The Publisher and Proprietor, has made such arrangements for the management of the Editorial Department, as he hopes will be satisfactory to his patrons. If the circulation of the "Messenger" continues to increase, he has it in contemplation not only to secure regular able contributions, but also to embellish some of his monthly numbers with handsome lithographic drawings and engravings; but the cost cannot be prudently incurred without an enlargement of his list. He therefore hopes that such of his friends as feel an interest in the successful prosecution of this first serious attempt to establish a literary periodical south of the Potomac, will aid him in extending its circulation—as the best means of ensuring its continuance and utility. If each of his subscribers would only procure an additional one, the work would not only be firmly established but greatly increased in value. The Publisher avails himself of this opportunity to inform the correspondent of the Portland Advertiser that the latter is mistaken in respect to the place of his nativity. The Publisher did once reside in the city of Boston, and can freely bear testimony to the high character, the generous feelings and the noble accomplishments of its citizens—but he was only a sojourner among them; having been born, and for the most part reared in the Ancient Dominion. If he were not a full blooded Tuckahoe Virginian, he would like to be a Bostonian.

All communications of every kind must be addressed to T. W. White, Publisher and Proprietor.

The issuing of the present number has been delayed in consequence of the change to a monthly instead of a semi-monthly publication. The Publisher hopes that the change will be agreeable to his patrons. He is firmly persuaded of its expediency in various respects.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

SKETCHES OF THE HISTORY

And Present Condition of Tripoli, with some accounts of the other Barbary States.

No. I.

Washington City, November, 1834.

Agreeably to my promise, I send you the sheets containing Sketches of the History and present condition of Tripoli, with some account of the other States of Barbary which may perhaps be found worthy of insertion in the "SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER." They are the fruits of researches made for my amusement, into the history of those countries, and to which I was led by information accidentally obtained respecting the present condition of affairs in Tripoli.

The north of Africa has so long remained in comparative obscurity, exercising little or no influence in the grand game of national contests, which forms the subject of our most interesting modern histories, that works relating to it are few in number, and generally bear unequivocal marks of the ignorance or prejudice of the writers. For this reason, it is difficult to obtain a correct statement of facts, and almost always impossible to arrive at motives; persons therefore who estimate the propriety of labor, by calculating the value of its produce, would easily be diverted from such researches, although they might not object to profit by their results.

I have endeavored to arrange into a regular series, the facts thus collected, passing lightly over those which are the most generally known, and introducing occasionally a few observations, which will not I hope be considered obtrusive. Yet I fear that I shall not succeed in communicating any interest to the pages of your periodical; the details of selfish intrigue, murder and treachery, never relieved by incidents springing from generous motives, which constitute the history of the north African nations, are, I must confess, more likely to excite disgust than pleasurable emotions; still they exhibit man as he is, without the light of civilization, or the restraints of moral duty; and may serve to attach us still more strongly to those social and political institutions, without which a similar state of things might exist among ourselves.

I am, sir, &c.

R. G.

The countries lying on the southern shore of the Mediterranean, and usually denominated the Barbary States, have for many ages been almost forgotten by the christian world, or only remembered as the abode of pirates and ruffians. The maritime powers of Europe seem however at length to have recollected, that at a short distance from them, are territories of great extent and fertility, capable of producing most of the articles now obtained, by means of long and dangerous voyages, from the East and West Indies, and offering every facility for commercial intercourse, with the countless nations inhabiting the vast continent of Africa. These territories are, it is true, already inhabited by people living under acknowledged governments; but a continued course of misconduct, which experience has shewn to be incorrigible, has caused them to be regarded as completely out of the pale of civilization; and if they retain their independence much longer, it will be rather from jealousy among their powerful neighbors than from any respect for their claims to nationality.

The French have already set the example, by the conquest of the principal places on the coast of Algiers, and although they have as yet penetrated but a short distance into the interior, there can be no doubt that steady and well directed efforts, such as they are now pursuing, must eventually secure to them the possession of a large and valuable tract. The British have indeed protested strongly against the retention of these conquests, but never, that we have heard, on the grounds of injustice to the vanquished party.

Tunis, the next in power as in situation to Algiers, would be even a more important acquisition in a political or commercial point of view, than Algiers; but it would not probably be reduced without an immense expenditure of blood and treasure; for its resources are comparatively great, and its government efficient and well organised. Besides which, it has not of late afforded any cause for dissatisfaction, having yielded with a good grace to the necessity of abandoning piracy, and evinced a disposition to seek for wealth, by the surer means of industry and commerce.

Tripoli, the other and least important of the States of Barbary, had, until lately, pursued a course similar to that of Tunis, and its condition was highly prosperous; it was in fact the first to desist from piratical cruises, for which the world is indebted in a great measure to the efforts of the United States, during the years 1803 and 4. But dissensions in the family of the sovereign have at length produced a civil war, in which the foreign residents suffer as well as the natives; and thus have motives, at least specious, for foreign interference, been given to the two powers which divide between them the empire of the Mediterranean. The French, as usual, took the lead, by sending a squadron to Tripoli, which in 1828 dictated the terms of the redress to be made to their citizens; and they have since that period, by the aid given indirectly to one of the contending parties, obtained a degree of ascendancy which has excited the jealousy of Great Britain.

These circumstances induced inquiries into the present condition of Tripoli, which naturally led to others respecting its past history and that of the neighboring states; and the results being considered interesting, have been thrown together in the following form.

The north-western part of the African continent is traversed by a lofty and extensive mountain range, which is known to us by its classic name of ATLAS. On the northern and western sides, these ridges extend to the sea, forming by their projections numerous capes and promontories, which have been the dread of navigators in every age. On the south, they in many places disappear as abruptly in the great ocean of sand called Zahara, or the Desert, which stretches across the continent, from the Atlantic to the valley of the Nile, and the shores of the Mediterranean; the descent is, however, generally gradual, leaving tracts of productive soil between the steeps and the desert; these tracts, though not adapted for the growth of grain, are so highly favorable to the Palm, that they are known by the name of Bilad-oul-jerrid, or the Country of Dates.

The mountains are highest and most continuous in the west; towards the east they become gradually lower, and there are many breaks in the chain, through which the sand makes its way from the desert; at length they disappear entirely beyond the great bend which the coast of the Mediterranean makes to the southward near Tripoli; and the sand having no barrier to check its advances, is rolled by the prevailing southerly winds to the shores of the sea.

Thus bounded and cut off from other habitable countries by sea and by sand, the region of the Atlas may be considered as one vast island; and these circumstances of its situation should ever be borne in mind, in moral or political speculations concerning it. Hence it was, that civilization did not gradually overspread it from the east, and that it could only be colonized by maritime powers; that neither the Egyptians, the Persians, nor the Macedonians effected its conquest, as they neither possessed adequate fleets, nor troops accustomed to the peculiar difficulties and dangers of the desert; and that the Arabs alone, a people bred among trackless wastes of sand, ventured to invade it without assistance from the sea. Indeed the little that is known of the geology of northern Africa, encourages the supposition that at some past period this country was encircled by water; and ingenious attempts have been made to prove that it was in reality the famed island of Atlantis, which was vainly sought by the ancient navigators in the ocean beyond the Pillars of Hercules.

The climate and soil of these countries are various, as may be suspected from their situation and the inequalities of their surface. Of the interior we know but little, and deductions from facts must supply the place of observation. On some of the mountains the snow remains during nearly the whole year, while the valleys and plains have yielded sugar, coffee and other productions, which require regular and intense heat. Grain is raised abundantly in the west, and the olives, grapes and figs of Barbary have been celebrated at all times. Of its general fertility, the immense population which it formerly supported is a sufficient evidence, while the athletic forms of the inhabitants prove its salubrity. But few rivers flow from the interior into the sea, and the largest streams are said to proceed from the southern sides of the mountains, whence they are discharged into lakes or dispersed in the sand.

The coasts, as already observed, are precipitous and dangerous, particularly in autumn, during the prevalence of northerly winds; they are however free from shoals and other hidden difficulties, and have many ports which are safe and easy of access, while others might be rendered so by art. It is likewise certain, that many of the existing obstacles to the navigation would disappear, if a proper survey were made, and lighthouses were established where requisite; for the charts now in use are very defective, and no provisions whatever are made by the governments of the country; this, however, there is reason to believe, will ere long be corrected.

The superficial extent of Barbary cannot be as yet calculated; we know that it has coasts of five or six hundred miles on the Atlantic, and of about fifteen hundred on the Mediterranean; but the breadth between the sea and the desert varies considerably, and is no where correctly laid down. It is probably greatest in the vicinity of the Atlantic and in Tunis, where it may be one hundred and fifty miles; in Algiers, Shaler considers it generally to be about sixty miles; but Tripoli is merely a narrow strip of soil, on the Mediterranean, in many places traversed by rocky spurs from the mountains, and tracts of sand from the desert.

The materials for the early history of this country are very imperfect; we possess no works of ancient native writers, and the accounts from which all our information must be drawn, appear in the form of episode, in those of Greek and Roman historians. It seems to have been originally inhabited by fierce and intractable tribes, of which those most advanced in civilization, had only reached the pastoral state. Herodotus gives us the names of many of these tribes, which it is now useless to enumerate; those of the eastern part were comprehended by the Greeks under the general name of Nomades, or wanderers, which, unknown among themselves, was afterwards converted by the Romans into Numidians, and became their distinctive national appellation; the Mauri occupied the western part, and this term, (in English, Moors,) is now applied by Europeans to all the natives of Barbary.

The enterprising Greeks and Phoenicians did not allow the advantages offered by northern Africa to be neglected, and they established colonies on its coast, which attained a high degree of prosperity. The Greeks made their settlements on the sterile shore now forming the eastern part of Tripoli, and lying immediately south of Peloponnesus, where the Mediterranean forms a gulf anciently called the Great Syrtis. As the surrounding country is by no means productive, these colonies could only have been supported by trade with the interior of Africa; and were probably the resort of caravans bringing gold, gums, spices, ivory and other precious articles, to be exchanged for the manufactures of Greece and Asia. Such a traffic, we know from the accounts of late travellers, is still carried on from Tripoli; and the part of the desert lying south of it is better adapted than any other for that purpose, on account of the many oases, or islands of cultivable soil, which are scattered through it, offering rest, and a supply of food and water to the caravans while on their march. By these means, the Greek cities acquired great wealth, and became the seats of luxury, refinement and science; and stupendous ruins, the haunt of the jackal and hyæna, still remain to attest the former splendor of Cyrene and Apollonia.

The more adventurous Phoenicians made their settlements farther westward, in the fertile region now composing the states of Algiers, Tunis and a small part of Tripoli; they flourished even more than those of the Greeks, and became the principal seats of commerce in the western Mediterranean. Of many of these colonies, history has preserved to us the names, and nothing more; one of them, however, far outshone the rest, and its struggle for supremacy with Rome, forms the subject of one of the most interesting portions of ancient history. Of Carthage, perhaps it might be as Sallust conceived, "melius silere quam parum dicere," better to say nothing, than only a little; yet a few remarks on its political system and the results of that system, will serve to illustrate the condition of northern Africa during this early period.

The situation of this celebrated city near the narrow streight which separates Sicily from Africa, was admirably adapted for commerce with either division of the Mediterranean; its rivals, Agrigentum and Syracuse, possessed indeed the same advantages of site; but Carthage, besides a soil equally fertile, had the superiority in her intercourse with the central parts of the continent. Of her constitution we know too little to be able to judge what share her government may have had in her advancement; there is every probability, however, that wealth had great influence in her councils, and that its acquisition was at first the great end of individual and national enterprise. The first object of her statesmen seems to have been, to extend her dominion over the territory at home; this was attempted by means of colonies judiciously placed, which by amalgamation with the native tribes, and by the example of the advantages to be derived from fixed habits, and a respect for rights to landed property, were gradually subduing and civilizing the rude aboriginals; these could not from their habits be easily extirpated, as they might retire to the mountains, or if there pressed, find a safe retreat in the land of dates behind; they were moreover valuable as soldiers, and as carriers across the desert. The other Phoenician colonies, though many of them were never subject to Carthage, yet all acknowledged her as the head of their league, and she relied upon their support, in case of invasion from abroad. But they too were to be reduced, and gradually incorporated into the Carthaginian empire; things were rapidly advancing towards this consummation when Carthage fell.

The other grand object of their policy was the subjection of the whole country surrounding the western half of the Mediterranean, which was to be carried on by the quiet and sure means of trading colonies, established at convenient places on the coast. Thus, was the African shore to the streights of Gibraltar, that of Spain, the south of Gaul and the neighboring islands, dotted with colonies from Carthage, each of which had a territory behind, constantly increasing in extent. To support these establishments fleets were necessary, which could be easily manned by a nation having so extensive a trade by sea, while the native tribes of the interior furnished the hardiest soldiers.

Yet with all this apparent strength, the feet of the Carthaginian colossus were of clay; the wealth which enabled her to carry on this system made offices venal, narrowed the minds of her citizens and debased their character, while it excited the cupidity of her neighbors. Mercenary troops she could hire, and was sure of their fidelity while she paid them punctually; and with such, a general who should succeed in gaining their confidence, might effect immense results; but a succession of generals capable of doing this was not to be expected; and a single defeat was likely to be attended by depression and disorganization. She had, comparatively speaking, but few citizens in her armies; but few persons who could be urged by patriotism or interest in the public glory; and without such a class, no nation can long sustain itself against extraordinary difficulties. These defects would have ceased in time, when her possessions at home had been consolidated, and the other cities had been reduced under her government; but she was not destined to arrive at this point.

The prosperity of the north African nations, did not fail to excite the jealousy and cupidity of surrounding powers, and accordingly we find that all the great conquerors of the East formed plans for their subjection. The Persians after conquering Egypt sent an army which took and plundered Cyrene, but retired without proceeding farther. But another project was formed against their independence by a conqueror the most sagacious and successful who has ever yet appeared. Among the commentaries left by Alexander of Macedon, as recorded by Diodorus Siculus, (Book xviii. Chap. 1.) was found a project for the "invasion and subjection of the Carthaginians, and others dwelling on the coasts of Africa, Spain and the adjacent islands; for which a thousand ships were to be built, in the ports of Phoenicia, Syria, Cilicia and Cyprus, larger than those of three tiers of oars; with directions for carrying a straight and easy road along the shore of the Mediterranean, from Egypt to the Pillars of Hercules." With such an armament, and such a leader, it is highly probable that the project could have been carried into effect; the Grecian colonies already acknowledged his power, he was therefore secure of finding friends in the most difficult part of the country, either for naval or land operations; and the efficiency of his political arrangements in all other cases, does not permit us to doubt, that he would have founded in north Africa, a permanent and substantial empire. But this was not to be; Alexander died in the early summer of life, and of those who shared his dominions, no one was alone able to carry such a project into effect, and each was too much engaged in securing his own part, for any operation to have been conducted in concert.

While the designs of Carthage were advancing towards fulfilment, she was gradually becoming a military state. Her fleets covered the sea, often transporting a hundred and fifty thousand combatants, and her armies of mercenary troops, led on by one of the most persevering and ingenious leaders of whom we have any account, overran an immense extent of territory, surmounting natural obstacles of the most appalling character, and overthrowing enemies celebrated for their skill and courage. But her commerce suffered, and the expenses of the war exhausted her treasury. Of the other African cities, many had declared and acted in favor of her enemies, while others were ready to desert her when a favorable opportunity should offer. The native tribes had acquired civilization sufficient to unite them, and to make them aware of their own importance; their chieftains had become ambitious, and Rome made offers to them which Carthage could never have advanced.

In this conjuncture, her long absent and long victorious army was recalled, to meet the enemy on her own shore; but Hannibal had grown old, and was routed at Zama; during his absence a generation had arisen which knew him not, and banishment succeeded his defeat. The once proud republic had lost all, and consented to a treaty, the ruinous terms of which she was forced to receive as a boon, and did not dare infringe. Her navy being destroyed, Spain and her other conquests soon fell into the hands of the Romans, and at length the decree went forth "Carthago delenda est." The fate of this renowned city is well known. Within a century from the day on which Hannibal sent home the spoils taken at Cannæ, the banished Roman Marius sought refuge among the desolate ruins of Carthage.

The other Phoenician as well as the Greek colonies, submitted to the conquerors on favorable terms; the chieftains of the wandering tribes who had adhered to Rome, were rewarded by the titles of kings; and enjoying the semblance of sovereignty over territories named by a majority of the Roman Senate, served to keep each other, and the cities, in check. In process of time, even this last shew of independence disappeared, and the region of the Atlas finally became one Roman province, under the appellation of Africa.

As a part of the Roman dominions, Africa reached its highest state of civilization; the cultivation of the land was carried to so great an extent, that it was considered the granary of the Mediterranean, and the cities on its coast were the depots of a most extensive trade with the interior of the continent. Carthage arose with additional splendor from her ruins, and for more than eight hundred years continued to be the capital of the province. The inhabitants retained their former characters; those of the coast were ingenious and industrious; fond of luxury and not celebrated for their good faith or moral character; the mountaineers kept up their reputation for courage, and we read of few battles gained by the Roman arms without the assistance of Numidian archers, or Mauritanian cavalry. Nor were the Africans excluded from office, for we find three of them successively filling the Imperial throne. They embraced christianity with the rest of the empire under Constantine, and churches innumerable marked the fervor of their devotion. Their religious zeal was farther shown in the bloody controversy between the orthodox and the Donatists, which desolated the country during the fifth and sixth centuries of our æra, and nearly extinguished the light of civilization. The invasion of the Vandals soon after inflicted another blow upon its prosperity; these barbarians were however soon reduced to submission by Belisarius, and Africa continued under the government of the emperors of Constantinople, until the commencement of the eighth century. At this period the followers of Mahomet every where successful in the East, turned their arms towards the setting sun, and traversing the Desert which separated the Roman province from Egypt, appeared before the frontier cities, presenting to their astounded inhabitants the alternative of the Koran or the sword.

Tripoli was the first country in the African province invaded by the Saracens,¹ and in order that its subsequent history may be better understood, it will be necessary to make a few observations on its ancient condition, which could not well have been introduced before.

¹ It should here be noticed that the followers of Mahomet were at first merely termed Arabians, but when their conquests extended over Syria, Egypt, Mesopotamia, and other adjacent countries, they were known by the more general name of Saracens, or people of the East, from the Arabic and Sharak—meaning East. Africa was and still is called by Asiatics, El Magrab, or the West; though in Barbary the term is strictly confined to the Empire of Morocco. When Africa had been overrun, and the same conquerors had passed into Spain, they were termed Moors by Europeans, as coming from the ancient country of the Mauri, although the generals, and probably the greater part of the troops, were natives of Arabia.

In the narrow tract between the Mediterranean and the desert, westward of the celebrated gulf called the Great Syrtis, and adjoining the proper territory of their republic, the Carthaginians had at an early period established several colonies, of which three, Leptis, Oea and Sabrata acquired great importance as commercial stations under the Romans, and the district containing them was called Tripolis, or the Three Cities. Of these Leptis was the most eastern; and extensive ruins still remain as evidences of its former greatness, in the little town of Lebda, about seventy miles from Tripoli. Sabrata was at the western extremity of the district, on the spot now occupied by a village called Old Tripoli.

Oea was situated between these two, on the western side of a small bay, formed by the projection of a rocky point of land into the sea. A triumphal arch dedicated to the emperors Marcus Aurelius, and Lucius Verus, and considered the finest monument of that kind remaining, with several other ancient relics, give reason to suppose that it may have been a splendid city; and it is mentioned as such by Pliny, Strabo, and some other writers of the latter days of the Roman empire. We however learn nothing from them respecting its history; and in the year 647 of the Christian æra, when the Saracens invaded Africa, Leptis and Sabrata had sunk into comparative insignificance, while Oea had appropriated to itself the name of the whole district, and was a large, wealthy and strong city. The seat of government of the Roman, or rather Greek dominions in Africa, continued to be Carthage, where resided the emperor's Prefect or lieutenant; Utica, Hippo, and other ancient places were still flourishing, and several had grown up to importance, whose names do not appear in the pages of Roman history; of these the principal were Sufetala, Bugia, and Tingi or Tangiers.

The Saracens appeared before Tripoli in number forty thousand, under Abdallah, governor of Egypt, and Zobeir a distinguished soldier; but the strength of its walls baffled the attempts of enemies totally unacquainted with the art of besieging, and enabled its inhabitants to remain secure, until an immense army had been collected by the Prefect for its relief. It at length appeared, and actions daily took place, in which nothing was decided in favor of either party. Gregory the Prefect fought with gallantry, attended in the field by his daughter; yet this example was not sufficient to encourage his troops, although they far outnumbered their enemies; and as a last effort, he proclaimed that his daughter's hand with a hundred thousand pieces of gold, should be the reward for the head of the Saracen general. Thus excited, the African youths took courage, and Abdallah considering his own person as too important to be exposed to such dangers, remained during the ensuing action in his tent; but he was soon shamed from this retreat by the fiery Zobeir, who insisted upon his replying to Gregory's proclamation, by promising the lady and a similar reward for the head of the Prefect.

This promise restored to the Saracens their former courage and vigor, and in another action Gregory was slain by Zobeir, in his daughter's presence, and she herself became a prisoner. Thus far we have materials for the commencement of a romance, but the sequel throws a doubt over the charms of the lady, or the gallantry of the hero; for Zobeir received her and her dowry with ascetic coldness, declaring that "he labored for a recompense far above the charms of beauty or the riches of this transitory life." The Africans dispirited by these losses, at length gladly purchased a precarious peace and the retreat of the Arabs, at the price of a sum equal to about six millions of dollars.

This act of submission on their part, brought upon them the ire of their despotic masters at Constantinople, who instead of assisting them to repair their forces in anticipation of another attack, loaded them with taxes, as a penalty for their pusillanimity. By such treatment they were reduced to despair; and when in 668 the Arabs again crossed the Desert under Bashar, they were hailed as deliverers; and the great mass of the inhabitants threw off not only the government, but the religion of their Greek oppressors, and submitted to those of the Caliph of Damascus. Africa had suffered severely in the religious wars occasioned by the schism of Donatus; and since those sectarians had been put down, or rather extirpated, the utmost tyranny had been exercised in affairs of religion by the haughty and unrelenting hierarchy. From this circumstance perhaps, their creed hung but lightly on the lower orders, being associated in their minds with stripes and fines; otherwise it is difficult to account for so sudden and extensive a change, of which history no where else offers an example. Thus favored, the march of the Saracens was a continued triumph: a reinforcement arrived, and under the command of the energetic Akbah, nearly the whole country was subdued. Carthage was besieged, they having by this time learnt the use of engines and the art of mining; Tripoli, Utica, Sufetala, Bugia and the wealthy Tangiers were stormed and plundered; and the fierce conqueror rushed into the Atlantic, crying, "This sea alone arrests my progress."

The christian powers of Europe beheld the conquests of the Mahometans with dread, and a combination was formed among them for the recovery of Africa. Expeditions were sent from Constantinople, Sicily and Spain, which united under the command of John the Patrician, a renowned Captain, proceeded to the relief of Carthage. Before they arrived, that city had fallen; they however recovered it, and instantly gave battle to the enemy, under the walls of Utica. The christians were totally defeated, and the small remains of their army took refuge in the ships, and abandoned the country. The Roman power was every where overthrown; Carthage, retaken by the Arabs, was razed to the ground; and fifty miles south of it was founded a new city, called Kairuan, which was long the capital of Africa, the seat of Mahometan splendor and learning in that quarter.

But the invaders received a new check from a direction whence it was least to be expected. The sea coast as we have observed, although much reduced in point of wealth and refinement, by the excesses of the Vandals and the religious wars, was still a cultivated region, supporting a numerous population, the descendants of the Greeks, Phoenicians and Romans. But the mountains and the country behind them remained in possession of the aboriginal race, who under the name of Berbers, retained their old pastoral and predatory habits, and were a constant source of trouble to the foreign rulers of the province. Among these people appeared a female named Cahina, of extraordinary courage and address, who persuaded them that she was inspired, and that an opportunity was offered for regaining possession of the country. An immense multitude were thus speedily assembled under her banner, equally daring and enthusiastic with the Saracens, who were attacked with an impetuosity never before displayed against them in Africa. Success encouraged the mountaineers, and in an incredibly short space of time the invaders were driven into Egypt. This being effected, the prophetess proposed to take away all inducement for their return, by laying waste the country. Her proposal was readily assented to by persons who had no property but their tents, flocks and horses; and dreadful were the consequences of this determination. The fertile territory was made desolate, and the splendor of civilization, already much dimmed by the fury of Vandals and religionists, was entirely obscured. The unfortunate inhabitants of the coast, thus pressed on all sides, in their despair, invited the Saracens to return, and aided by them, made head against their savage destroyers. In the first battle the Berbers were totally routed, and their queen slain; this bond of union being destroyed, they were soon dispersed, or reduced to slavery.

The Arab power was now undisputed; in a very short period there were no more christians to be taxed. The few remaining churches became mosques; all traces of former manners and institutions disappeared; and a torrent of Asiatics overflowed the country, establishing in every part their own customs and language. Of the Arabs many betook themselves to the Desert, where their descendants still wander, scarcely distinguishable from their brethren of the Arabian sands. The others gradually amalgamated with the natives, and at the present day, the fixed inhabitants of Barbary form one race, differing but little among themselves in appearance, habits or language, and known to Europeans by the general name of Moors. The mountains and the borders of the Desert are still possessed by tribes speaking a language totally distinct from all others known—nominally professing the Mahometan religion, but regardless of its precepts—dwelling in tents, and wandering from pasture to pasture with their flocks and herds—displaying the same fierce and indomitable character which distinguished the aboriginals, from whom they are in all probability descended. The most powerful of these tribes are the Kabyles, who principally inhabit the territory of Algiers, where by their impetuous inroads, they present the greatest bar to the establishment of the French.

Africa was scarcely possessed by the Saracens, ere those restless conquerors passed over to Spain. Their character seems however to have been already softened; for we no longer find among the Moorish invaders of the peninsula, the fierce barbarism of the early followers of Mahomet; and the kingdoms which they founded in that delightful land, were celebrated for the industry, ingenuity and cultivation of their inhabitants. The Moors of Spain soon threw off their allegiance to the Caliphs in the East; and two independent kingdoms were also founded in Atlantic Barbary. In 790, Edris-ben Abdallah, governor of Almagrab, or the West, which name was applied to the ancient Mauritania, assumed the title of Sultan of Fez, from his capital city; his successors ruled supreme over Western Africa, until the middle of the eleventh century, when the Almoravides, a fanatic sect, obtained possession of the southern part, and established the kingdom of Maraksh, or Morocco. These two principalities now form the empire of Morocco. Eastern Barbary in the gradual dismemberment of the Arabian dominions, first became one kingdom under a family of sovereigns called the Aglabites, who for some time reigned with great splendor at Kairuan, they were overthrown in 909, by an expedition from Sicily, then a Saracen province, and the country was for nearly six hundred years after, ruled or ravaged by various dynasties.

At length, towards the commencement of the sixteenth century, the Moorish kingdoms in Spain were overthrown, and a rage for conquests in Africa pervaded the Peninsula. Eastward of Morocco and Fez, Barbary was at that time divided into a number of small principalities, each consisting of a strong town with as much of the surrounding country as it could keep in subjection; the principal of them were Algiers, Bugia, Oran, Tunis, Telemsen and Tripoli. Against these places numerous expeditions were sent out from Spain which generally proved fruitless; however, some places on the coast were taken, among which was Tripoli, or Trablis, as it was then called. It fell into the hands of Ferdinand, the Catholic, in 1510; but his more politic successor, the emperor Charles the Fifth, probably not knowing what else to do with places so inconvenient, surrendered it twelve years afterwards, with the adjacent island of Malta, to the knights of St. John, who had just then been expelled from Rhodes by the mighty Sultan Solyman. Malta was a barren rock, and Tripoli had sunk from its former greatness, little remaining but its walls, its castle and its port. Both places were however capable of being strongly fortified, and the knights required nothing else; they therefore accepted the assignments, and applied all their energies to render their new habitations capable of resisting the shocks to which they would soon inevitably be exposed.

The Turkish power was at this period in the zenith of its prosperity, and Europe again trembled as in the days of the immediate successors of Mahomet. The Mediterranean was swept by innumerable cruisers under its flag, commanded by daring and ferocious captains, who completely destroyed the commerce of christians in that sea, and made frequent descents on the coasts of Italy, Spain and the islands, which they plundered, carrying off the inhabitants for the purpose of extorting a ransom. Of these the most famous were Urudsch or Horuc, and his brother Chaireddin, successively dreaded in their day by the appellation of Barbarossa, or the red beard.

Urudsch being anxious to have some port in the Western Mediterranean, to which he could at intervals retire with his booty and prisoners, offered his assistance to the prince of Algiers, who was endeavoring to regain his possessions from the Spaniards; and no sooner had he effected this, than he seized upon the city, murdered his confiding ally, and declared the country subject to the Porte. On his death, which soon after happened, his brother Chaireddin assumed the command and succeeded in expelling the Spaniards from a small island, close to the city called Algesr or the island which they had for some time held; he then connected it with the main land by a causeway, and thus formed the present port of Algiers, which takes its name from the island. He was afterwards regularly invested by the Porte, with the title and powers of a Pasha, or viceroy; and obtaining large additions to his army, composed entirely of foreigners, he reduced the country to subjection.

This being effected Chaireddin turned his attention to the neighboring state of Tunis, against which he prepared a powerful armament, nominally for the purpose of reinstating its exiled prince Alraschid; under this pretence, he easily gained the capital, which he instantly declared to form a part of the Turkish empire. Alraschid died a prisoner in Constantinople; but Muley Hascem, whom Barbarossa had driven out, applied for assistance to Charles the fifth, which was readily granted, and that emperor himself commanded the expedition against Tunis. It appeared before the city on the 19th of July, 1535, consisting of five hundred vessels, bearing thirty thousand veteran troops. Barbarossa was not taken unawares, and the conflict was terrible; the celebrated fortress of the Goletta, which commands the entrance into the bay of Tunis, was defended with great bravery, by Sinan a renegade Jew, but it soon fell before the artillery of the fleet, and Tunis lay exposed. Chaireddin assembled his forces, and gave battle to the invaders; but he was totally defeated, and the outbreak of ten thousand christian captives from the prisons of the city, increased the confusion; the Turkish army fled to Bona, and Tunis was instantly stormed by the imperial troops. Muley Hascem was restored to his throne, on terms most favorable to the christians; but in a few years more, we find the Turkish power again established, and this country continued to be governed by Pashas, from Constantinople, until 1684, when a certain Hassan-ben-Ali obtained sovereign possession, and his family have ever since held the crown under the title of Bey, paying however a tribute to the Sultan.

Charles the fifth was so much elated by his success at Tunis, that he led another expedition in 1541, against Algiers, which was governed by Hascen Aga, Barbarossa having been elevated to the office of Capoudan Pasha, or High Admiral. The imperial troops landed at a short distance east of the city; but immediately after there arose one of those terrific storms of wind and rain, to which that coast is subject in the autumn; the troops unprovided as yet with tents, were drenched in rain, their ammunition was spoiled, and they were thrown into confusion at the first onset of the Turks. The ships were many of them lost, others dismasted or driven on shore, and the Emperor, after great personal hardships, made his escape with a small remnant of his gallant force.

The unfortunate issue of this attack probably contributed more than any other circumstance to the long impunity enjoyed by Algiers, which continued until within a few years past to insult the rest of the world by its piracies, and had come to be considered as absolutely impregnable. It was governed at first by a Pasha, appointed from Constantinople in the same manner with other parts of the empire; but in time, the garrison were permitted to elect their own chief, subject however to the confirmation of the Porte, which was never refused as the request was always accompanied by a present. The garrison and all the officers of the government were foreigners; no native even though the son of Turkish parents, being eligible to any; and no where else probably in the world would have been found such a collection of abandoned miscreants. The chief was in reality a Pasha of three tails, or viceroy of almost unlimited powers—his peculiar appellation being derived from his enjoying the right of having three horse-tails borne before him in public. In the christian world he was usually known by the appellation of Dey, which word however means uncle in Moorish, and was perhaps originally a nickname; it was never applied in Algiers. No prince or officer ever held his place by a more precarious tenure; seldom has one died a natural death, and it is certain that the ex-Dey, Hussein, who surrendered the city to the French, is the only one who could have said "I was once Pasha of Algiers."

Tripoli remained in possession of the knights of St. John until 1551, when they were attacked by a Turkish army under the command of the same Sinan, who had defended the Goletta against Charles the fifth, aided by the squadron of Dragut a noted captain, in character similar to the Barbarossas. The besieged conducted their defence with great gallantry, but the town being burnt, they were forced to take refuge in the castle, which they continued to hold out in hopes of relief from Europe. But none came; the Seigneur d'Aramont, while on his way as ambassador to Constantinople from Henry the second of France, stopped at Tripoli and endeavored to obtain a suspension of the siege, until some arrangement could be made with the Porte; but this proposition was rejected by Sinan, who was sure of his prey; and all, that the ambassador succeeded in procuring, was a capitulation on more favorable terms, which being accepted, the governor John de Vallier surrendered the castle, on the 16th of August, 1651, and retired to Malta. Dragut took possession of the place which he rebuilt and strengthened; and having been declared Pasha, established a system of government, similar to that of Algiers; it was however more dependant on the Porte, the chief being always appointed from Constantinople.

The states of Barbary thus became reduced in number to four, viz: the independent empire of Morocco in the west, and the regencies, as they are termed, of Algiers, Tunis and Tripoli, under the suzerainty of the Sultan. Several places were taken and held at different periods by Spain; for instance Oran, which was surrendered to Algiers in 1792, after having been held since its capture in 1510 by the famous cardinal Ximenes; and Ceuta a strong place nearly opposite Gibraltar, which is still subject to Spain, and serves chiefly as a place of imprisonment for political delinquents.—These states occasionally carried on some commerce among themselves, or with Europe and Asia; but their principal support was derived from piracy. Their cruisers were generally small vessels, crowded with desperate ruffians, who succeeded chiefly by boarding, either directly from the decks, or by the aid of boats; thus their prizes were but little injured, and were sold profitably in Barbary, whilst the crews were retained in slavery, unless redeemed at a high ransom. To preserve their citizens from this horrible fate, many commercial nations were obliged to pay enormous sums as presents to the governments of these countries, which regarded no treaties while this was neglected. It is, however, to the honor of the United States, that our government opposed these demands, as soon as it was in a condition to render resistance effectual; and it was while successfully employed in humbling these audacious pirates, that our cannon were first heard in the Mediterranean.

The length of this article renders its entire insertion in this number impossible,—it will however be concluded in our next.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE DYSPEPTIC MAN.

MR. WHITE,—I am so unfortunate as to be the wife of a dyspeptic man, and shall find some relief if you will permit me to spread my complaints upon the pages of your Messenger. Men are "April when they woo, December when they wed," as I have found to my cost. My husband was once as tender and affectionate as I could wish, but poor man he is now totally changed; I suppose it is owing to his having the dyspepsia. He is so peevish and fretful I hardly dare speak to him;

"He's always compleenin frae mornin to e'enin;"

and it is impossible to keep pace with the endless variety of his aliments. If I happen to make a mistake and inquire after the wrong pain, he flies into a violent passion and reproaches me for a want of sympathy in his sufferings. It was but yesterday I happened to say, my dear how is the pain in your back? [I had forgotten it was his side.] This was enough; he cursed matrimony and swore it was the vilest of all institutions; that a wife was nothing more than a legalized tormentor; that if he were single, he would not marry any woman under the sun—no, not if she had a bulse of diamonds torn from a Begum's ear, and much more in the same strain; and at last cooling down, he asked me if I did not remember that his last pain was a pain in the side, and then entered into such a history of his malady, that I sorely regretted I had opened my lips upon the subject. What right have we to worry other people thus with our maladies? I never tell mine to any but the doctor, because I know that nobody else listens, and I doubt very much whether he does half his time. If any one gives my husband the common salutation of how d'ye do? oh dear, he begins at the beginning of his disease, [like an old gentleman of my acquaintance who always begins at the Revolution,] and traces it down through all its variations for the last five years—tells all the remedies he has used and their effects, until you may see a half suppressed smile lurking about the lips of the interrogator, which increases at length to so broad a grin, that I am in agony for the consequences. He has tried in turn every remedy of every quack upon earth, and has gone so far as to punch himself almost to death with his own fists, by the advice of one Halsted. At first he is always pleased with the medicine, but at the end of two or three days he protests that he is worse, much worse; and vents his spleen upon the physic, the inventor, and upon me for permitting him to use such vile trash. Sometimes he comes to me and tells me exultingly that he has at last found out the panacea—the grand catholicon for all his sufferings. "My dear B——," he will say, "let me explain to you the philosophy of this matter. When food is taken into the human stomach, if it cannot undergo a proper digestion it goes through the putrefactive process; just such a process as would take place in animal or other substances, if exposed to the action of heat and moisture in the open air: a quantity of carbonic acid gas is disengaged, and this gas filling the stomach acts by mechanical pressure, and thus produces the pain I feel. Now I have discovered that in consequence of my habit of eating fast, my food is not sufficiently triturated, and of course the gastric juice [heaven help me!] cannot act upon it; and I am exactly in the situation of the sheep or any other ruminating animal, who swallows the herbage whole, and then regurgitates, that it may undergo a better mastication. Well what then is the remedy? I will tell you; I will make John pound my food in a mortar, which will supply the necessary trituration, and thus I shall be a well man." He sent off immediately to a druggist and purchased a nice little wedge-wood mortar, and there stood John every day behind his chair, pounding his meat, bread and vegetables, into a revolting mass, until my poor ears were well nigh deafened with the shrill din of the pestle against the sides of the mortar. Was ever woman so beset? At the end of a week, finding himself no better, he threw the mortar, pestle and all at John's head, and would certainly have pounded him to death but for a fortunate dodge, which permitted the mortar to come in contact with my china press, where it made sad havoc among my most valuable ware. He was very glad he said, because I had no business to let the press stand there. It was on the tip of my tongue to say, "bray a fool in a mortar," &c., but I checked the impulse, and mildly said, I was very sorry indeed that he could get no relief. This somewhat mollified him, and the next day he came to me and apologized for what he had done, and promised to repair the damage by making me a handsome present; but this calm was of short duration, for he soon relapsed into gloom—and as he sat by the fire smoking his pipe, he all at once declared that it must have been the cursed tobacco which had poisoned his existence; that during the combustion of the tobacco an oil was disengaged, which mixing with the saliva, was taken up by absorption into his lungs, and had eaten them to a honeycomb. John was immediately called: "Here," said he, "John, take this pipe, and d'ye hear sir, hide it—hide it where I never can find it again." John accordingly took the pipe, but struggled in vain to choke his laughter. Before he could escape from the room, he burst out into such a loud, distinct, irrepressible ha! ha! that there was no mistaking the thing, and he was soundly caned for his involuntary breach of decorum. About three days after this, in the evening after tea, my husband's favorite time for smoking, I observed him very restless indeed; he rose, walked about the room, sat down, whistled, hummed a tune, and rose again. At last he began to rummage about the wainscoat and mantlepiece, and behind the book case, and suddenly turning round he called John in a softened voice; "John, my good fellow, where is my pipe? I must have left it in the study; do go and look for it." John hesitated and grinned.—"What the devil is the fellow laughing at? Begone sir, and bring my pipe immediately." John speedily vanished. Turning to me, you see, said my husband, my unhappy condition; my very servants turn me into ridicule, and you do not reprove them for it. I could not reply, but felt anxious to point out to him that he could never hope to be well, because he would not adhere for a space of time sufficiently long to any plan whatever. His scheme now is to eat nothing but cold bread. It must be set away in a pure place to ripen, as he calls it. Hot bread just from the oven he says is giving out carbon continually, and has not imbibed a sufficiency of oxygen to make it wholesome. Can you forbear smiling my friend? Now I know that there is nothing of literature in all this, unless the chemical disquisitions of my wretched husband may be so considered; but nevertheless I flatter myself you will give me a place in your Messenger, because many a victim of dyspepsia may look in this mirror and see himself.

BELINDA.

BEAUTIFUL EXTRACT FROM LACON.

Posthumous fame is a plant of tardy growth, for our body must be the seed of it; or we may liken it to a torch, which nothing but the last spark of life can light up; or we may compare it to the trumpet of the archangel, for it is blown over the dead: but unlike that awful blast, it is of earth, not of heaven, and can neither rouse nor raise us.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE REPORTER'S STORY,

OR THE IMPORTANCE OF A SINGLE SYLLABLE.

How much may depend on a single syllable! What direful consequences may be produced by the suppression of even the smallest component part of a word!—Gentle reader, be as patient as you are gentle, and the perusal of the following true story will convince you of the correctness of these exclamatory positions.

Late in the autumn of 1826, I left the city of New York in a steamboat for Philadelphia, on my way to Washington, where I was to perform the arduous, if not very dignified duty, of reporter of debates in the Senate of the United States, for the leading journal of that metropolis. My wife accompanied me, and on stepping on board the Swan, (so was our steamboat justly called,) we found ourselves elbowed and jostled by a throng of travellers from various parts of the Union, wending their way, in most instances, to the capitol.

When the steamer had left the wharf, and the haste and bustle of the moment had ceased, I had time to inspect the countenances of the crowd, and recognized with much pleasure, the single familiar face of an officer of the treasury department, with whom I had formed a partial intimacy during a former visit at Washington. We met with much cordiality, and soon became engaged in recalling our recollections of past events.

My friend, it appeared, was personally and officially known to several individuals of our company; and without the formality of introduction, I soon found myself on easy travelling terms with four or five genteel looking men. Among these, the only persons necessary to mention, were a member of the House of Representatives from Massachusetts, whom I choose to designate as Mr. C.; another from a neighboring state, who will be sufficiently known to the reader as Mr. D.; and a young naval officer, whose name, if he had one, I have forgotten.

A free and easy, gossiping conversation was kept up with considerable vivacity by this group of strangers, the topics of which were various. Politics and theatricals predominated—New York was then, as she is now, the focus of both. The election of De Witt Clinton for the last time, as governor of the state, over a young and popular candidate, supported by the fragments of several exploded parties—the rising importance of the anti-masonic party—the Italian Opera, and Signorina Garcia, then in great vogue—the last appearance of Edmund Kean, after his fatal frolic in Canada, and the first appearance of Macready, who had just then made his debut on the American stage, to surprise and puzzle the people by a style as new as it was polished and severe. Such subjects beguiled the hours—and as I had long been almost as conversant with the green room as the editor's closet, I was enabled to contribute my full share to the gossip of our little coterie.

My Massachusetts acquaintance was a stout, well built, middle-aged man, with a bold and open countenance, which expressed good humor, and not a little self complacency. It seemed as if one could read on that face the conviction of its owner, that he was born to be a member of congress, a great man, and a clever fellow. A travelling cap, worn carelessly, or rather with a careful affectation of negligence, on one side of his head, and a slight rattan, which he twirled with a practised hand, evinced a determination on his part to appear to the very best advantage. Without these, and other affectations, which I observed in Mr. C., no one could have mistaken him for other than a well bred gentleman. His attempts to enforce the acknowledgment of the character by aping the airs of fashionable folly, might cause a momentary doubt, whether the whole was not affected. We often perceive similar mistakes in ambitious men brought up in seclusion—but in the present instance, a stranger was soon undeceived by the conversation of Mr. C., which gave assurance of a cultivated mind, and the habit of associating with the learned and the intellectual.

The characteristics of the other lawgiver to whom I have alluded, were less complicated. His was a face as black as night. His beard, whiskers, hair and eyes were coal black—the latter small and piercing. No other feature was worth noticing, and the whole taken together, formed, if not an ugly countenance, one which came very nearly up to that epithet. His dress was a pepper-and-salt frock, vest and trowsers, and his hat had evidently passed its prime. In manners he was the opposite of Mr. C. There was a bluntness in his remarks, and a sharpness and brevity in his replies, entirely unaffected, but not altogether pleasing. On a partial acquaintance, you had such doubts of him as you would entertain of a partly tamed bruin.

The young naval officer was like all young naval officers, with a dash of spirit which he seemed solicitous to display—a stiffness of deportment which evinced that the thoughts of discipline could not easily be shaken off, and an apparent consciousness of the admiration to which his profession and his dress entitled him from people of every degree. Nevertheless, he was agreeable, and condescended, most benevolently, to mingle in the conversation with those around him.

Passing the time between these companions, and an occasional peep into the ladies' cabin to see that nothing was wanting to the comfort of my wife, (who was deterred by the chilliness of the atmosphere, from joining me on deck) the journey was uncommonly agreeable, until we reached Philadelphia. At that city my treasury friend left us, not so much regretted as he deserved to be, because his place was supplied by the new companions to whom I have alluded.

We were shortly transferred to another steamboat, in which, after about two hours' delay, we proceeded to New Castle. A change of considerable extent had taken place in our company. We had lost many faces to which we had been familiar during the morning—and we had gained many others which wore the first gloss of newness. I have already said that I had not been formally introduced to the gentlemen whose acquaintance had been pressed upon me—yet we had learned each other's names, and used them with freedom. Probably I was the only incognito among them—the only man whose profession was unknown, and therefore the only one liable to doubt or misconception. But of such a chance I did not then dream.

Among the new passengers were two ladies, one quite young, although the mother of two or three children. She was pretty, and, as I afterwards found, very talkative. The other was a matron more advanced in years, and with a still larger number of children. Her dress was half mourning, her manner grave and lady-like. With these ladies I perceived that my wife had entered into conversation on their first arrival on board, and my occasional visits to the cabin shewed me that their gossip, was kept up with much spirit. Returning from one of these calls, a strange gentleman addressed me, and asked if my name was S——; I replied in the affirmative, and after a very civil preface, he requested, (as I was the only gentleman with a lady on board,) that I would give my protection to a female acquaintance of his and her family, who were on their way to Washington. He observed that he should go no farther than Baltimore, and from that place he would be obliged to me to take charge of them. I readily assented: we went to the ladies' cabin, where I was introduced with all due form, to Mrs. M., the elder and graver of the two ladies already mentioned. She had made herself acquainted with my wife, and all parties seemed pleased with the arrangement.

On going above, I found my friends, the two members of congress and the naval officer, laying plans for a game of whist on board the Trenton steamboat, which was to take us from Frenchtown. I was asked to make one of the party, and assented. A few hours brought us to New Castle, where stages were in readiness to transport us across the isthmus, to Frenchtown—for it must be remembered, that there was then neither canal or rail road between the two points.

As the oldest passengers, I presume, my wife and I were seated in stage No. 1, with a motley group of persons. Not one of our newly formed acquaintances were with us, and in our carriage there was not an individual with whom five minutes conversation could be sustained. I made repeated efforts to arouse our fellow passengers, but after receiving each time a monosyllabic rebuff,—a crusty yes or no, as the case might be,—I relinquished the attempt, and confined my endeavors to make myself agreeable to my good woman, who gave me an amusing detail of a conversation while on board the steamboat, between herself and the younger of the two ladies to whom I have already referred. Mrs. R., as my wife informed me, had favored her with a detailed history of her family, her husband, children and herself, with all things thereunto appertaining, even down to the fashion of her last new bonnet. Having thus exhausted herself by this unsolicited confession, or as the Scotch say, having "made a clean breast," she remained silent, apparently expecting a similar display of frankness from her auditress. But my wife did not readily recognize the principle of reciprocity in such cases—and accordingly gave the conversation a different turn. This, however, failed to meet the views of the communicative lady. Nothing short of mutual confidence seemed to tally with her notions of politeness to strangers. And finding that my wife still hung back, she proceeded to cross-examine her upon her domestic affairs, family connexions, and most closely on my objects and pursuits in life, and purpose in visiting the capitol at this season. To all these questions my wife answered briefly, but truly, although with reluctance.

I was much diverted at this novel specimen of female curiosity, and the tactics observed in its gratification. It appeared to me uncommonly equitable—for what could evince greater fairness than to prelude an investigation of the private affairs of your neighbor, by a voluntary detail of your own.

About eight in the evening, we reached Frenchtown, where our supper was waiting on board the Trenton. Having despatched the meal with a good appetite, and the ladies having withdrawn for the evening, the engagement for a game of whist occurred to me. I had not, up to that time, observed any one of our party, and I set out to collect them together for our match.

I first encountered Mr. C. pacing up and down the cabin with great gravity. Walking up to him, I reminded him of the game of whist, proposing that we should collect our party. To my great surprise, the manner of the man towards me was entirely changed. He gave me a glance which looked exceedingly like contempt—replied to my question with a rude and hasty negative, and turned upon his heel.

I was astonished, as well I might be, at receiving a cut direct from a man, who but a few hours before had lavished upon me so large a share of familiarity and attention. I was chagrined at his contemptuous manner, and I was puzzled to divine its cause. Indeed, my perplexity was far greater than my chagrin.

While I was pondering the matter, I caught a glimpse of my other congressional friend Mr. D., at some distance from me. I went to meet him, and put to him the same question I had addressed to Mr. C. As I spoke, he wheeled partly round, fixed his small black eye upon me for a moment, with a scrutinizing glance, and without vouchsafing one word in reply, wheeled back into his former position, and walked from me with a stateliness and decision of step, which precluded any farther conference. There could be no mistake in this. It was the ne plus ultra of cutting. It was more than the cut direct—it was the cut irrevocable, immutable, eternal!

Good heavens, said I internally—what can this mean?

Is it the moon ——
That comes more near to us than she was wont,
And makes men mad?

If, thought I, the young "Middie" plays me the same game, it will be evident that they act in concert. It is worth testing—and apropos to the thought, he just then passed quite near me. I assumed as much ease as the circumstances of the case would permit, (for it will not be thought remarkable that I had been considerably disconcerted)—and reminded him of our contemplated game of whist. He looked at me with cool indifference, as though he had never seen me before in his life, observed that a party could not be made up, and, waiting no further question, passed me, whistling some naval air, and looking in another direction.

This last rebuff completed my indignation and perplexity. But it was an evil which must be borne,—for however annoying I might find such treatment—the caprice of strangers in being at one moment as familiar as old friends, and withdrawing their familiarity at the next, was not good argument for a quarrel. I could have no claim for satisfaction or explanation, on an individual to whom I had not been formally introduced, and with whom my intimacy was of less than twelve hours standing, for choosing

———— "to face me out of his acquaintance,
And grow a twenty years removed thing
While one could wink."

I had schooled myself to patience under these undeserved inflictions, and was preparing to retire, when I was called to the door of the ladies' cabin by the waiting maid—and met there my wife, who seemed in a state of tribulation not inferior to my own. She said that since our arrival on board the steamboat, the two ladies who had been previously so kind and social, had scarcely noticed her, and had repelled every attempt at a renewal of former civilities; in truth, that she had been treated by her companions in much the same manner as I had been by mine. This was an additional mystery. How could it happen that contumely and disrespect were cast upon us from parties who were strangers, having no connexion with each other? The mystery seemed unfathomable, and after wearying myself with vain endeavors to conceive some adequate cause for the altered conduct of our fellow travellers, I fell asleep, and dreamed of myriads of self-important members of congress, and self-admiring naval officers.

We found ourselves at the wharf at Baltimore in the morning, and in the scramble to disengage our baggage from the mass heaped upon deck, (to which every traveller is premonished by the oft-repeated advertisement that "baggage is at the risk of the owner")—I met my whilom friends, but without the slightest token of recognition on either side. The talkative lady looked grave when I approached her, and was silent, ("an excellent thing in woman")—the older matron, to whom I was to act as protector for the remainder of her journey, shrunk from me as I advanced with the salutation of the morning; and when all was prepared for our departure from the steamboat, she declined my proffered arm, as I conducted her to the carriage. To my wife she was equally distant,—nor did a sumptuous breakfast at Barnum's, break the ice of her reserve, or rather, her aversion. Certainly, thus far, our society did not promise to be agreeable on either side. The lady kept as far aloof from us as circumstances would allow, avoiding every opportunity of conversation—and we were soon as silent as she, from a mingled feeling of pride and resentment. We embarked in a stage about mid-day—the roads was infamous, the weather chilly and obscure. We had the carriage to ourselves, and the ride was therefore the more gloomy, as among a promiscuous party we might have found some one willing to cheer the way by conversation: but as we were situated with our taciturn companion, excepting in an occasional colloquy with the driver, our organs of speech were unemployed, and during the greater part of our journey, we might have been taken for a party of mutes. As we drew near to Washington, this reserve wore away in a measure. Whether the lady's tongue became impatient of so long a period of inaction, or whether her assumed dignity gave way under a requisition upon it too great for its power—I know not. Certain it is, that she occasionally deigned a remark, and sometimes condescended to put interrogatories to me, relative to the distance to the city, and similar grave matters.

It was dark when we arrived. I had ordered the coachman to set me down at Brown's—but I was informed that there was not a vacant room in the house, and also that every other hotel in the city was full. This overflow of company as I afterwards ascertained was caused by the assemblage at Washington of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Convention, adding some hundreds to the ordinary visiters of the period. To add to the discomfort of wanting lodgings, it was raining with great violence, and I dreaded a drive through the interminable streets of the federal metropolis. Our lady companion had observed that she was to be dropped at the residence of some relative, and moreover stated that it was a boarding house. But she avoided proposing that we should quarter with her; and not until I had seen her safely within the house, and was returning to the stage, did she mention our plight to her relative. The latter was immediately urgent that we should remain at her house, declaring that she had several unoccupied rooms, which were entirely at our disposal.

This new position of affairs was highly gratifying, and we anticipated all the comforts of a good supper, and comfortable lodgings, with a satisfaction which can best be conceived by those to whom those commodities have, at times, been wanting. My wife was safely seated in the well warmed dining room, the baggage deposited in the hall,—and I took the opportunity afforded by a delay in the appearance of supper, to step across the street, and inform the gentlemen with whom I was engaged, of my arrival, which was a day or two later than they had anticipated. On my return to the boarding house, to my utter astonishment, I saw my wife standing at the street door, in her bonnet and cloak, while my trunks were piled upon the steps.

Hey dey, said I, what does all this mean—why are you not warming yourself at the fire, instead of standing here muffled up, as if your journey was now to commence instead of being ended?

We cannot remain, said she, in a tone of chagrin.

Cannot! What is the reason? Are the people mad here, as well as on the road?

It would seem so. I had scarcely been five minutes in the house, when the landlady, who was at first so eager that we should lodge with her, changed her mind, and informed me that she could not accommodate us.

But she will not turn us out supperless, I hope, such a night as this?

I am not so certain of that. She appears to be infected with the same disease under which all our travelling companions have labored. People seem actually to avoid us as though we carried the plague about in our garments. She bowed me out of the dining room with as little ceremony as she would have shewn to a mendicant.

Well, well, said I, come in out of the air, and I will reason with her. So saying I led the way to the principal apartment in the house, which served as parlor, drawing room, and dining room—where the landlady soon made her appearance. She was a small, thin-faced woman, her form wiry and attenuated; her motions rapid and nervous; countenance much wrinkled, and of most forbidding expression, and a voice from which no art could have extracted a sound bearing the remotest relationship to harmony. Her dress was evidently suited to the season, when members of congress are seeking quarters for the winter, and when those who have them at disposal, are interested in putting the best possible face on every thing appertaining to their establishments. Her costume was, a silk frock, stretched upon her bony frame, and a yellow gauze turban, of monstrous size, decked with crimson ribbons, perched upon the top of her head, which thus seemed enveloped in "fire and brimstone:"—These awkwardly worn habiliments betrayed the fact that the lady had passed the day in attending the calls of the law-givers of the land, with the laudable design of enhancing the value of her accommodations, in the eyes of some rustic Solon, but newly caught, by the genteel appearance of their mistress.

I addressed this formidable figure, with an inquiry whether we could not remain with her for the night, referring to the state of the weather as rendering it almost impossible to make search for lodgings that evening.

The lady eyed me with great scrutiny, and there was an elevation of her nasal organ, while looking at me, which distorted to a more hideous expression than was natural, her weather-beaten visage.

"Indeed," said she, "you can't stay, and that's all about it. Three members have just sent down to say that they would take the rooms what they look'd at this morning, and that they must be fix'd up this very night. So you see you can't stay. It a'nt my fault—and so I can't say no more about it."

"Then we must look for other lodgings. But you can give us supper. The members of Congress have not bespoken that also, I presume."

"Well—no. You can eat your suppers here I spose."

"And this lady can remain here until I can obtain other quarters."

"Well, I've no particular objection to her sitting here awhile."

Just then supper was served, and we partook of it. Our travelling companion was at the table, but scarcely recognized us, and the landlady was barely civil. When the meal was over, I requested the latter to allow a servant to accompany me in my search, as I was ignorant of the location of the principal boarding houses. Her son, a pert lad of about thirteen, volunteered to pilot me, and without delay we sallied out.

It occurred to me as we passed up Pennsylvania avenue, that I had forgotten to deliver a message of some importance to my employers, when I called to announce my arrival, and I turned a little out of my way to the office of the N—— I——, where, while I was closeted for a few moments with one of the editors, my juvenile guide remained in the clerk's office.

On leaving the office, I was surprised at the altered tone of the lad.

"You had better go back," said the manakin: "it is too late to get lodgings to-night. My mother can keep you as well as not."

"But she has refused to do so, and insists that it is out of her power."

"Never mind that. Go back with me—I'll work the old woman over. See if I don't tell you the truth."

"You are a promising lad," said I, "but a little too forward. Let us go on."

Finding me determined to prosecute the search, he yielded, and we called at several houses; but all were full. Against my will, I was forced to return, with the resolution of making good my quarters for the night, at any rate, with or without the consent of the lady of the house. My guide assured me that he could "manage the old woman," and told me to give myself no uneasiness on the subject.

After a dreary walk, we reached the house. There sat my wife with her bonnet still on, for no one had asked her to remove it—and there sat the lady in the brimstone turban, and fiery ribbons, in whose ugly visage the words "turn out" seemed written, in characters not to be mistaken. As we entered, the boy motioned his mother, who joined him at the door, where they held a whispering colloquy for a few moments. While they were thus engaged, I learned from my wife that there had been no change in the sentence of exclusion, altho' no new lodgers had made their appearance.

The whispering ceased, and the landlady approached me. What was my astonishment at perceiving that the gorgon face, before so hideous with frowns, was puckered into the queerest attempt at a smile that was ever before witnessed on the human countenance.

But this was not all. Not only did her face exhibit these convulsive efforts, but the form approached us, curtseying with a most unhappy imitation of grace.

The devil is in the hag—said I internally. What new trick is to be played now? I was not long in suspense. The boy had kept his promise it seemed, for he or some one else, actually had "worked the old woman over." She affirmed that she had just received messages from the three members, stating that they were not in haste for the rooms—and she assured us they were entirely at our service.

We knew that this was a fiction; but we were fatigued, and disposed to take the good the Gods provided for us, without much question. We were shewn to our apartments and slept soundly, forgetting all the vexations of the day.

The next morning, after having exhausted ourselves in wonderment at the freaks which had been played off upon us, I left my wife, to make some calls in the city. I had not been long absent, when she received a visit from Mrs. M., our travelling companion, who, after the usual salutations had passed, seemed struggling to suppress a disposition to laugh, which my wife took to be another mad freak, to be classed with those she had previously witnessed.

The propensity at length overcame her, and she burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, which lasted for many minutes.

Indignant as my wife was disposed to be, at such an unexpected explosion of mirth, from a lady who had for two days treated her with haughty reserve, if not absolute contempt, she bore it with patience, and awaited in silence the conclusion of her visiter's merry humor, and such explanation of its cause as she might choose to give.

Every thing must have an end—and the lady at length ceased her laughter, from absolute exhaustion.

"My dear madam,—she gasped out—my dear madam—this is very rude—very rude indeed. You must be surprised at such conduct, and I beg your pardon but"——

"It would be an unnecessary dissimulation, to say I am not surprised; but I presume I shall soon learn to be surprised at nothing."

"You really then, think you have been associated for the last few days, with persons little better than bedlamites."

"I have certainly been exposed to strange conduct."

"Well, I have come to explain the whole mystery. Do not be offended at my mirth. I could not resist it. The laugh was more against myself than you—and the whole affair is so ridiculous, that you will laugh too, when you know the truth."

"I own that I have a strong curiosity to be acquainted with the cause of the strange treatment we have met with. I presume it arose out of some mistake."

"Entirely, entirely—and then a blunder so ridiculous—so uncommon! Excuse me, but really I must laugh—ha, ha, ha. But I will keep you in suspense no longer; besides, I wish you to laugh with me, and therefore I will tell you my story. Listen. You remember that at Newcastle, you and your husband took one of the first stages. Myself and children were seated in another, in company with Mrs. R., (the pretty, talkative woman with light hair,) two members of Congress, and a young naval officer. We had scarcely started, when Mrs. R. commenced with her usual volubility, running over the various persons who had fallen under her observation in the steamboat. At last your turn came to be criticised: 'Did you observe Mrs. S.,' said she, 'the lady with black hair and blue eyes—rather pretty, and at first I took her to be quite a genteel personage.' Yes, I replied, I had been introduced to you, and was to place myself under the protection of your husband, from Baltimore to Washington."

"'Did you ascertain any thing of their standing and character,' said Mrs. R."

"Not a word said I. My friend Mr. H. told me they were genteel people, and their appearance warrants his opinion."

"'Well, really,' said Mrs. R., 'how easy it is to be deceived by people that one knows nothing about. You would not believe it—I am sure I would not, if Mrs. S. had not told me with her own lips—I say, otherwise, I would not have believed that Mr. S. was going to Washington in such a menial capacity.'"

"What!" said I.

"'Menial capacity?' said one member of Congress."

"'Menial capacity?' echoed the other member."

"'I took him for a gentleman,' said the naval officer—'Confound the fellow's impudence.'"

"But, said I, you must be mistaken, I'm sure. I am to go to Washington with him."

"'There must be some mistake,' said the two members of Congress, and the young naval officer, all in a breath."

"'Why we have engaged to make up a game of whist with him this evening,' said the latter."

"'Certainly!' said one member of Congress."

"'Certainly!' said the other member of Congress. 'Oh, there must be some mistake, my good madam. Menial capacity! Impossible!'"

"'No mistake at all,' retorted Mrs. R., with some asperity. 'I tell you I had it from Mrs. S's own mouth, and she owned it after a good deal of hesitation and reluctance. I put twenty questions to her before I could get an answer.'"

"Well, said I, if you are so well satisfied that you are right, we are interested to know who and what these people are. I do not choose to travel under the protection of a man of menial capacity."

"'Yes, yes,' said the naval officer, 'what the deuse is the fellow. I should not wonder if he were a pick-pocket, or a black-leg, to judge by his easy impudence.'"

"'Very likely,' said one member of Congress."

"'I have not a doubt of it,' said the other member. 'But let us know, if you please madam, what he is.'"

"'As I said before, I would not have believed it if Mrs. S. had not told me herself,' said Mrs. R., hesitating."

"'Oh, no doubt you are right,' said the naval officer: 'but please let us know who it is we have been so familiar with.'"

"'Well,' said Mrs. R. 'Mrs. S. told me that her husband was going to Washington to be Porter to the Senate.'"

Here my wife interrupted Mrs. M. with a fit of laughter almost equal to that with which Mrs. M. had indulged herself in the outset.

"So," said the former, "Mrs. R. mistook the word Reporter, for that of Porter,—an important omission."

"So it would seem," rejoined Mrs. M. "But let me go on."

"'Porter to the Senate!' exclaimed every voice."

"'A fellow who runs errands for the Senators, fetches and carries bundles, &c., I suppose,' said the naval officer."

"'I can't conceive what station he is to fill,' said one of the members of Congress, 'unless it is that of old Tobias, the black man, who kindles fires, and carries messages.'"

"'That is it I dare say,' said the other member."

"'We must cut him,' said the naval officer."

"'To be sure.'" "'To be sure.'"

"So it was settled by all present that you were to be cut without benefit of clergy."

"I should not have consented to place myself under your protection, continued Mrs. M., but that I had no choice. Knowing no other person with whom I could travel, I reluctantly accompanied you; and I trust," said she, laughing, "that on the road, I shewed a very laudable aversion to the contaminating society of a Porter and his wife."

"No one can deny you that merit," said my wife.

"Well, I cannot ask your pardon for it. There was no malice in the mistake, and I am almost as much annoyed at it as you can be. After you arrived here last night, the landlady insisted on knowing what business brought your husband to Washington; and I reluctantly told her what I had heard. At the bare idea of lodging a Porter, her feathers bristled up like those of a Barbary hen. Her yellow turban looked blue at the idea of such an indignity. She protested that she would have no Porters in her house, nor no such rapscallions as had the impudence to go about dressed like decent people, to take in the flats. And so, my dear madam, you were turned out without much ceremony, and might have spent the night in the street, but for the information obtained by the boy at the office of the N—— I——, which, by giving another syllable to the profession of your husband, shewed beyond a doubt that you were entitled to christian treatment. You know the rest, and I trust we shall all of us when we remember these blunders, acknowledge the IMPORTANCE OF A SINGLE SYLLABLE."

Extracted from a Virginia Newspaper, Printed in 1775.

ON SLEEP.

O sleep! what though of death thou art
To be an image said,
I wish thee still with all my heart,
The partner of my bed.
Thy company, soft sleep, then give,
While in thy arms I lie;
How sweet! thus, without life, to live!
Thus, without death, to die!

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE COTTAGE IN THE GLEN.

In traversing that region of country in the wilds of Maine, that borders one of her finest rivers, if you look carefully on your right hand as you pass through the town of ——, by the post-road, you may observe a cart-path leading directly into a thick wood, where the trees tower in majesty and beauty to the very clouds, and look as if they had thus stood ever since the day when "the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them." Were it not for this same cart-path, with its three ridges of bright greensward, and its four lines of dusky brown, you might doubt whether the silent grandeur of the forest had ever echoed to the voice or the footstep of man.

There is something truly grand and impressive in forest scenery. The lofty trees stretching high toward heaven; the graceful and majestic waving of the branches, breathing nature's own soft music, which scarcely removes the impression of profound silence—or which, to parody the words of Milton, "just makes silence audible;" the deep, and seemingly "boundless contiguity of shade," and the awful solitude, make man shrink into himself, and feel that he is in the presence of the Eternal. The weak spirit of a creature frail as man, is soon overpowered, if it give itself up to the impressions naturally produced by contemplating, in solitude, the grandeur of creation. The first feeling is delight,—next admiration,—then wonder,—then awe,—and then oppression;—and when it arrives at this point, the sight of such a little cart-path as I have mentioned, is a great relief to the feelings: for it shows that a being having passions, and feelings, and sympathies like his own—as short lived, as dependant, as insignificant as himself, is, or has been near. The deep shade has been penetrated; the solitude has been interrupted; and an unbroken and eternal silence has not forever reigned in the forest.

If the reader wishes, we will follow this path, and see whither it will conduct us. Its course is a little devious, probably to avoid the trunks of the trees, for not one appears to have been felled to shorten the distance, which is about three fourths of a mile, under the unbroken shade of the same noble woodland. Now the path begins to descend a little, and by almost imperceptible degrees, you arrive in a valley lying between two lofty ridges, that become more and more abrupt as you advance; and when you have proceeded about the fourth of a mile, they seem nearly perpendicular on either side. And their summits being crowned by the lofty trees of the same far stretching forest, adds much to the apparent depth of the valley, and you feel as if verging towards the centre of the earth. That little ripling stream in the valley, beside which we have been walking, now begins to widen, and presently expands itself into a mimic lake, restrained on the one hand and on the other by the mountain side, leaving just room enough on the left for the unbroken cart-path. Your ear is now assailed by the sound of rushing waters, and a roof appears beyond the lake—so that a habitation of man is near. No, it is a mill; the dwelling house is sixty rods below: there it lies, on a beautiful swell in the narrow valley, made, it would seem, on purpose for its site—and the again diminished stream is softly murmuring by its side. That is the Cottage in the Glen. If you please, we will descend, and take our station in front of it. Before we turned that angle to attain this spot, you were about to exclaim, "This is the very home of solitude, shut out from the rest of creation." But look straight down the valley, and far—far off, see the picturesque and busy village of ——, and the sparkling waters of the river. The valley is so straight and narrow, and widens so gradually towards its mouth, and the banks on either side are so precipitous, that it produces the same effect on the scene beyond, that a tube does in viewing a picture. Is it not beautiful! Now if you will climb with me to the foot of that tree that stands part way up the bank, we will be seated in the shade, and I will give you a sketch of the inhabitants of the cottage.

Mr. Kirkwood, a native of Massachusetts, and head of the family, is now upwards of seventy-five years of age; and until verging towards sixty, was decidedly a man of the world. He was educated at Harvard University, and at the age of twenty-eight, when he married, was a good scholar, a finished gentleman, and a successful lawyer.

"There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune."

Mr. Kirkwood seized the favorable moment, and his wealth rapidly increased. He wished to be rich; not to hoard his wealth—but that he might be enabled to procure all the indulgencies and elegancies of life, and move at the head of society. His wish was gratified. He became rich; lived in splendid style; and his house was the favorite resort of the wealthy, the elegant, and the fashionable. His wife was a model of good housewifery, propriety and politeness; and his only child, a son, was all that the heart of a man of the world could wish. Highly gifted by nature, and favored with every advantage for the cultivation of his talents, young Kirkwood was ushered into society, elegant in person, elegant in mind, and correct in morals. It was generally conceded that whoever obtained him, would gain a first rate prize in the matrimonial lottery. Of course, there was no little competition among mothers who had daughters to dispose of; and young ladies who wished to dispose of themselves. But the lovely, well educated, and retiring Mary Bust, engaged his affections without seeking them; and in winning her heart, and securing her hand, he insured his own earthly felicity. Gentle by nature, polished and enlightened by education, unblemished in reputation, and thoroughly well principled, through the assiduous care and unwearied instructions of wise and pious parents,—she was all a man could wish for as a wife, companion and friend; all he could wish for as the mother of his children. The son's choice gave perfect satisfaction to his parents; and when in the course of a few years, the young wife gave successively to the arms of her husband, three sons and a daughter,—there seemed to be around this family, a confluence of all that constitutes the felicity of earth.

But, alas, in the tide of men's affairs, there is an ebb as well as flood; and this the Kirkwood family now began to experience. The elder Kirkwood had just begun to discover that his affairs were in some confusion, when his wife was suddenly snatched away by death. It was a heavy blow, and he felt it as such. But men seldom die of grief! Millions have buried the wife of their youth, and been very comfortably supported under the bereavement; and so was Mr. Kirkwood. Indeed he had little time to spend in unavailing sorrow, or in brooding over the memory of the departed one; for the clouds of adversity became more and more dense about him, and he soon found that the combined energies of himself and son, could not avert the storm. Poverty seemed coming upon them "like an armed man." In the meantime, two of the blooming grandsons were in quick succession conveyed to the tomb; and just as the storm burst upon them in all its fury, the younger Kirkwood followed his mother and his two children to the world of spirits. After this tempest of adversity, Mr. Kirkwood stood like an oak, scathed by the lightning,—its verdure blasted, and its branches scattered abroad. He sunk, overwhelmed, and gave way to the most hopeless despondency.

There is a spirit in woman that will sustain her under circumstances which will drive man to despair. And when that spirit is moulded, guided, and strengthened by religion, it is invincible. Soft as the harp-tones of the "sweet singer of Israel," did Mary's voice now breathe on the ear of her disconsolate father.

"'Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil,' my father? Let us endeavor to say, 'The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, and blessed be his name!' Arise, my father, and call upon our God. He 'hears the young ravens when they cry,' and will he not give his children food? He clothes the lilies of the field, and will he not clothe us? He binds up the broken heart; will he not then console ours?"

"Alas, my daughter," cried the old man, "He is thy God, but not mine. In the hour of prosperity I forgat him; in the hour of adversity I dare not approach him. May he, indeed, feed, and clothe, and console thee, and thy remaining little ones. For me—his vengeance alone will pursue me. Would I could hide me from his avenging hand, and lay my head in the grave!"

The despondency of her father added not a little to the load of sorrow that pressed on Mary's heart; but she had no time for idle lamentation. She had duties to perform; duties to him, herself, and her children; and laying herself low before the throne of mercy, she spread her sorrows and her wants before her Father in Heaven, and taking fast hold of Almighty strength, she went forward.

"My father," said Mary, "'Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth;' and, 'like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.'"

"But I have not feared him, Mary,—therefore he does not pity me. And his chastening is the chastening of an offended judge—in vengeance—not the chastening of a father."

Mary despaired not, though her father thus repelled all consolation; and when he sat absorbed in melancholy, and she scarcely dared intrude upon his thoughts, she would move about the room, just breathing the lines,

"Come ye disconsolate, where'er you languish,
Come, at the shrine of God, fervently kneel;
Here bring your wounded hearts; here tell your anguish;
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal;"

and at the same time raise a fervent prayer, that his sorrow might not ultimately prove to be that "sorrow of the world that worketh death," but the "sorrow that worketh repentance unto salvation." Her prayer was heard; her efforts were successful. It was not long ere with heartfelt gratitude, she heard him say, "'It is good for me that I have been afflicted.' 'The Lord gave,' but I have abused his gifts; and he 'hath taken away,' and blessed be his name for thus bringing an erring son near to himself." When this happy change first took place in the feelings of her father, Mary felt as though she had scarcely a care or a sorrow left. A future world, uncorroded by cares, unstained by tears, unblemished by sin, and unvisited by sorrow, opened on the eye of faith,—and all was peace within. But their pilgrimage was not yet accomplished; this home was not yet attained; and in the meantime, something must be done. Scarcely a wreck of their fortune remained; and Mr. Kirkwood, verging towards sixty, with the energies of his mind crushed by misfortune, felt it impossible to begin again his career as a lawyer. The remaining pride of his heart, rendered it extremely painful to remain amidst his former associates, with whom he could no longer, on equal terms, hold intercourse; and where every scene called back the visions of former splendors, and buried friends, with a sickening influence.

"Let us fly far from hence, my daughter," said he; "elsewhere I may recover something of my energy, and be capable of making some effort; here I can do nothing. Let us fly from the world, and hide ourselves in seclusion. My soul needs repose. A withering blast has swept over it, to tear away its idols. The work is done—but the wounds are still bleeding: and though, I trust, the great physician is at work, there needs time to perfect a cure. Let us fly from hence, and in some new and humble occupation, strive to support ourselves for the remainder of life's journey, and rear these little ones for immortality."

So that she could be with her father, and her children, to receive the blessing of the one, and the caresses of the others, it mattered little to Mary what spot on earth she called home. She was a "widow indeed." The long, bright vista, through which she had looked on years of future happiness, with the husband of her love, was closed by death; and what mattered it, where she fulfilled the remaining duties of life, so they were but faithfully discharged?

Through the agency of a friend, the Cottage in the Glen, with the mill that appertained to it, and a few acres of ground, were purchased. Mary collected together the few articles that remained of former abundance; and with the feelings of a woman of cultivated mind and literary taste, and with all the providence of a mother, foreseeing the future wants of her children, did she most carefully gather up all the books that remained of the once large and well selected library. All things finally arranged, they removed hither.

A complete revolution had taken place in Mr. Kirkwood's views. He felt that nothing is really degrading that is not sinful; and he resolved, as far as practicable, to do his own labor with his own hands. But, until he could learn the art himself, he was constrained to hire an assistant, to take charge of his little mill; once familiar with the business, it was his own employment. The family were very comfortable, and soon became very happy. Though the furniture of the cottage was scanty, it was arranged with so much taste, and kept in such perfect order, that it wore the air of gentility; and a profusion of wild flowers in the summer, and a blazing fire in the winter, gave an additional cheerfulness to its appearance. The mill supplied them with bread, and many other comforts of life, beside paying a poor man for a day's labor now and then on their little enclosure of potatoes. They procured an honest and faithful maid servant, who milked their two cows, prepared the butter and cheese, and spun the wool of their half a dozen sheep, beside doing all the more laborious work of the family. No human eye was upon them that had seen them in former days, and they were fast forgetting a world, by which they were already nearly forgotten. No real want of nature remained unsatisfied, and their Heavenly Father was as near them here, as in any other place. Glorious and consoling idea! that his children can be carried to no spot in creation, where he will not be present to sustain and comfort them! How glorious the idea of an Omnipotent God!

Nothing, under the power of religion, served so much to console the heart of Mr. Kirkwood, as the presence and the happiness of his grandchildren. Frederic was eight, and Clara three years old; and they were as happy at the Cottage in the Glen, as they would have been in the palace of the Thuileries. From his heart, he could adopt the language of Paley: "I seem to see the benevolence of the Deity more clearly in the pleasures of young children, than in any thing else in the world. The pleasures of grown persons may be reckoned partly of their own procuring; but the pleasures of a healthy child are so manifestly provided for by another, and the benevolence of the provision is so unquestionable, that every child I see at its sport, affords to my mind a kind of sensible evidence of the finger of God."

"These children are happy, Mary," he would say; "they feel no regrets for the past—no fears for the future, but enjoy the present with zest. Our wants are scarcely greater than theirs. Let us, then, not regret the past; let us not be anxious for the future; but in performing present duty, and being grateful for present good, let us trust our heavenly father, without fear or misgiving."

Neither Mr. Kirkwood nor his daughter found any leisure for idle repinings. The indispensable labors of each day, with the care and instruction of the children, occupied them fully. Frederic was sent to the district school, there to acquire what he could of education; but he was an intellectual and thinking boy, and soon began to call on his grandfather to assist him through the difficulties he encountered, as his mind rapidly developed. The education of Clara, Mrs. Kirkwood considered her own peculiar business. And when the little girl was old enough to go to school, she still preferred pursuing the task herself, as she dreaded lest her daughter should breathe other than a pure moral atmosphere.

Next to religion, the abundant means of education is undoubtedly the glory and bulwark of New England. And the district school, where the son of the town pauper may obtain the foundation of an education that will render him intelligent and useful, is an incalculable blessing. But wherever human nature is, there is depravity; and where human beings mingle together, this depravity is called into exercise. Even young children are not the innocent creatures some persons appear to suppose; but in almost every school may be found the germ of almost every vice. So thought Mrs. Kirkwood; and it led her to educate her daughter entirely at home.

Time rolled on; and the children at the cottage increased in wisdom and stature: the parent and grandparent in meetness for the kingdom of heaven. Industry and economy, both of time and goods, was the order of the house; and the children cheerfully followed the example set them by their superiors. Frederic was always diligently employed, when not engaged with his books; and the healthful and joyous little Clara was the assistant of each one, as circumstances required, from her grandfather in the mill, to the servant girl at the washing tub. Permission to play in the open air, was a holiday to her heart; and she was light and joyous in spirit as the warblers of the grove. Content and peace reigned in the family. With each returning sun, their orisons were duly offered on the family altar; and when the shades of evening closed around, their thanksgivings and praises ascended to the throne of the Eternal.

"A holy incense—sweeter, richer far
Than that upon the golden altar shed
In Judah's sacred fane."

No change of any moment took place in their circumstances, and nothing in futurity was looked forward to with peculiar interest, until Frederic attained his fifteenth year. Then, one evening, after having been unusually thoughtful and silent, he suddenly looked up, and said,

"I want to be a minister of the gospel, and I want to go to college, grandfather."

Both the grandfather and the mother looked up in some astonishment; but they listened patiently to his plans, and heard him declare what efforts he was willing to make—what deprivations to endure.

"Dear grandfather—dear mother," said the eager boy, in conclusion, "do listen to me kindly. It will do me no harm to make the attempt. You, grandfather, and our good pastor, will help fit me for college; and I doubt not, that by my own industry, and what you can conveniently do for me, I shall some how or other get through. I feel that I can do nothing without an education."

"We will think on the subject, my son," said his grandfather, "and in due time let you know the result of our deliberations. Meantime, attend to your present duties, and 'take no anxious thought for the morrow.'"

The important subject was not mentioned again for the evening; but it engrossed Mrs. Kirkwood's mind, and kept her waking many hours of the night. From her son's birth, she had consecrated him to the service of her Heavenly Father, though she knew not in what way that service might be demanded. Now she hoped he had consecrated himself; and that what seemed so aspiring in a youth in his situation in life, was an impulse from above, rather than the natural workings of an ambitious mind. But she was helpless in herself, and could only ask to be directed by Him who is perfect in wisdom; to be provided for by Him who is infinite in riches. What needed she more!

The next day Mr. Kirkwood and his daughter held a consultation on the subject; and when, toward evening, Frederic saw his mother searching over a chest of old books, his eyes sparkled, and his heart throbbed with feverish impatience to ascertain if his conjectures were accurate. His joy was complete, when he saw the necessary books and grammars come forth; some in a mutilated state, it is true,—but no matter, so the important parts were but entire. He went about his task like one in earnest; his progress was rapid; and in due time he was admitted at college.

The years of his collegiate life passed rapidly away. The vacations of spring and autumn he spent in the bosom of his family, giving delight to the hearts of all by his improvement; assisting in their labors,—and superintending with deep interest, and assiduous tenderness, the education of his sister. But the long winter vacation was devoted to school-keeping,—the most lucrative employment to which he could, for such limited periods, devote himself. Once he was so highly favored as to get a school in the neighborhood of the Glen; and then his labor was a delight, rather than a task, as he could be with his beloved friends, and direct his sister in her studies. The family at the Glen, it is true, had to practice more than wonted frugality, to help in defraying his unavoidable expenses; but no self-denial was hard, when one so dear was to be benefitted—no sacrifice painful that was made for so important an object. Clara was by no means the least efficient in her endeavors to aid her darling brother. As soon as she completed her thirteenth year, at her earnest and reiterated entreaties, the servant girl was dismissed, and she cheerfully took her labors on herself, that Frederic might have the considerable sum thus saved to the family.

Meanwhile, Clara's own education progressed, notwithstanding her situation seemed so unfavorable for study. But she was a rigid economist of time; and when that is the case with any one, great things may be accomplished. Although her hands were busily employed a large portion of the time, a mind, thirsting for knowledge, surmounted all difficulties. She could not, indeed, touch the keys of a piano, or the strings of a harp; the spinning wheel and other domestic machines demanded too large a portion of her time, to have permitted the acquisition of skill on these instruments, even had she possessed them. But she knew who Dugald Stewart was, and what he thought of the "active and moral powers of man;" with Smellie she was intimately acquainted; and Rollin, Hume, Gillies and Gibbon were her daily companions. The works of Pascal and Massillon she could read in the language in which they were written; and with Virgil she could converse in his native tongue. Above all, she had studied the volume of inspiration, and had learned the way of eternal life.

Never had the family at the Glen been happier than when Frederic returned home, bearing his parchment roll, duly adorned with the riband, and the imposing seal; and, after some preamble, running thus:

Notum esto, quod nos, consentiendibus honorandis admodum ac reverendis collegii antedicti Inspectoribus, anno Christi MDCCC—admisimum Fredericus Kirkwood ejusdem alumnum, ad gradum Baccalaurealem in Artibus; &c. But when he joined the domestic circle, authorized to preach the everlasting gospel, their joy was of a deeper, holier character. Would I could show you a picture of the group, as they encircled the blazing hearth on that happy evening. I will even make the attempt. There sits the venerable grandfather, in his large arm-chair, his white hairs smoothly parted from off his ample forehead, with every feature speaking of passions subdued, and a heart full of gratitude, content and love. Next the mother, with something like the bloom of youth stealing over her matron cheek,—while her eye moves in a tear that rises from that deep fountain of mingled feeling, known only to a pious mother's heart, as she looks on the son of her love, and that son a believer! Between these two sits Frederic, comely in manly strength, his whole countenance expressing heart-felt benevolence to all mankind—and peculiar love, gratitude and veneration for those by whom he is encircled. Last, and the darling of all, is Clara, seated on her brother's knee, with one arm around his neck, while her other hand is sometimes clasped in his,—sometimes straying amid his dark luxuriant hair. She is not exactly beautiful, but she is lovely. Her stature is rather below than above the medium size; and fresh air and healthy exercise have given elasticity to her limbs, and a bloom to her cheek, that rivals the richness of the peach. If her features are not regular, they defy criticism; for her whole face has such a glow of love and happiness, that the delighted beholder cannot seek for defects. Thus they all sat, enjoying the full tide of domestic happiness; and each might have said to the other, with Galatee,

"Tu me demandais ton bonheur,
Et c'etait moi que tu rendais heureuse."

Even the knowledge that Frederic was soon to leave them, to enter on the duties of his vocation, could scarcely moderate their joy.

He has now entered on his holy calling; and though far removed from those who loved him so tenderly, nurtured him so carefully, governed him so wisely, and made such personal sacrifices to fit him for usefulness, they are happy still. Far from selfishly regretting that at the moment he was fitted for action, and capable of making some return for all their kindness, they are obliged to resign him altogether,—in the benevolence of their hearts they rejoice that they have been used as instruments to prepare him for a life of usefulness in the world; and their most fervent prayer for him is, that he may "turn many to righteousness," and then "shine as a star forever."

Yes, the family at the Glen are happy still. The aged grandfather is "waiting patiently his appointed time till his change come," with a "hope full of immortality." The mother, patient, gentle, subdued, serene, in fulfilling her quiet and unostentatious duties, is carefully laying up treasure, where "neither moth nor rust corrupt nor destroy." And the lovely Clara is the sunshine in the path of both. She hushes the sighs,—wipes the tears,—soothes the pains, and lightens the cares of each. Her voice is music to their ears; her presence brings gladness to their hearts; and they both pronounce her blessed.

But you inquire,—is she who breathes such fragrance around, forever to be immured in this sequestered valley? No—she will move in a wider sphere; yet it is doubtful whether she elsewhere tastes such pure and peaceful happiness as she has tasted here. She may find more luxuriant roses, but then she must encounter the thorns; and what she may gain in untried sources of happiness, will be counterbalanced by unknown cares and sorrows. Yet she will, by and by, run the hazard: for her brother's dearest college friend once begged an invitation to spend a vacation at the Cottage; and when he left it, he left his heart behind him. Clara could do no less than give her's in exchange; and so she has promised, at some future day, to become his wife.

And now, as I have finished my sketch, we will leave the valley.

Do you further inquire what is the secret of their happiness? and whether she who has been so eagerly sought through the wide world, has chosen this for her favorite residence? I will give you the answer Mr. Kirkwood gave to Clara, when she asked him a question of similar import.

"Happiness, my daughter, has, on earth, no local habitation. She may dwell in the palace or in the cottage; with the rich, or with the poor; with the learned, or with the ignorant. Her seat is in the soul,—and its security does not depend on external circumstances. A peaceful conscience, and a humble, contented heart, grateful for blessings bestowed, and feeling no craving desire for those that are withheld, are the pillars of her throne. But there are two classes of persons that she will never deign to visit, be their rank or station what it may. Neither the idle nor the vicious are ever happy."

S. H.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

PICTURE OF OLD VIRGINIA.

Look here upon this picture—and on this,
The counterfeit presentment.—Hamlet.

Virginia had been beautiful
And owned a lovely land;
Her sons, who were so dutiful,
Went with her heart and hand;
They raised her to the highest seat,
By talents and by worth,
And sent her name in accents sweet,
Far ringing through the earth.
But lately she had fallen off;
Her beauty was impair'd;
Her younger sons were heard to scoff—
They might at least have spared.
'Twas said that she was growing blind,
Was lazy and supine,
And that she weakly lagged behind
Her sisters, grown divine.
That all her days were spent, forsooth,
In one eternal chime
About her deeds of early youth—
"Resolves" of former time.
Naught could be said and nothing told
But she more devils spied;
"More devils than vast hell could hold—"
Or all the world beside.
And strangers¹ did her land deride—
With wagging tongue, reviled;
Wild beasts, they said, had multiplied
In that most barren wild;
Her houses were untenanted—
The fox² had manned her walls;
And "rank grass" waved around his head,
As in old Ossian's halls!
Her moral strength and physical,³
Aye, both of them were gone,
And every man seem'd phthisical,
Or like to tumble down;
Her talents all were buried deep,
Or in some napkin hid,
Or with the mighty dead, did sleep
Beneath the coffin lid.
But far! oh far beyond all these,
She had displeased her God;
Inter dolosos cineres,
She on volcano trod;
She could not get o' nights her rest;
At midnight bell for fire,
She hugged her infants to her breast,
Prepared for fun'ral pyre.
Virginia roused herself one day
And took her picture down;
And as she gazed, was heard to say—
Am I thus hideous grown?
And am I stupid—lazy—blind—
A monomaniac too!
Relaxed in body and in mind?
Oh no! it is not true.
There lies outstretched my glorious land,
With her capacious bay;
My rivers rush on every hand,
With sail and pennon gay;
My mountains, like a girdle blue,
Adorn her lovely waist,
"And lend enchantment to the view,"
As in "the distance" traced.
I'll hie me straight to Richmond town,
And call my liege men there;
And they shall write these libels down,
Or fill me with despair.
I have a friend, who'll make some stir,
And take my work in hand;
I'll send him forth my "MESSENGER"—
To "spy out all the land."⁴
That Messenger went gaily forth
Throughout her old domain,
And there found many men of worth
Would snatch their pens again;
And since their mothers' blood was up—
To cast her odium by,
Would shed—of ink—their latest drop
T' inscribe her name on high.
The land which he went out to sift,
No milk and honey floods—
It takes not two her grapes to lift—⁵
But grapes festoon her woods.
No want of food, for beast or man,
There met his eager gaze;
Find better bacon!—greens!—who can?
Or finer fields of maize!⁶
Her Tuckahoes 'tis true, are slim,
And of a bilious hue;
But then he found the Anakim
Beyond the mountains blue:
Some men he found in safety chains—
All crossed upon the breast—
They seem'd indeed to have no brains:
But these all lands infest.
The women look'd so passing fair,
How shall their charms be told?
By their Iachimo's⁷ they were
Like brilliants set in gold.
Of such pure water was each maid;
So sparkling unto view—
No wonder that it should be said
They never could turn blue.
No foxes here, peep'd windows through;
But oft at early morn
They're seen to brush the glittering dew,
Pursued by hounds and horn:
Her "hounds are of the Spartan breed"—
"So sanded and so flew'd,"—
All "dewlap'd" they, and all "crook-kneed"—
As Cadmus e'er halloo'd.
In short, all zealots are run mad
T' abuse this pleasing sod;
Where people sleep as sound, egad,
As in the land of Nod:
What! colonize old coachman Dick!
My foster brother Nat!
My more than mother, when I'm sick!
"Come, Hal, no more of that."

NUGATOR.

¹ See Col. Benton's description of Virginia, done into verse, beginning thus:

"As Benton jogg'd along the road,
'Twas in the Old Dominion,
His thoughts were bent-on finding food,
For preconceiv'd opinion," &c.

² "The fox peeped out of the window, and the rank grass waved around his head. Desolate is the dwelling of Moina—Silence is in the house of her fathers."—Ossian.

³

Man's strength is gone, his courage—zooks!
And liberty's fine motions, &c.—Benton.

⁴ And Moses sent them to spy out the land of Canaan.

⁵ And they came unto the brook of Eshcol and cut down from thence a branch with one cluster of grapes, and they bare it between two upon a staff, ... and they told him, and said we came unto the land whither thou sentest us and surely it floweth with milk and honey, and this is the fruit of it.

⁶

In old Virginia stint of food
Diseases have engender'd—
The mind is gone—to want of blood
Good morals have surrender'd.
Houses are fallen—fences down—
And men are now much scarcer—
Wild beasts in multitudes are known,
That every day get fiercer.
Flee gravel—grit—and heartless clay—
Nor corn nor oats will grow there—
To westward hie—away—away!
No heartless Clay you'll know there.—Benton.

⁷ The yellow iachimo.—Shakspeare. [Cymbeline.]

The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 3, November, 1834

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER:

EVERY DEPARTMENT OF LITERATURE

THE FINE ARTS.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME I, NUMBER 3

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.

SKETCHES OF THE HISTORY

And Present Condition of Tripoli, with some accounts of the other Barbary States.

THE DYSPEPTIC MAN.

BEAUTIFUL EXTRACT FROM LACON.

THE REPORTER'S STORY,

OR THE IMPORTANCE OF A SINGLE SYLLABLE.

ON SLEEP.

THE COTTAGE IN THE GLEN.

PICTURE OF OLD VIRGINIA.