STANZAS.

Themoon is gliding on her clear blue way:I've watched her, as she rose above the clouds which layDarkly along the horizon; as she threwA glorious halo round them, and then drew,With her still power, away the fogs which nightGathers upon the earth; then touched with lightThe tree-abounding city, till its stately domesOf Gothic and of Dorian art, and quiet homes,Slept 'neath a sea of beauty. Then, sweet lady, IWas bidden in my heart, remember thee—How thou hast risen in thy angel purity,And light of heavenly truth, to beam on me,And scatter far the darkness, doubts, and fears,Which rose from out the tomb of my young misspent years.

G. P. T.

Thineis the hour of joy;The heart untouched by sorrow,And bliss without alloyIs pictured on to-morrow:To-morrow!—it may comeTo robe thy brow in sadness,Make desolate thy home,And rob thy heart of gladness.But fear thou not the storm,Though it pass in fury o'er thee;The rainbow's smiling formStill bends its arch before thee:It tells thee joy may fade,And winter strip the bower,Hope in the grave be laid,And withered every flower:Yet there's a home on high,Where sorrow enters never,Where pleasure cannot die,And friendship lives for ever.'Tis where the good are blestWith happiness unendingA world of heavenly rest,And there thy steps are tending!

But fear thou not the storm,Though it pass in fury o'er thee;The rainbow's smiling formStill bends its arch before thee:It tells thee joy may fade,And winter strip the bower,Hope in the grave be laid,And withered every flower:

Yet there's a home on high,Where sorrow enters never,Where pleasure cannot die,And friendship lives for ever.'Tis where the good are blestWith happiness unendingA world of heavenly rest,And there thy steps are tending!

November 4, 1826.J. H. B.

'Unweeded gardens;Things rank and gross in naturePossess them merely.'

Thereis nothing more subject to the notice of a traveller in the United States, than the want of ornament about the residences, not only of the poorer but of the richer class of inhabitants. It would certainly seem, that the manners of the New-Englanders, so aptly described by the worthy historian of the three Dutch governors of New-York, had not yet entirely fallen into desuetude. He who has seen the many huge and ungainly, though perhaps less rickety and flimsy, palaces that frequently adorn a wide landscape, cannot think that the age of air-castles has wholly departed: it lacks but the relics of the old family wardrobe, petticoats, hats and breeches, thrust in the windows, to complete the idea, that one is in the land and age alluded to by the same veracious historian I have mentioned. How far an inside view of our modern shingle palaces might betoken a similar want of energy or means in the proprietors, it does not beseem my present purpose to inquire.

Certainly, the little attention that is paid to external ornament, around the situations of the wealthy and the great of our land, is evidence of a want of that refined taste which all should desire to see more common. It cannot be attributed to want of means, or ofdisposition to expend them, in decorating the family mansion; for enough is often laid out in the bare edifice that 'rears its bulky form against the sky,' if judiciously expended, not only to give to the building itself a far more tasteful appearance, but to surround it with ornamental work, and shrubbery, that shall add tenfold to its beauty, and very much to its comfort. It is the want of judgment and taste manifested in the expenditure of the vast sums annually devoted to the erection of retired family residences, which I esteem more particularly worthy of notice.

As a too common fault, the building itself is erected much too large for the purposes to which it is to be applied. It would often seem, that the proprietor imagined the respectability of his appearance, his very standing in the community, was to be measured by the extent of the edifice erected as his family residence. A huge palace is consequently run up, without the slightest idea of consulting the rules of symmetry or proportion, and plainly though expensively finished. It is then that the energy of the proprietor, as if exhausted at the immensity of the undertaking, fails him. No attention has been paid to the situation, save that care may possibly have been taken that the building should front the south or east; and it may be that he is not aware, until he enters his parlor, whether its windows open upon a delightful prospect, a rough hedge, or a black morass. If it should afford a convenient opportunity for a drain to the cellar, a spot of rising ground may have been selected, or if no such prudent foresight should trouble the mind, the mansion may be overlooked by a cragged knoll, that serves to protect it from the wintry blasts. If the out-buildings, barns, stables, and sheds, are behind, rather than on a line with, or directly in front of, the dwelling, it arose from the merest accident; for it never was thought worth the while to consult so arbitrary a rule of propriety as that which would teach the modest pig-stye that its appropriate sphere of duty was confined to a less conspicuous spot than the more aristocratic family mansion might properly claim. If the building is thoroughly completed, by which I mean without a particle of what the owner calls superfluous ornament, he is satisfied; sometimes, if blinds are added, or a handsome fence is built, he has done wonders, and thinks himself entitled to retire to—I wish I might say with better propriety—theshadesof private life, and enjoy the trueotium cum dignitate.

Thus stand the dwellings of many of our most wealthy and respectable citizens, naked and bare, looking more like extensive manufactories, than habitations of refined taste. It is the absence of exterior ornament, of fences, flowers, shade-trees, and shrubbery, that first strikes the eye as indicating a want of taste and judgment. Even though elegance and strict architectural proportion may have been consulted, judgment displayed in the selection of the site, and taste in the arrangement of the buildings, to suit the scenery about it, there is always the appearance of something wanting, if little or no attention has been paid to ornamenting the grounds about with shade-trees and shrubbery. No lavish expenditure on works of art can atone for the absence of these natural charms.

Some reasons may be adduced for the slight attention which ispaid in this country to the beautiful study of arboriculture, and for the want of taste often manifested in relation to some of the noblest productions of nature. From having a boundless wilderness to convert into fruitful fields, it would almost seem that our fathers had acquired an inveterate antipathy to every thing bearing resemblance to a forest tree. In 'clearing' the spot selected for a settlement, every thing was swept off, with axe and fire, unless the primitive settler had occasion to use a few conveniently-placed trees to support the roof of his humble dwelling. He never dreamed that the sturdy monarchs of the forest might become desirable for the purpose of ornament, still less that their scarcity would ever render them valuable to the tenants of the soil. In consequence of this early development of the organ of destructiveness, very few ornamental trees, of great age or size, are to be found in the villages of our country; presenting something of an anomaly: a country unrivalled in the age and extent of its forests, and having indigenous to its soil some of the most beautiful specimens of ornamental trees, but with its towns and villages having scarcely a single tree, of great size or age, to ornament and shade their streets.

Nor have the indications of this destructive spirit of the early settlers, though less common, passed entirely away with the progress of time, or of our country in prosperity and happiness. The antipathy of which I have spoken, although it would hardly yet seem to be extinguished, is gradually wearing away. The study of arboriculture is beginning to be thought of and esteemed; attention is being paid to the planting of shade and ornamental trees; many of our public thoroughfares are properly bordered with the young and thrifty stalks, that in the due process of vegetation will adorn them with stately trees; and the situations of private citizens are beginning to exhibit, more commonly, signs of the beauty produced by the same cause.

Still less has there been any general attention paid to the art—for such I believe has been settled to be the classification of so beautiful a study—of landscape and ornamental gardening. Of this study, a late elegant writer remarks: 'It is a noble and worthy pursuit, and one that cannot be too earnestly encouraged, as a source of the purest and most elegant recreation; one whose indulgence is equally beneficial to the mind and to the body. The enjoyment which it affords, is at once sensual and intellectual; and if less stimulating than many other sensual gratifications, it has this superiority over them, that it is the least palling of any, or rather one that is incapable of satiating.' I know there are reasons why landscape gardening, of which the untravelled American knows literally nothing, can scarcely if ever be expected to reach that degree of splendor for which other climes are already noted. The fortunes of our citizens are of too recent acquirement, and too often divided among heirs, and otherwise, to permit of the great expense of such undertakings, even had society arrived at that pitch of refinement which naturally fosters this and other branches of the fine arts. These obstacles will effectually retard, if not prevent, those stupendous results of individual wealth and energy, which ages of feudal power, and the laws of primogeniture, have heaped upon the soil of Europe.

But there is a lesser branch of the art, more properly denominated the ornamental, which it is within the reach of most of our citizens to carry to a great degree of perfection. The grounds about our dwellings, though they may be limited, are capable of being dressed in a garb at once pleasing to the eye, and in other ways profitable to the owner. The traveller in England remarks, continually, upon neat rural cottages, embowered amid fruit trees, shrubbery, and flowers, with a portion of the ground around them tastefully arranged, and devoted to the cultivation of esculent vegetables, that supply much of the food necessary for the subsistence of the family. So too in many parts of continental Europe, the attention which all ranks bestow upon the grounds surrounding their dwellings strikes favorably the eye of the stranger, and leads him to exclaim that his tour lies through 'one continued garden, highly picturesque and pleasing.' All this is within the reach of our citizens, the humblest, as well as those who revel in superfluous wealth. Shade-trees of great beauty and long life are readily to be obtained, easily transplanted, and easily made to thrive. The cost of a neat close fence is trifling to those who are bred in the paths of industry and economy. A trellis is easily thrown up, and there is no difficulty in leading over it the creeping vine. Fruits of various descriptions may be cultivated with pleasure and profit, and flowers with hardly less of either. Small neat cottages, those rich caskets of pure enjoyment, may be embellished with the various objects of rural taste, and be made each the centre of a little Eden, that shall lead the lover of rural felicity to believe that it may exist otherwhere than in the fruitful imagination of the poet.

It is seriously to be wished, that more attention should be paid to this, of all studies the most humanizing and innocuous. It is to be regretted, that our countrymen are not more alive to the importance of devoting a small share of time and expense to ornamenting their dwellings and the public streets. 'I regard' (says an approved writer, whom I have not yet quoted) 'the man who surrounds his dwelling with the objects of rural taste, or who even plants a single shade-tree by the road side, as a public benefactor; not merely because he adds something to the general beauty of the country, and to the pleasure of those who travel through it, but because he also contributes something to the refinement of the general mind. He improves the taste, especially of his own family and neighborhood.' Were such benefactors more common, were country cottages, adorned with simplicity and taste, more frequent, we should hear more of that true rural enjoyment which does not consist in rudeness and selfishness, but in rational and dignified pleasure; we should acquire a national character for stability and contentment, as just as that which we now enjoy for uneasiness and mobility; we should hear less complaint of the disposition of our young men to ramble from the patrimonial estate, and bury themselves in the speculations and dissipated enjoyments of city life.

It is a too common opinion, that gardens are like the extremes of fashion, costly and useless appendages, maintained at great expense, and without yielding either profit or real satisfaction. Nothing can be wider from the truth. There is not an individual who can betteremploy a portion of his time and industry, than in the cultivation of a small spot about his dwelling. It is the nursery of elegant taste and refined feeling, and aids essentially in the cultivation of those elevated sentiments which bind men together in the bands of social union. 'Who,' says an elegant French writer, a century agone, 'who does not love flowers? They embellish our gardens; they give a more brilliant lustre to our festivals; they are the interpreters of our affections; they are the testimonials of our gratitude; we present them to those to whom we are under obligations; they are often necessary to the pomp of our religious ceremonies, and they seem to associate and mingle their perfumes with the purity of our prayers, and the homage which we address to the Almighty. Happy are those who love and cultivate them!' Nor is that labor lost in other respects, which is devoted to the cultivation of a garden. It may be made to afford sustenance for a whole family. It is the spot for useful experiment, and may be mentioned as the place into which some of the most valuable products of agriculture have been first introduced, and their qualities tested.

The external air and appearance of a dwelling are no uncertain indications of the character of its inmates. A large house, richly and expensively finished though it may be, standing naked and exposed to the burning rays of a summer sun, has nothing inviting in its appearance; and it is not unnatural, that with the absence of ornament and refreshing shade, we should augur as well the want of intelligence and taste in those who occupy it. There is something dry and hard in the air about it, that betokens little of kindly sentiment, little of social feeling—those blossoms that lend to scenes in our earthly pilgrimage their elysian fragrance. If we expect from such a place the sounds of merriment, they are those of rude mirth and selfish enjoyment. Very different is the idea conveyed by the snug cottage, with its surrounding shrubbery. The building may be humble in size and in its display of architectural skill; but it is neat and tidy, and indicative of attention paid to other than mere animal enjoyments. It is shaded by the foliage of overhanging trees; its fences are tastefully though plainly built; its grounds are richly cultivated, and disposed with much of beauty and effect; its shrubbery and flowers are pleasantly arranged. It is here we look for a happy family, above the world's reproach, for rational and refined enjoyment, for kindly intercourse between beings of the higher order of intellect.

It is a mistaken notion, scarcely less common than that which considers the cultivation of a garden as a useless expenditure of time and labor, which holds that nothing worthy the name of garden can be had without much expense, and that it is better to make no attempt, than to dabble in few flowers, and rude specimens of garden architecture. Many are doubtless deterred by the despair of ever attaining, with their opportunities and means, any degree of the beautiful and picturesque that should attract the commendation of those versed in a better and costlier style of the art. But there is no spot of ground, however unfitted for the purposes of ornamental gardening, that may not be arranged with beauty and effect, and that too at a trifling expense. It certainly could not be expected, that in this branch of the art should be expended the immense costrequired for attaining that splendor to which the landscape garden may be perfected. A small and level bit of ground, devoid of water and prospect, may yet be so cultivated as to delight the eye, even of the amateur gardener. It may be traversed by winding alleys, bordered with flowers, of which there can be ever had a sufficient variety; it may be planted with every variety of fruit, adapted to the situation and climate; it maybe adorned with trellises, covered with trailing plants, and vases filled with appropriate flowers; it may be provided with its terraces and parterres, its bowers and refreshing shades. An ordinary share of industry and taste will prepare and arrange these, so that there shall not be an entire lack of beauty, even though it should want in elegant sculpture, in costly vases, in cascades and fountains, or in distant views of enchanting scenery. The expense of all this need not deter any one who has a free use of the faculties with which nature has endowed him: it may be saved often in the retrenchment of a single superfluity, and of these there is no lack with those who live what the world would term decently. Try it, young man; and if you feel not amply repaid, if you feel not a wiser, better, happier man, then I forfeit my credit in the art prognostic.

W. A. B.

I lovethee, dark blue sea!When sleeping tranquilly,When winds blow shrill,And foaming surges rise,That seem to dare the skies—I love thee still!And when the morning sleepsUpon thy silent deeps,I love the hour!Or when the star of nightBathes thee in silver light,I own thy power.I love thy golden strand,When on the shell-strewn sandThy billows break;When, soft as infant's sleep,Thy gentle ripplings creep,Nor echo wake.And when thy thunders roar,And lash the trembling shore,Deep, foaming, strong,And high thy breakers roll,I feel thee stir my soul,And love thy song!Yes, thou art dear to me,Thou ever-flowing sea!Where'er thy waters roll;In every varied mood,Or mild, or gay, or rude,From pole to pole!

I lovethee, dark blue sea!When sleeping tranquilly,When winds blow shrill,And foaming surges rise,That seem to dare the skies—I love thee still!

And when the morning sleepsUpon thy silent deeps,I love the hour!Or when the star of nightBathes thee in silver light,I own thy power.

I love thy golden strand,When on the shell-strewn sandThy billows break;When, soft as infant's sleep,Thy gentle ripplings creep,Nor echo wake.

And when thy thunders roar,And lash the trembling shore,Deep, foaming, strong,And high thy breakers roll,I feel thee stir my soul,And love thy song!

Yes, thou art dear to me,Thou ever-flowing sea!Where'er thy waters roll;In every varied mood,Or mild, or gay, or rude,From pole to pole!

Philadelphia, August 28, 1837.L. E. W.

Notin the marble tomb—Lay me not there to rest,With the dim charnel gloomDamply around my breast:Bind me not there to lie,Cold, mouldering lone,Unmoved by the rain, as it falleth nigh,Or the winds of varied tone:No!—lay me under the sod—'Neath the green turf, lay me low,Where the sweet spring flowers may nod,In dews which wet my brow.Ay! then I'll mount the flowers,And be worn on fairest breast,And go up in vines which deck the bowers,Where beauty loves to rest:I shall rise, perchance, in the laurel leaf,And be worn in the conqueror's hall;In the grape, I'll be the foe of grief,And the joy of the festival;This is the way which I would rest—Not in the charnel gloom:Then lay me under the earth's green vest,And I'll seek me out my tomb.

G. P. T.

BY THE AUTHOR OF 'EDITING AND OTHER MATTERS,' 'JOHN JENKINS,' ETC.

'Somesay there's nothing made in vain,While others the reverse maintain,And prove it very handy,By citing animals like these:Musquitoes, bed-bugs, crickets, fleas,And worse than all—a dandy!'

Ray.

Richard Drilling, Esquire, was a lawyer of much ambition, as was manifest from the scrupulous care with which he decorated the outer man. He thought that a shabbily-dressed person was a shabby fellow; and as he wished to be thought any thing rather than shabby, his wardrobe was a miracle of taste. Two rival passions burned on the altar of his bosom, viz: to marry the most beautiful girl in town, and to become a model for gentlemen of well-dressing propensities. This latter desire was on the eve of consummation, at the period under consideration. As he glanced at his proportions in the glass, he was most sincerely of opinion that he was irresistibly handsome. He was nearly six feet high, and slender and symmetrical. His leg was as straight as an arrow, and his waist was the envy of many belles. Light hair, and a small foot, were the alpha and the omega of his personal fascinations. Now fancy this entity, with its chin cocked up on a huge stock, white vest, silk gloves, rattan, a little hat hanging on a lock of hair over the left ear, taking the air, with a genteel step, on the shady side of the street, and you have a very tolerable conception of what Richard Drilling resembled.

Richard considered himself a great favorite with the sex. He was careful not to distress them with conversation on theology, philosophy, or poetry; but much more sensibly entertained them with dissertations on the important subjects of marriage rumors, moving accidents, German waltzes, and Parisian fashions. Moreover, he was the most obedient servant whom the ladies had in their employ, and was always willing to sacrifice cash or convenience to their happiness. If a lady hinted a wish to take a ride, he made a proposition to gratify her, instanter; if she talked of the theatre, he would offer her the honor of his escort; or if she burned for ice-cream, of a summer night, he took good care that she should be gradually cooled down to a state of comfort. In fine, Richard and the girls had but one heart between them: whatever they wanted, he desired; and wherever they happened to be going, he was lucky in being on his way to the same place. He was as indispensable to every female establishment as a pin, which article he greatly resembled, as he was tolerably brazen, not very sharp, and was seen sticking about the ladies on all occasions. A very comfortable stock of vanity assured him, that the girls were always looking out for him; that he could wed whomsoever he considered eligible to that honor; and that he carried himself with the most genteel swagger that had been seen in the street, in church aisles, or at operas, since the days of the everlasting Beau Brummel.

Richard was universally called Dick, and so, for the salvation of space, we beg leave to name him. Well, Dick's parents were early emigrants to the west, at which time they were almost dollarless. By enterprise, his father had amassed a fortune; which Dick thought extracted the plebeian taint from his blood, and enrolled his name on the list of the aristocracy. Indeed, on a certain occasion, when asked if his grandfather was not on terms of daily intimacy with lap-boards, shears, and needles, Dick indignantly denied the charge, and asserted that he never had such an ancestor. Thereupon, it was supposed that Dick's family was of miraculous origin, having sprung up after the manner of mushrooms, quite spontaneously.

Possessing a pecuniary competency, Dick had read law, not for the purpose of practice, but merely to recreate his mind, and flourish an attorney's shingle. Having acquired thus much, to use his own elegant language, 'he didn't care a tinker's d—n for any thing else;' and he was henceforth regarded by himself as a gentleman of learned leisure, who, from motives of the purest benevolence, gratified his numerous friends, male and female, by throwing the charms of his conversational powers over the tedium of their otherwise wretched hours. Such was Dick Drilling; an inflated intellectual pauper, whom I never encounter, that I do not instantly call to mind the lines of the poet:

'The loaded bee the lowest flies,The richest pearl the deepest lies;The stalk the most replenished,Doth bow the most its modest head:And thus humility we findThe mark of every master mind;The highest-gifted lowliest bends,And merit meekest condescends,And shuns the fame that fools adore—The puff that bids afeathersoar.'

——'Oh, he's as tediousAs is a tired horse, a railing wife;Worse than a smoky house: I had rather liveWith cheese and garlick, in a windmill, far,Than feed on cakes, and have him talk to me,In any summer-house in Christendom.'

Shakspeare.

Thegood and the bad things of earth are strangely mingled together, and you cannot have either separately. Agreeable friends are blessings; but one cannot form acquaintances, without contracting some sort of alliances with those who are especially disagreeable. For what purpose bores were created, it would be difficult to determine; perhaps, to teach us patience and forbearance. It certainly requires as much patience to remain cool under the inflictions of dulness, as for any thing else in life; and to be able to forbear, when you feel tempted to kick stupidity out of your presence, is a virtue indeed.

There are two leading classes of bores—the garrulous and the taciturn. Heaven help you, when you are victimized by one of the first class! He deluges you with words. He inflicts all the scandal and news upon you, while you look like Resignation hugging a whipping-post. You feel irritated awhile, and then sick. He has tongue enough for both, and only requires that you resolve yourself into a horrible deformity, by becoming all ear. You gape, and show symptoms of sleep. He doesn't care; you may sleep, or dislocate your jaws, as you please. He is one of the emissaries of fate, sent on earth to punish, and he means to fulfil the purpose of his destiny. There is no getting clear of his noise; and you may as well be as complacent as you can, and regard his tongue as the scourge which inflicts chastisement for past sin.

Again, a taciturn bore drops into your presence. You talk first on one subject and then on some other; but instead of showing interest, he looks as if his leaden eyelid would fall in spite of your efforts. You think the fellow a fool; and can scarcely resist the propensity to enlighten him in regard to himself, by telling him so. You look 'unutterable things' at him; but you cannot stir him up. Your heart sinks within you, and for a moment you look the model of a statue of despair. You ask him to read the morning paper, but he is tired to death of politics. You offer him a book, and he fumbles it listlessly for a moment, and puts it down. Your agony becomes excruciating; your friend looks like the impersonation of the nightmare, and he clings to you, as the old man of the sea clung to Sinbad.

The present is the age of bores. No skill can avoid them. Like the enemy of your soul's salvation, they go about seeking whose peace they may destroy. They infest every society, and their name is Legion. If you were to seek a cave in some far-off mountain, they would find you out; or if, in despair, you should drown yourself, in the sea, the ghost of some bore would be sure to rise with yours from the waters, and torture your shade on its way to 'kingdomcome.' Whether you sit down, lie down, read, write, or reflect, you must be annoyed by the presentiment of bores and coming evils. Your apprehensions are ceaseless, and you momentarily expect the Philistines will be upon you—Philistines who wield the weapon which was fatal to their ancestors of old.

BY THE LATE J. HUNTINGTON BRIGHT, ESQ.

I lovethy sea-washed coast, Nahant!—I loveThine everlasting cliffs, which tower above;I love to linger there, when day-light fades,And evening hangs above her sombre shades,And lights her pale lamps in the world on high,And o'er the rough rocks throws her purple hue;While ocean's heaving tidesAre beating round thy sides,Flinging their foam-wreaths to the sky,And flakes of fire seem bursting throughEach swelling wave of liquid blue!Tradition lends to thee no hallowed tone;Ne'er on thy beach was heard the spirit's moan;Yet there's a charm about thee: here I've roved,In being's blossom, with the forms I loved;And they have faded; many a heart which sprungFresh into life when hope and joy were young,Moulders in dust; and many a buoyant breast,Which swelled with rapture then, is laid at rest;And many a heart hath met the blight,And many an eye is closed in night,And many a bosom long will mournFor those who never can return!Each one of us who wander here,And sport within life's little day,At eve shall sleep upon the bier,Our hopes, our promise, passed away:But thou remain'st! Thy rugged rocksShall long withstand time's rudest shocks,And other feet as light shall treadThy wave-bound isle, when we are dead!Yes, man must bloom and fade, must rise and fall,Till nature spreads at length o'er earth her pall;Then shalt thou sink in chaos! Ay, thy nameWill fall in ruin, and the roll of fame[2]Shall be a blot; and earth too, and her cherished,In time's oblivious wreck will all have perished!Then may our souls to that bright world arise,Where beauty withers not, nor virtue dies.

Tradition lends to thee no hallowed tone;Ne'er on thy beach was heard the spirit's moan;Yet there's a charm about thee: here I've roved,In being's blossom, with the forms I loved;And they have faded; many a heart which sprungFresh into life when hope and joy were young,Moulders in dust; and many a buoyant breast,Which swelled with rapture then, is laid at rest;And many a heart hath met the blight,And many an eye is closed in night,And many a bosom long will mournFor those who never can return!

Each one of us who wander here,And sport within life's little day,At eve shall sleep upon the bier,Our hopes, our promise, passed away:But thou remain'st! Thy rugged rocksShall long withstand time's rudest shocks,And other feet as light shall treadThy wave-bound isle, when we are dead!

Yes, man must bloom and fade, must rise and fall,Till nature spreads at length o'er earth her pall;Then shalt thou sink in chaos! Ay, thy nameWill fall in ruin, and the roll of fame[2]Shall be a blot; and earth too, and her cherished,In time's oblivious wreck will all have perished!Then may our souls to that bright world arise,Where beauty withers not, nor virtue dies.

August 19, 1834.

BY AN AMERICAN.

Bornand educated at the North, in taking up my residence in a slave-holding state, it was with all my feelings arrayed against slavery, and in the fear that I should be compelled to witness those brutal scenes of oppression and injustice, which have been so industriously circulated against slave-holders, and their obsequious overseers. I had seen prints portraying merciless masters—tyrants rather—in the act of applying the lash to the naked backs of their unhappy victims, whose supplicating looks might have drawn pity from a heart of adamant. I had heard tales of overseers, which made me blush to think myself a man, so foully were they pictured, and which, if true, must have made the earth groan to bear such monsters on its surface. I regarded a slave-holder as lost to all the finer feelings of humanity, and an involuntary sympathy for their unfortunate dependants occasioned in me a constant watchfulness over every word, and look, and act, that passed between master or mistress and their slaves. I have said that I expected to meet with many revolting incidents—we shall see with what coloring of justice; and let it be remembered, that in penning these desultory observations, I am actuated by no motive, save that of disabusing the public mind from the misrepresentations of ignorant or designing persons.

Pirates and man-stealers are the epithets usually bestowed upon the planters of the South. Abuse is not argument, neither can the calling of hard names abate one jot of oppression. Thus far, it has rivetted the chains of the slave more closely. The confidence which formerly existed between master and slave, has given way to a watchful suspicion on the one side, and a sullen reserve on the other; with the curtailment of many privileges formerly bestowed, and which, from long usage, had become matters of course. This has been one result of the efforts of abolitionists; and those worthies may place this to the account of their own intemperate measures. Were the enemies of slavery to predicate their sentiments on other grounds than the alleged cruelties practised upon the persons of slaves, southern people would probably bestow on them that degree of attention which the subject justly merits. Were they simply to assert that it is at variance with the enlightenment and liberality of the present age; that mere matter of expediency would one day render slavery a greater curse than it already is; that England has set an example which she expects us to follow, and that the eyes of all Europe are upon us; as men of understanding, they would ere this have been inquiring, 'What is best to be done?' But no. Americans have abused their brothers; have represented them to be monsters of brutality—murderers, in fine, living without law and without decency. Britain has been appealed to for pecuniary aid; and she too has hurled her measure of anathema upon us. She has, however, but too recently liberated her own slaves, to say much upon the subject; and whether the condition of the blacks in the West Indieshas been improved by the change, remains yet to be seen. Look at the British possessions in the East Indies; at Russia, with her thousands of white slaves. Turn to unhappy Ireland, bowed, even to her own emerald sward, with oppression; and what consistency is there in this hue and cry, against one only of the existent evils, to the exclusion of others of equal importance?

I have sojourned for a season in no less than six of the southern states, in one of which I resided upward of two years, and had every opportunity, in my professional capacity, for seeing and knowing the truth; and I honestly and firmly declare, that the atrocities and brutal character attributed to the slave-holder, is a most foul and unnatural slander. Can it be believed, that men would countenance each other, that such a state of society could exist, where a man would destroy a fellow being, with as little remorse as he would crush a scorpion that crossed his path? Were they restrained by no other feeling, that of avarice alone would prevent such barbarity; for it cannot be supposed that a man would deliberately burn, shoot, or otherwise injure or maim a piece of property that he could at any moment dispose of for several hundred pounds. It is not credible; yet such is represented to be a case of frequent occurrence. Verily, the people, both of Great Britain and America, are one and all possessed of marvellous gullibilities!

Soon after my settlement on the St. John's river in East Florida, a report was circulated that a planter on the opposite side of the river had whipped a slave to death. The people, so far from appearing indifferent, and attempting to hide such an occurrence, rose simultaneously. By order of a magistrate of the city of Jacksonville, inquiries were instituted, and it was ascertained that a slave had died soon after receiving a flogging from his master. The body was disinterred, but as no marks of violence were discovered, it was again buried, and the owner put under bonds of ten thousand dollars, for his good treatment to his slaves; beside being prevented in future from whipping, or causing a slave to be whipped, on his plantation. When coercion was necessary, he was compelled to inform the magistrates of the county, and they meted out the punishment. This man was a native of one of our eastern states, and, as is invariably the case with such, was severe to his slaves. Northern people possess too much energy and decision of character to be patiently served by indolent servants; and there, they must either wait upon themselves, or receive attendance when and how they can; for a southern negro moves with about as much rapidity as a snail: and hence, when a northern man becomes a master, he is usually a hard one. One other instance I knew of, and that also was a northern man; one of the wealthiest in the territory, and at the same time the most despised. This planter lived sixty miles from where I resided; yet ask a child, either white or black, who was a hard master, and the answer unhesitatingly was, 'Bulow is a hard master.' He had no family, and was shunned by every respectable white person who knew him. In fact, during the summer months that he resided off his plantation, he found it difficult to obtain board in any respectable hotel, so prejudiced were people against him. Public opinion is an ordeal that many men dare brave; but public abhorrence none butthe most hardened can endure. A master cannot hide his cruelties; negroes have too much communication with each other, and with neighboring plantations, not to trumpet loudly their hardships; and abject as their condition is, they do not tamely submit to an encroachment upon their rights or privileges. Infringe either the one or the other, and they become as inveterate grumblers as John Bull himself.

That magistrates are not always imbued with a sense of justice, we learn from that very respectable source, our spelling-book, in the story of the judge and the farmer; and a very little of every day's observation will prove to us that the species is not extinct. One of this class hired two negroes for two months, of a highly respectable planter in my neighborhood, to send with a partner about thirty miles distant, for the purpose of planting an orange grove. They had been absent about six weeks, when one of the men returned very unexpectedly to his master, complaining of ill treatment. He stated that they had been kept in the water for many days, in building a dock, with bad and scanty food; that he became sick, but being threatened, was obliged to work; and finally being unable to endure it any longer, he left his companion, and taking a canoe belonging to the firm, had returned home. His master felt for him, but urged his return till the expiration of the engagement. This the negro resolutely refused, saying he should only be whipped if he returned. The magistrate, on learning that one of the men had left his service, with bad accounts of the treatment he had received, instantly lodged him in jail on a charge of stealing the canoe. Nothing could be farther from the truth than this charge, and he knew it well; but he had long indulged a private pique against the owner of these slaves, who had more than once reproved his excesses. After keeping the man in jail for a week, he ordered him to receive forty lashes save one, on his naked back, for a crime he had never thought of committing. In vain the poor fellow protested his innocence; in vain his master offered to pay treble the price of the canoe; the sentence was awarded, and like Shylock, he would have his bond. The owner of these slaves, a near descendant of the learned and admirable Sir Alexander Crichton, was compelled to witness this violation of justice on the person of one of his household, and this too from a man who had fled from a northern city for defrauding his creditors. A whipping-post ought justly to be considered an emblem of the dark ages; yet, to our disgrace be it told, public whipping is still practised in some few of our northern states; and fourteen years ago, I myself witnessed in Jersey City, opposite to New-York, an aged woman, awhitewoman, taken to a post and publicly whipped for stealing a few articles of clothing! We hope the day is not far distant, at least not forever distant, when men shall be so taught, as to love and practice virtue for its own sake. Then every man will pursue truth and justice with his neighbor; then oppression shall no more stalk the earth, and the inferior passions of mankind yield to the intellectual and the moral. This will be the anticipated millennium; and let the philanthropist take heart, and pursue his onward course, which, though encompassed by a thousand thorns, and of a thousand different hues, must disappear under the sturdy culture of the indefatigable husbandman.

I have now stated the only acts of oppression that came to my knowledge during my southern residence; and with far greater pleasure can I bear testimony to the paternal character of masters. That a strong feeling of attachment does exist between many masters and slaves, no person who has spent any time with them can deny. Frequently born on the same plantations, they have played together as children, and together shared feats of peril in youth. I was acquainted with the parties, where a slave, advanced in years, was offered his freedom, for a small sum of money which he had saved by over-work, by his young master, who soon after taking possession of his property became embarrassed. 'No, massa George;' said the man, 'I hab carried massa in my arms when him was a baby; and if I leave him now, who will take care of me when I get old?' The slave was right; for when they get past work, their old age is made comfortable. In fact, the amount of labor required from a prime man or woman is comparatively light. One quarter of an acre per day is their required task, either of planting or digging. Ploughs are seldom used, and almost all of them can finish their task in three-quarters of a day; the remainder of the day is their own, and whatever they raise in their own time, they receive the avails of. I have known instances where they chiefly supplied the table of their master with chickens, eggs, or fish, for which they received pay, or, as they sometimes preferred bartering, sugar or molasses. The Sabbath is also their own, on which many of them hunt, fish, or gather the moss which grows on the live-oaks, and for which they receive four cents a pound. Their weekly allowance is one peck of Indian corn per head, which they grind into hominy or meal; several pounds of salt pork or beef, with sweet potatoes and salt. Few masters, however, are particular; they frequently receive many additions; and when sick, are taken good care of. They receive two suits of coarse clothes in a year, and the gay handkerchiefs, and fine calico dresses in which the females always appear on the Sabbath, are purchased with the proceeds of their extra labor. I have frequently been awakened on moonlight nights with the songs of negroes approaching our settlement to trade. With a written permit from their masters, they come in boats from a distance of thirty or forty miles; and if they return in time to commence their accustomed morning labor, all is well. The effect of this kind of music in a calm night is singularly wild and pleasing. They possess powerful voices, which can be heard for miles: one or two carry the air, while all join in the chorus; keeping pace in some measure with the strokes of their oars, each of which are clearly heard long before they near the landing. They bring, on these occasions, fowls, eggs, moss, ground or pea-nuts, with melons, and other fruits; and sometimes trade to a considerable amount. Their shopping consists in purchases of tobacco, coffee, or sugar, candles, and fancy handkerchiefs. Their general appearance is plump, healthy, and cheerful: living constantly in the open air, with a song for ever on their lips, life seems to wear for them a holiday dress the year round.

Will abolitionists believe this? It is true, nevertheless; and how can it be otherwise, in those so perfectly exempt from care? Thescriptural command, 'Take no thought for the morrow,' is verified to the letter in the slave. They have neither to provide for families, for sickness, for the change of seasons, nor for any thing under the sun. To perform their customary meed of labor, is all that is required of them; this done, they prepare their suppers, when they retire, if they choose, or dance to the violin, or amuse themselves as they please. Most frequently, however, they assemble in front of the kitchen, after the people in the 'house,' as the family mansion is termed, have supped. A small fire of pine knots is kindled to keep away insects, and one is soon greeted with a 'concord of sweet sounds,' which sends off the youths of both sexes on 'the light fantastic toe.' They possess full, rich voices; most of the men perform on the violin, and many of them are proficients on that instrument. Imitation is large in the negro; and at these meetings it is a common amusement for them to mimic any peculiarity they may have noticed in the dancing of whites. 'Phillis, now dance like fat Mrs. ——,' bawled out the master of ceremonies to a tidy girl of sixteen. Her feats drew forth peals of laughter. 'See me dance like Mr. ——,' and in whipped a half-naked, strapping fellow, who received his share of applause. Comparisons are said to be odious; but at such moments I could not but contrast their condition with that of our laboring whites. The latter, compelled to work from sunrise to sunset to obtain a livelihood; a large family to provide for, during many tedious and severe winter months, to say nothing of sickness, casualties, etc., how can the father of a family divest himself of the cares and responsibilities of his situation, to indulge in even occasional relaxation and mirth? Worn out with the fatigues of the day, and greeted on his arrival at home with a list of wants and necessities, his life remains to the end one scene of self-denial and hardship. He maintains his independence, and that of his family, but at the expense of cheerfulness, and the foregoing of those innocent recreations, which nature, or the great God of Nature, intended for all. Exhausted at length with labor and anxieties, he sinks in premature old age to a welcome tomb.

That this is the history of thousands, even in our own favored country, is undeniable; and if we cast our eyes over the vast continent of Europe, what find we but toil and wretchedness, unknown in our western world? Were those who sigh and lament over the miseries of slaves, to bestow a little of their superfluous sympathy on the owners of slaves, it would be exceedingly better appropriated. They need it more than their dependants, who are not only eye-servants, but seemingly wilfully stupid. That they are less intelligent and more brutish than many of the inferior animals, is a lamentable fact; and that the circumstances in which they have been placed, is one cause of this stupidity, is no less a fact; but that they can ever attain to the intelligence of whites, I am not inclined to admit. Nature, habit, opinion, have drawn lines of separation, which can never be totally removed. It was remarked in the presence of a French gentleman, who had spent some years in South America, that the greatest prejudice existing in the minds of whites against blacks was their color. 'Non, non,' he exclaimed with warmth; 'ce n'est pas seulement leur couleur; d'autres sens outre celui de la vue sont offensés.'And truly, place a person at a southern tea-table, with the thermometer above 90°, and two or three black waiters in attendance, with a half grown negro at his elbow, wielding a huge feather fan, and unless his olfactories were more than ordinarily obtuse, he would essay in vain to repeat with the tender Sappho, 'Come, gentle air!' That they are susceptible of culture, to a certain extent, is correct; and that many of them possess what is termed mother wit, I had daily opportunities of observing. This species of humor is most frequently shown in the composition of their songs, more particularly in their boat songs; in which I have known the whole family receive sly thrusts from their negroes, while being rowed by them, and which seldom failed in eliciting good-natured mirth. Music is the life and soul of a southern negro: he does every thing, but eat and sleep, with a tune.

Their organization seems to have been expressly adapted to the climate in which they were to live. The hotter the weather, the better it suits them; and when exposure would be fatal to whites, a negro enjoys the best health. A boat with three hands was sent for me, in the month of July, to visit a planter who was taken suddenly ill. We left my residence at ten in the morning, of one of the hottest days I have ever experienced. The atmosphere was nearly suffocating, without theslightestbreath of air. The negroes were clad in duck trowsers, and a shirt of the same material, with an apology for a hat on the head of each. After rowing several miles, one took off his hat, then another, and opened his collar; presently the third threw down his, protesting it was too hot to wear a hat. I carried with me a small pocket-thermometer, which I consulted, and it stood at 103°, Fahrenheit, and I am confident that a white person, to have been guilty of the same imprudence, would have fallen undercoup de soleil. I wore a large chip hat, and held an umbrella above my head; yet when we reached the distance, which was fifteen miles, my face and hands were in a light blister. The case to which I was called was one of extreme urgency, and for which my presence was required several days.

The evening before I left, I had the satisfaction of witnessing a negro marriage, which had been delayed a day or two, in consequence of the illness of their master. The groom was a fine young man, about twenty; the bride was free, though the daughter of a slave. Children always belong to the mother: hence if a slave marries a free woman, their children are free, andvice versa. A tutor in the family performed the ceremony, by reading our church service, the oldest daughter of their master and myself being present. I believe this wedding was something extraordinary, from the importance the blacks seemed to feel on the occasion; and it certainly surpassed many white weddings I have known. The bride was dressed in white, and after the ceremony, wine was passed round, with very respectable wedding-cake, and slices of cold venison. These were of course furnished by the parties themselves; and the kitchen was the place of rendezvous, which was crowded with all the slaves on the plantation; and being Saturday night, their mirth sounded in our ears till midnight. The next morning I accompanied my companions of the preceding night to the negroquarter, about a quarter of a mile distant from the house, where they were assembled according to custom. A chapter from the New Testament was read to them, and the catechism taught to the children. The father of the bride was a preacher, and on Sunday evenings he usually held forth to his fellow servants. As I departed in the afternoon, he was prevailed on to give his usual evening sermon that morning. It was a curious medley, I must confess; and he wound up his discourse, by urging his hearers to become religious, in order to get to heaven; and by way of encouragement to their color, affirmed, that a great manyindecentpeople were already in heaven.

And now, what shall be said of the licentiousness which exists in the South? Shall we attempt to palliate the fact? Most assuredly no. That there are children born on plantations, who are very nearly white, and of whose paternity there can be no doubt, is no less a fact; and this always appeared to me as one of the most disagreeable features in slavery. I have known a few instances in which a favorite slave kept pace with her mistress in increasing the family stock, if not the name. These children are usually employed as house-servants as they grow up; and the mistress, though perfectly aware of the relationship, generally regards them with peculiar kindness and care. Great pains are usually taken by the mother to let these unfortunates know to whom they are indebted for existence; and whether this knowledge renders them more faithful to the interests of the family, or from whatever cause it may be, they are the best servants, and the most attached, that I have ever seen. These practises are the productive source of much domestic unhappiness. It is not to be supposed that a wife can regard her sable rival with other feelings than those of deep aversion and dislike; without the power to banish such from her daily sight. Negroes themselves, the men particularly, look with no very pleasant eye on such liaisons. A circumstance was related to me by one of them, which had excited in his breast much indignation. 'Do you think such things are right, massa?' he asked, at the conclusion. I assured the honest fellow of my deep disapprobation of such wickedness, which seemed to afford him much satisfaction.

While I state that such practices do exist, let it not be understood that I extend these connections to all planters, or even to the greater number of them. Such an accusation would be destitute of either truth or justice. That they exist at all, however, is at variance with every principle of morality, and for which let not the shadow of an excuse ever be made. Yet turn we to other portions of civilized society, and what do we behold? Vice is vice, wherever it is found; and let not the haughty man of fashion, who spends his hundreds upon an unworthy mistress, or the systematic seducer of female innocence, from whose fatal snares neither virgin purity, nor the holiness of the marriage tie are exempt, let them not, I say, join their polluted voices in the general cry of the monstrous depravity and licentiousness of the South. First pull the beam from the eye of self, and then turn we to convince our neighbor of the mote that obscures his moral vision.

Though an enemy to slavery, I would have the true friends of the blacks pursue a course that will tend to their lasting advantage.There is no great urgency, on their own accounts, that abolition should be immediate; and I do not hesitate to pronounce the sympathy false and perverted, which dwells on the miseries of their situation. If we except the lot itself, their condition is far better than it would be were they freed; and infinitely better than that of our city blacks, or even many of our laboring whites. That their being slaves is a sufficient cause for discontent, I admit, did they consider it so. The mass, however, know and think nothing about it. They recollect nothing else, and therefore the loss of liberty is scarcely a deprivation. Servitude of any sort is a grievous yoke; it is hard to be poor; yet none but visionaries ever indulge in the Utopian scheme of a perfect happiness. That slavery is an evil, that it is a great and a growing evil, none who think at all on the subject can deny; slave-holders themselves are well convinced of this truth, and many of them would rejoice to have the evil removed, could proper means be devised, independently of robbing them of their lawful property. They cannot consent to make themselves and their children beggars, which would be the case, were slavery immediately abolished; for without a sufficient force to work their land, it is worth nothing. My own opinion coincides with that of Paley: 'The emancipation of slaves should be gradual, and be carried on by provisions of law, and under the protection of civil government. Christianity can only operate as an alternative. By the mild diffusion of its light and influence, the minds of men are insensibly prepared to perceive and correct the enormities which folly, or wickedness, or accident, have introduced into their public establishments. In this way, the Greek and Roman slavery, and since these, the feudal tyranny, has declined before it. And we trust that, as the knowledge and authority of the same religion advance in the world, they will banish what remains of this odious institution.' This opinion, I am aware, does not accord with the schemes of the reformers of the present age. They wish to reap the reward of their exertions in their own day; no matter what individual loss or suffering it may occasion to whites; no matter what injury accrues to a million and a half of ignorant, improvident blacks, let loose upon society without a motive, a principle to guide them, or a desire above the fulfilment of their animal wants. 'The world is wrong, all wrong!' cries out an hundred reformers. That it is mad, on certain subjects, I verily believe. One sect announce that their own peculiar religious tenets will alone make man happy here, and wise unto salvation, and denounce the rest of the world as lost, and that their teachers knowingly delude their followers. Another party are so zealous in the cause of temperance, that they are the most intemperate fanatics out of bedlam. Others, again, oppose the march of Catholicism, and their cry is, 'Popery! popery!—our country will become priest-ridden; we must put down popery, at whatever cost.' But by far the greater number are weeping over the sorrows, not of Werter, but of the 'poor blacks,' who are fostered, fed, and kindly treated, in return for their services. Thus wags the world; each man has his hobby, in riding which, it would be well for him not to trample on the rights of his neighbor.

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