tides are about six feet, and this, with the, greater rapidity of the currents, may be looked upon as the prominent cause why so rarely inconvenience is experienced from the formation of ice. During the severe winter of 1780-1, the harbour, however, was covered by a bridge of compact ice ; and again, in the memorable winter 1820-1, the harbour and lie branches of the two rivers were obstructed by the same cause for many days. At this time the inten sity of the cold was manifested by the thermome: ter ranging several degrees below 0 of Fahrenheit. According to the reports made by the ward asses sors of the amount of real and personal estate of the city of New York, it has been stated in 1828, a! personal, thirty-six millions eight hundred and seven ty-nine thousand six hundred and fifty-three dollars ; as real, seventy-seven millions of dollars. In 1829, as personal and real, somewhat less : but thest estimates must be deemed as entirely too low. Ac cording to the details furnished in a valuable statis tical work, (The New York Register,) the assessed valuation of the real and personal estate in the sev eral counties in the state of New York, for tM year 1833, amounted to four hundred and sixteel millions four hundred and eighty-one thousand oM hundred and thirteen dollars ; whereof the conn? of New York embraced as real, one hundred aw 245 fourteen millions one hundred and twenty-nine thousand five hundred and sixty-one dollars ; as per sonal, fifty-two millions three hundred and sixty- five thousand six hundred and twenty-six : total, one hundred and sixty-six millions four hundred and njnety-five thousand one hundred and eighty-seven dollars. The whole of the bank capital in the city* of New York is about twenty millions of dollars. The aggregate capital of the marine and fire-ensur- ance, and other incorporated companies, may be put down at thirteen millions of dollars. According to a late statement made by Alderman Stevens to the corporation, when on the discussion of the report in favour of introducing pure and wholesome water into the city; the number of dwelling-houses, stores, manufactories, and churches, was valued at seventy- five millions of dollars ; the merchandise in the city at fifty millions ; hence, the total value of buildings and merchandise is one hundred and twenty-five millions of dollars. But this estimate may be safely doubled. The New York City Marble Qemetery is situated in the block of ground between Second and Third streets, the Bowery and Second Avenue. It is 250 feet in length, 83 feet in breadth, and surrounded by a wall of solid marble, 2 feet thick, 22 feet in height, 10 feet under and 12 feet above the surface of the ground, and the top covered with broken glass bot tles. Within these walls are placed 156 vaults, in four ranges, 2 single and 2 double, and these also are built of solid marble. There is also within these walls a dead-house, built of solid marble, and placed on the surface of the ground. Opposite to this cemetery is the New York Mar ble Cemetery,, situated in the adjoining block of ground, between Second and Third street, and First and Second Avenue. It is 450 feet in length, 92 feet in width, and surrounded by a wall of solid mar ble, 2 feet thick, 22 feet in height, 10 under and 12 above the surface of the earth. Within these walls are placed 288 vaults, in 6 ranges, the same as in the first cemetery, with all the improvements capa ble of being made. Each vault has a silver gray stone door, composition hinges and locks, flagged, shelved, and coped with the same kind of stone. Every vault has a tablet of white marble placed on the wall opposite, giving the name of the owner. Both of these cemeteries are incorporated by the state legislature, for the burying of the dead for ever, and for no other purpose ; free of taxation, judgement and execution ; made personal property, and trans ferable by stock, the same as bank stock. They are placed on abed of dry sand, 35 feet above any spring of water, forming a complete dry cispool, free from mould and dampness, which is so usual in vaults built of brick, red or blue stone. The diversified forms which the decay of the hu man body after death assumes, seems to be no less numerous than the immense variety of causes by which life becomes extinct. The evidence of this assertion maybe witnessed by anyone who will en ter a vault containing many bodies deposited therein at different periods, more or less remote, and observe the materials with which he is surrounded : season, age, the character of disease, protracted illness, sud den death, &c, wil' all exercise a greater or less influence in facilitating or in retarding decomposition. The deceased subject by marasmus will longer retain its constituents than one occasioned by dropsy, for " water is a sore decayer of the dead body." If these positions be correct, we may account for the extraordinary preservation of bodies in these cemete ries, by adverting to the dry soil they occupy, their structure of limestone, &c, and the admirable man ner in which they are built. Hence they possess advantages which are denied to vaults in the struc ture of which similar precautions have not been ob served. In reflecting upon the manner in which the marble cemetery seems to cherish the lineaments of our mortal remains, one feels inclined to adopt the language of old Jeremy Taylor ; " after all, our vaults are our longest and sincerest mourners." The mar ble cemeteries were projected through the enterprise of Perkins Nicols. Literary and Scientifick Societies. — There are several associations in New York whose prom inent object is the promotion of general and scien tifick knowledge. The following are the most im portant: New York Historical Society. — This association originated from the example of the Massachusetts Historical Society. Its commencement was in 1804, and an act of incorporation was obtained in 1 809. Its professed object is to collect and preserve what ever is best calculated to illustrate the natural, civil, political and ecclesiastical history of the United States, and the state of New York in particular. That the society has not been unmindful of this high trust, its extensive and unique library of ten thousand volumes, embracing materials for the American his torian, its cabinet of medals, maps, engravings, and valuable MSS., abundantly evince. It has publish ed several volumes of Collections, illustrative chiefly of facts and circumstances in American history. Its most efficient founder was John Pintard. This so ciety has recently obtained an admirable location in Broadway. Literary and Philosophical Society. — This associ ation originated in 1814, and was incorporated by an act of the legislature the same year. It has pub lished one volume of transactions, quarto, which contains among other matters the inaugural discourse of its first president, De Witt Clinton, LL. D. The second volume, part first, is enriched with the results of Capt. Sabine's late experiments. Lyceum of Natural History. — This society was in corporated in 1818. It possesses a valuable cabi net of minerals, an herbarium of great extent, a rich cabinet of zoology, ichthyology, &c, &c. No insti tution in the state has so ably and so zealously devo ted itself to the important object of its formation, and its printed transactions, in several volumes, are ex tensively known and commended. Its most distin guished patron was the late Samuel L. Mitchill, M. D., LL. D. who long held the office of president. Horticultural Society. — Incorporated in March, 1822. This association has effectively directed its energies to the best means of improving the cultiva tion of our vegetable productions, and to the accli mation of exoticks of an esculent nature. It has ac quired a substantial reputation for the services it has rendered horticultural science. A ueriodical journal 246 under its auspices is published in the city. The society, besides ordinary members, has honorary and corresponding members. Academy of Arts. — This is the oldest institution of its kind in the United States. It was commenced in 1801. Among those who suggested the plan of the undertaking, and who have zealously patronised it, might be enumerated the names of several gen tlemen of the first importance in the state. The property of this association consists of a large collection of fine paintings, among which are a por trait of their former president, Chancellor Livings ton, and a full-length portrait of Benjamin West, painted by Lawrence, a large collection of antiques, statues, busts, bas-reliefe, and a library of books on the fine arts. Besides these treasures, the society possesses a copy of the engravings and views of Piranesi, in twenty-four superb volumes, presented to the Academy by Napoleon. The accommoda tions of the institution are well calculated for the purposes of its exhibition and are situate in Barclay street, near the Park. The members are divided into academicians and associates : the former must be artists by profession. The venerable historical painter, John Trumbull, Esq. is the present pres ident. National Academy of the Arts of Design. — The enterprise of a number of young gentlemen, artists and amateurs, gave origin to this association. It was organized in 1826, and opened its first exhibi tion in a private room in Broadway. They have recently been accommodated with suitable apart ments in Clinton Hall. None but the productions of living artists are admitted for exhibition. The objects of the society, as announced by them, are the mutual improvement of its members, and the in struction of all others who wish to become students of the arts of design. To secure these intentions, lectures are delivered, and apparatus and models furnished to the pupil. New York Society Library. — The beginning of this society may be dated back as far as 1729 ; it is the oldest and most valuable library in the state, and contains upward of twenty-five thousand volumes on the various subjects of general literature, theol ogy, history, law, medicine, political economy, &c. The building which it occupies is situate in Nassau street, opposite the middle Reformed Dutch Church. It is supported by the annual subscription of its members. The Athenmum. — This is a recent establishment, which was formed in 1 824. Its objects are to sus tain a library and reading room, to maintain lectures on various branches of general literature and sci ence, &c. Medical Society of the City and County of New York. — This is an institution created in conformity to a law of the legislature, passed in 1806, organi zing medical societies throughout the different coun ties of the state. Literary Institutions. — The literary institutions of New York are numerous, but for the most part in their infancy. By far the most venerable and im portant is Columbia College, founded by charter in 1754, under the name of King's College, partly by the munificence of the corporation of Trinity Church, and partly by the British Society for the Promotion of the Gospel in foreign parts. During the interval which elapsed between the years 1776 and 1784 the business of instruction was necessarily suspend ed in consequence of the trials of the revolutionary contest, and the college edifice appropriated to the purpose of a military hospital. Upon the restora tion of publick tranquillity, certain individuals were appointed by an act of the legislature, dated May 1 1784, to superintend the general interests of edu cation throughout the state, under the title of Re gents of the University, whose number w as subse quently increased by an act passed 26th Novembe. in the same year. By this body the duties of trust ees of the college were also discharged, until the year 1787. On the 13th of April, 1787, an act was passed by which the original charter ofthe college was confirmed, the name of the institution altered to Columbia College, and its direction confided to cer tain persons mentioned in said act, who were author ized by the provisions of the same tc discharge the duties of trustees of the college, and were empow ered, for the time to come, to fill all vacancies which might occur in this number by death, resignation, oi otherwise, after it should be diminished to twenty- four. The government of the college has contin ued to be exercised in conformity with this act since that time. Columbia College is liberally endowed, posses sing property to the amount of nearly half a million of dollars. It was formerly composed of a Facul ty of Arts, and a Faculty of Physick. The latter was abolished in 1813. The Faculty of Arts con sists at present of a professorship of";Moral and Intellectual Philosophy,Rhetorick, Belles Letters and Political Economy ; a professorship of Greek and Latin Languages, a Jay-professorship of the same, a professorship of Natural and Experimental Phi losophy and Chymistry, a professorship of Mathe- maticks, Analytical Mechanicks, and physical Astron omy. Certain branches of instruction and the gen eral superintendence of the college are committed to the charge of the president of the college, who is chosen by the trustees. The number of students is generally about one hundred and thirty. There are two literary societies connected with the col lege, composed of under graduates, the Philolexian and Peithologian societies, and a grammar-school recently organized, containing upward of two hun dred students, subject to the government ofthe trus tees of the college. The number of graduates of Columbia College since its foundation is about eleven hundred ; many of whom have been eminent in the service of the church and state. In no other college in the union, are the requisites of candidates for admission as students of the respective classes so high, and in none are the several courses of studies more exten sively or critically taught, particularly in the classi cal and mathematical departments. While reflect ing on the capabilities and doings of this college, one may equally marvel that the number of its students has for so many years remained stationary, as at the unmeri.ed success of some greatly inferiour in stitutions. Columbia College possesses an excel lent library of about four thousand five hundred vol umes and which has been recently enriched by a large donation of philosophical works, the gift "' Dr. Hosack. This institution enjoys an admirable 249 location in a commanding part of the city : it is one ofthe invest specimens of architecture in New York. Wnivertity ofthe City of New York. — This is the name of a college recently projected by a number of gentlemen of New York, and designed to embrace a more extensive system of literature and science than any^ heretofore established. A literary con vention was he\d in the city in October, 1829, with a view to its formation ; subscriptions to a con siderable amount nave been already obtained among the citizens for this object ; a board of council has been chosen, by whom the Rev. James Matthews, D. D. has been chosen: chancellor of the institution. It is declared as a distinctive character of this es tablishment to enjoy an 'entire exclusion of all sec tarian influence. A.i this present writing, an edifice of great beauty, and of very considerable extent is erecting on the east side of the Washington Pa rade Ground. It is two hundred feet long, and one hundred feet deep ; it is in the castellated Gothick style, four stories on the wings- -two in the centre, one of which forms the chapel. It is built of the white marble of Sing Sing. The plan was origin ally suggested by Major Douglas, of West Point; its architectural disposition, by Town, Davis, and Day ton. The whole business of the institution seems to be in a train of successful progress. The several faculties are divided into a Faculty of Letters, a Fac ulty of Science and the Arts, a Faculty of Law, and a Faculty of Medicine. The General Theological Seminary of the Protest' ant Episcopal Church of the United States. — This institution is situated about two miles from the City " Hall, on the eastern bank of Hudson river. The block of land on which the seminary is located is an oblong square of eight hundred by one hundred and eighty feet ; the present value of which is sixty thou sand dollars, and was presented to the seminary by Clement Moore, son of the late Right Rev. Benja min Moore, D. D. The present building is one wing of those con templated, whenever the funds of the institution will enable the trustees to complete the design, and is a spacious stone edifice of Gothick architecture, one hundred and ten feet in length, sixty feet wide, and three stories high. At this seminary (instituted in 1819, partly by the funds of the Episcopal church and partly by a liberal bequest of the late Jacob Sherred of this city) about one hundred and forty candidates have been prepared for the ministry. The late Mr. John Kohn of Philadelphia has recently bequeathed to this institution one hundred thousand dollars, on the demise of his widow ; at present it relies for support in a great measure on the liberality of the friends of the church. The faculty consists of a Professor of Biblical Learning and the Interpre tation of the Scriptures, a Professor of Systematick Divinity, of Oriental and Greek Literature, and also a Professorship of the Nature, Ministry, and Polity of the church. The condition of the institution is most flattering to the interests of theology ; and the jaumber of students is rapidly on the increase. Mercantile Library Association. .—This institution was organized in 1821, and occupies appropriate apartments in that substantial and superiour edifice denominated Clinton Hall. An elegant lecture-room is provided, in which lectures are delivered on sev eral branches of the physical and ethical sciences. 32 The present number of tubscribers is fifteen hun dred and twenty-five ; the library consists of about nine thousand volumes. The annual income derived from various sources, is near three thousand dollars Active zeal and rigorous enterprise characterize this institution, and no small share of its present flatter ing condition is owing to the liberality of Philip Hone, late Mayor of New York. General Society of Mechanicks and Tradesmen. — This society was incorporated in 1792, and was originally designed for the purpose of affording aid to the widows and children of deceased members, which it has effectually done, to a large amount an nually. Meeting with flattering support, it estab lished a school for the education of the children of deceased members whose circumstances required their assistance, and subsequently the school was enlarged so as to accommodate many of the children, both male and female, of the more wealthy members, whose attention was attracted to the school by the high character it maintains, and which it yet fully sustains ; by this arrangement the tuition fees of those who pay, defray the whole expenses of the establishment. The children are all alike educated, and the distinction, always odious, between those who do and those who do not pay, is unknown in this valuable school. Some years ago the society enlarged the sphere of its usefulness by the estab lishment of a library, for the exclusive and gratu itous use of the apprentices of mechanicks. The library is open every evening, (excepting on Sun days,) and contains about twelve thousand volumes ; the number of readers now amount to fifteen hun dred. A more spacious building has recently been purchased, which will enable the society to gnlarge the school and library, and add thereto reading rooms for the apprentices of mechanicks. The society is conspicuous among the many valuable institutions of New York, and has exercised a large and salu tary influence on those for whose immediate benefit it was specially designed. The amount of its prop erty is estimated at seventy-five thousand dollars, - and its annual revenue at four thousand five hundred dollars. Character. — The multitudinous population of this city presents an endless variety in manners and char acter. A liberality of feeling and unaffected hospi tality bave been the result. Active industry and enterprise (often bordering on rashness) are the prevailing characteristicks of all classes. Amidst a strong devotion to wealth, it is gratifying to perceive that an attention to higher objects has nqt been over looked. Her publick school system, her Sunday, and infant schools, her temperance societies, her in numerable charities, all promise a net reward to their benevolent founders. The respective liberal professions may boast many members of the highest attainments, who tend to diffuse, through 'the various classes of society a proper respect for literature, sci ence, and the elegant arts. This commercial em porium is not unworthy the name by which she is recognised, and may, above all, claim that, whether the avenues to her trade have been closed by legis lative restrictions, or during the unprofitable contest of arms, her fidelity to the union has never for a mo ment been questioned. 250 VIEW IN BROADWAY. The accompanying view is from the corner op posite St. Paul's Church, looking towards the north, and takes in the Astor-House, the American Hotel, &c, &c, on the one side ; and the Park, with its stately trees, and the City Hall on the other. The Astor House. " This house is situated in Broadway, and occupies the block between Vesey and Barclay streets, opposite the Park. Its front on Broadway-is 'about two hundred feet, and is one hun dred and fifty feet on Barclay and Vesey sireets. The exteriour is of Quincy granite. It is five sto ries in height. The wings of the building form a hollow square, the yard being in the centre — so that the rooms on all sides receive light and air from the streets and centre. The lower story of the building is occupied by stores ; they are fifteen in number, ten on Broadway and five on Vesey and Barclay streets. The main entrance to the hotel is in the centre of the building on Broadway ; it has also en trances on the other streets abovenamed. The main entrance opens to a splendid vestibule, support ed by columns, the floor of which is of Mosaick work, of blue and white marble. The gentlemen's dining-room is one hundred by forty feet, with a ceiling nineteen and a half feet high. The ladies' dining-room is sufficiently capacious to seat one hun dred ladies. The ladies' drawing-room is richly and elegantly furnished with Brussels carpeting, marble tables, ottomans, sofas, and chairs, of splen did workmanship and costly materials. The rooms throughout are furnished in a simple but beautiful style. With the exception of two or three rooms, the sofas, bureaus, tables, bedsteads, chairs, &c, are made of black walnut, which has a rich and sub stantial appearance, and receives a polish like mahog any. The hotel is lighted with gas, and there are water-closets attached to each suite of rooms. The kitchen occupies a room on one of the wings. The arrangements for roasting, frying, boiling, &c, are upon the most approved methods, the cooking being done by steam. The cooks are all French. A baker is employed for the house. Under the kitchen is a spacious washing-room and room for ironing and drying clothes by heat from steam. There are seventeen bathing-rooms and two shower-baths ; the water for their supply comes from cisterns or reservoirs in the attick of the building, conveyed be low by leaden pipes to all the rooms of the building. By a force-pump, water is also distributed through all the rooms. By the multiplication of stationary wash-tubs, and the power of steam, clothes may be washed, dried, and ready for use, in half an hour af ter they are given out. The drying process is ac complished in five minutes, by spreading the clothes on wooden horses running on railroads, and lead in to a large close apartment heated to a very high temperature by steam. A rotary steam-engine pumps water, supplies steam to the kitchen, wash-room, &c, cleans the knives and forks, boots and shoes, and has in reserve power enough for other uses. There are three hundred and eight rooms for boarders. Whole number of rooms three hundred and ninety. The yard is flagged throughout. The water from the kitchen is carried off by a sewer in to the North river. The furniture cost ninety thou sand dollars, including about eight thousand dollars worth of silver, and ten or twelve of plate ware. Eighty servants attend on the establishment. . In the house are four hundred locks, no two of , which can be opened by the same key." We extract from the " Crayon Sketches," one en titled a " Walk in Broadway." " Broadway, however, is a very fine street, the long est, it is said, in a direct line, in the world. There is not any thing particularly splendid in it, and the stores, in general, are neither large nor elegant, with an unseemly disproportion of lottery offices among them ; but the almost unbroken' line of respectable houses,, neatly painted, and shaded by lofty trees, f gives it an air of substantial comfort, and at the same time of lightness and freshness, highly desirable. It is pleasant to stroll along it ; or, indeed, the princi pal street of any large city. What a motley group of beings— alike, yet how different — arc daily pres sing and hurrying over its pavements ! What a mul tiplicity of hopes, and fears, and petty plans, and lofty schemes, are unceasingly fermenting in thesbe- som of every individual that moves along {be narrow footwalks ! Yet it is not the variety of human pas sions that makes the wonder, for joy and sorrow, love and hate, pride, vanity, interest, and ambition, are common to all ; but the endless combinat%is formed by those passions according to the different degrees in which they preponderate and act on dif ferent individuals, and on the same individuals in different situations. Take up an arithmetio%^nd| ten simple figures form the ground-work; yet flow] many million combinations, and no two alike, can* be created by these ten figures. So if is with man and his concerns. And still, despite, the individual vari ety, what a general sameness prevails. The hopes, and cares, and joys, and sorrows of one day are like the hopes, and cares, and joys, and sorrows of the next ; and the same drama that is hourly felt and acted in the streets of New York, is playing with equal animation amid the wealth and smoke of Lon don, and the sunshine and poverty of Naples — the gravity of Madrid, and the gayety of Paris. Two thousand, years ago, the " eternal city" had her belles and beaux, her flirts and dandies (a Roman dandy !)— and two thousand years hence, or less time, will the cannibals of New Zealand have es chewed war-dances and raw victuals, and have their blue-stocking tea-parties, biscuit and lemonade soir ees, French cooks, and fashionable quadrilles, as well as anybody. All is still "The everlasting to be, that hath been ;" , and the probability is that the antediluvians wrote poetry, told lies, wore whiskers, and cheated their neighbours, just as we do now. It is also pleasant, as well as curious and profita ble, in roaming through a large city, to contrast its present with its former situation— to compare what it has been with what it is, and to speculate on what it may be. New York, to be sure, is hot rich in historical recollections, for she is comparatively a thing of yesterday. In walking her streets, we do not feel as in the ancient capitals of Europe, that our footsteps, perchance, fall on the very places where those of the mighty dead have fallen before us. In the older streets of London, we know 4at ryte . ; _ ' « it \m\\ 1 ''ill L, "II ! III1.,. l!l!H!l!!!:ill!l I I III II! sfiBfeppT iBllMif ' ! ^}i'Mtr^sr^^M^M^~^J^m\Li .*$ I yiiliilaii'; m Iii 1111! 253 we are walking where Richard, Duke of Gloucester, "high-reaching Buckingham," or Harry Hotspur, actually walked, and that Shakspeare and Milton familiarly trod even where we then tread ; or the High street of Edinburgh— where the Leslie and the Seyton, the Gordon and the Douglas, were wont foolishly and gallantly to stab and dirk each other for the " crown o' the causeway." True, all is now commonplace and familiar ; the merchant plods homeward with his umbrella under his arm, instead of his rapier by his side. But great as the change is there from the past to the present, it has Still been gradual. Step by step have they toiled their way from barbarism to civilization. Here, it has been as the shifting of the scenery in a play, rather than sober reality. It is but as the other day when the forests flourished where now " merchants most do congregate," and the streamlet murmured where the gin-shop stands. The council-fires blazed and the sachems spoke to their young men where now the honourable Richard Riker and the honour able the corporation hold " long talks" about small matters. The wigwam sent its tiny wreaths of smoke into the clear air, where now the bank coffee-house pours forth volumes of odoriferous steam to mingle with the masses of vapour that overhang the city like a cloud ; and its tables groan with " all the del icacies of the season" where the deer from the wood and the fish from the stream, were cooked and eaten without the aid of pepper and salt — two of the great est blessings of civilization. And not more different than the scenes were the actoTS concerned in them. Step aside, good reader, and mark them as they now pass along Broadway. The first is one but little known to Indian life — one who lives by the folly and roguery of the fools and rogues around him — a lawyer. He is clad in solemn black, as if that were ominous of the gloom which follows in bis train. What would the Indian, with his untaught natural sense of right and wrong, think of this man's " quiddets, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks ;" and of " his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, and his recoveries ?" Alas ! the poor Indian has but too deeply felt his power and the power of his brethren in the modern " black art." They conjur ed away his pleasant haunts, "under the greenwood tree," his silver streams teeming with life, his beau tiful lakes and fair hunting-grounds, all "according to law," and left him a string of beads and a bottle of fire-water, a bruised heart and a broken spirit in their place. Here comes another product of the present times, neither rare nor valuable, indigenous to Broad way, and flourishing there in peculiar rankness ; a modern Sir Fopling Flutter, of whom it may well be said with the poet, " Nature disclaims the thing— a tailor'made him !" Mark with what affected effeminacy the full-grown baby lounges along, and the air of listless indifference or slightly awakened surprise with which it is his pleasure to regard a fine woman ; but what indeed, are all the women in the world to this caricature of manhood, in comparison with his own sweet self ? Anon, another variety of the same genus appears, quite as contemptible, not so amusing, and a great deal more disagreeable. This is your ruffian-dandy ; one who affects a dashing carelessness in his dress and deportment, wears good clothes in a very ill fashion, and has generally a checked shirt, a sailor's hat, or some other article of dress sufficiently differ ent from the ordinary costume of those around him to render him an object of notoriety. Mark the easy dignity of that swagger as he rolls along, staring impudently at all the women and frowning valiantly at all the men, as if he expected every moment to be insulted, and was afraid his courage might not be screwed up " to the sticking point." A sort of per sonage not unlike Mike Lambourne in Kenil worth, allowing for the modifications of the times. But lo ! what comes next — dame nature's loveliest work, a woman ; but, heaven and earth ! how the mantu'a- maker has spoiled her ! Why, what frippery have we here ? Silks and lace, ribands and gauze, feath ers, flowers, and flounces !* Not but that these are all excellent things in their way, when judiciously used ; but to see them all clustered, as in the pres ent instance, on one woman at one time, is what the proverb states to be " too much of a good thing," or what the poet terms " wasteful and ridiculous ex cess." Then look at those sleeves* in which her arms are lost, and that acre of hat upon her head, with a sufficiency of wheat ears and flowers on it, were they real, to feed a family or stock a garden. And see ! as far as the eye can reach it rests on col ours as varied and fantastical as the butterflies in summer or the leaves in autumn, in which the dear creatures have arrayed themselves. Oh, matrimo ny, matrimony ! thou art indeed becoming a luxury in which the rich and opulent alone will be able to indulge. Nine small children might be supported, but to deck out one of Eve's daughters in this fash ion three hundred and sixty-five days in. the year, is what nothing but a prize in the lottery or a profita ble bankruptcy is equal to. Still on they pass in throngs : the grave and thoughtful student, abstracted from all around, building up his day-dream of fame, fortune, and beauty, and then in love with the cun ning coinage of his own brain ; and the rich old merchant, not in love with any thing but still in rap tures, for cotton has risen an eighth. On they pass, the whiskered Don, the sallow Italian, the bulky Englishman, and the spare Frenchman, all as eager (as a professed moralist might say) in the pursuit of business and pleasure, as if enjoyment were perpet ual and life eternal ; and all this where, but a little while ago, the wolf made his lair, and the savage his dwelling-place. Verily, as a profound German philosopher acutely though cautiously observed— " Let a man live long enough, and it is probable he will see many changes." WAVES. The depth to which the sea is agitated, even in violent tempests, is not very considerable ; at the depth of twenty feet below what is the level in a calm, the effect is very slight, and at thirty feet it would probably be altogether imperceptible. It may therefore seem difficult to account for the mountain ous waves encountered by seamen ; but it must be remembered, that the wind is constantly acting, and that one wave is raised on the surface of another, till the accumulation becomes prodigious. * The reader will perceive this was written several years ago. 254 ST. PAUL'S CHURCH, NEW VORK. This is one of the finest edifices of the kind, in the United States. It is situated in Broadway, south of the Cily Hall, and opposite to Ann street ; and, with the cemetery adjoining, occupies the whole of the square, fronting on Broadway, being fourhundred feet by one hundred and eighty. The square is en closed by a handsome iron railing. The other streets bounding the square are Vesey, Fulton, and Church, facing Broadway ; with a portico of the Ionic order, consisting of four fluted pillars of brown stone, sup porting a pediment, with a niche in the centre, con taining a statue of St. Paul. Beneath the portico, and under a large window, is a beautiful marble mon ument, erected by Congress, to the memory of Gen eral Montgomery, who was killed at the storming of Quebec, in 1775. The spire of this church is one of the noblest or naments of the city ; and is, with the entire building, justly esteemed one of the best specimens of archi tecture in the, country. It rises from the west end of the house, to the height of two hundred and thirty- four feet. Above the tower, which is one hundred feet high, rises a quadrangular section of Ionic order, with appropriate columns, pilasters and pediments ; the two next stories are octangular, of the Corin thian and Composite orders, supported by columns at the angles ; the whole is crowned ^vith a lofty spire and gilt vane. The church is nine.y feet by seven ty, and was built in 1765. The interiour is finished in the Corinthian style, with columns supporting an arched ceiling ; and the pulpit and altar are appro priate to the rest of the interiour. JIlliiiiiBBLHpMH The Old Jail in New York. THE OLD JAIL OF THE REVOLUTION. The following description of the old jail, or as it was sometimes called, the provost, is from the pen of an eyewitness, asljuoted in Dunlap's History of New York. " The provost was destined for the more notori ous rebels, civil, navalaiid military. An admission into this modern bastile was enough to appal the stoutest heart. On the right hand of the main door. was Captain Cunningham's quarters, opposite to which was the guard-room. Within the first barri cade was Sergeant Keefe's apartment. At the en trance-door two sentinels were always posted by day and night ; two more at the first and second barri cades, which were grated, barred and chained-, also at the rear door, and on the platform at the grated door at the foot of the second flight of steps^ lead ing to the rooms and cells inthe second and tllrd stories. When a prisoner, escorted by soldiers, was led ' into the hall, the whole gu§rd was paraded, and he was delivered over, with all formality, to Captain Cunningham or his deputy, and questioned' as to his name, rank, size, age, &cci, all of which, were enter ed in a record-book. What with the 'bristling, of arms, unbolting of bars and locks, clanking of enor mous iron chains, and a vestibule as dark as Erebus, the unfortunate might wejl shrink under this infernal sight and parade of tyrannical power, as he crossed the threshold of that door which possibly closed >on him for life. But it is not our wish to revive the honours attendant on our revolutionary war; grate ful to Divine Providence for its propitious issue, we would only remark to the existing and rising gener ation, that the independence of the United States, and the civil and religious privileges they now enjoy, were achieved and purchased by the blood and suf ferings of their patriotick forefathers. May they guard and transmit the boon to their latest pos terity. 3. " The northeast chamber, turning to-the left, on the second floor, was appropriated to officers, and characters of superiour rank and distinction, and was called Congress-hall. So closely were they packed, that when they lay down at night to rest, when their bones ached on the hard oak planks, and they wished to turn, it was altogether by word of command, " right — left," being so»wedged and compact, as to form almost a solid mass of human bodies. In the daytime the packs and blankets ol the prisoners were suspended around the walls, every precaution being used to keep the rooms ven tilated, and the walls and floors clean, to prevent jail fever ; and, as the provost was generally crowd ed with American prisoners, or British culprits of every description, it is really wonderful thathtfec- tion never broke out within its walls. » " In this gloomy terrifick abode were incarcera- ted.at different periods many American officers and citizens of distinction, awaiting with sickening'hope and tantalizing expectation the protracted period of their exchange and liberation. Could these #mb walls speak, what scenes of anguish, what tales ,of agonizing wo, might they disclose ! " Among other characters, there- were, at the same time, the famous Colonel Ethan Allen, and Judge Fell, of Bergen county, New Jersey. When Captain Cunningham entertained the young British officers, accustomed to command the provost guard, by dint of curtailing the prisoners' rations, exchanging good for bad provisions, and other embezzlements prac tised on John Bull, the captain, his deputy, arid in deed the commissaries generally, were enabled to fare' sumptuously. In the drunken orgies that Usu ally terminated his dinners, the captain would order the rebel prisoners to turn out and parade, for the amusement of his guests ; pointing them out, ' This is the damned rebel, Colonel Ethan Allen — that a rebel judge, an Englishman,' &c, &c." View of St. Paul's Church, New Voik. New York City Reservoir. NEW YORK CITY RESERVOIR. This building was erected in 1829, by the corpo ration of New York, for the purpose of supplying the city with water in cases of fire It stands in the Bowery, near thirteenth street, and two miles frrfm the City Hall, on a surface fifty-seven feet abolve tide-level. The tank or cistern rests on a foundation of solid stone masonry, forming a circle of forty-four feet diameter and thirty feet high. The tank itself, formed of cast-iron plates united by screws and cement, is forty-two feet diameter by twenty feet, six inches, in height, and holds twenty- five hundred hogsheads of water. The whole build ing rises seventy-five feet above the ground to the top of the tank and is surmounted by a cupola, ma king in all one hundred feet. It forms a very pictu - resque object to boats passing through both the East and North rivers. After breaking ground to obtain water, and pene trating through the earth to the distanc e of eleven feet, the workmen employed in digging the well of the reservoir, came to the bed of rock forming the base of the city,' and extending, In all probability, at various depths, to Blackwell's island, and under the waters of the Hudson. Through this rock they bor ed a well one hundred and thirteen feet in depth by seventeen feet in diameter, with two shafts extend ing in opposite directions, east and west, seventy- five feet each way, and another branch from the western shaft northerly twenty-two feet. The well is calculated to furnish eight hogsheads of water an hour, which is raised into the tank by a steam-engine of fifteen-horse power. Attached to the bottom of the cistern, is a valve, communicating with a twenty-four-inch pipe, which conveys the' water to the main branches in thirteenth street, through which it is conducted to the different 33 sections of the' ciiy. All the lines of pipe are fur bished with hydrants for discharging the water, at intervals of ten or twenty rods, with stop-cocks, &c. Each hydrant will supply two engines with water, the force of which is so great, that in case of emer gency, it can be thrown to any necessary height by attaching the. apparatus of the hydrants to the engine leaders. The water obtained here is soft and of the most salubrious quality imaginable, as it filters through beds of rock, sparkling, in its subterraneous course, with the utmost brilliancy. THE MOTHER. The cold wind swept the mountain height, And pathless was the dreary wild, And 'rind the cheerless hours of night A mother wander'd with her child — As through the drifting snow she press'd, The babe was sleeping on her breast. And colder yet the winds did blow, And darker hoars of night came on, And deeper grew the drifts of snow — Her limbs were chill'd — her strength was gone. Oh God ! she cried, in accents wild, If I must perish, save my child. She stripp'd her mantle from her breast, And bared her bosom to the storm, And round the child she wrapp'd the vest, And smiled to think the babe was warm ; With one cold kiss, one tear she shed, And sank upon a snowy bed. At dawn, a traveller pass'd by, And saw her 'neatn a snowy veil — The frost of death was on her eye, Her cheek was cold and hard and pale ; He moved the robe from off the child ; — It lived — look'd up — and sweetly smiled. 258 Masonic Hall, Broadway, New York. MASONIC HALL, NEW YORK CITY. The building known as Masonic Hall, in the city of New York, is situate on the east side of Broadway, between Duane and Pearl streets, and is one of the finest buildings of the kind in this country. The corner stone was laid on the twenty-fourth of June (St. John's day), 1826. The order of its architecture is Gothic, of the pointed arch style ; and throughout the whole ed ifice, exterior and interior, it has the venerable aspect of buildings of this order, to be met with in nearly all the countries of Europe. It has a front of fifty feet on Broadway, and extends back one hundred and twenty feet. The front of this edifice is granite, seventy feet in height from the street to the battlements in the. centre. The pinnacles rise upward often feet above the roof. The doors and windows in front are said to be the first examples of the kind in the country. The grand entrance, which is arched, is fourteen feet in heigbt, and twelve in width, next to the street; but the door, which recedes four feet (the thickness of the wall) is only six feet wide and not quite ten feet high. The crotchet arch of the centre door, ascends' twenty-two feet in height, and is -richly orna mented with raised work of cast iron, executed in New York. The centre window is twenty-two feet in height, and ten in width, finished with lead lights of a diamond form. The doors and windows on each side have corresponding col umns, arches and ornaments, executed in cast 259 iron. There are four buttresses with niches and pedestals, two at the corner and two midway ex pending to the roof, terminating in ornamented pin nacles. A range of stone battlements surmount the flank walls ; and the dormant windows have open-work battlements, from which may be seen the whole city like a splendid panorama, and surrounded with the beautiful natural scenery for which the vicinity of New York is so justly celebrated. The basement story above the street is fourteen feet in height, and includes the great entrance hall, which is ten1 feet in width, and extends through the whole length of the building. This hall is highly ornamented with arches, pendants, open friths in the spandrels, and a beautiful frieze of raised Gothic ornaments. At the farther end of the hall is a staircase lending to the several apartments above. On each side of the hall is a range of rooms, with stores in front, and places in the rear for refreshments for visiters. . The second story is a grand Gothic saloon, ninety feet in length, forty-seven feet in breadth, and twenty-five feet high, and is one of the most magnificent halls in the Union. The floor is sup ported by elastic springs for dancing ; the ceiling is divided into basket, or fan arches, with pen dants of open-work ; columns support the arches projecting from the walls, between which are the windows, with raised labels, enriched with crotchets, terminating with flowers at the points, and supported at the ends with carved corbels. The blank windows in the room are filled with mirrors, which render the hall, when lighted, very brilliant. A music-gallery extends across the lower end of the room, supported by a truss ed gird«r, leaving the floor free of obstructions, for public assemblies. The front of the gallery is enriched with pierced Gothic tracery, and adds much to the beauty of the saloon. The third story has four rooms, designed for the use of the Masonic Association. These rooms are decorated with clusters of columns, arches, and open panels, with beautiful draperies. INSTANCE OF GREAT SELF-POSSESSION. On the banks of the Naugatunk, a rapid stream which rises in and flows through a very mountainous part of the state of Connecticut, a few years since liv ed a respectable family named Bruel. The father, though not a wealthy, was a respectable man. He had fought the battles of his country in the revolu tion, and from his familiarity with scenes of danger and peril, he had learned that it is always mOre pru dent to preserve and affect the air of confidence in danger, than to betray signs of fear : aud especially so, since his conduct might have. had great influence upon the minds of those about him. He had occa sion to send a little son across the river to the house of a relation, and as there was then no bridge, the ri ver must be forded. The lad was familiar with eve ry part of the fording-place, and when the water was low, which was at this time the case, could cross without, danger. But he had scarcely arrived at his place of destination and done his errand, when sud denly, as is frequently the case in mountainous coun tries, the heavens became black with clouds, the wind blew with great violence, and the rain fell in torrents --it was near night, and became exceedingly dark. By ithe kindness of his friends he was persuaded, though with some reluctance, to relinquish his design of re turning in the evening and to wait until morning. The father suspected the cause of his delay, and was not over anxious on account of any accidents that might happen to him during the night. But he knew that he had taught his son to render implicit obedience to his commands ; that he possessed a daring and fear less spirit; and as he would never be restrained but by force, he would, as soon as it was sufficient^ light in the morning, attempt to ford the river on his return. He 'knew also, that the immense quantity of water, that appeared to be falling, would, by morning, cause the river to rise to a considerable height, and make it dangerous even for a man in the full possession of strength and fortitude, to attempt to cross it. He therefore passed a sleepless night, anticipating with all a father's feelings what might befall his child in the morning. The day dawned — the storm had ceased — the wind was still, and nothing was to be heard but the roar of the waters of the river. The rise of the river exceed ed even the father's expectations, and no sooner was it sufficiently light to enable him to distinguish ob jects across it, than he placed himself on the bank to watch for the approach of his son. The son arrived at the opposite shore almost at the same moment, and was beginning to enter the stream. All the father's feelings were roused into -action, for he knew that his son was in the most imminent danger. He had pro ceeded too far to return — in fact, to go forward or re turn was to incur the same peril. His horse had arrived in the deepest part of the channel, and was struggling against the current, down which he was rapidly hur ried, and apparently making but little progress to wards the shore. The boy became alarmed and rais- sing his eyes towards the landing-place, he discovered his father. He exclaimed almost frantic with fear, "O, I shall drown, I shall drown !" "No !" exclaimed the father in a stern and resolute tone, and dismissing for a moment his feelings of tenderness, "No, if you do, I'll whip you to death !— cling to your horse." The son who feared his father more than the raging element with which he was enveloped, obeyed his command, and the noble animal on which he was mounted, after struggling for some time carried him safe to the shore. "My son," said, the glad father, bursting into tears, "remember hereafter, that in dan ger you must possess fortituue; and determining to sur vive, cling even to the last hope. Had I addressed you with the tenderness and fear which I felt, your fate was inevitable; you would have been carried a- way in the current, and I should have seen you no more." What an example is here ! The heroism, brave ry, philosophy, and presence of mind of this man, even eclipses the conduct of Caesar, when he said to his boatman, quid times ? Ctesarem veins. 260 WILLIAMSBURGH, L. I. The village of Williamsburgh is situated on the westerly extremity of Long Island, adjoining the northern boundary of the city of Brooklyn, and immediately opposite the most populous sec tion of the city of New York, from which it is separated by the narrow current of the East river. Like Brooklyn, the growth of this thriving village is consequent on, and identified with, the prosperity of the Great Commercial Metropolis, and like its giant neighbor, its onward progress will be greatly increased in strength and volume, with the restored commercial and financial ener gies of the whole nation. Previous to the year 1835, the capabilities of this location for desira ble summer residences for the wealthy inhabi tants of the great city, and for buildings to be ap propriated to the occupancy of mechanics and artisans, and for the manufacture of their wares, were not duly appreciated, but the stimulus then given to enterprise directed the attention of cap italists to this eligible point, and during that and the succeeding year, the real estate of the village found ready purchasers at constantly appreciated prices. That thesa investments, when discern ment and discrimination were exercised in the selection of property in reference to price and locality, were judicious, will be readily admitted on reference to the accompanying sketch. That portion of the village fronting on the East river, and overlooking the city of New York, bounded on the south by the arc of the semi circle which forms the Wallabout bay, and on the north by the mouth of Bushwick creek, has pecu liar eligibilities for summer residences for the man of business, or the retired millionaire. From the river's brink between Grand-street and the Wallabout, you reach the crown of the village by a gentle ascent of about a quarter of a mile, and along this extended slope the eye ranges over a prospect, which for extent and variety is rarely surpassed. Before you, the great commercial mart with its busy multitude hurrying to( and fro, appears like a giant beehive ; adjoining, on the shores of the Island of New York, elegant mansions with their ornamented grounds and waving foliage attract your attention ; and farther to the right, the lofty shot-tower lifts its white shaft to the clouds, flanked by the massive Penitentiary build ings on Blackwell's island, whose bristling de fences appear in the distance, like the fortified battlements of some feudal baronial castle. Still farther in the same direction the turbid waters of Hell Gate, which " Groan and sweat in their great agony,", appear in the far distance like the indistinct and troubled fancies of a dream, while the white sails of the coasting craft, and the abrupt bluffs and foliage-crested eminences on either shore close the view to the right. On the left, the heights of Brooklyn, studded with mansions distinguished for their cost and elegance, and wreathed with evergreens of rare beauty and luxuriance, remind the spectator of the costly palaces of Venice, in the noonday of her splendor, while the whole sweep of the noble bay, checkered with the light tracery of the numerous water-craft moored to the wharves, or which lie motionless on its bosom, and decorated with the flowing canvas, streaming pennants, and variegated flags of the moving fleet, entering and departing — lends renewed interest to the glowing panorama. Still onward, the frowning batteries of Govern or's island, Ellis's island, and Gibbet island, hover, like carrion-scenting vultures, above the track of the passing vessels, while Staten Island, with the beautiful villas of New Brighton, crown ing its circling terraces, and the quiet village of Castleton, distinguished by the extensive erections attached to the Quarantine station, and the low line of shore fronting the state of New Jersey — - offers a combination of varied attractions. On either hand the posthumous fame of Fulton; ascends with the spiral wreaths of smoke, that like dusky serpents curl from the funnels of the: numerous steamers that ply to and fro upon the bay and river, while the " yo, heave ho," of the mariners, the monotonous chant of the steve dores, the measured stroke of the skilfully plied oars of the waterman, the " clinking hammers" of the ship-yards, the hurried shouts of the- officers of vessels and the answering response of their crews, the rattling of iron cables, the creaking of swayed masts, and the flutter of shivering sails — are the whisperings of the modern Babel, falling on the ear of the loiterer at Williamsburgh, in her seasons of repose. The prospect from the southern section of the village embraces a fine view of the Wallabout bay ; and among the striking objects which arrest the attention, the extensive ship houses and vessels of war at the Navy yard, and the United States' Naval hospital, are peculiarly conspicuous. Landward from the tranquil Bay, which is in the form of a crescent, the rising grounds form a natural semi-amphitheatre, whose surface is dotted with tasty cottages and cultivated gardens, and which combined with the gentle undulation which greets the eye, constitute a scene of no little beauty. In the interior of the village, a short mile from the river, a number of enterprising citizens of the metropolis have erected neat summer dwel lings, whose white pillars, cupolas, and wings, when viewed from a distance, are picturesque and attractive. VIEW OF WILLIAMSBURGH, L I., FROM NEW YORK. 263 The several avenues which connect the vil lage with the interior, among which Maspeth avenue, Division avenue, which is the dividing line between Brooklyn and the village, arid ex tends, to the Jamaica and Brooklyn turnpikes, and the Jamaica and Newtown turnpikes are the most prominent, and conduct the traveller through numerous scenes of romantic interest. The new turnpike, just completed, which skirts the margin of the East river until it reaches Ravenswood, at a distance of four miles, furnish ing a view of the establishment for the support and education of pauper children under the con trol of the New York Common Council, is a beautiful drive, passing through a checkered landscape of hill and dale, meadow and thicket, and giving occasional glimpses of Long Island sound on the one hand, and New York bay on the other. But in our utilitarian age and country, the use ful takes precedence of the ornamental, and the rapid increase of Williamsburgh must be the re sult of its local adaptation to the requirements of economy and convenience, rather than to its claims on the taste of the wealthy portion of our population. Connected with New York by two ferries, one between Peck slip and South Seventh-street, and the other between Grand-street in New York, and the foot of Grand-street, Williamburgh, with boats constantly plying, the manufacturer and mechanic can conduct his business and reside at Williams burgh at a reduced expenditure, and at the same time enjoy most of the benefits resulting from a residence in the metropolis. In addition to the ferry accommodations above named^ the new ferry from Houston-street in New York, to Grand- street, Williamsburgh, will be in operation in a efew months. The village covers an area of about one thou sand acres divided into eleven hundred lots, each twenty-five by one hundred feet. There have been erected since the year 1836, between four and fivehundred dwellings and several man ufactories. There are six churches erected for the accommodation of the Reformed Dutch, Epis copal, Methodist, and Roman Catholic congre gations. There are also within the village and on its immediate boundaries, nine rope-walks, one glue manufactory, four hat manufactories, and one in process of erection, two tanneries, two distilleries, two ship-yards, one carpet man ufactory and two establishments for grinding spices, and also several schools and one lyceum, numbering about fifty members, together with one Fire Insurance company, the business of which is extensive and profitable. The population has increased about two thou sand since 1836, and the numerous dwellings under contract and in process of erection indicate a continuation of a like increase. The village :s governed by a board of nine trustees, possessing the power of opening streets, apportioning taxes, &c. &c. The principal streets which intersect each other at right angles, are opened and regulated. and several are paved. The distance between the most populous por tions of Long Island and the city of New York, is much lessened by the new avenues recently opened to the Village, and which has greatly in creased ihe travel across the different ferries, and there is little doubt that the lapse of a few years will give to Williamsburgh a population, whose numbers will entitle it to rank with what Brook lyn was a short period since. THE FAMILY MEETING BY CHAELES SPRAGUE. [The following lines were written on occasion of the acciden tal meeting, a few evenings since, of all the surviving members of a family, the father and mother of which (one eighty-two the other eighty years old) have lived in the same house ffly- Ihree years.] — Boston Courier. We are all here ! Father, Mother, Sister, Brother, All who hold each other dear, Each chair is filled, we're all at home, To-night let no'cold strsjger come; It is not often thus abound Our old familiar hearth we're found. Bless then the meeting and the spot, For once be every care forgot ; Let gentle peace assert her power, And Kind affection rule the hour; VWre all, all here, We're not all here ! Some are away — the.dead ones dear, Who thronged with us this ancient hearth ; And gave the hour to guiltless mirth, Fate, with a stern, relentless hand, Looked in and thinned our little band : Some like a night flash passed away, And some sank;, lingering, day by day;. The quiet graveyard— some lie there And cruel Ocean has his share—' We're not all here. We are all here ! Even they, the dead, though dead, so dear/ Fond memory, to her duty true, Brings back their faded forms to view. How life-like through the midst of years Each well-remembered face appears; We see them as in times long past, From each to each kind looks are cast ; We hear their words, their smile behold, They're round us as they were of old, We are all here. We are all here ! Father, Mother; Sister, Brother, You that 1 love with love so dear, This may not long of us be said, . Soon must we join the gathered dead, And by the hearth we now sit round, Some other circle will be found. O then that wisdom may we know, That yields a life of peace below ; So in the world to follow this, May each repeat in words of bliss, We're all, all here! 264 HELL GATE. " Here, where we rest the gentlest waters glide, There, hurry on a strong impetuous tide ; But yonder, gods ! with tenfold thunder's force, Dashing the war-ship in its whirlpool course."* Modern fastidiousness, which often, withphar- lsaical inconsistency, strains at a gnat and swal lows a camel, has endeavored to impress us with a belief that our Dutch ancestors were too puri tanical to give such a name as Hell-Pot to a natural whirlpool as the one found in the East river, seven miles from the city of New-York. This is not reasoning correctly. The Teutonic nation from which the Dutch descended were possessed of a wild and powerful imagination, and gave poetic terms to every natural phenomenon. The Maelstrom on the coast of Norway, is the name of a whirlpool which varies but little in sig nification from the one given to the same thing in the East river. Scylla and Charybdis, between Sicily and the main land of Italy, have also a miraculous origin in the legends of Rome ; the former, now a ledge of rocks of great height, was an enchantress changed by Circe, a more power ful and more wicked spirit, to this mass of stone, on which unfortunate voyagers might be wrecked and dashed to pieces when they steered too near her dreadful coast to get rid of Charybdis, now a direful whirlpool, but once an avaricious woman, condemned in her change to a ravenous and in satiate appetite for devouring her prey. In every nation where a Syrtis is found, it is in the ima gination of the people of the country, in some measure, connected with their legends, in its name, at least, with infernal spirits. This is natural. The early Dutch settlers were as likely to indulge their imaginations as other people. It was indeed, when first discovered, a wonder, and is so now. He was a brave man who first ven tured to examine Hell Gate and pass it. Wash ington Irving has told the story in a playful way. "His description is a piece of easy and felicitous humor. All the other descriptions of it that we have seen, are sufficiently dull t,o put one to sleep. Spaffbrd in his very clever Gazetteer of the state of New York, says: — "Horll-gate, Hurl-gate, or Hell-gate is a narrow and difficult strait in the East river, eight miles above New-York, formed by projecting rocks that confine the water to a narrow and crooked channel, and causing strong eddy currents." The following description from the American Coast Pilot is a brief and business-like account of this singular passage-way. " Hell Gate, and the narrow pass, leading into Long Island Sound, at the time of slack water and with a leading wind, may safely be attempted with frigates ; small ships and vessels, with a commanding breeze pas sed at all times with the tide. On the flood, bound into the sound, you pass to the southward of the flood-rock, which is the southernmost of the three remarkable rocks in the passage. On the ebb you go to the northward of the Mill rock, the * Schipper Adriaen Block's vacht being at an anchor near the east end of Blackwell's Island, this poetry is supposed to have been written on the occasion. stream of the tide setting that way, and forming eddies in the flood passage, which * at that time is; rendered unsafe. The Pot on which there are ten feet at low water," shows distinctly by the whirlpool, as also the Pan which is a part of the Hog's Back." On the slack of the tide in the strait, the young anglers venture to bring- their boat over the chasm, and while two of them with their oars keep the boat in the position required, others throw out their lines and draw from the depths below, fine, large, white-nosed black fish, or the striped bass. This sport lasts only about fifteen or twenty minutes at a time. The boat is darted with skill and velocity to the shore, on the slight est indication that the whirlpool is awakening from its momentary repose. Vessels are frequently wrecked in this strait. When the artist sketched the view given in this number, there were two stranded vessels in sight, a faithful view of them has been presented, by the engraver to give spirit, truth, and nature to the scene. The one in the distance on Rhine- lander's reef,~is the British Brig Evelina of Hali fax, the one in the foreground is the Schooner Lexington of Kennebeck, both shipwrecked within a few days of each other. The vessels alongside are lighters in the act of removing the cargoes. * The aborigines had numerous tales- of wondei in regard to this whirlpool, which they had learn ed to pass with skill and safety, but not without some superstitious fears of evil spirits. The first European settlers had a different, but not a much inferior love of the marvellous, than that which the red men had cherished. They heard the moanings of evil spirits before the storm, and in it their triumphant roar at the havoc- they had made, of property and human lives. The drown ed of all times, who had found a grave in this rush of waters, added the cry of danger as a warning for those crossing their oozy bed. The English frigate Huzza, during the revolu tionary war, in attempting to pass Hell Gate to get to sea by the Sound, struck ' the rocks and was so much injured that after sailing a few miles she sunk in deep water. It was supposed that she had a rich military chest on board, destined for some British port. This general impression induced some enterprising men to examine the sunken vessel by means of diving bells, but either they were under a wrong impression in regard, to the money on board of her when she went down, or were not able to make thorough examination, for they found no money. The better opinion now is, that the treasure was landed before she sail ed. Frigates however have passed the strait in safety. Two French frigates were blockaded in the harbour of New-York, by a British squadron during the French revolution. By the aid of a trusty pilot, watching the most favorable winds and tides, they attempted the dangerous naviga tion with success. One of the vessels struck the rocks once, and the other twice, but neither of them received any essential injury. Thousands were watching this adventurous enterprise with anxiety, but with different feelings ; enmity has its hopes and fears, as well as friendship. Party 267 spirit was then raging with more fury than the waters of Hell Gate. * The shores on either side of the strait are beautiful, and in their sunny quietude, viewed on a summer's morning,form a pleasing contrast to the agitation of the waters, and the roar they make when the tide is low, and the rocks are visible. It is conjectured by some philosophers that Long Island was once a part of the main land, and that in some violent agitation of nature, these rocks which had perhaps been at the head of an estuary, began to give way to the omnipo tence ofthe waters, which went rushing onward, conquering and dividing the heretofore main land. Picturesque Beauties of the Hudson. THE WESTERN " BARRENS." Barhkns are a species of country of a mixed char acter, uniting forest and prairie. They are cov ered with scattered oaks, rough and stunted in their appearance, interspersed with patches of hazel, brushwood, and tough grass. They appear to be the result of the contest which the fire is periodically continuing with the timber. The appearance of this description of country led -the early settlers of the state to suppose that the scantiness of the timber was owing to the poverty of the soil ; and hence the title, thus ignorantly given, and calculated to convey erroneous notions to our Eastern farmers, became of uniyersal application to this extensive tract of coun try. It is ascertained, however, that these barrens embrace as productive a soil as can be found in the state — healthy, more rolling than the prairies, and abounding with that important requisite to desirable farms, good springs. The fire visits these barrens in the fall, but, owing to the insufficiency ofthe fuel, is not able to destroy, entirely, the timber. The farmer may settle, without hesitation or fear, in any part of this species of land, where he can find timber sufficient for his present purposes and wants ; for the soil is supposed to be better adapted to all the in terests of agriculture and the vicissitudes of the sea sons th^n the deeper and richer mould of bottom and prairie land. Where the fire is prevented from its ravages, (as it easily can be by the occupant of the soil,) heavy timber springs up with a rapidity which would be incredible to the northern emU grant., High insulated bluffs, of a conical form, and exhibiting the appearance of connected ridges, rise up from the bottoms, along the rivers which meander and fertilize them : they are from one to three hun dred feet in height. Knobs of land, stony and often rocky at their summits, are found along the rivers in some sections of the state, separated by deep ra vines. The prairies are often intersected by ra vines leading down to the streams. Deep sink-holes, which serve to drain off the waters, are found in some parts, and prove that the substance is second ary limestone, abounding in subterraneous cavities. Very little that is denominated in the Eastern states stony ground is found in this state. There are quar ries of stones in the bluffs, in the banks of the streams, and in the ravines. In the vicinity of Juli et, and many other promising villages, an abundance of stone can be procured, admirably adapted to the purposes of building; uniting durability with great beauty and warmth. Timber, were it equally distrib uted in this state, would be adequate to the neces sities of the settlers. Its apparent scarcity, where the prairie prevails, is now considered not to be so great an obstacle to settlement as has been generally im agined. Substitutes have been found for many of the purposes to which timber is generally applied ; and the rapidity with which prairie, under the hand of care and cultivation, becomes converted into for ests of timber, affords a sure guarantee for the future. The kinds of timber most abundant in the state are oaks of the various species, black and white walnut, ash of the several varieties, elm, sugar-maple, honey-locust, hackberry, linden, hickory, cotton- wood, pecan, mulberry, buckeye, sycamore, cherry, box, elder, sassafras, and persimon. In the south ern and eastern parts of the state, yellow-poplar and beech may be found. Near the Ohio are cy press-trees, and in several counties clumps of yel low-pine and cedar. On the Calumet, near the south end of lake Michigan, is a forest of small trees. The underwood growth consists principal ly of redbud, pawpaw, sumach, plum, crab-apple, grape-vines, dogwood, spicebush, green brier, hazel, &c. The trees in this state are very luxuriant in their growth, and are frequently found of a stupen dous size, particularly the cotton-wood and sycamore, on the alluvial soil of the rivers. The black-lo cust, a native of Ohio and Kentucky, may be cul tivated from the seed, with less labour than a nur sery of apple-trees. Of rapid growth and affording valuable and durable timber, it strongly commends itself to the attention of our farmers. It forms one of the cleanliest, most beautiful, and pleasant shades ; when in the spring-time of its blossom, it presents a rich and attractive appearance, and sends into the surrounding atmosphere a delicious fragrance. And here we might properly call the attention of our farmers and agriculturists generally, to the sub ject of nurseries of fruit and ornamental trees. With a soil remarkably adapted to their cultivation, and a country rapidly increasing in wealth, and the consequent conveniences and luxuries of life, the enterprising arborist would receive the most grateful encouragement and profit for his labours ; increase, in this new and rapidly advancing state, the sources of beauty and pleasure, and enjoy the gratification of witnessing, in many a decorated yard and blushing orchard, the rich and blooming monuments of his in dustry and taste. Nothing contributes so much to the beauty and. attractions of the village-yard or cultiva ted farm, as well-selected ornamental trees in the one, and the extensive orchards ofthe finest fruit- trees in the other. Art, with all its power to charm may embellish, but it cannot supply so great a source of abundant enjoyment. Chicago American. American Vine. — The expedition to the Rocky mountains found on the borders of the Arkansas near the eastern side of the great desert, hundreds of acres of the same kind of vine which produce the wines of Europe. — The vines were growing in a wild state and were surrounded with hillocks of sand, rising to within 12 or 18 inches of the,, end of the branches. They were loaded with the most deli cious grapes, and the clusters were so closely arran ged as to conceal every part of the stem. These hil locks of sand are produced by the agency of the vines, arresting the sand as it is borne along by the wind 268 The Landing of Henry Hudson. HENRY HUDSON. " Henry Hudson, an Englishman, who had failed in his attempts to find a northwest passage for ships to the East Indies, and had been dismissed from the service of the English, was received into the employ of the Dutch East India Company, and in his third voyage of discovery, after coasting as far south as Virginia, he turned north again, and saw for the first time the highlands of Neversink, on the 2d of Sept. 1609, and next day entered the great bay of New- York, Staten Island, and Amboy. "It is supposed that he went with his vessel, the Half Moon, as far as where Albany now stands, and then returned ; and after sometimes trading with the Indians, and sometimes killing them, he went back to Europe again, without going up the East River at all. It is said that his men forced him to go to En gland, although he was sent out by the Dutch. The king of England kept Hudson from going to Holland, and employed him to make discoveries for Great Britain : but he never returned to New York. " On his fourth voyage he discovered Hudson's Bay, but a mutiny occurred onboard his ship, and he was set adrift in a boat by his crew, and was never heard of more." Dunlap's New York. THE ARCTICK PASSAGE DISCOVERED. The London Morning Chronicle, of April 10th, publishes an account of one of the most important geographical discoveries of the age — being no less than a solution of the long-pending problem, whether or not there is a communication by water from the Atlantick to the Pacific ocean, around the northern portion of the American continent. The discovery was made by an expedition fitted out by the Hudson's Bay Company in the spring of 1836, and was commanded by Mr. Simpson, then governour, with Messrs. P. Dease, and Thos. Simp son, and twelve chosen men. They wintered in Athabasca lake ; descended Slave and Mackenzie's rivers, at the opening of navigation, and reached Fort Good Hope, the most northern establishment of the company, July 4th, where they found an assem blage of Hare and Louchcoux Indians. They reached the ocean by the westernmost mouth of Mackenzie's river on the 9th, and proceed ed along the coast, encountering the Esquimaux and ; every imaginable difficulty from the ice : passing Point Kay, Camden bay, &c, and reached Foggy Islands bay on the 23d. From this situation, 70 de grees latitude, they discovered a range of the Rocky mountains. The narrative proceeds : — Next morning, 26th July, they passed the Gany, a river about one mile broad. From Cape Halkett the coast turned suddenly off to the W. N. W. It presented to the eye nothingbot a succession of low banks of frozen mud. In the evening they passed the mouths of a large stream, which they named Smith's river. From thence for about nine miles the coast line is formed of gravel reefs, near the extremity of which, at Point Pitt, the land trends more to the westward. Here they were detained by ice until the following afternoon, (27th,) when an opening presented itself, they resumed their route. It blew a cutting blast from the northeast, and the salt water froze upon the oars and the rigging. Point Drew, seven miles distant from their last en campment, is the commencement of a bay of con siderable size, but extremely shallow, and much en cumbered with ice. To seaward the ice was still smooth and solid, as in the depth of a sunless winter. At midnight, they reached a narrow projecting point, across which the peaks of some high icebergs ap peared. This point they named Cape George Simp son, as a mark of respect for the governour of the company's territories, to whose excellent arrange ments the success of the expedition is in a great measure indebted. This point was destined to be the limit of their boat navigation, for during the four following days they were only able to advance as many miles. The weather was foggy and dismally cold, the wild fowl 269 passed in long flights to the westward, and there seemed little prospect of their being able to reach Beechey's Point Barrow by water. Boat Extreme is. situated' in lat. 71«deg. 3 min. 24 sec. N.,1 long. 154 deg. 26 min. 30 sec. W. ; variation of compass 4Z.deg. 36 min.' 18. sec. E. Under these circumstances Mr. Thomas Simpson undertook tp complete the journey on foot, and ac cordingly started on the first of August with five men, Mr. Dease and the other five men remaining in charge of the boats. The pedestrians carried with them, their arms, some ammunition,- pemiean, a small oiled, canvass canoe for the crossing of rivers, the necessary astror nomical instruments, and some trinkets forthe natives. It was one of the worst days of the whole season, and the fog was so dense that the party were under the necessity of rigidly following the tortuous outline of the coast, which for twenty miles formed a sort of- irTegular inland bay (being guarded without by a se ries of gravel reefs) the shore of which was almost on a level with the water, and intersected with in numerable salt creeks, through which they waded, besides three considerable rivers which they trav ersed in their portable canoe. Next day the weath er improved,' and at noon Mr. Simpson had an ob- ! servation for lat. in 71 deg. 9 min. 45-sec. The land now inclined to the southwest, and continued very low and muddy, and as on the preceding day, abound ing in salt creeks, whose waters were at the freez ing temperature. The party had proceeded about ten miles, when to their dismay the coast suddenly turned off to the southward, forming an inlet as far as the eye could reach. At the same moment, they descried at no great distance a small camp of Esquimaux, to which they immediately directed their steps. The men were absent hunting, and the women and children took to their boat in the greatest alarm, leaving behind them an infirm man, who was in an agony of fear. A few words of friendship removed his apprehensions, and brought back the fugitives, who were equally sur prised and delighted to behold white men. They set before the party fresh reindeer meat and seal oil. Mr. Simpson now determined to adopt a more ex peditious mode of travelling, by obtaining the loan of one of their " oomiaks," or family skin canoes, to convey the party to Point Barrow, with which, from a chart drawn by one of the women, it appeared that these people were well acquainted. Four oars were fitted with lashings to this strange craft. Before starting the hunters arrived, and pres ents of tobacco, awls, buttons, &c, were made to all the inmates of the encampment, with which they were highly gratified. Dease's inlet is five miles broad at this place, yet so low is the land that one shore is just visible from the other in the clearest weather. It now again blew strongly from the northeast, bringing back the cold dense fog ; but the traverse was effected by the aid of the compass. The waves run high, and the skin boat surmounted them with great buoyancy; the party encamped on the west side of the inlet. The banks there were of frozen mud, ten or twelve feet high ; the country within was perfectly flat, abounded in small lakes, and produced a very short grass ; but nowhere had the thaw penetrated more than two inches beneath the surface, while under water along the shore the bottom was still impene trably frozen. Not a log was to be found in this land of desolation ; but our party followed the example of the natives, and made their fire of the roots of the dwarf willow in a little chimney of turf. Next morning, August 3, the fog cleared for a while, but it was still bitterly cold, and the swell beat violently on the outside of a heavy line of ice which lay packed upon the shore. To weather this was a work of danger ; but the good qualities of their boat, after a severe trial, car ried them safely through. The land ran out for five miles to the northward, then turned off to the north west, beyond which, at Point Christie, the lat. 71 deg. 12 min. 36 sec. was observed. From thence the coast trended more westerly for ten miles, form ing two points and ia bay, which Mr. Simpson named after chief factors Charles and Rowand, and chief trader Ross. The party then came up to what ap peared a large bay, where they halted for two or three hours to await the dispersion of the fog — not knowing which way to steer. In the evening their wish was gratified, and the weather from that time was sensibly ameliorated. The bay was now ascer tained to be only four miles in width ; the depth half way across was \\ fathoms on a bottom of sand ; that of Dease's inlet was afterward found to be two fathoms, muddy bottom, being the greatest depth be tween Return Reef and Point Barrow, except at ten miles southeast from Cape Halkett, where three fathoms were sounded on our return. After crossing Mackenzie's bay the coast again trended for eight or nine miles to the W. N. W. A compact body of ice extended all along, and beyond the reach of vision to seaward ; but the party carried their light vessel within that formidable barrier, andmade their way through the narrow channels close to the shore. At midnight, they passed the mouth of a fine deep river, a quarter of a mile wide, to which Mr. Simp son gave the nam.e of Bellevue, and in less than an hour afterward the rising sun gratified him with the view of Point Barrow stretching out to the N. N. W. They soon crossed Elson bay, which in the perfect calm, had acquired a tough coating of young ice, but had much difficulty in making their way through a broad and heavy pack that rested upon the shore. On reaching it, and seeing the ocean extending away to the southward, they hoisted their flag, and with three cheers took possession of their discover ies in his Majesty's name. Point Barrow is along lowspit, composed of gravel and coarse sand, which the pressure of the ice has forced up into numerous mounds, that, viewed from a distance, assume the appearance of huge boulder rocks. At the spot where the party landed, it is only a quarter of a mile across, but it is broader to ward its termination. The first object that present ed itsplf on looking round the landing-place, was an immense1 cemetery. The bodies lay exposed in the most horrible and disgusting manner, and many of them appeared so fresh that the men became alarm ed that the- cholera, or some other dreadful disease, was raging among the natives. Two considerable camps ofthe latter stood at no great distance on the point, but none of the inmates ventured to ap proach till our party first visited them, and with the customary expressions of friendship, dissipated then apprehensions. 270 THE PALISADES. There is probably no river in the world whose vicinage, within the same extent, presents such a combination of beauty and grandeur of natural scenery, enriched by historical associations of the greatest moment, as the Hudson. From Manhattan island to its junction with the Mohawk, lofty mountains, gently undulating hills, cultiva ted fields, and beautiful villages and hamlets al ternately meet the eye as we speed along its waters in the swift steamer, all bursting in suc cession upon the sight like the startling scenes of a moving panorama. And to the Ameri can — to the happy recipient of the boon of liberty — a boon fought for and won by his fathers, and bequeathed to him as a birthright, almost every spot is hallowed by the associations con nected with the history of the War of Indepen dence. Many a mountain summit has been the pyre on which beacon fires were lighted by the hand of disinterested patriotism ; many a plain that meets our view is the place where men, strong in body and stronger in principle, bivou acked at night, and marshalled in battle array at day, ready to strike boldly for their country and their firesides. The first objects of historical interest to be seen after leaving New York, are the ruins of Forts Lee and Washington : the former is situa ted just at the commencement of the Palisades, about ten miles above the city, and the latter, nearly opposite, upon the eastern bank of the river. On entering the Tappan Zee, now Tappan Bay, you see upon the east, the village of Tarry- town, and on the west, that of Tappan ; one mem orable as the place where the unfortunate Andre was arrested, and the other as the spot where he was executed. We next pass Stoney Point, the scene of one of the brave exploits of General Wayne ; and reaching Caldwell's Landing, oppo site Peekskill, romantic scenery seldom sur passed, is developed. Every spot on shore is consecrated ground — consecrated by the con gregation there of several of the master spirits of the war of Independence. There at one time Washington, Putnam, Kosciusko, Arnold and other officers met, and celebrated the birthday of the Dauphin of France, the unfortunate Louis who lost his crown and his life during the revolution of '94. In this neighborhood are the ruins of Forts Montgomery and Clinton ; and soon after passing the lofty promontory on the eastern shore of the river, we may see in the distance toward the northwesVpn the summit of Mount Independence the gravBBls of Fort Putnam, about four hun dred feerabove the plain on which stands the Military Academy of West Point, and about three quarters of a mile distant. The plateau of West Point, and its whole neighborhood, is classic ground. Here too were congregated the worthies of the Revolution^ and at this "key to the northern country" Kosciusko for some time made his residence: Here Arnold formed his plans of treason, and from hence despatched Andre on his fatal journey. Here amid the mounds whichj mark the redoubts of Fort Clinton, arises a mon-' ument sacred to the memory of the brave Polish officer. And not far distant is another, erected by General Brown in honor of Col. Elea^ar D. Wood who fell at the sortie of Fort Erie in 1814. We might multiply our records of the past deeds of bravery and patriotism which this classic spot brings to recollection, and point to the head quarters of Washington at Newburgh; to the crest of Beacon Hill whereon fires were lighted during the stormy period of , pur war for liberty; or to the passage up the river of British vessels as far as Kingston, to burn villages and awe the inhabitants into submission to British authority; but in so doing we should digress too far from the object of this article — a brief notice of the Palisades, a portion of which is represented in our frontispiece. The Palisades are so named from their perpen dicular position, and resemblance to columns forming an enclosure. They extend from a point a little north of Hoboken, N. J. on the western side of the river, to near Slote creek, a distance of over twenty miles ; and present a wall, varying in perpendicular height from two hundred to six hundred feet. They forrri a part of a basaltic ridge which rises at Bergen point in New Jersey,; and gradually increases in height till some of its summits reach an elevation of more than a thou sand feet above tide-water. This ridge curves round Tappan Bay, leaving on the margin of the cove, a limited but pleasant champagne country, which is in a high state of cultivation. The ridge varies in width from an eighth of a mile to three miles, forming a handsome region of arable table land. The Palisades are divided into numerous verti cal fissures, which give them the appearance of detached columns. In these fissures are frequent ly found alluvial deposites, from which vegetation shoots forth, the only relief to their hare and mason-work appearance. • These basalt rocks comprehend almost every variety of formation— the Amygdaloid, containing cellules, sometimes empty, and sometimes filled, and often presenting the warty appearance of slag — the basaltic Bres cia or Traptvff consisting of pebbles and angular grains cemented^and the columnar basalt in pris. matic polygons, sometimes articulated, consist ing of hornblende, feldspar and epidote, with which compact and radiated prehnite is some times blended. This wall of " eternal masonry " is beautifully VIEW OF THE PALISADES ON THE HUDSON, NEAR NEW YORK. 273 contrasted by the finely cultivated country on the eastern side of the river, which rises in a gentle slope from the water's edge and presents at a glance a rich agricultural region, adorned with tasteful mansions. Although here the superior grandeiir of the Highlands is wanting, yet the pleasing combination of the majestic and beautiful renders this portion of the scenery of the Hudson river, inferior to none other. THE INDIANS OF WESTERN NEW YORK. Among the many acts of brotherly love for which the society of Friends are eminent, one, productive of much good, is that of appointing a committee at each yearly meeting, to visit the remnants of the Indian tribes, in the western part of New York. The following interesting facts are derived from the report of the committee, ap pointed at the last yearly meeting. The Onqndagas. The reservation secured to this tribe, is situated about seven miles south from the beautiful village of Syracuse, and consists of a territory about two and a half miles wide by three and three quarters in length, and has a present population of some three hundred souls. The condition of these Indians, when the notice of the Friends was first attracted to them, is described as having been deplorable. There was but one house in the whole Reservation, and the door of that house was placed upon four stakes, driven into the earth, to form a table, from which their friendly visitants could eat the provisions which they carried with them. A few miserable bark huts formed_the residue of their habitations, and the poor people were in as wretched a state as could well be imagined. They were cut off from their natural means of support — the chase ; and they felt themselves oppressed, despised, and look ed upon the white man as their oppressor. The whites at that period, instead of encouraging the Indians, seemed disposed rather to deceive and wrong them. Intemperance found its way among them, through the white man's introduction, and the degraded, despised' Indian, looking forward only to the rapid and inevitable extinction of his race, gave himself up to inaction and to vice. Such was the situation of the Onondagas, when the notice of the Friends' Society was attracted toward them. Mark the change. They have now a Council-House, which is a commodious white frame building — and dwelling- 1 houses mostly frame, though some are of hewn ' logs, sufficiently comfortable to accommodate the population. Their houses are mostly' about twenty by thirty feet, generally not painted. They own a saw-mill, and rent it to a white man, who saws their logs on shares. There is no grist-mill in the settlement, though they have many good mill sites. Most of the Indians keep one or more cows, and their barns are at least as numerous as their houses. Their lodgings are on cot-bed steads, but the beds and a few simple articles of 35 furniture exhibit but little neatness or order. A wooden mortar and pestle for pounding corn, a few iron pots, stools and wooden utensils, with scarcely an article of crockery generally comprise their whole store of household furniture. Some of the houses have only shutters "without glass windows. These Indians generally go decently dressed ; many of them, however, retaining the peculiarities of the red man, such as broaches, earrings, bead-embroidered leggins, &c. Their lands are now well cultivated — their lots are in many instances neatly fenced — they have im proved their roads — and have made very satisfac tory advances in the arts of civilized life. All this is the fruit of the benevolence of the Society of Friends. None of this nation appear to have joined any society of Christian professors , their religion is of the most simple character, inculca ting reverence for the Great Spirit, and for Him only— and that he will reward them according to their actions. Tonawandas. This is understood to be one of the most prosperous Indian settlements in the State. The population now amounts to about 500. Their dwellings are generally comfortable, and their furniture and cooking utensils better than those usually found in Indian dwellings. Their lands appear to be of good quality, are well cultivated, and stocked with horses and cattle. Black Chief is the head of the tribe, which is said to be unanimously averse to the government scheme of emigration. Tuscaroras. This Reservation consists of 6920 acres, 5000 of which were purchased by the In dians from the Holland Land Company, and no one holds a preemption right over this portion of it. Population 280 persons. The Railroad to the Falls of Niagara passes through this tract, and the Company very honorably made compen sation to the Indians for the damages occasioned thereby. Several of the Tuscaroras have very good farms, which they cultivate with success. One of them had a field last season of twenty acres in wheat on his farm, and it is stated that he had saved, and placed out at interest, three thousand dollars. Cattaraugus. This Reservation extends from the north of, Cattaraugus Creek, seven miles into the interior, and is four miles wide; the soil is light, fertile, and easy to cultivate. The principal clearings are along the public road, producing fine grass and grain. But a small portion of the valley is yet cleared, much of the timber being heavy. The dwellings are principally built of logs, though there were a number of snug frame- houses, with good barns and other -out-houses. There is a saw-mill, rented to a white man, and much timber is cut on this Reservation. The approach to this settlement, which is under the especial care of the Genesee Yearly Meeting, is thus detailed : — "After travelling a difficult road, for two miles through the woods, that nearly surrounded the Indian settlement, we emerged from them, near the brink of an abrupt descent perhaps two hun dred feet ; below lay a delightful valley, several miles wide, nearly level, extending east and west as far as the eye could reach. It was studded 274 over, here and there, with Indian habitations. Through this valley ran the Cattaraugus creek, or river, though hidden from our sight by trees. The first dwellings we approached were without chimneys, and about the poorest we had seen. It was a pleasant evening, and we met several men, women and children, returning from the labors of the field, with hoes in their hands. We proceeded down the valley, on a pretty good road, to the settlement granted by the Indians to Friends, for the support of an Indian school. This establishment is on the main road from Lodi to Lake Erie. The buildings are placed on a green lawn of about an acre, and consist of a dwelling-house twenty-six by thirty-six feet, school-house, barn, and other out-buildings. The farm contains about two hundred acres; seventy of which are well enclosed, and cultivated in wheat, oats, Indian corn, potatoes, &c, with con siderable meadow, all in good condition. We attended the school, and procured a specimen of Indian writing ; there were present fourteen small Indians, and a number of white children, who, with their parents, resided among them. In winter, we were told, it was attended by an average of twenty-four ; many of the larger children being now at home, employed in hoeing corn ; a num ber of whom we saw, and found they could read, write and cipher, and speak tolerable English. In November, 1840, the benevolent arrangement of the Friends with the Indians, as respects the school, and the two hundred acres of land set apart for its support, will expire ; after which period, it is specified in the articles of agreement, between the Indians and the Committee of Genesee Yearly Meeting, that it shall be continued, under the care of a joint committee of Indians and Friends, for the education of the children in the Cattaraugus Reservation, for ever." The in-door arrangements of these Indians, it is said, do not correspond with the improvements which they have otherwise made ; although there are instances, where they have, in addition to a comfortable frame-house, a sufficient number of beds, chairs, tables, crockery, and kitchen-uten sils, much in the order of a farmer in comfortable circumstances. Very many of the men of this tribe dress after the manner of their white neighbors ; the women generally dress in short-gowns and petticoats, ornamented leggins and moccasins, or shoes ; they wear the blanket or shawl over the head and shoulders, and trinkets about the neck. They commonly eat but twice a day, or when hungry, though many are beginning to adopt the practice of eating at regular periods, like white people ; their principal diet is boiled hommony, sometimes sweetened with maple sugar. These Indians may be called a sober people. They are tolerably in dustrious, and generally provide a sufficiency for support. Some support themselves well by making moccasins, &c. for sale. The women still work in the fields, with their husbands. There are a number in this, as in other reservations, who let out their cleared land to white people, at an annual rent of from two to three dollars per acre. Senecas. — The remnant of this great tribe in habits the Buffalo reservation. The narrative of the Committee of Friends thus describes their visit to this reservation :— "We called at Big Kettle's habitation. He was not at home, having retired to a distant resi dence, in poor health. He is said to be.a man of great powers of mind ; is the first .chief of the Seneca Nation since Red Jacket, and preserves the simplicity ofthe Indian character. His house a small log-building, we felt strongly inclined to enter, but an ox-yoke leaning against the door (the Indian lock and key) forbade the act, and we retired, with feelings of respect, for the hon esty of a people who require no other guard for their property. " The main road leads through this Reserva tion, crossing the creek several times on good bridges. " The land is fine and rich, with considerable clearing on both sides of the road. There are about seven hundred and forty inhabitants. Their houses are both frame and log, with barns and out-houses. Several of the houses are very com modious, and their interior arrangements are much better than many we had seen ; some were well furnished. Their women were well clad, and tolerably attentive to domestic order ; they still wear some beads, broaches, &c. The men were dressed mostly like the whites, and the young men generally read and write, and speak English. They have one school, attended by from ten to twenty-five pupils, averaging, about sixteen. They are now convinced of the, neces sity of quitting the chase, becoming farmers, and some; of educating their children. " There are a few mechanics among them, such as plough-makers, carpenters and tailors, but in these branches they have made little progress, owing to their near vicinity to Buffalo, where they can have their wants easily supplied. They have greatly improved in temperance, and had they not . been so harassed on the question of emigration, their advancement in other respects would have been more conspicuous. The per manent improvement making in the several set tlements, we thought, spoke in language stronger than words, the general opposition to removal"' Revolutionary Reminiscence. — The following is a correct list of the soldiers furnished by each State during the revolution. The free population of Mas sachusetts was in 1790,475,000; the population of Virginia about 520,000, of New Hampshire 141,000 Regulars, 12,407 - 67,907 - • - 5,908 - 31,935 17,781 - 10,726. 25,678 - 3,386 13,912 - 26,678 7,363 - 6,1472,619 New Hampshire, - Massachusetts,Rhode Island, Connecticut, - New York, New Jersey, - Pennsylvania,Delaware, Maryland, - Virginia,North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, !.:'*!; an ALBANY. HISTORICAL REMINISCENCES. Albany, was thus named, in the year 1654, in honour of James, Duke of York and Albany, who afterward ascended the throne of England, as James II. Its original Indian name was Scho-negh-ta-da, signifying "the end of the pine woods;" and this name, for the same reason, was applied by the aborigines to the site of the city of Schenectady, where it is yet retained with a slight variation in the orthography, The Dutch named Albany, " Beaverwyck," and afterward " Willemstadt.", It was never known as Fort Orange or Urania, as has been asserted ; but the fort only was called Fort Orange. By some, this place was named in derision, " De Fouck" or The Net, in allusion to the supposed grasping or eafcAm^- propensities of its inhabitants, in the accumulation of wealth. The shores of Albany never knew the footsteps of a white man till the month of September, in the year 1610, when Hendrick Chrystyance, who was sent up the river by Henry Hudson, to reconnoitre, or explore the country, first landed here, and as far as can be learned from tradition and some documentary evi dence, somewhere in the" vicinity of the present North Market. In that or the succeeding year, a party of the Dutch built a block-house on the north point of Marte Gerritse's or Boyd's island, a short distance below the Albany ferry. This house was erected for a twofold purpose, first to open a trade with the Indians in furs, and next to secure themselves against any-sudden attack from the savages. But it was soon demolished, for the next spring's freshet and ice swept the whole of it away. This party then chose a hill subsequently called Kiddenhdogh- ten,* within two miles of Albany, for the erection of another trading-house. The Indians called this hill Ta-wass-a-gun-shee or the Lookout Hill. Not long afterward, however, this post was abandoned, and a more convenient one selected. The spot thus chosen was in the vicinity of the house now called "Fort Orange Hotel," in South-Market street. The Dutch there erected a fort, " mounting eight stone- pieces,"\ and called it " Fort Orange." Till after, the year 1625, the Dutch did not con template making any permanent settlements in this state. They merely visited the country in the autumn and winter, with a view to the fur-trade with the Indians, returning in the spring to Holland or " Vader-landt." But in that year, the Dutch West India Company first entertained the idea of coloni zing -their newly discovered territories in America; and accordingly offered large appropriations of land to such families as should " settle" in -their colony of New Netherlands. This soon brought many over, and from that period till 1635, several of our most respectable Dutch families arrived. Among * Kiddenhooghten, or KidcTs heights or hill, received that name about the year 1701, and according to tradition, in mem ory of the pirate Kidd so celebrated "in song and story," who it was supposed concealed much of his ill-gotten treasure in its vicinity. It "is however doubted whether Kidd ascended the Hudson river as far as Albany. t According to Mr. Vander Kempt, the translator of our Dutch Records, they were called " stien-gestucken," or stone pieces, because they were loaded with stone instead of iron ball. They were formed of large and strong iron bars, longitudinally laid, and bowad with iron hoops, and were of immense caliber them were the ancestors of the Van Schelluyne Quackenboss, Lansing, Bleeker, Van Ness, Pruyn Van Woert, Wendell, Van Eps, and Van Rensselaer families. It does not appear that any stone or brick building was erected here (the fort excepted) until the year 1647, when according to a letter from " Commissary De la Montagnie" to the Dutch gov ernour at New Amsterdam [New York], a stone building was erected near the fort, and he complains of " the enormous libations" poured out upon the occasion of celebrating its completion ; " no less," he says, ,: than eight ankers of brandy were con sumed."* No doubt the whole garrison partook of the festivity. It is believed that the stone building recently taken down, and which stood at the corner south of the theatre in South-Pearl street, was the stone house alluded to by De la Montagnie. About ninety-six years ago, Albany was protected against sudden irruptions from the Indians, by the erection of Palisades,^ (sometimes, though improperly, called Stockades or Stockadoes,) part of the remains of which were visible within the last thirty years. Barrack, now Chapel street, was the principal place for business. Here the Indians congregated with their furs, and here the Dutch attended " with their guilders, their blankets, brandy, powder and shot." Although we cannot vouch for the truth of Dr. Franklin's anecdote, that in those early days, a Dutchman's hand, placed in one scale against a quantity of fur in the other, was computed at one pound, and his foot at two, yet doubtless many frauds were practised upon the natives in their intercourse and trade with the Dutch. The government of the city was extremely rigid, and oftentimes cruel. It bore the character more of a military, despotism, than that of an internal or civil police — heavy penalties were imposed for the least infraction of the laws for regulating trade with the Indians, and many families consequently ruined. This severity drove some of the " traders" to the Schenectady flats, where they intercepted a considerable portion of the fur on its way to Albany, and which occa sioned for many years the most bitter animosities between the inhabitants of the two places. The circulating medium, or currency, then principally in use, was seawant.% The amusements of the Dutch were chiefly sleigh- riding, Pinxter and Paas holidays and wedding fes tivities called '-' Maughet de Bruyt." To these may be added, .strange as it may seem, funeral festivities Pinxter was celebrated during the whitsuntide holy- days, and usually continued three or four days, during which booths or tents were erected for fur nishing refreshments, &c, and the dance called " the totaw," was a great favourite among the inhabitants. The dance was performed by the Blacks of both * An anker contains 16 gallons. At this period, gin is not named as being in use ; nor until the year 1652, does-it appear to have been introduced here among the Dutch. t These palisades consisted of large pieces of timber in closo contact with each other, driven endwise into the ground, and gates or openings were made at suitable intervals, which were closed at night. One was called " The North Gate," and that name, till recently, was applied to that part of our city now called "the fifth ward." These palisades surrounded but a small part of the city. t Seawant was formed of the oyster or clam-shell, and was either of a blue or purple colour, or white. The former was the most valuable, being usually worth five times more than the white. 278 sexes, and somewhat resembled the Spanish Fan dango. This holyday has fallen into disuse within only the last fifteen or twenty years, but many of the inhabitants still remember our celebrated "King Charles," who, with his red uniform, black, shining face, tall figure, and commanding attitude, made this his gala-day, and attracted universal attention. Paas, or the Easter holydays, was celebrated by the break ing, or (as the Dutch phrase was) " butsing" of eggs, boiled and coloured in a decoction of logwood ; and "Maughet de bruyt, ghoe cookies oawt,"* was the clamorous and reiterated cry of an assemblage of men and boys in the evening, about the door of the house where a wedding had been solemnized, and wo betide the windows, if the happy bridegroom did not cause cakes and apples to be distributed in great abundance among the crowd. The funeral ceremonies were very expensive, and usually attend ed by hundreds. Spiced wines, and " doode cook," (or dead-cake) were plentifully used, and pipes and tobacco were added, to these refreshments, till clouds of smoke involved the whole company in almost Cimmerian darkness. Although the Dutch of Beaverwyck had been proverbially charged with an inordinate love of gain, yet their records demonstrate that they were not indifferent to the more important matters of religion. Attached from education and principle to the doc trines and faith of the Reformed church, and firmly believing in the unerring wisdom of the Synod of Dort, and, that, next to the Bible, that Synod had established doctrines, entitled to unqualified venera tion and obedience, they held in abhorrence all who entertained different opinions from them. That they should possess this feeling most intensely against the Roman Catholicks was not indeed wonderful. The wars between Holland and Spain were yet fresh in their recollection, and the cruelties and oppressions which their ancestors had experienced in those contests, rankled in their bosoms, and made them cling the closer to the religion of their fathers. But at that early period there were none, or but few Roman Catholicks in the Colony, against whom they could direct their resentments. Yet, of Jews, Quakers, and Lutherans, (and they were all con sidered by the Dutch as Dissenters, or rather here- ticks,) there was a considerable number, particularly in New Amsterdam, [New York] for we find that as early as January, 1656, the Jews were forbidden, under severe penalties, from " trading" at Beaver wyck. In 1658, the governour and council by another edict declared that "for the honour of God," the Reverend Johannis Erasmus Gottewater, a Lu theran minister, should leave the Colony. In the same year, likewise, a cruel and absurd prosecution was carried on against the Quakers on Long Island, where some of the families and connexions of the Townsends, and others had " abetted and harboured" a number of " that abominable sect," (for so they were named in the proceedings of the governour and council.) Several of them were imprisoned and banished, and a few of them having appeared before the governour " with their heads covered," the sheriff was ordered " to take them immediately to * We have not at present a Dutch dictionary at hand, to give a translation of these words. We believe they signify, "Happy bride, throw out cakes." Communipaw where they came from." Rut these weak and wicked persecutions did not long continue. A stop was put to them as soon as the Dutch West India Company in Holland were apprized of these proceedings, and the Jews, Quakers and Lutherans enjoyed for a season repose from their persecutors. Nay, so liberal and enlightened had the governour and council become, from the merited rebuke given them by the Dutch West India Company, that even the'Jews, the most odious of all these sects, were admitted to the rights of " small citizenship."* Min isters of the Reformed religion were regularly sent from Holland to the Colony. In April, 1657, the Rev. Gideon Schaats set sail from Amsterdam for this colony, and about the same period the Dutch West India Company wrote a letter, stating that they would soon send a bell and a pulpit " for the inhabitants of Fort Orange, and of the village of Beaverwyck,t for their newly constructed little church." This church stood on the site of the old Dutch church near the foot of State street. In this " little church, divine service continued till the larger one was built and enclosed it, and this largei church was demolished some years since. It was a venerable pile of bygone days, and the march of improvement has seldom overturned a nobler struc ture. Not a few of our Dutch inhabitants mourned over its destruction as for a lost child, and some of the painted or burnt glass of its Gothick windows, with other relicks of its existence, are still preserved and cherished by many of our Dutch families with religious affection and veneration. The government of Beaverwyck was in the hands of three or more " commissaries," appointed by die governour and council, and they held their offices usually for one year. Their powers and duties are not so easily defined. They acted as a court of justice with very ample and discretionary powers, both civil and criminal, subject to an appeal to the governour and council. They also exercised1 legis lative powers over the village, similar in some degree to the powers now exercised in this state by trus tees of villages, or by corporations of cities. It is difficult to determine the limits of their powers be yond what has been mentioned, unless we should add that whatever seemed " good in their eyes," they were allowed to do, or cause to be done, and when difficulties or opposition occurred in the execution of their edicts, they had only to call on the garrison of Fort Orange to enforce them. One thing is certain, these commissaries were authorized, or did at least undertake to give or refuse permission to any one they thought proper to build houses, carry on trade, buy or sell, to make or establish manufac tories, stores, shops, taverns, " beer-houses," &c. In short, their power appears to have been despotick and unlimited. The fines, forfeitures, duties, and taxes, which were imposed in Beaverwyck, were very heavy. In the month of June, 1647, Jan La * Rather " Lesser or inferiour citizenship,'' which confemH the right of holding and transferring property, but not of trading without special license. " Great citizenship" conferred every political and civil right. t Beaverwyck (one of the names of the city ot Albany under the Dutch) is synonymous with Bearer-town or borough. " Wyck" is equivalent to the English word burgh or lorougK as Peterborough, Williamsburgh, &c, or, as the Dutch have it, WiUayck, Beaverwyck, &c. 279 Battie, who probably, judging from his name, was a Frenchman, (for many of the Huguenots had sought an asylum, here,) applied for permission "to build a. brewery" in this city, and it was granted him " on his paying yearly six beavers." Now this could not have been less than a duty of from sixty to eighty dollars, and perhaps one hundred dollars by the year ! a The revenues arising from the sale of beer in this city were enormous, considering the paucity of its inhabitants. The duties were usually farmed out, or sold at auction, and during this year and for several years afterward the duties on beer in Bea verwyck exceeded eight hundred dollars — a pretty strong evidence that the Dutch were, as Mr. Vand«r- kemp called them, "famous beer-drinkers." It cannot be clearly ascertained whether this beverage was extracted from barley ov wheat, but we incline to think it was the latter, as but little barley was then cultivated • in the Colony. The laws against Sabbath-breaking imposed very heavy fines on offend ers, and many cases are on record in which the mulcted culprits prayed in vain for mercy. Still, there was a kind of relaxation indulged which must somewhat move our risible muscles. Thus one regulation declared " that no beer should be bought, drank, or sold on Sunday, after the bell had tolled for church," impliedly allowing it before. But of all the objects to Which the Dutch extended their protecting and jealous care, that of the fur-trade with the Indians claimed the greatest, and was almost the alfjabsorbing subject of their edicts and proclama tions. The Indians, as has been stated, usually obtained blankets, gun powder, guns, ball, &c, in exchange for their furs, and consequently the Dutch West India Company attempted to monopolize the entire trade in blankets, powder, &c. Any invasion of this right was severely punished. By an ordi nance or law passed in the year 1639, it was de clared that " if any one without previous license should sell any gun-powder, &c. to the Indians, he should suffer death, and the informer under this law was entitled to a reward of fifty guilders."* The laws of Draco have scarce a parallel to this, nor, can it be justified on the ground that the Colony would otherwise have ' been in danger from Indians having arms and munitions of war in their hands, and that, therefore, great caution and severity were abs'olutely necessary for their safety. No, the Indians on the west bank of the Hudson were friendly and pacifick, and the Dutch in Beaverwyck traded with none other. The law, whatever might have been the pretext, was clearly dictated by the love of gain — the spirit of monopoly. Of the same character, and to prevent strangers from travelling in the interiour without the knowledge of the magis trates, was a regulation or " placard" adopted in 1653, and with some modifications continued for Several years after. This "placard" (which word, according to Dr. Johnson, is derived from the Dutch and French, and signifies " edict, declaration, mani festo,") is so remarkable, that we think a part of it * Mr. Vanderkemp, our Dutch translator, estimates a guilder at three shillings and four pence currency; or forty-one cents six mills and six tenths of a mill. The author of these reminis cences entertains some doubt of "the accuracy of this computa tion, or he suspects there were two different kinds of guilders. Our Dutch inhabitants called an "eighteen penny piece, ' [or pistareen] "drie guilders," or three guilders, which would make the guilder equivalent to only six pence currency. should be given in itsjvery terms. It is in thest words, " all persons are hereby notified that hence forth until further orders, on every Monday, two yachts or barges may start from here [New York] to Fort Orange, with privilege to take together, or one by one, not m.ore than six passengers who shall receive due certificates for the purpose, and the skippers and passengers may pursue their journey having such passports, and which shall be given them by the honourable Arent Van Hattem and Willem Beek- man, at the office of Jan de Yonge on Saturday morning, at eight o'clock, precisely." It bears date New Amsterdam, August 7, 1653, and is signed " Arent Van Hattem, P. L. Vandergrist, Willem Beekman, Johannis Willem Van Bruggen." Genius of Clinton and of Fulton ! what would ye say if you could have beheld this puny attempt of our Mynheers not more than one hundred and eighty years since, to stop the progress of navigation, the march of human intellect, the development of our moral and physical energies, and the increase of our trade, commerce, and manufactures ! And could Governour Stuyvesant and his contemporaries now arise and witness the great improvements of the present age in all these and many other respects, would not th%ir tobacco-pipes drop from their lips, and would they not like Rip Van Winkle be as tounded at the wonderful changes which they beheld ! But raillery apart, our good burghers of Beaverwyck were not disposed tamely to submit to this infringe ment of their privileges. On receiving the first intelligence of this edict, they seized and disman tled the vessel which brought it, and attempted to Lynch (to use a modern phrase) the commander of it, but who fortunately escaped the severe drubbing intended for him. The commissaries of Beaver wyck were alarmed, the soldiers from the fort were called to their aid, and after a smart skirmish order was restored, the vessel recaptured and sent back to New York. Governour Stuyvesant summoned his council and declared that " if ever the Beaver- wyckers should repeat this offence, he would put them out of his protection, and they should never have another dominie [minister], sloop or soldier from him." (To be .deprived of the last would have been no great matter of regret to the Beaverwyckers.) Fort Orange at this time was in a tolerable state of repair. The garrison consisted of forty soldiers, and occasionally was increased to sixty or even one hundred, as Stuyvesant thought the exigences of the times required. According to the records, " an elegant large house with a balustrade," had been built by Dirck Corne- lise of Wesel, within the precincts of the fort, and also, " eight small dwelling-houses for the people of the fort." But one can hardly refrain from smiling, when he reads the complaint made in the yeai 1639, by the commander of the fort to Governour Stuyvesant, statirig, " that the fort was in a miserable state of decay, and that the hogs had destroyed a part of it." The proceedings of our Dutch courts at Beaverwyck even in civil suits, evince more of the spirit of litigation than is compatible with the morals of an enlightened people, and those in criminal cases and for violations of ordinances, furnish the same melancholy evidence. The fines imposed were generally distributed in the sentence, in this way, "one third to the church, one third to the publick. 2S0 and one third to the attorney-general." No doubt the office of attorney-general was very profitable and eagerly sought after. Taxes were imposed on cattle called hoom gelt, and on land, called morgan tal;* besides there were other taxes on property which produced a handsome revenue to the city. Heavy duties were also laid on tobacco, of which large quaniities were raised for exportation on Man hattan island, and of a quality, according to the let ters from the Dutch West India Company, " equal, if not superiour, to the best Virginia." Goats were likewise taxed, animals that were in great abun dance in the colony. Yet, under all these exactions and taxes, the colony flourished and increased in population and resources, owing, no doubt among other causes, to the extravagant profits derived from the fur-trade." Am. Journal. A VIEW OP PORTLAND. This very pleasant and flourishing city, the com mercial metropolis, and for twelve years the capital of Maine, is situated in latitude 43° 40'. It is about 110 miles north by east from Boston, and 55 from Portsmouth, N. H. Its population in 1830 was 12,600- It is now estimated to be between 15,000 and 16,000. It is an ancient settlement; and was first called Casco, after the name of the bay, at the entrance of which it is situated. It was early incor porated by the name of Falmouth, which it retained till 1786, when it received that of Portland. The water almost surrounds the city, making it a penin sula, not very unlike the site of Boston. There are two long toll bridges leading to the city ; one from the southwest, and the other from northeast ; the en trance from the country west and northwest is near ly midway between the two bridges. The land rises gradually from the harbour at the southeast, and from the bay or large cove on the northwest. The town is well laid out, and is built in a convenient and ele gant style. Few towns in the country appear so pleasant to the eye of the traveller. There are now sixteen religious Societies and places of worship, and several banking institutions. The harbour is large and safe, and is very seldom frozen over below Portland. On Cape Elizabeth, which is the south east bound of the harbour, there is a stone light house seventy feet high. The town is defended by forts Preble and Scammel, on opposite sides of the ship channel, about a mile from the lighthouse. The islands around the harbour are quite numerous and beautiful, and serve to protect it against the violence ofthe storms. The shipping of Portland is about 43,000 tuns; 210 schooners, 100 brigs, 25 ships, 33 sloops, &c. And there is a very laudable spirit of enterprise in the citizens. With their wealth they appear disposed to improve the city by literary Institutions and abundant means of education. There is an Atheneum, with a library of 3000. There is one publick High School, in addition to several com mon schools ; and there is an Academy, two High Schools for females, and several others, supported at private expense. The prosperity of the place has been aided by the stated and frequent running of steamboats to and from Boston, and Bangor, a flour ishing town on the Penobscot. The boats run be tween Portland and Boston in abotli ten hours,' a dis tance of thirty-three leagues. A survey has been lately made, with a view to a railroad from Port land to Quebec. But it is probable the route will be from Belfast or Bangor, as the distance is less than from Portland. FORMATION OP HAIL. Professor Stevelley, at the fourth meeting ot the British Association, read a paper on meteoro logical phenomena, in which he attempted jo account for the formation of hail, by supposing that it must be formed when, after the fall of some rain, a sudden and extensive vacuum being caused, the quanity of calo-' rick extracted was so large as to cause the rest of the drops to freeze into ice-balls as they formed. This principle, he said, had been strangely overlooked, although, since the days of Sir John Leslie, every person was familiar with experiments on a small scale illustrative of it. He also said that the inter esting mine of Chemnit, in Hungary, afforded an experimental exhibition of the formation of hail on a magnificent scale. In that mine the drainage of water is raised by an engine in which common air is violently compressed in a large cast-iron vessel. While the air is in a state of high compression, a, workman desires a visiter to hold his hat before a cock which he turns ; the compressed air, as it rush es out over the surface of the water within, brings out some, with it, which is frozen into ice-balls by the cold generated by the air as it expands ; and these shoot through the hat, to the no small annoy^ ance of one party, but to the infinite amusement of the other. LOSS OF LIFE BY WAR. r) It is estimated that thirty thousand millions of hu man beings have perished to satisfy the insatiable maw of war. Among the most disastrous of battles upon record, and the numbers slain, are — Austerlitz, 20,000 : Dresden, 30,000 ; Waterloo, 40,000 ; Ey- lau, 50,000; Borodina, 80,000 ; Isus, 110,000 ; Ar- bela, 300,000 ; in two of the battles of Cesar, 700,- 000 ; in the siege of Jerusalem more than a million , and at the taking of Troy, more than two millions. The New York Observer says that in the Russian campaign there perished in six months, more than half a million ; during twelve years of the recent wars in Europe, no less than 5,800,000 ! The army of Xerxes, probably more than 5,000,000 was re duced in less than two years to a few thousand. Jenghis Khan butchered in the single district of Herat 1,600,000, and in two cities with their depen dencies, 1,760,000 ; and the Chinese historians as sure us that during the last twenty-six years of his reign he massacred an average of half a million every year, and in the first fourteen years, no less than eighteen millions ! 31,500.000 in forty-one years by a single hand ! Grecian wars sacrificed 15,000,000 ; those of the twelve Cesars, 30,000,000 ; those of theCrusades, 40,000,000 ; those ofthe Sar acens and the Turks, 60,000,000 each ; those ofthe Tartars, 80,000,000 ! siiiiiiPiiiiii A View of Boston taken on the road to Dorchester From a print published in London May. 1776. BOSTON, IN 1776. UR illustration rep resents the town of Boston, in 1776 ; jit is copied from an En glish engraving pub lished in that year, and is believed to be authentick. The view is taken from some point on the road leading from Roxbury to Dorches ter. Boston, was the headquarters of rebellion, at the breaking out of there volution. In her streets were made the first fierce and desperate struggles for lib erty ; in her legislative halls, the first bold and man ly opposition to the encroachments of the mother country.- Some of the events of that dark and gloomy peri od, are represented in two of the engravings accom panying this article ; the Boston Massacre, and the Destruction of the Tea. We extract, from Snow's History of Boston, the following account of those transactions, and the circumstances which led to them: — "In January, 1770, the merchants renewed their agreement not to import British goods. They held several meetings in Faneuil-Hall, and appointed committees of inspection, who should examine into the truth of reports, concerning the unfaithfulness of some who bad signed the articles. The names of several were reported, and. ordered to be published. Lieut. Gov. Hutchinson sent a message to one of these meetings, by the sheriff, (whose name was Stephen Greenleaf,) ' enjoining and requiring them without delay to separate and disperse, and to for bear all such unlawful assemblies for the future.' After a calm consideration of the message, it was unanimously voted to proceed: and a written an swer was sent to his honour, signifying their opinion that the meeting was warranted bylaw. " Theophilus Lillie, who kept a shop near the New Brick meetinghouse, was one of those denounced as Importers. On the 22d of February, some per sons erected near Little's, a large wooden head, fix ed on a pole, on which the faces of several impor ters were carved. One Ebenezer Richardson living in the neighbourhood, (who had acquired the appel lation of Informer,) endeavoured to persuade some teamsters from the country, to run the post down with their carts ; but they understanding the nature of the pageantry, would have nothing to do with it Richardson foolishly persisted, and seized the bri dle of the horses, but failed of his intent to guide the team against the post. On this, the, boys set up ? shout, which being resented by Richardson, they pelted him with dirt till they drove him into his own house. The noise gathered a considerable number of people. Hard words passed between Richardson and some of the mulfitude ; stones were thrown on both sides, till at length Richardson discharged a musket at random from his door, and another from his window. One young man was severely injured, and a boy, Christopher Snider, about eleven years of age, received a mortal wound in his breast. Upon this the bells were set to ringing, and a vast con course of people drawn together. Richardson, and one Wilmot, a seaman, who had taken his part in theaffray, were secured and carried to Faneuil-Hall, where they underwent an examination and were committed for trial. " The boy died in the course of the evening, and was removed to his parents' house in Frog-lane (Boylston-st.) All the friends of liberty were invi ted to attend the funeral ' of this little hero a\\d first martyr to the noble cause.' This innocent lad was announced as ' the first whose life had been a victim to the cruelty and rage of oppressors. Young as he was, he died in his country's cause, by the hand of one, directed by others, who could not bear to see the enemies of America made the ridicule of boys' On Monday, the 26th, his funeral took place. The little corpse was set down under the Tree of Liber ty, from which the procession began. The coffin bore inscriptions appropriate to the times ; on the foot ' Latet anguis in herba :' on each side, ' Haeret lateri lethalis arundo .-' and on the head, ' Innocentia NUSO.UAM tuta.' Four or five hundred school boys, in couples, preceded the corpse ; six of the lad's playfellows supported the pall ; the relatives follow ed, and after them a train of thirteen hundred inhabi tants on foot, and thirty chariots and chaises closed the procession. " A more imposing spectacle than this could hardly have been contrived, or one better adapted to pro duce a lasting impression on the hearts of the be holders : but it was only the prelude to a scene of far greater horrour. The morning papers of Mon day, the fifth of March, which told of this transac tion, gave also several accounts of quarrels between the soldiers and different individuals belonging to 285 286 the town. The officers were apprehensive of diffi culties, and were particularly active in their endeav ours to get all their men into their barracks before night Murray's Barracks, so called, where the 14th regiment was principally quartered, were in Brattle- ' street, in the buildings directly opposite the little al ley, which leads from the bottom of Market-street. The twenty-ninth regiment was quartered in Water- street and in Atkinson-street. As a measure of pre caution, there was a sentinel stationed in the alley beforementioned, (then called Boylston's alley,) and this very circumstance led to the quarrel which ter minated in the Boston Massacre. Three or four young men, who were disposed to go through the alley, about nine o'clock, observed the sentinel bran dishing his sword against the walls and striking fire for his own amusement. They offered to pass him and were challenged, but persisted in their attempt, and one of them, received »a slight wound on his head. The bustle of this rencontre drew together all those who were passing by, and fifteen or twen ty persons thronged the alley, and thirty or forty more, gathered in Dock-square, were attempting to force their way to the barracks through Brattle-street, (which was at that time so narrow that a carriage could with difficulty pass.)r Being foiled in this at tempt, the party, which was continually increased by accessions, gathered in Dock-square round a tall man with a red cloak and white wig, to whom they listened with close attention two or three minutes, and then gave three cheers and huzzaed for the main guard. " The main guard was regularly stationed near the head of State-street, directly opposite the door on the south side of the Townhouse. To this place all the soldiers detached for guard duty were daily brought, and from thence marched to the particular posts assigned them. On this day the command of the guard had devolved on Capt. Thomas Preston, and Lt. Basset under him. As the party dispersed from Dock-square, some ran up Cqrnhill, others up Wilson's lane, Royal Ex change lane (now Exchange-street.) These last found a single sentinel stationed before the door of the Customhouse, which was the building now oc cupied by the Union Bank, and then made one cor ner of that lane, as the Royal Exchange tavern did the other. As the sentinel was approached, he re treated to the steps of the house, and alarmed the inmates by three or four powerful knocks at the door. Word was sent to Lt. Basset that the sentinel was attacked by the town's people. He immediately sent a message to his captain, who instantly repaired to the guardhouse, where Lt. Basset informed him that he had just sent a sergeant and six men to as sist the sentry at the Customhouse. ' Well,' said the captain, ' I will follow them and see they do no mischief.' He overtook them before they reached the Customhouse, where they joined the sentinel and formed a half circle round the steps. " By this time the bells were set to ringing, and people flocked from alfquarters, supposing there was fire. The soldiers were soon surrounded ; many of those nearest to them were armed with clubs and crowded close upon them ; those at a distance began to throw sticks of wood and snow-balls and pieces of ice at them, while from all sides they were challenged to ' Fire, fire if you dare !' At last they thought they heard the order given, and they did fire in succession from right to left. Two 01 three of the guns flashed, but the rest were fatal; Crispus Attucks, Samuel Gray, and James Caldwell were killed on the spot, Samuel Maverick and Pat rick Carr received mortal wounds, of which the for mer died the next morning, and. Carr on the Wed nesday of the next week. Several other persons were more or less injured : the greater part) persons passing by chance, or quiet spectators of the scene, The people instantly retreated, leaving the three un happy men on the ground. All this transpired within twenty minutes from the time of Capt. Preston}* join* ing the guard. 4f " ' On the people's assembling again,' says Capt Preston, ' to take away the dead bodies, the soldiers supposing them coming to attack them, were making ready to fire again — which I prevented by striking up their firelocks with my hand. Immediately after, a townsman came and told me that four or five thou sand people were assembled in the next street; and had sworn to take my life with every man's^vith me ; on which I judged it unsafe to remain there any longer, and therefore sent the party and sentry to the main guard, where the street is narrow and short, then telling them off into street firings, divided and planted them at each end of the street to secure their rear, expecting an attack,-as there was a constant cry of the inhabitants, ' Toff arms, to arms, turn out with your guns,' and the town drums beating toarmS. I ordered my drum to beat to arms, and being soon after joined by the several companies of the 29th regiment, I formed them as the guard, into street fir ings. The 14th regiment also got under arms, but remained at their barracks. I immediately sent a sergeant with a 'party to Col. Dalrymple, the "com manding officer, to acquaint him with every particu lar. Several officers going to join their regiment, were knocked down by the mob, one very much wounded and his sword taken from him. The Lt. Gov. and Col. Carr soon after met at the head of the 29th regiment, and agreed that the regt.* should re tire to their barracks, and the people to their houses : but I kept, the piquet to strengthen the gua^d. It was with great difficulty that the Lieut. Gov.preVail- ed on the people to be quiet and retire : at last they all went off except about a hundred.' This hundred was composed of some of the most distinguished in habitants, who volunteered to form a citizen's guard. " A justice's court was forthwith held, and Capt. Preston surrendered himself, and was committed to to prison at three, next morning : the eight soldiers were also committed early in the forenoon. " At eleven o'clock a town meeting was held. Va rious persons related to the assembly, what they had witnessed of the events of the preceding day. A committee of fifteen was appointed to wait on the Lt. Governour and Col. Dalrymple, and express to them the sentiment of the town, that it was impossi ble for the soldiers and inhabitants to live in safety together, and their fervent prayer for the immediate removal of the former. The answer received to the application was not such as was wished ; and in the afternoon, seven of the first- committee (viz. John Hancock, Samuel Adams, Wm. Molineux, Wm. Phil lips, Jos. Warren, Joshua Henshaw, and Samuel Pemberton) were again deputed with the following message : " It is the unanimous opinion of this meet- 287 Boston Massacre, 1770. ing, that the reply made to a vote of the inhabitants presented his honour, this morning, is by no means satisfactory; and thajt. nothing less will satisfy them, than a total and immediate removal of the troops.' Samuel Adams acted as ' chairman of this delega tion, and discharged its duties with an ability com mensurate to the occasion. Col. Daltymple was by the side of Hutchinson, who at the head of the coun cil received them. He at first denied that he had power to grant the request. Adams plainly, in few words, proved to him that he had the power by the charter." Hutchinson then consulted with Dalrym ple in a whisper, the result of which was, a repeti tion, of the offer to remove one of the regiments, the fourteenth, which had had no part in the massacre. At that critical-moment Adams showed the most ad mirable presence of mind. , Seeming not to repre sent, but to personify, the universal feeling, he stretched forth his arm, as if it were upheld by the strength of thousands, and with unhesitating prompt ness and dignified firmness replied, " If the Lieuten ant-Governour, or Colonel Dalrymple, or both togeth er, have authority to remove one regiment, they have authority to remove two ; and nothing short of the to tal evacuation of the town, by all the regular troops, will satisfy the publick mind, or preserve the peace of the province." The officers, civil and military, were in reality abashed, before this plain committee of a democratick assembly. They knew the imminent danger that impended : the very air was filled with the breathings of compressed indignation. They shrunk, fortunately* shrunk, from all the arrogance which they had hitherto maintained. Their reli ance on a standing army faltered before the undaunt ed, irresistible resolution of free unarmed citizens. Hutchinson consulted the council, and they gave 288 him their unqualified advice, that the troops should be sent out of the town. The commanding officer then pledged his word of honour, that the demand of the town should be complied with, as soon as practicable ; and both regiments: were removed to the Castle in less than fourteen days. " The funeral solemnities, which took place on Thursday, the 8th, brought together the greatest concourse, that probably had ever assembled in America on one occasion. Attucks, who was a friendless mulatto, and Caldwell, who also was a stranger, were borne from Faneuil-Hall ; Maverick, who was about seventeen years old, from his moth er's house in Uniori'-street, and Gray from his bro ther's in Royal Exchange lane. The four hearses formed a junction in King-street, and thence the procession marched in columns of six deep through the main street to the middle burial ground where the four victims were deposited in one grave. " The trial of Richardson and Wilmot for the mur der of Snider came on in April. Wilmot was clear ed, but Richardson was brought in guilty of murder. The Lieut. Gov. considered it so clear a case of justifiable manslaughter, that he refused to sign the warrant for his execution; and after two years' con finement he was ultimately pardoned by the king." DESTRUCTION OF THE TEA " Mr. Hutchinson had received a commission pro moting him to the office of governour on the 8th of March, 1771, and been proclaimed in customary form on the fifteenth. On the third of April, he met the General Court at .Cambridge. As soon as they had opportunity, they appointed a committee to pre sent him a verbal message requesting him to ' re move the court to its ancient and legal seat, the town of Boston.' This he declined to do, while the House denied the king's right to order. the court to be held where he thought proper. A controversy was maintained for a long time on this subject, which served to make the governour an object of publick odium. This was not decreased by his proclamation for aid and assistance to a recruiting party, which arrived here on the twenty-ninth of April to enlist for His Majesty's service. People could not misunderstand this movement, or consider it in any other light than that of a pretext for keep ing a guard in the town, to be in readiness to pro tect the crown officers. And they found it employ ed forthatpurpose, on occasion of a ball at Concert- hall, given by Mrs. Gambier, wife ofthe command- re of the naval forces on this station, on the king's birth-day, (June 4,) which was attended by the gov ernour and other friends to government. " The General Court, which was obliged again to assemble at Cambridge, found other causes of com plaint. It had been decided in England that the governour's salary should be paid by the crown, and thus he was made independent of the people. The alarm which this step occasioned was very ex tensive, and the indignation expressed against it was couched in no equivocal terms. The language of the whigs became every day more high-toned : '' We know,' say the H. of R. on one occasion, • we know of no commissioners of His Majesty's customs, nor of any revenue His Majesty has a. right to estab lish in North America.' Heretofore the complaint had been against the ministry and parliament ; we find it here against the king himself. But this in creased determination in favour of liberty produced no popular tumult : Boston remained as quiet through. out the year; as it had ever been before the arrival of the troops, arid entirely free front those petty broils, which the soldiers were always ' creating, The greatest agitation was occasioned, by an abor tive attempt to procure an endictment against Mt. ' Isaiah Thomas, for an article which appeared in his Massachusetts Spy, November fourteenth, signed Mucius Scmvola, which was said to be the most dar ing production ever published in America.,. The Spy had been established about a year in Boston i and had taken a very decided stand irt favour of lib erty, in a style calculated to engage the middling j class of society. , "Early in 1772, a prominent writer made*thede* claration, ' the dispute between the kingdon), and colonies has ceased every where except-in this pro vince — We are left in the lurch — every other colo ny has made its peace.' On this ground he exhort ed the inhabitants to lay aside their animosities, and submit like dutiful children to parental authori-i ty. Governour H. intimated the same in his messfr ges to the General Court." This drew from the partisans on the other side, rejoinders equally posi tive ofthe contrary. ' They, (the coionielg); will soon put in practice their meditated plan of the Uni-I ted Provinces, and form an independent common wealth. That the colonies will in some future time be an independent state is morally certain — ibis very near — 'tis not probable that it is at the distance of fifteen years.' Again, in Mayi on a rumolk. that war was to be expected between England and.j&ome European power, the people are exhorted to establish a correspondence between ithe several colonies, and unitedly refuse supplies, unless a redress of grievan ces can be obtained. " Such a war did not take place, but the people of Boston found an opportunity for commencing; a un ion on a smaller scale, which probably led to tfae[ general union of all the colonies. People hadvre- monstrated firmly against the governoi^S receiving his salary from the crown, but they were answejjgd only by the further indignity of putting the judges on the same footing. As soon as the news of thfe design reached Boston, a petition was circulated to procure a town meeting, to consult on the measures required at this critical juncture. Several meetings were held, and continued by adjournments' to Nov. second, when, after ineffectual application to the governour. for information on this important subject, and having obtained from him a refusal to call to gether the General Court, the following proceedings took place : — " ' Nov. 1 772. Proceedings of Town Meeting.- • " ' It was then moved by Mr, Samuel Adams, that a J committee of Correspondence be appointed, to consist j of twenty-one persons— to stale the Right of these Colonists, and of this Province in particular, as mfp, I as Christians, and as subjects : to communicate' and , publish the same to the several towns in this proviner , and to the world, as the sense of this town, with the infringements and violations thereof, that have been, < or from time to time may be made. Also requesting i ¦Btt 291 if each town a free communication of their sentiments on this subject ; and the question being accordingly put, 'passed in the affirmative, nem. con. " ' Also voted, that James Otis, S. Adams, Joseph Warren, Dr. B. Church, Wm. Dennie, Wm Green- leaf, Jos. Greenleaf, Thomas Young, Wm.' Powel, Nath. Appleton, Oliver Wendell, John Sweetser, Jo- siah Quincy, jr: John Bradford, Richard Boynton, Wm. Mackay, Nath. Barber, Caleb Davis, Alex. Hill, Wm. Molineux, and Robert Pierpont, be and hereby are appointed a Committee for the purpose aforesaid, and that they be desired to report to the town as soon as may be.' " The committee reported on the nineteenth of No vember an elaborate declaration of rights, and a lu cid statement ofthe violations of them, of which the town ordered six hundred copies to be printed and distributed, together with a circular letter to every town in the province. These town meetings were rather thinly attended, and the tories improved that circumstance to represent the whole in a ludicrous light. But their smiles were changed to sadness when they found that almost every town adopted the measures proposed by Boston ; and the Governour considered it so serious a subject as to be worthy of mention to the general court in his message, Jan. sixth, 1773. His condemnation of the towns drew from the representatives a justification, inwhich they emboldened to say to him, ' Notwithstanding all the terrours which Your Ex. has depicted to us as the effects of a total independence, there is mole reason to dread the consequences of absolute, uncontrolled power, whether of a nation or a monarch, than those of a total independence.' " Following up the plan of union, the town, in their instructions to their representatives, chosen in May, thus express their approbation of it : — " ' We recommend to your serious consideration, whether an application to the English colonies on this continent, correspondent to the plan proposed by our noble patriotick sister colony of Virginia, (which in our opinion is a wise and salutary proposal,) will not secure our threatened liberties, and restore that mutual harmony and confidence between the British nation and the English colonies, so impor tant to both, especially the former, which, if rescin ded from -her connexion with this continent, must eventually fall a prey to her numerous aud jealous neighbours.'." • * » * * * • * " On the first of December, Capt. James Bruce, In the ship Eleanor, arrived with another portion of the tea. On the third, he was ordered to attend the next day, on a committee ofthe people in Faneuil- Hall, where he was commanded by Samuel Adams and Jonathan Williams, assembled with John Rowe, John Hancock, Wm. Phillips, and John Pitts, Esqrs. and a great number of others, not to land any of the said tea, but to proceed to Griffin's wharf, and there discharge the rest of his cargo. Capt. Hez. Coffin arrived in the brig Beaver, near the same time, and was ordered to pursue the same course. " It being perceived, that Mr. Rotch rather lin gered in his preparations to return the Dartmouth to London, and the twenty days being nearly expired, after which the collector might seize the ship and cargo, Mr. R. was summoned before the committee, and stated to them, that it would prove his entire ruin, if he should comply with the resolutions of the twenty-ninth and thirtieth of November, and there fore he should not do it. A meeting of the people was assembled at the Old South, on Tuesday, P. M. Dec. fourteenth, when Mr. R. appeared, and was enjoined forthwith to demand a clearance. It was ascertained, that one could not be obtained till the next day, and therefore the meeting was adjourned to Thursday at the same place. " On Thursday, there was the fullest meeting ev er known : two thousand men at least were present from the country. Samuel Phillips Savage, Esq. of Weston, was appointed moderator. Mr. Rotch re ported that the collector would not give him a clear ance. He was then ordered upon his peril to get his ship ready for sea this day, enter a protest imme diately against the Customhouse, and proceed direct ly to the Governour, (then at Milton, seven miles distant,) and demand a pass for his ship to go by fee Castle. An adjournment to three P. M. then took place. At three having met, they waited very pa tiently till five o'clock, when finding that Mr. Rotch did not return, they began to be very uneasy, called for a dissolution of the meeting, and finally obtained a vote for it. But the more judicious, fearing what would be the consequences, begged for a reconsid eration of that vote, ' for this reason, that they ought to do every thing in their power to send the tea back, according to their resolves' This touched the pride ofthe assembly, and they agreed to remain together one hour. " This interval was improved by Josiah Quincy, jr. to apprize his fellow-citizens of the importance of this crisis, and direct their attention to the probable results of this controversy. He succeeded in hold ing them in attentive silence, till Mr. Rotch's return, at three quarters past five o'clock. The answer which he brought from the governour was, ' that, for the honour of the laws, and from duty towards the king, he could not grant the permit, until the vessel was regularly cleared.' A violent commotion immediately ensued. A person who was in the gallery, disguis ed afterthe mannerofthe Indians shouted at this junc ture the cry of war : it was answered by about thir ty persons, disguised in like manner, at the door. The meeting was dissolved in the twinkling of an eye. The multitude rushed to Griffin's wharf. The disguised Indians went on board the ships la den with the tea. In less than two hours, two hun dred and forty chests and one hundred half-chests were staved and emptied into the dock. The affair was conducted without any tumult : no damage was - done to the vessels or to any other effects whatever. " This was executed in the presence of several ships of war lying in the harbour, and almost under the guns of the Castle, where there was a large body of troops at the command of the commission ers. We are left to conjecture for the reasons why no opposition was made to this bold adventure. The names of the men, who dared to engage in it, have never been made publick. Three or four of them are yet living. They had the honour of a part in the act, which brought the king and parliament to a decision that America must be subdued by force of arms." 292 BOSTON FROM DORCHESTER HEIGHTS. The pretty peninsula of Dorchester Heights, which seems to throw its arm protectingly around the southern bay of Boston, was settled by a com pany of pilgrims, who came out to New England during the administration of Governour Winthrop, in Massachusetts. The party consisted of two Puritan clergymen, " with many godly families and people" from Devonshire and Somersetshire, who embarked in the " Mary John," in the spring of 1630. The historian states that they had some dif ficulty in the passage with the master of the vessel, Captain Squibb, " who, like a merciless man, put them and their goods ashore on Nantasket Point, notwithstanding his engagement was to bring them up Charles river." They obtained a boat, however, and, having laden her with goods, and manned her with able men, ("not more than ten, well aimed, under Captain Southcot, a brave low-country sol dier,") they followed the river for abont ten miles. After landing their goods on a steep bank, they were alarmed by the information that there was en camped near them a body of three hundred savages. Fortunately they had been joined by an old planter, who knew enough of the Indian tongue and dispo sition to persuade the chiefs not to attack the party till morning. At daybreak, some of the savages made their appearance, but stood awhile at a dis tance. At last one of them held out a bass, and the pilgrims sent a man with a biscuit to exchange for it, and thus a friendly intercourse was established. Not liking the neighbourhood, however, they de scended the river again, and an exploring party, hav ing discovered some good pasture at Matlapau, (pres ent Dorchester,) they settled there. The neighbouring peninsula of Shawmut (now Boston) was destined to be the principal settlement, and Dorchester is at this day a rural suburb of the capital of New England. The fort which crowns its summit (from which this view is taken) is the scene of an important chapter in the history of the Revolution. Boston had been occupied for some time by the British army under General Gage, who sailed for England in October, 1776, leaving General Howe in command. After the battle of Bunker's Hill, both armies remained quiet for several months ; General Washington occupying both sides of the Charles river with about fourteen thousand men ; and the English besieged in their quarters within the town, amusing themselves with private theatricals in Fan- euiel Hall, varied occasionally with feats of horse manship from a squadron of cavalry, who had turned the old South Church into a -circus. As the cold jecame severe, the North " meetinghouse," an im mense wooden building, was torn down and con sumed for fuel, and the soldiers had made a holyday of felling a gigantick liberty-tree for the same pur pose. Washington became impatient of this inactive situation ; and as soon as the ice in the bay and . river became firm enough to allow the passage of troops, he called a council of war, and proposed an attack on Boston. The opinion against the measure was unanimous, and ho reluctantly abandoned it. He soon after determined to take possession of Dorchester Heights, which command both harbour and town — a step which he knew must bring on a general action, during which he intended to cross over to Cambridge with a few chosen men, and force an entrance into the town. During the two or three preceding nights, he bombarded ihe town heavily from his camp to divert the*attention of the garrison ; and on the night of the fourth of March, a large de tachment took possession of Dorchester Heights, and immediately commenced throwing up an in- trenchment. The night was mild, but the ground, was frozen almost, impenetrably hard; and it was with excessive labour that a sufficient bulwark was presented by daylight, to cover them from the shot of the enemy. t The morning broke — and a thin haze, Which magnified the size of the works, overspread the landscape. The astonishment of General Howe, at discerning this phantom fortification looming up through the mist, upon heights which had beeii bare and desolate at sunset, was without bounds. The po sition was so commanding that th&town could not be held unless the Americans were dislodged ; but this seemed, from the advantages of the ground in favour of the Provincials, next to impossible*. The British commander undertook it with great spirit, and two thousand troops were embarked on the same day to cross the harbour to the attack. The transports fell down to the Castle, a small island just below, the town; but a tremendous storm suspended their op erations. The next day a council of war was held, and it was thought advisable to evacuate the town immediately. The provincials went on completing their fortifications, undisturbed ; and in a few days General Howe embarked with all his forces, accom panied by those Americans who adhered to the royal cause. The embarkation commenced at four in the morning of the 17th of March and at ten in the forenoon General Washington entered the "fcity at the head of his army. The English fleet sailed for Halifax. They were ten thousand strong, including the marines ; and left stores to the value of 30,000",, with several pieces of cannon, mortars, &c, ' ' %if ^ll^llftiiSlllilftf l| fjl mm " • .", T«ij l! , ! I.. I. Ill, i . I I, . 1,1 i ¦', i , . V 1 1 c. ¦ i , : i I ; I ! ' ' I.! 'L HA Ii ™N!:i ' ' ¦nvr iiii/'t iiiiiiij f» l:' :¦¦ ¦: '""'^ '''-''-^'^/i^v-'vfl'-v-^ ,;',!„" inC^ P3 ffi.>- ,tr<... I* tfl o02 HO S3 |||1|]IJ 1 ' ill ipitl 111 liiiiil VIEW OF PART OF THE OLD MALL, IBOSTON COMMON THE STATEHOUSE, AT BOSTON. dm VIEWS IN BOSTON FANEUIL HALL AND ADJACENT BUILDINGS. The accompanying engraving represents that an cient " cradle of liberty," immortal Faneuil Hall. The building was erected in 1742, at the sole ex pense of Peter Faneuil, Esq., and generously given to the town ; the basement for a market, with a spa cious and most beautiful hall, and other convenient rooms above, for ihe accommodation of the citizens on all publick occasions. The building was then one hundred feet by forty ; and the hall capable of holding two thousand people, or more. This fine and convenient budding was consumed by fire in 1761, excepting the brick walls : But the town vo ted to rebuild it immediately. Mr. Faneuil had then been dead several years. In 1805, it was enlarged by the addition of another story, and of forty feet to the width, thus making it eighty feet wide. There is a cupola on the building, from which is a fine view of the harbour of Boston. The hall is about eighty feet square, and twenty-eight feet in height; with galleries on three sides supported by dorick columns. At the west end, the wall is ornamented with a good full-length likeness of Peter Faneuil, of General Washington, Governour John Hancock, General Henry Knox, and others ; and a bust of President John Adams. The lower part of the build ing is no "longer used as a market ; a large and ele gant one having been erected by the city for that purpose in 1837, In the immediate vicinity, stands one of those old, antiquated " many-covered, gable-ended, top-heavy, old houses which constituted the compact centre of Boston in the days of the old English gov ernors. It was long occupied hy the late John K, Simpson, and is ihe only one of that venerable and picturesque heaps of triangles, which has not drop ped beneath the merciless hand of improvement." THE CAPITOL OF MASSACHUSETTS. This elegant and spacious edifice, situated in Boston on elevated ground adjoining the Common, and near the centre of this ancient and flourishing city, was erected in 1795. The corner-stone was laid on the Fourth of July, by the venerable and patriotick Sam uel Adams, then Chief Magistrate of Massachusetts, (assisted by Paul Revere, Master of the Grand Lodge of Masons.) He succeeded Gov. Hancoqk, who died in October, 1793. The lot was purchased by the town of Boston of the heirs of Gov. Hancock, at four thousand dollars. The building was not finished and occupied by the Legislature till January 1798 ; when the members of the General Court walked in procession from the Old Statehouse at the head of State-Street, and the new edifice Was dedicated by solemn prayer to Al mighty God. The Old Statehouse, so called, from the time of building the other, was long the place in which the General Court of the province of Massa chusetts was holden. It has lately been well repair ed, and is the place of the meetings of the city au thorities and for publick offices. The corner-stone of the present, capitol was brought to the spot by fifteen white horses, at that time the number of States in the Union. The build- ,:*ig is seen at a great distance in all directions, and is the principal object visible when the city is first seen by those who visit it, The form is oblong, being one hundred and seventy-three feet in front, and sixty-one feet deep. The height of the build ing, including the dome is one hundred and ten feet ; and the foundation is about that height above the level of the water of the bay. " It consists external ly of a basement story, twenty feet high, and a prin cipal story, thirty feet high. This, in the centre of the front, is covered with an attick sixty feet wide, and. twenty feet high, which is covered with a pedi ment. Immediately above arises the dome, fifty feet in diameter, and thirty feet in height ; the whole ter- minating with an elegant circular lantern, which supports a pine cone. The basement story is finish ed in a plain style on the wings, with square win dows. The centre is ninety-four feet in length, and formed -of arches which project fourteen feet, and make a covered walk below, and support a Collo- nade of Corinthian columns of the same extent above. The largest room is in the centre, and in the sec ond story, and is occupied as the Representatives' Chamber : it will accommodate five hundred mem bers. The Senate Chamber is also in the second story and at the east end ofthe building, being sixty feet by fifty. On the west end is a large room for the meetings of the Governor and the Executive Council ; with a convenient ante-chamber. The view from the top of the Statehouse is very extensive and variegated ; perhaps nothing in the country is superiour to it. To the east appears the bay and harbour of Boston, interspersed with beau tiful islands ; and in the distance beyond, the wide extended ocean. To the north the eye is met by Charlestown, with its interesting and memorable heights, and the Navy Yard of the United States ; the towns of Chelsea, Maiden and Medford and oth er villages, and the natural forests mingling in the distant horizon, Tp the west, is a fine view of the Charles River and bay, the ancient town of Cam bridge, rendered venerable for the University, now two centuries old ; of the flourishing villages of Cambridgeport and East Cambridge, in the latter of which is a large glass-manufacturing establishment ; of the highly-cultivated towns of Brighton, Brookline, and Newton ; and to the south is Roxbury, which seems to be only a continuation of Boston; Dor chester, a fine, rich, agricultural town, with Milton and Quincy beyond; and still farther south, the Blue Hills, at the distance of eight or ten miles, which seem to bound the prospect. Near the Capitol, on the west, is the mansion- house of the eminent patriot, the late John Hancock, now exhibiting quite an ancient appearance ; and on the east, about the same distance, is situated the dwelling of the late James Bowdoin, another patriot of the Revolution, a distinguished scholar and phi losopher ; and who, by his firmness, in the critical period of 1786, contributed most efficiently to the preservation of order and tranquillity in the Com monwealth. Large sums have been expended in repairs on the Statehouse, both within and without, since it was erected, and in improving the grounds and fences about it ; and it is now in a condition of great neatness and elegance. On a preceding page is a view of the Mall, and a part of the Common, fronting the Statehouse 302 [View of Suffolk Bank, State Street, Boston.J SUFFOLK BANK. All who have visited State street, within the last fear or more, must have noticed the elegant front jf the Suffolk bank, with its range of granite pillars, forming perhaps the most splendid object in that seautiful portion of our city. The edifice occupies, we believe, the site of the ancient custom-house, md looks down upon the spot where the first Amer- can blood was shed by the hands of the British soldiery. It may therefore be said to throw it's shadow across the very tract of ground, where the Revolution — the progress and consequences of which ivere to shake the world — began its career of vio- ence. No succession of events, no brilliant nor nournful vicissitudes of our history, can obliterate he remembrance of what once occurred there, nor irevent this spot from being famous, so long as pos- erity shall feel an interest in the deeds and suffer- ngs of their fathers. The massacre, if not of pri- nary importance in itself, became so by the use vhich was made of its anniversary, for many years tfterward, in kindling up the spirit of the people, and renewing as it were, the traces of their kindred blood upon the stones of King street. .The event itself was little more than a riot ; but "it, gave a mighty impulse to a revolution. When: the (former building was taken down, therefore, it might not have been undesirable to appropriate J a part of its site to an historick monument, or to have connected such a design with the' modern edifice,' so that no stranger, nor school-boy should pass through the street, without being aware that his feet were tread ing now where the blood-tracks once had been. It would have been in consonance, we think, with the character of New England, to associate a memorial of this nature with the daily business of the people, and to consecrate even the exchange by some archi tectural or sculptural device, which should point to the past, as surely as the clock on the old state house points to the noontide hour. But we have gone somewhat astray from the proper subject of our article. The Suffolk bank was erectecHn the course of the year 1834. The cost of the carpenter's work, as we learn from a copy of the survey-bill, was more than eight thou . jpjjhlTEW IN TREMONT-STREET, BOSTON. 305 sand dollars, and the net cost of the granite, furnish ed by the railway company, was ten thousand five hundred dollars. The entire cost of the edifice, in its finished .state, is estimated at about forty thous and dollars. The architect was Isaiah Rogers, Esq. to whom the country is indebted for the designs of several of its most admired structures. TREMONT-STREET, BOSTON. The name of this street is traced to that given the peninsula, in 1630, by the first settlers at Charlestown, on the north side of the river. They called it Trimontain, on account of three hills to be seen on it. The street ran by the eastern base of one of these hills. But the enterprising citi zens have removed the mountain, near which the avenue wound its way. The street remains, but has been made of much greater width and reduced nearly to a level. The city has still the misfor tune to have many narrow avenues. Great im provements have been made in this respect how ever within a few years. But the work is not yet complete. From Court-street, Tremont-street extends southeast and passes the King's Chapel, so called in ante-revolutionary times; the ceme tery inclosed with a plain, neat granite wall ; the new block of buildings, on that and Beacon-streets; the spacious and elegant Tretnont-House ; the new Theatre ; another and larger cemetery, crowded "with sepulchral monuments and stones; Park- street-church ; Hamilton-place ; where an exten sive lawn, or common;~oniamented with walks and trees, bursts upon the view on the right, with a distant prospect of the western bay and the coun try beyond ; on the left a large block of stone dwelling-houses, succeeded farther on, by a block of elegant brick buildings, St. Paul's Church, the Masonic Temple, the entrance of Temple- place, and a row of handsome houses for the distance of eighty rods still further, and the Gojnmon lying on the west side of the street, with a wide mall studded with lofty elms, for a border between. This street is near the centre ofthe city. For bustle and business and crowds, State-street, Washington-street and Kilby-street and Broad-street, surpass it. But for neatness, and for effect with stranger-visitors, Tremont- street, with its spacious edifices, and the Common, must be allowed to be far superior. American Magazine. -,, < " ' /« ''¦*"* , ARNOLD'S ESCAPE. Mr. EfiENF.zrca Chase was a private in the New Hampshire militia, which relieved the Pennsylvania line at West Point in 1780, when those troops, being veteran, were wanted, elsewhere. Mr. Chase; with several others, being off duty, was on the shore of the Hudson when Arnold deserted. When Gen. Wash ington assigned the command of West Point to him, he left his own barge in his possession. A tempora ry hut was er cted on the east shore, for the accommo- datioi of the four oarsmen who managed the barge. Or> the morning of his desertion, General Arnold i 39 rode down to the shore from his head quarters at Robinson's farm, very fast, as was his custom — threw the reins to his attendant, and orderd the barge to Le manned. He then directed his course toward the Point ; but on reaching the middle of the river, the boat was observed to take a course clown stream, and move swiftly through the water. The explanation was afterward made by the boat men. He hoisted a flag of truce and told them to pull fir the Vulture sloop-of-war, which lay below, saying that he had some business with her captain, and promised, if they would row him down to her as soon as possible, to give them a guinea and a gallon" of ruin each. On ncaring the Vulture, and being within range of her guns, Arnold opened his plan, saying. ' I have served the ungrateful scoundrels long enough,' and declared if they would go with him they should have double pay, and be made sergeants in the British service. One of the men replied that ' he did not understand fighting on both sides.' — ' Then,' said the General, ' you are prisoners.' When they came alongside the sloop-of-war, Ar nold ascended the deck, and was received by the ma rines wih presented arms. He then ordered his m?.n to r-ouie onboard as prisoners of war. One of th 5m, who had been their spokesman just before. said ' It was a shabby trick, as they had toiled to thfir utmost strength to get the boat along, now tore- fuse the promised reward, and make them prisoners to boot.' The English captain heard their murmurs, and stepping forward, observed— '-.General Arnold, I command this ship, and while I walk this quarter deck no such transaction shall take place. I know the meaning of their words, sir, and will meet their comment.' Then addressing the men, he continued — ' My good fellows, I respect your principles and fi delity to your country, -although you are enemies to your king.: You shall have the liberty to go or stay, as you please. Here,' taking them from his purse, ' are your guineas ; steward, put up four gallons of rum for these men.' The boatmen thanked the gal lant and generous sailor, and returned in safety to head quarters to report their proceedings to General Washinglon, who had just arrived in camp. Ar nold, chagrined and enraged, retired without uttering a word, to ihe cabin of the sloop-of-war. This statement was made by Mr. Chase, about a fortnight before his death, in 1831. He also stated that he saw Major Andre going to execution, riding in the centre of a troop of eight horses. Arnold, before his escape, had received information that 'John Anderson,' the name with which he had filled Andre's pass, was taken. The information was sent him by the unfortunate person himself. This determined his purpose for sudden flight. He was afterwards distinguished for tiie inveteracy with which he carried on his predatory warfare against the property of his fellow-countrymen. After the war he went to England, where, although he received the countenance of the British government, his good intentions in his unsuccessful plot against the liberty of his country were despised by the British officers. The unfeeling wretch called upon the widowed mo ther and sister of his unfortunate victim (Andre.] The servant announced to them the name of General Arnold; and they immediately returned a message that they did not desire to see him. 306 JAMESTOWN, VIRGINIA. Our frontispiece represents a portion of the ruins of old Jamestown, which was the first per manent English settlement in North America. Previous to the settlement of a colony at this place, several expeditions had been sent out for the purpose from Great Britain, but all proved unsuccessful either on account of want of supplies or the hostility of the natives. The first expedi tion was under the command of Sir Walter Ra leigh, having full power from Queen Elizabeth to " discover, occupy and govern remote heathenish and barbarous countries." They landed at Ro anoke in July, 1584, took possession ofthe coun try for the crown of England, and named it Vir ginia, in honor of the virgin queen. The next year Sir Richard Grenville, with one hundred and seven adventurers, landed at Roanoke, but they were nearly all destroyed by famine and the In dians. The survivors were taken to England by Sir Francis Drake. Soon after their departure, Grenville arrived with another body of adventu rers and supplies. These, like the others, suffered much from the hostile natives, and when in 1590, Governor White arrived with provisions for a colony he had left with Grenville's three years before, not an Englishman could be found! It was nearly twenty years afterward, that another expedition under Captain Christopher Newport, sailed for America. After a four months' voyage, they entered the Powhattari or James' river, where one hundred and fifty colonists were left. The next year Newport brought from En gland one hundred and twenty more. Soon after, Sir George Somers, and Sir Thomas Gates reach ed the colony with about five hundred persons, but sickness and want determined them all to re turn to their native country. They actually sail ed, but on the next day they met Lord Delaware with fresh supplies, and returned. The colonists then all joined vigorously in building a town, which they called Jamestown, in honor of their sovereign, and thus, in 1609, one hundred and seventeen years after the discovery of America, the first permanent settlement of an English colo ny was made in this country. Of this ancient anglo-American city, the " British Spy," (William Wirt) thus eloquently discourses in one of his " letters :"— " The site is a very handsome one. The river is three miles broad ; and, on the opposite shore, the country presents a fine range of bold and beautiful hills. But I find no vestiges of the an cient town, except the ruins of a church-steeple, and a disordered group of old tombstones. On one of these, shaded by the boughs of a tree, whose trunk has embraced and grown over the edge of the stone, and seated on the headstone ot another grave, I now address you. " What a moment for a lugubrious meditation among the tombs! but fear not ; I have; neither the temper nor the genius of a Hervey j and, as much as I revere his pious memory, I cannot envy' him the possession of such a genius and such a temper. For my own part, I would not have suf fered the mournful pleasure of writing his book, and Dr. Young's Night Thoughts, for all the just fame which they have both gained by those cele brated productions. Much rather would I have danced and sung, and played the fiddle with Yor. ick, through the whimsical pages of Tristram Shandy : that book which everybody justly cen sures and admires alternately ; and which will continue to be read, abused and devoured; with ever fresh delight, as long as the world shall relish a joyous laugh, or a tear of the most deli cious feeling. "By-the-by, here on one side is an inscription on a gravestone, which would constitute no bad theme for an occasional meditation from Yorick himself. The stone, it seems, covers the grave of a man who was born in the neighborhood of, London ; and his epitaph concludes the short and rudely executed account of his birth and death, by declaring him to have been ' a great sinner, in hopes of a joyful resurrection ;' as if he, had sinned with no other intention than to give him self a fair title, to these exulting hopes. But awkwardly and ludicrously as the sentiment is expressed, it is in its meaning most just and beau tiful : as it acknowledges" the boundless mercy of Heaven, and glance^, at that divinely consoling proclamation, ' Come unto me, all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' " The ruin of the steeple is about thirty feet high, and mantled to its very summit withivy.- It is difficult to look at this venerable object, sur rounded as it is with these awful proofs of the mortality of man, without exclaiming in the pa thetic solemnity of our Shakspeare, " 'The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherits, shall dissolve; And, like the insubstantial pageant faded, r: Leave not fi wreck behind.' " Whence, my dear S , arises the irre pressible reverence and tender affection with which I look at this broken steeple 1 Is it that my soul, by a secret, subtile process, invests the mouldering ruin with her own powers^imagine^ it a fellow-being ; a venerable old marl, a NesJgP or an Ossian,.who has witnessed and survived the ravages of successive generations, the compan ions of his youth, and of his maturity, and now mourns his own solitary and desolate conditio!^ and hails their spirits in every passing cloud '. Whatever may be the cause, as I looksat it, I feel my soul drawn forward, as by the cords of gen tlest sympathy, and involuntarily open my lips to offer consolation to the drooping pile. "Where, my S . . .,. ., is the busy, bustling crowd which landed here two hundred years ago? Where is Smith, that pink of gallantry, that flovf RUINS OF JAMESTOWN. VIRGINIA. 309 er of chivalry I I fancy that I can see their first, slow and cautious approach to the shore ; their keen and vigilant eyes piercing the forest in ev ery direction, to detect the lurking Indian, with his tomahawk, bow and arrow. Good heavens ! what an enterprise ! how full of the most fearful perils ! and yet how entirely profitless to the daring men who personally undertook and achiev ed it ! Through what a series of the most spirit- chilling hardships had they to toil ! How often did they cast their eyes to England in vain! and with. what delusive hopes, day after day, did the little, famished crew strain their sight to catch the white sail of comfort and relief! But day after day, the sun set, and darkness covered the earth ; but no sail of comfort or relief came. How often in the pangs of hunger, sickness, solitude md disconsolation, did they think of London ; her shops, her markets groaning under the weight of plenty; her streets, swarming with gilded coaches, bustling hacks, with crowds of lords, dukes and commons, with healthy, busy, content ed faces of every description ; and among them none more healthy or more contented, than those of their ungrateful and improvident directors ! But now — -where are they, alii The little, fam ished colony which landed here, and the many- coloured crowd of London — where are they, my dear S 1 Gone, where there is no distinc tion; consigned to the common earth. Another generation succeeded them : which, just as busy and as bustling as that which fell before it, has sunk down into the same nothingness. Another and yet another billow has rolled on, each emula ting its predecessor in height ; towering for its moment, and curling its foaming honors to the clouds j then roaring, breaking, and perishing on the same shore. " Is it not strange, that, familiarly and univer sally as these things are known, yet each genera tion is as eager in the pursuit of its earthly ob jects, projects its plans on a scale as extensive and as laborious in their execution, with a spirit as ardent and unrelaxing, as if this life and this world were to last for ever 1 It is, indeed, a most benevolent interposition of Providence, that these palpable and just views of the vanity of human life are not permitted entirely to crush the spirits, and unnerve the arm of industry. But at the same time, methinks, it would be wise in man to permit them to have, at least, so much weight with him, as to prevent his total absorption by the things of this earth, and to point some of his thoughts and his exertions, to a system of being, far more permanent, exalted and happy. Think not this reflectiontoo solemn. It is irresistibly inspired by the objects around me ; and, as rarely as it occurs, (much too rarely) it is most certain ly and solemnly true, my S It is curious to reflect, what a nation, in the course of two hundred years, has sprung up and flourished from the feeble, sickly germe which was planted here ! Little did our short-sighted court suspect the conflict which she was preparing for herself; the convulsive throe by which her infant colony would in a few years burst from her, and start into" a political importance that would aston ish the earth." Around this " old cradle of an infant world" the Spirit of Romance and the Muse of Poetry love to linger, and the bosom of the true Ameri can glows with increased patriotism as he looks with reverential awe upon this small beginning of the mighty progression around him. And this spot, already hallowed by age and sacred associ ations, will furnish themes for the poets laureate of a future time, when this republic can count her many centuries upon the calendar cf time. The following Ode, written by James K. Paul ding, our former Secretary of the Navy, appear ed in the "Magnolia" for 1836, and may be ap propriately appended to this article : — ODE TO JAMESTOWN. Old cradle of an infant world, In which a nestling empire lay, Struggling awhile, ere she unfurled Her gallant wing and soared away. All hail ! thou birthplace of the glowing west, Thou seemest the towering eagle's ruined nest! What solemn recollections throng, What touching visions rise, As wandering themes old stones among, I backward turn mine eyes, And see the shadows of the dead flit round, Like spirits when the last dread trump shall sound. The wonder of an age combined In one short moment memory supplies, They throng upon my wakened mind, As time's dark curtains rise. The volume of a hundred buried years, Condensed in one bright sheet, appears. I hear the angry ocean rave, I see the lonely little bark Scudding along the crested wave, Freighted like old Noah's ark, As o'er the drowned earth it whirled, With the forefathers of another world. I see a train of exiles stand Amid the desert, desolate, The fathers of my native land, The daring pioneers of fate, Who braved the perils of the sea and earth, And gave a boundless empire birth. I see the gloomy Indian range His woodland empire, free as air ; I see the gloomy forest change, The shadowy earth laid bare, And, where the red man chased Ihe bounding deer, The smiling labours of the white appear. I see the haughty warrior gaze In wonder or in scorn, As the pale faces sweat to raise Their scanty fields of corn, While he, the monarch of the boundless wood, Bv sport, or hairbrained rapine, wins his food. A moment, and the pageant's gone ; The red men are no more ; The palefaced strangers stand alone Upon the river's shore ; And the proud wood king, who their arts disdained, Finds but a bloody grave, where once he reigned. 310 The forest reels beneath the stroke Of sturdy woodman's axe ; The earth receives the white man's yoke, And pays her willing tax Of fruits, and flowers, and golden harvest fields, And all that nature to blithe labour yields. Then growing hamlets rear their heads, And gathering crowds expand, Far as my fancy's vision spreads, O'er many a boundless land, Till what was once a world of savage strife, Teems with the richest gifts of social life. Empire to empire swift succeeds Each happy, great, and free ; One empire still another breeds, A giant progeny, To war upon the pigmy gods of earth, The tyrants, to whom ignorance gave birth. Then, as I turn my thoughts to trace The fount whence these rich waters sprung I glance toward this lonely place, And find it, these rude stones among. Here rest the sires of millions, sleeping sound The Argonauts, the golden fleece that found. Their names have been forgotten long ; The stone, but not a word, remains ; They cannot live in deathless song, Nor breathe in pious strains. Yet this sublime obscurity, to me More touching is, than poet's rhapsody. They live in millions that now breathe They live in millions yet unborn, And pious gratitude shall wreathe As bright a crown as e'er was worn, And hang it on the green-leaved bough, That whispers to the nameless dead below. No one that inspiration drinks ; No one that loves his native land ; No one that reasons, feels, or thinks, Can 'mid these lonely ruins stand, Without a moistened eye, a grateful tear, 01 reverent gratitude to those that moulder here. The mighty shade now hovers round — Of Him whose strange, yet bright career, Is written on this sacred ground, In letters that no time shall sere ; Who in the old world smote the turbaned crew, And founded Christian empires in the new. And she ! the glorious Indian maid, The tutelary of this land, The angel of the woodland shade, The miracle of God's own hand, Who joined man's heart, to woman's softest grace, And thrice redeemed the scourgers of her race. Sister of charity and love, Whose life blood was soft Pityls tide, Dear Goddess of the sylvan grove, Flower of the Forest, nature's pride, lie is no man who does not bend the knee, i\ nd she no woman who is not like thee ! Jamestown, and Plymouth's hallowed rock, To me shall ever sacred be — I care not who my themes may mock, Or sneer at them and me. I envy not the brute who here can stand, Without a prayer for his own native land. And if the recreant crawl her earth, Or breathe Virginia's air, Or, in New England claim his birth, From the old Pilgrims there, He is a bastard, if he dare to mock, Old Jamestown's shrine, or Plymouth's famous rock. A RUSSIAN WEDDING. I had a very natural wish to see a Russian wedding, and it was soon gratified. Count , brother to him whom I had the pleasure to know in Paris, very kindly invited me to accompany him the other evening to the marriage of Colonel with Mademoiselle — . The history of the parties was simple enough, and too fre- ' quent, perhaps, in all countries; it was a marriage de covenance. We found the chapel brilliantly lighted up; two small altars were raised in the centre, on which were placed the cup of wine, two coronets of gold, the holy gospel, and a con secrated image which was afterward to be re moved to the nuptial chamber. The mutual friends were assembled, and formed a circle in their usual dress, the relations only being in full uniform with their cordons and decorations. The bridegroom arrived first, and joined the group, who were eager to express their congratulations on the occasion ; in a short time appeared the bride, attended by her family and the usual at tendants. It would be rare to see a handsomer person ; she was dressed in white, with much taste and simplicity ; the long veil flowed round her shoulders, and the usual emblem of marriage, a bouquet of orange-flowers graced her bosom. They were placed -before the altars in face ofthe pope ; to each was given a lighted taper, and the service began with a chorus from the chantres de la cour. During this commencement the bride appeared much agitated ; but she soon mastered her emotion, though the heaving bosom and trem bling taper still gave evidence of the internal struggle. The questions and replies, together with the interchange of rings, correspond willi the rites of other churches ; but there is one cer emony peculiar to the Greek church, which is at once symbolical and affecting. The pope takes the cup of wine, and invites the betrothed pair to drink of it alternately, as a tacit engagement to share in common the good and evil of their future lives ; this idea is also renewed, when they walk three times round the altars, arm-in-arm, while the golden coronets are held over their heads by the assistants. The benediction is then pronoun ced, the new married couple are led to the holy place, where they kiss the pictures of the saints, and the ceremony is finished. In any other coun try it would be supposed, that when a lovely per son, like Mademoiselle , was sacrificed at the altar by her friends, their object must have been to secure a rich and noble husband for a portionless daughter. But this was not the case; she had an independent fortune, and her future husband had neither title, connexions, nor a ruble beyond his pay. But here the epaulet is every thing. He was a colonel in the army, and milita ry raiik is the only acknowledged grade in the state : she was thrown into the arms of a man, her inferior in every point, with her feelings per haps already devoted to another, solely and sim ply that she might acquire an ascertained rank in the scale of Russian society. Raike"s City of the Czar. False friends arc worse than open enemies. 311 THE MERCHANTS EXCHANGE, NEW YORK. Wall street is known, the world over, as the mart of the money-changers in New York. It is, indeed, chiefly filled with bankers and brokers, who rejoice in fingering banknotes, half joes, eagles, and dollars, the former of whom are happy to receive your money on deposite and accommodate you occasionally with a loan at a moderate discount, and the latter of whom are ready to negociate a note for a reasonable ad vance, or to change uncurrent into current money at a slight charge. But there are no inconsiderable numbers of other gentry, who . would be happy to acquaint themselves with your purse, as assurers, lawyers, notaries, speculators, stock-jobbers, pack et-officers, money-collectors, customhouse officers, news-mongers, and agents in any line or transaction whatever. They are all but the facilitators ofthe mer chant, the mechanick, the manufacturer, the farmer, and the gentleman, in all the money operations which the latter cannot, with facility, transact for them selves. The whole street is immeasurably active in the general pursuit of money." The business of every house relates to money, notes or stock; in every group the subject of conversation is money, notes or stock ; the life, motion, and being, of every man in Wall street is money, notes or stock. Every thing is done by exchange, whether it be an ex change of money, of notes, of bonds, of stock, of estates, of opinions and information, or of nods and winks significantly appertaining to that mode of making money, called speculation. Here fortunes are won in an hour, and here too they are lost as soon. Gold is here the beacon of hope, and the main spring of action ; but also too often does it prove the ignis-fatuus of deluded adventurers, and the siren of evil and destruction. Wall street is also the centre of commercial in formation and general news. Hither all citizens who are infected with the cacoethus audiendi, flock, to learn how the world wags, as well as to proclaim such items of intelligence as may have reached their un derstandings alone. The merchants particularly collect here in great numbers, at mid-day, to confer together upon the objects of trade, and to survey the general indications of the commercial atmosphere. For the greater convenience of these daily assem blages, which have become very necessary and im portant, a building has been particularly erected, called the Merchants Exchange, and devoted to that object. The noble edifice which has heretofore been used for this purpose, and a plan of which is given overleaf, was destroyed in the great conflagra tion of the 16th December last. Although a still more splendid structure will soon rise upon its ruins, yet we deem a particular description worth pre serving. The Merchants Exchange was situated on tho easterly end of the block formed by Wall, William, Exchange, and Hanover streets, and extended one hundred and sixty-four feet front and rear, and one hundred and fifty feet deep. It was two stories high, besides a basement and an attick. The front on Wall street, which was the principal one, was built entirely of white marble from the Westchester quarries ; of the Ionick order of architecture ; its prototype, the temple of Minerva Polias, at Priene, Ionia. A recessed portico of about forty feet wide, in an elliptical form, with a screen of four stupen dous columns arid two antos extending across the front, was very advantageously introduced. These columns were thirty feet high, and three feet four inches in diameter above the base. The shaft of each column was composed of a single block of mar ble. They supported an entablature of about six feet in height, upon which rests the attick, or third story ; making a height of about sixty feet from the ground. On each side of the portico was an entrance to the basement, leading through a sort of corridor to Exchange street. The left was occupied by the Postoffiee, and the right by brokers' offices, refecto ries, &c. The front entrance to the Exchange was by a flight of stairs, or a dozen broad marble steps, with a pedestal at each end. On ascending to the porti co, two doors opened in front to the exchange-room, and two on either hand to ensurance and newspaper offices, while on the right, a flight of stairs also led from the basement to the upper stories. The ex change-room was a spacious and beautiful area, in the centre of the building, and of an oval form. It was eighty-five feet in length, fifty-five feet wide, and forty-five feet high, and surmounted by a dome, which was supported by two Corinthian pillars at each wing. The centre of the room was adorned by that beautiful statue of Hamilton, which we have heretofore particularly described. Beyond this room was an auction saloon, and doors leading from thence to a reading-room and other offices. A flight of stairs at one end of the saloon led into the chambery of the board of trade, of brokers, &c, which occupi ed the second story. The attick was occupied chiefly by printers and engravers. There were stairs leading from the attick to a cupola, sixty feet in height, which surmounted the edifice. This cu pola was of great service, having been used for the purpose of exchanging telegraphick signals with a tel egraph at the Narrows, a distance of about eight miles. The observations thus made, and which related principally to the approach of vessels at sea, were recorded in a book below which was kept open for inspection. The Exchange was commenced in April, 1825, and completed in July, 1827. The cost, including the lot, was two hundred and thirty thou sand, dollars. It now appears like the ruins of a Grecian temple ; nothing but its tottering walls remains standing. A much more magnificent struc ture is now in contemplation, which will cover the whole block. KU1NS OF THE MERCHANTS EXCHANGE, (N. Y-) .:« 313 THE CAPITOLOF VIRGINIA, AT RICHMOND. i Under the auspices of James the First, of Eng- ! land, who had granted letters patent to the London ! and Plymouth companies, for the purpose of founding a colony in North America, Christopher Newport, sailed from London on the 20th of December, 1606; and after a disastrous passage of four months, entered the James river, and made a settlement upon its banks about forty miles from the sea, and called it Jamestown. This was the first permanent settle ment that was made by the English in Virginia, al though previous attempts had been made. The company consisted of 105 persons, and very soon received an accession to their number's, swelling the amount to 200. The most difficult man amongst them, was Captain John Smith, whose name, it will be recollected, is identified with that of Pocahontas, the Indian girl who saved him from the barbarity of Povhatan. In 1614, Captain Smith explored the country, and made a map of it, which he presented to Prince Charles. In 1619, 150 women weresent to Virginia, and sold to the planters for about 150 pounds of tobacco, each ; tobacco being then valued at three shillings the pound. Twenty negroes, were also s6ld to the colonists by the Dutch about the same time, whence maybe dated the commencement of the slavetrade in this country. Virginia progress ed, by no means rapidly or prosperously, under the various governours sent out by the British Crown. Their chief export was tobacco. None of the colo nies suffered more than Virginia from the despotism of a royal government. In violation of chartered rights, the colony was divided into parts, and con veyed away by proprietary grants ; not grants of woodlands and wildernesses, but of plantations (hat had long been cultivated under the encouragement of kings and charters. These oppressions produced a viotable rebellion in Virginia, during which, great outrages were committed, and Jamestown wus 314 burned. The civil war was commenced by Col. Nathaniel Bacon, and .terminated at his death. In 1712, Virginia was divided into 49 parishes, and a clergyman allotted to each, with stated salary. In 1713, Lt. Gov. Spottswood discovered the passage of the Appalachian mountains. Virginia was amongst the first of the colonies, that manifested that glorious spirit of resistance to the oppression- and aggression of Great Britain, which wrought our independence. She was always forward in seconding the spirit and measures of her sister colonies against the common enemy, and met the demands of her country with laudable zeal and disinterested patriotism. The constitution of Virginia was adopted the next day after the Declaration of Independence, but has been recently revised and amended. Nine of the signers of the declaration, including its immortal author, were natives of Vir ginia, viz. : — Thomas Jefferson, John Penn, Richard H. Lee, Fr. Lightfoot Lee, Carter Braxton, George Walton, George Wythe, Benjamin Harrison, Thomas Nelson, jr. Virginia also produced George Wash ington, Patrick Henry, Arthur Lee, James Madison, James Monroe, and John Marshall. In 1830, Virginia contained 1,211,405 inhabitants, of whom 469,759 were slaves. The principal rivers are the Potomack, Shenandoah, Rappahan nock, York, James, Appamattox, Elizabeth, Staun ton, Kenawha, Ohio, Sandy, and Monongahela. The Blue Ridge extends through the central part of the state, and there are other mountains in the state. Iron, lead, coal, limestone, and chalk, are found in abundance. The chief towns are Richmond, Nor folk, Petersburgh, Lynchburgh, Fredericksburgh, Winchester, Portsmouth, Williamsburgh, and Shep- herdstown. The university of Virginia is established at Charlottesville, besides which there are several other colleges. Richmond, the largest city in the state, and the seat of government, has a population of 16,000, and is situated at the head of tide .water on the James river. The town rises gradually from the river, and with its many elegant brick houses, presents a fine appearance. The publick buildings are a court house, a state prison, an almshouse, a museum, eight churches, and the Capitol. We have presumed that the engraving would furnish the reader a better idea of this elegant structure, than any mere written description. It is appropriated chiefly to the purpo ses of the state, senate, and assembly. It stands on the highest ground in the city, and the views from its top are extensive and interesting. This city is one hundred and twenty miles from Washington, and one hundred and fifty from the mouth of the river. There are two bridges across the river at this place, and fa Is i short distance above. A canal has been dug around the falls, however, so that a continuous boat navigation is secured for two hundred and twenty miles. Richmond is a thriving town in point of trade, and the means of general education are not neglected. TOMB OF COLUMBUS. The cathedral church at Seville, which is so magnificent in its exteriour, and so richly furnished within, is highly deserving a place among the no blest edifices of the kind in Europe. It is four hun dred and twenty feet in length, two hundred, and sixty-three in breadth, within the walls, ; and one hundred and twenty-six in height. At one anglejof the building rises a tower of Moorish workmanship, three hundred and fifty feet high, on the top of which is the Giralda, a brazen image, weighing ^nearly a tun and a half, yet so admirably poised JM to turn with the gentlest breeze. f; W The ascent to the top of this lofty tower is rtti- dered easy by a spiral path in the inside, of so gen tle an inclination that a horse might trot up it, and so wide, that two horsemen may go abreast. While the traveller, is lost in admiration of the extend' grandeur of this pile, he is equally astonished, On entering, to view its internal splendour andi wealth. Eighty windows of beautifully painted glass shed their mellow light over fine paintings, noble statuBfy and altars of solid silver. * Of this, metal there is a profusion in this cathedral — the statues of St Isidore and St Leander, as \§p as life, and a tabernacle for the host, twelve feet in height, adorned with columns, being of silvers? The organ exceeds the famous one at Haarlej§§ the number of its stops ; the former haying onef dred and ten, and the latter only sixty. Yet fective are the bellows of this mighty instrufl that, when completely inflated, they will supply full organ for fifteeirtninutes. None but they have heard it can conceive the effect of this aston ishing combination of sounds when managed b^a master-hand. _.; A ' But the most interesting object to the intewgent American is the tomb of the great Columbus, .the discoverer of the New World. It is in itself uniajjM- thy of the great man who sleeps beneath it, consist ing of only one stone with this inscription-^!! Castella y Arragon otre mundo des Colom,,;" thai; ft, " To Castile and Arragon Columbus gave anothjj: world." But no monument, however splendid, fb inscription, however pompous, could have addedfe the fame of that illustrious man, or atoned for the base ingratitude with which he was treated ; indeed, had a sumptuous cenotaph been erected over his remagjl, it would have ill agreed with the fetters which once Joaded his limbs, and which are buried in thesa#e coffin with him. ri Besides this noble cathedral, Seville contains twenty-five parish-churches, five chapels, fhirty-fifa monasteries, twenty-nine nunneries, with hospitals, I and houses for other religious communities. Many I of these convents are remarkable for the beauty of their architecture, and, as well as the churches, con tain a profusion of fine paintings, among which are some by the celebrated Murillo. fCathedral at Seville."] 317 The city of Seville is of high antiquity, its found ation being ascribed to the Phenicians. The Ro mans ga>e it the name of Julia, which lias been since corrupted to Sebilla, or Seville ; by this people it was embellished with many magnificent edifices, pf which scarcely any vestiges remain. While Spain was divided into petty monarchies, this city was under the dominion of different masters, and for a short time was the capital of an independent king dom : it is now little inferiour in importance to Madrid. ' Seville stands in the midst of a rich and fertile plain on the banks of the river Gaudalquiver, and is surrounded by a wall five miles and a half in circum ference, defended by one hundred and seventy-six towers. The streets are crooked and dirty, but some of the squares are spacious and magnificent ; , and in the suburbs are many noble edifices, and a handsome promenade, called Allameda, having three walks, planted with trees, and ornamented with seats and fountains. The population of Seville is estimated at ninety thousand — less than might be expected -from the extent of the city; but two or three families are not crowded into one house, as in Madrid, nor are the houses elevated more than two stories ; each house likewise is constructed round the four sides of an open area, in which it is common for the family, in summer, to take up their abode under tents. These areas, or courts, are usually adorned with a profusion of fl&wer-pots, and many of them have fountains, which keep the air pleasingly cool, and, by sprink ling the tiles with which they are paved, prevent them from being heated by the rays of the sun. Many of the streets of Seville are too narrow to admit a carriage; and the reason given for thus con structing them is, that they afford a shade from the burning rays of the sun, which would be otherwise insupportable. BATTLE OF BLOODY BROOK. Every incident connected with the early history of our country, in which the valour of our forefathers was signally displayed, comes down to us with all the interest of self-love, and all the freshness of ro mance. We love to dwell for reasons better felt than explained, on the deeds of our sires, and the times that tried their souls. There is something hallowed in the associations which gather around us, while reflecting on those instances of devoted- ness and chivalrous patriotism which distinguished their acts — a feeling of almost devotion. Too many of those deeds have gone down to oblivion " unho-n- oured and unsung ;" and if perchance a fragment of the past is snatched from the grasp of time, it excites in us sentiments the more sacred from the lapse of years. But there was a period in our country's story be yond that in which our forefathers struggled to, make us a free and happy people — a time whose history is but faintly chronicled — when the sufferings of our pioneer ancestors were unwept and unrequited. That epoch would seem to have been swallowed up in, the interest of the events which followed ; yet iflose early periods afford us examples of unparal leled sufferance and unmatched heroism. It was a gloomy era, when the fair face of our country was every where a dark wilderness — when our pilgrim fathers were at all times surrounded by the beasts and the savages of the forest — and when all was rude and cheerless. In the progress of scenes, from that time forward, many and dangerous were the vicissitudes by which they were marked. The eternal solitude which gave place to the busy hand of the settler, and the umbrageous darkness that disappeared from around his humble domicil, were yet the stilly haunts of the Indian. As the plain, in time, was made to yield support for the' new-comer, and the cabins of the white men began to thicken along the valley, the red men retired to the mountain. His pleasant places on the uplands, beside the rivers stocked with the scaly tribes yield ing to him sustenance, had become occupied. The level patches where he raised his corn, with the beautiful hills where his tribe loved to congregate were in the possession of the stranger. His nearer' hunting-grounds were disturbed, and his game be gan to disappear. Thus dispossessed of his inherit ance, and disquieted in his neighbouring solitudes, the primitive and rightful lord of the soil deeply fostered a secret hate against the -cause of his griev ances. As he gathered around his council fire, and reflected on the stranger's encroachments, or listened to the complaints of his brethren, and the exciting eloquence of his chiefs, his soul began to kindle within him, and his bosom to swell with rage. Al ready had the numbers of the pale faces become alarming, and their bold hardihood inspired a spirit of dread. The fearful missiles which the stranger so dexterously used, above all, excited his fears, and deterred him from manifesting his resentment. Continued irritation, however, overcomes apparent impossibilities, and gradually wears away the most obstinate objections. The cunning of the savage was deemed a match for his enemy ; his fleetness, his distant retreats, and his poisoned arrows, were presented by the orators to force up his courage to the determined point. Nor was it long before the Indian's festering hate broke forth. The war-song now resounded along the mountain side. The fear ful yell is heard in the distance, and each settler prepares himself for the worst. And now it was that the direful note of death rang along the Con necticut valley, and deeds of blood began to deso late the land. For many years was this pleasant valley the scene of heroick struggles — of sufferings, and death Long did the hardy white man sustain himself against the superiour numbers and wily arts of the sav age ; but sadly did he pay the cost of his attachment to the land of his choice, and^the endearing associa tions of home. Frequent and deadly were the con flicts in which he engaged with his implacable ene my. Deep and lasting was the mutual hate of the combatants, and as deep and as artful were their schemes of destruction. Victory often crowned the untiring efforts of the foe, when painful captivity or indiscriminate slaughter ensued. To tell of the many murderous deeds and the deep agonies which marked ihe triumphs of the embittered savage, would long employ the pen, and harrow up the feelings of the soul. To the cruel preseverance of the Indian, in this war of extermination, were added the prompt ings of base cupidity. The Canadian Frenchmen now urged on the brutal force of the not less barbar- 318 ous foe, by their liberal rewards and legalized boun ties, for captives and for scalps. Still more power ful motives actuated the red men, while large num bers. of the reckless whites joined them in the exe cution of their most desperate deeds ; and it was s'aid that the cruelty and brutality of the Frenchmen far exceeded those of the savage wild man. It was thus with our forefathers, when an attack was anticipated from combined forces of the Indians on the little nucleus of farm-houses at the present beautiful village of Deerfield, Massachusetts. A lit tle army had collected at Hadley, composed of the hardy peasantry of the valley, determined on deci sive and desperate efforts against the common ene my. The produce which had been gathered and housed, at Deerfield, was necessary for the support of this band of determined yeomanry, and for the • affrighted families who had there congregated ; nor was it desirable that so much valuable sustenance should fall into the hands of the Indians, the more effectually to enable them to continue their bloody warfare. It was therefore resolved, that one hun dred young men justly denominated " the flower of the country," should be selected to go with teams, in the face of danger, and transport the rich products of the soil from Deerfield to Hadley. The expedi tion was cheerfully undertaken by the requisite number of brave youths. Already were their teams loaded and on their way to the place of destination. The watchful enemy had, however, obtained intelli gence of the expedition, and, with the' greatest se crecy and celerity, collected in fearful numbers on a neighbouring hill, shut out from view by the dense forest with which it was crowned. Here their eloquent chiefs encouraged them by every effort of language and of gesture, to deeds of bravery and desperation. There plans were matur ed, and every means devised, which power and strat agem could suggest, to destroy the devoted band, and to capture , the; treasures in their charge. And now their royal leader*with all the force and enthu siasm which had characterized the most potent war- riour and consummate general that the history of savage life-had ever revealed, broke forth, and thus revealed his great and impassioned mind : — " Warriours ! see you the treasures of the pale faces — the richest stores of the long knives 1 See you the young men, few and feeble, that yonder carelessly stroll in the valley ? See you our num bers, and the brave- warriours that stand around you, and feel not your hearts strong ? Is not your arm powerful and your soul valiant ? And who is he that goes before you ^^Who will direct you in the ambush and the flipit Jpfts jf. not he who never knew fear — whose heart is Tike the mountain, and his arm like the forest-oak — the great chief of the Naragan- setts, whose people are like the leaves, and whose warriours are the terrour of the pale faces 1 Follow him, and all is yours. Each hatchet give a fatal aim — sink deep these knives ! — these arrows drink their blood ! Away ! — to death — our fathers and our homes !" The wild spirit of the proud and lofty Philip, ran like electricity through the savage horde. Each burned for the affray, and quickly sprang into the trail of his great captain. Silently he glided from the mountain and cowered along the meadow-land that lay in a vale by the roadside. Here, deeply immersed in the luxuriant wild-grasi shrink one thousand warriours, fiend-like exulting' in the anticipated victory and slaughter. Now cajne the train of teams, cautiously guarded as they Bad been thus far, by the chosen corps, and descended the small hill which conducted them into the green vale traversed by the road, and near which lay 'ijm concealed foe, ready to dart on their prey. Trams tion says, that here the noble youths, dreaming little of danger from the enemy, rested for tha moment, and gathered grapes from the clustering vines that hung thick with their rich fruit by the road. When, " sudden as the spark from the smitten steel," the thousand savage forms sprang from their amhush and with hideous yells rushed to the onslaught. The vigorous youths, unterrified by the sudden as-. I sault, the yells, or the fearful numbers of their en^ ' my, instantly rallied, and as quickly brought ibA rifles to iheir shoulders. They had received the cloud of arrows, as the savages^ approached within bowshot of their victims, but now, in turn, the fatal lead from a still more deadly weapon made many a warriour bite the ground. The certain aim, of the young band had told death to as many ofthe savage clan. Still onward they pressed, over their dead,| and thickly hurled their missiles. Again with dead ly aim the fire of the little determined group of whites brought down the foremost of the desperate foe, and threw confusion into their ranks. A gleam of hope broke through the fearful prospect, and fot a moment relieved the doubts which the overwhelm ing numbers and fierce desperation of the savages had inspired. But quickly in front was heard the animating voice of their valiant chieftain, and as quickly did they rally and return the destructive fire. The noble youths, though with half their numbers slain, resolved to sell their lives at fatal cost. Nor was a nerve thrilled with fear, or a heart dis-* posed to falter, as their ultimate fate now became j too plainly apparent. Still onward, with brutal force j wrought to madness by the example and the thmi- ¦ dering voice of the gigantick Philip, pressed-JsJjeij exulting foe. - . •£ To the utmost deeds, brave Laihrop now inspired the daring band, as each had caught from him the thrilling cry c " Our God ! — our homes ! — our coun try, and our sires !" But in an instant, piercedjwith many arrows, he falls among the slain. The hero- ' ick captain, "the bravest of the brave," now fallen, the enemy express their fiendish joy in loud andji terrifick yells. The fight thickens and man conflicts . with man. The dying groans of the Christian"^ nerves each youthful arm, which still deeper returns successive blows. Impelled with fury at the destruction which was yet making in their ranks by the almost superhuman efforts of the brave whites, they strove, with all the brutality of fiends, to complete their deadly work. At length, the numbers of the valiant youths was re duced to a solitary few ; when the foremost of these on turning to animate his comrades, saw himself supported by seven only of his associates. These, finding all efforts of victory hopeless, and that longer warfare would but add to the scalps of the victors, dashed their weapons in the face of the foe, and attempted to escape. The two who stood last in this unequal contest, the most athletick ofthe chivalrous corps — bounding over the slain, took a direfttion to- 319 ward the Deerfield river, followed by two hundred Indians, hurling with almost deadly precision, their .arrows and hatchets. The whizzing of the missiles urged the powerful remnant to their utmost speed. * One of these, plunging into the stream, vainly at tempted to reach its opposite bank ; pierced by the 'arrows of the savages, he sunk lifeless to its bottom, .while the other running along the shore, screened 'by the under-brush on its banks, silently sunk into ''the water. Here, amid a thick and dark cluster of 'weeds and bushes, he supported himself by the. trunk 'of an old tree lying on the edge of the stream, with 'his face sufficiently elevated to admit of respiration, 'until the Indians had relinquished their search for 'him, continually hearing near him their hasty tramp and fearful yells of disappointment. When all was 'still, and during the darkness of night, he swam across the river; and, stiff and cold, began his march for Hadley, where he arrived on the following" day, the last and only living witness, as tradition says, ! of the battle of Bloody Brook. Reader, this youth 1 was the writer's grandfather. Returning to the spot which history has so justly 1 designated as " Bloody Brook," the barbarous ene my, on completing their destruction of life, began that of the dead. The busy scalping-knife, was doing its frightful office, and the naked heads, sev ered from their lifeless trunks, were dancing high in the air, on points of poles. The sickening sight made the less savage foS revolt. Death had not done its last kind duties, when this infernal sport commenced. The convulsive throb still showed the struggle between life and death.- The spouting t blood, still warm with life, was seen to gush forth 1 from ihe gaping wounds, and, trickling along the i green sward, find a repository in the gurgling brook (near by. 'The gory rills were fast purpling the lit- I'tle stream, and transporting the red tide down to oblivion— the richest flood that ever rivulet bore. All around was horrour, torture, and death ; when suddenly appeared, on the crown of the hill, a large company of white men, who had come from Green field with all possible haste to' the succour of their brethren. But, alas ! it was too late. ! The scene we have described was presented instead. Filled with rage and madness, this furiousflband rushed down the hill upon the brutal force, yet floating in blood, and falling like lions among them, made ter rible havock. Alarmed at ihis unexpected assault, the savages sprang, with fear and desperate fleetness from the scene, striving only to escape the death their barbarity so justly merited. But full many a warriour fell by the strong arm of the vengeful white man.- Flight alone saved the few remaining enemy. A sad duty now devolved on the final victors. They dug on the spot the sepulchre which to this day, contains the commingling dust of their youthful brethren,, and over its mouth is to be seen a smooth flat stone, the only humble testimonial of posterity. Yes, there by the side of the road leading from the pretty villages we have mentioned, and near the lit tle brook destined to give immortality to the event, may the curious traveller, as he passes through the green fields of the Connecticut valley, see the mound which designates the place where fought and sleep the unhonoured""hrave. Peace to thy manes, heroick youths! Thy country's history shall pre serve thy memory. Is it not a little curious, among the phenomena of mind, to mark the effect of external objects in recal ling long-lost impressions. While standing on the spot thus hallowed by deeds of bravery, and while dwelling on the scenes which the imagination was picturing before me, I was all at once overwhelmed. as if by a sudden rush of light from the darkness of the past. , Circumstances, localities — the realities in 'all the vividness with which they were related to me, when but eight years of age, by my grandsire — started fresh into life. More than thirty years have elapsed since memory recalled one of those impres sions, and' yet every word that was dropped from the lips of that venerated man — his actions — his very look, while relating to me the affray at " Bloody Brook," came back upon me more freshly than a dream of yesternight,^. Every incident of that san guinary fight, than which none in the history of our country was more fatally decisive, came up from the abyss of time, with all the vigour and clearness of present vision. He was then but eighteen years of age — of powerful mould, and great and muscular activity. The thrilling particulars which he descri bed in his venerable age, thus presented themselves to my mind, a short time since, on that consecrated spot, to which neither history nor tradition has yet done justice. n. Y. Knickerbocker. THE ARMY IN THE FIELD. BY LIEUTENANT G. W. PATTON, V. a. A. I never see a shadowy plume Upon a soldier's crest ; But I think of ye, my gallant braves,; Amid the far Southwest. I never hear the pipe's shrill notes, Amid the city's hum, But I see your serried columns form Where rolls the roaring drum. A lengthen'd trail ye thrid, my braves ; And difficult its sign, Thro' hammock, and thro' everglades,: By marsh and tangled vine: Your homestead is the wilderness, Your canopy the sky j And the musick which ye love the most, Lives in the battle-cry. They little know, who lightly dwell, TJpqn'-the griefs ye bear, The task and toil, Oh ! weary ones, Which ye are doomed to share. , 'Tis yours to quench the feudal fire, The elements prolong ; To hunt the footsteps of the fierce ; To wrestle with'ff,he strong. To scorch beneath the vernal sun, A mid the hurried rout ; To scare the vulture from his feast Where th' foremost steed^gave out ; To seek in vain for g|!gbin»jnring ' Upon a thirst^ waste*;. '•*- To sink amid the mazy wood, With the homeward path effaced. 'Tis yours to scorn what few deride : Attempt where all may fail ; To stem the raging of the tide, -".$ The rushing of the gale. And when your hearts like lava-rock, Heave like the mountain warm, 'Tis. yours to roll unto the shock, Like the torrent and the storm. And oh ! 'tis yours at midnight hour, Upon the guarded plain, To dream of smiles far, far away, Ye ne'er may see again. Tu vanquish Hope — to purchase Fame, With blood of foe unseen ; Then find a graveVithout a name, Beneath the hammock green. 320 WEST POINT. Bright are the memories linked with thee Boast of a glory-hallowed land ! Hope of the valiant and the free, Home of their youthful soldier band." If each bright spot on earth is indeed benignantly shone upon by some " bright particular star" in night's glorious canopy, then may we hope that the hallow ed one which we have named is under no despicable influence. Hallowed by the footsteps of Washington and Kosciusko ; consecrated by a nation to the Spar tan-like training of a few devoted sons ; nor less sa credly secluded by nature as the scene of retirement and study ; it seems alike calculated to please the pensive sage and the aspiring youthful soldier ; while even female loveliness vouchsafes to paint its mem ories in hues of hope and brightness, as the " boast of a glory-hallowed land." Courteous reader, if it has ever been your privi lege, of a gentle summer's day, to sail down the pic turesque river Hudson, are you not glad to recognise the lovely scene here presented, as the view of West Point from the Highlands 1 You have passed by Newburgh, and are entering the mountain gap, through which thea waters have forced their rugged way. They seem baffled in the struggle, and you glance forward to the stern shore which seems to re pel their progress ; saying to the proud wave, " Thus far.shalt thou come, and no farther ;" when sudden ly your eye is arrested by our nation's flag, proudly flying over a little sunny plain, a chance nook, where nature seems to have rested ere she began to pile the circumjacent mountains, and where signs of mar tial pomp, soon announce the location of the military academy. In the foreground is the new and spa cious hotel, where my convivial host stands waiting to receive you ; beyond it are the academick halls" the barracks, chapel and mess-house, appropriated to the cadets ; and on the right are the comfortable dwellings, allotted as quarters for the academick o|B- cers. On the left, at the angle of the plain, are'fhe traces of Fort Clinton ; and on the right, towering far above Camptown, the suburb, occupied by soldiers and citizens, stands Fort Putnam, on Mount Inde pendence, venerable in its ruins — stern monumentof a sterner age, which survived the attempts of treason and the assaults of tyranny, only to yield its hallow ed materials to the desecrating hands bf?a rapacious owner.* Of the three monuments which now njqet your eye, the one on the right, and nearest to yg|i, on a projegting tongue of land bordered with thick groves, is the Cadets' Monument, erected to tie memory of the deceased officers and cadets of tie academy. It cost $1200. The central one 'neat ' the flagstafjjis a cenotaph, erected by Geii. Brown, to the memory of Col. Eleazar D. Wood, an early and distinguished graduate of the academy;- who fell at the sortie of Fort Erie, in 1814. And the monument on the left, over the levelled redoubt or citadel of Fort Clinton, is sacred to Kosciusko. It was com pleted in 1829, by the corps of cadets, at an expense of near $5000. You now approach the wharf, just beyond which is the rock, from which a chahj was stretched across the river, in the time of the revolu tion, to prevent the passage of the British vessels.t- They broke it, however, in 1777, when they for