Chapter III: Part 3

but how can I develope the mysterious means by which this destiny was accomplished? How could I speak, but in their own words, uttered only to the midnight solitude, the deep yearnings of their hearts--and the noble enthusiasm which made it the task of his life to render glorious the name of him she had honored with her love? Could these details be given truly, what a romance of real life would they form! Let the reader judge from the following lines found among his papers, when the damps of the grave had at last cooled the fever of his brain.

'Tis sweet, when night is hushed in deep repose;
And hides the Minstrel's form from every eye;
To breathe the thoughts that speech can ne'er disclose,
In all the eloquence of harmony.

The mellow strain pervades the silent air,
And mingles with the sleeper's blissful dream:
The Lover hears the song of maiden fair;
The humble saint, an Angel's holy hymn.

Then sweet to know that she, for whom alone,
Pours the wild stream of plaintive melody,
Recalls the voice of Love in every tone;
Approves its truth, and owns its purity.

Borne on the breeze that cools her glowing cheek,
But fans the ardor of her fevered breast;
Lifts the loose lock that floats upon her neck,
Sports round her couch, and hovers o'er her rest:

Borne on that breeze, it greets her listening ear
With tales of raptured bliss and tender wo;
And tells of Joy and Grief, of Hope, Despair,
And all that love, and Love alone can know.

Her fair companions hear the soothing sound,
But mute to them the voice that speaks to her;
Burns the warm blush, unmarked of all around,
And darkling falls, unseen, the silent tear.

But not unseen of all; for to his eye,
By Fancy's magic light she stands revealed;
Her bosom struggling with the half-breathed sigh,
By the strong pressure of her hand repelled.

The Tear that in the moon-beam sparkles bright;
The pensive look; the outstretched neck of snow;
The Blush, contending with the silver light,
Whose cold pale gleam would quench its fervid glow;

He sees and hears it all. The music's stream
Extends a viewless chord of sympathy,
Thought answers thought; and, lost in Fancy's dream,
Each breast responsive swells with sigh for sigh.

Then O how sweet! warmed by the sacred flame,
Of mutual--true,--but fruitless--hopeless love,
To run the high career of deathless fame,
And mid the world's admiring gaze to move

Reckless of all but her. By midnight lamp,
To turn, with heedful eye, the learned page;
To shake the Senate, or to rule the Camp;
To brave the tempest's blast, or battle's rage!

What is the thought that prompts his studious zeal?
That mans his breast in danger's fearful path?
That nerves his arm to grasp the gory steel,
Despising toil and hardship, wounds and death?

It is that she the impassioned strain will love,
That gives her charms in deathless verse to shine;
Her favoring smile his steadfast faith approve;
Her raptured tears bedew each glowing line.

It is that she will cherish the renown
Of noble deeds achieved her name to grace;
And prize the heart that beat for her alone,
In glory's triumph, and in death's embrace.

'Tis that a grateful nation's loud acclaim
May pour his praises on her favoring ear;
'Tis that the twilight splendor of his name
The widowed darkness of her heart may cheer.

O! ever lovely, loving and beloved;
Constant in absence; constant in despair!
By time unwearied, by caprice unmoved;
Thy lover's faith and fame thine only care!

Tho' known to none but thee thy minstrel's name,
Or who the fair that caused his tender pain;
All undistinguished by the voice of fame,
The bard who sung; the maid that waked the strain.

Yet may'st thou catch the unconscious sympathy
Of some soft nymph, who, from her lover's tongue,
Hears, with averted look and blush and sigh,
Her heart's fond secret in this artless song.

But were I skilled to weave the immortal verse,
Which after ages with applause would read;
Thy praise in fitting accents I'd rehearse,
And with unfading bay would crown thy head.

Then should my Laura's charms survive the tomb,
In strains like that the fairy bulbul sings,
When all unseen he wakes the midnight gloom,
Hovering o'er beauty's grave on viewless wings.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

EXTRACT FROM A LADY'S ALBUM.

And must I stain this virgin leaf,
So fair, so pure, and so like thee!
It grieves me--but it is thy will;
And that is always law to me.

'Tis said that those who feel the most
Can best describe love's potent spell--
That what the heart most deeply feels,
The tongue most eloquently tells.

Alas! it is an erring rule--
It is not true! it is not true!
Strong Passion's voice was ever low;
And lower yet as Passion grew.

When fiercest winds o'er ocean sweep,
The sea is quell'd--no billows roll
Their foaming crests upon the deep.
Thus Passion treads the very soul
Low in the dust, and bids it weep
In silent anguish--and 'tis still
As the aw'd slave who bows before a despot's will.

Then think not I can tell my love
In well-set phrase, with fitting smiles;
He loves not--Oh! believe it true--
Who knows and practices such wiles.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE PRAYER.

Oh! mother, whither do they lead
This wretched form, this drooping frame?
What means the white rose in my hair?
These jewels sure are not a dream.
Of wither'd leaves 'twere better far
The bridal chaplet had been wove--
Oh! mother, lead me back again;
_I cannot love--I cannot love!_

Look not for love--it is in vain!
Within this heart no more it dwells:
Unclasp the volume if thou wilt,
And ponder on the truth it tells.
Ah! dearest mother, do not seek
To warm to life a thing that dies,
Nor re-illume the flame, when once
The shrine, in hopeless ruin lies.

Not to the altar, mother--no,
I cannot kneel and speak that vow--
Oh! let me rend these hated gems,
And tear the white rose from my brow.
Nay, let the dark grave be my couch,
Of cypress leaves my bridal wreath,
And I will wed,--yes, gladly wed,
And clasp my welcome bridegroom, _Death!_

OCTAVIAN.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

SELECTIONS FROM MY PORT FOLIO.

MY OWN OPINION--_A la Shakspeare_.

There are, who say she is not beautiful.
"Her forehead's not well turned," cries one. "The nose
Too large"--"Her mouth ill-chiselled," says a third.
With these, I claim no fellowship.
For me, ('tis an odd taste, I know, and now-a-days,
When people _feel_ by _rule_, such taste is thought
Exceedingly romantic--yet 'tis true,)
I look not with this mathematic eye
On woman's face; I carry not about
The compass, and the square--and when I'm asked,
"Is that face fine?" draw forth my instruments,
And coolly calculate the length of chin,
Th' expanse of forehead, and the distance take
Twixt eye and nose, and then, twixt nose and mouth,
And if, exactly correspondent, it
Should not prove _just so much_, two and three-eighths,
Or, one four-fifths, disgusted, turn away,
And vow "'tis vile! there is no beauty in't!"
Out, on this mechanic disposition!
Look you! _That man was born a carpenter._
He hath no heart--he hath no soul in him,
Who thus insults the "human face divine,"
And tests its beauty with a vile inch-rule,
As he would test the beauty of a box,
A chess-board, or a writing-desk! Oh no!
It is not in the feature's symmetry
(For choose of earth the most symmetric face,
Phidias shall carve as perfect--_out of stone_,)
That the deep beauty lies! Give me the face
_That's warm--that lives--that breathes--made radiant_
_By an informing spirit from within!_
Give me the face that varies _with the thought_,
That answers to the heart! and seems, the while,
With such a separate consciousness endued,
That, as we gaze, we can almost believe
_It is itself a heart_--and, _of itself_,
Doth feel and palpitate!

And such is her's!
One need _but look on_, to converse with her!
Why I, without a thought of weariness,
Have sat, and gazed on her for hours! and oft,
As I have listened to her voice, and marked
The beautiful flash of her fine dark eye,
And the eloquent beaming of her face,
And the tremulous glow that, when she spoke,
Pervaded her whole being,--I have dreamed
A spirit held communion with me then,
And could have knelt to worship!

P. H.

_Augusta, Georgia_.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LETTERS FROM NEW ENGLAND.--NO. 4.

BY A VIRGINIAN.

_Albany, N. Y. July 27th, 1834._

It is a Southern opinion, that the large factories which have grown up in the North, within the last seventeen years, are of a very demoralizing tendency: that so many persons--_such_ persons too--cannot be housed together, and allowed the free intercourse unavoidable where the restraint is not for crime, without a large result of licentiousness and vice. I have long thought thus: and must confess I entered New England with a sort of _wish_ (arising from my hostility to the protective system,) to have the opinion confirmed. In some places, I heard and saw confirmation strong: but in most--and those the chief seats of manufactures--my inquiries resulted directly otherwise. The laborers there, it seems, are as moral as any other class of the population. The females watch each other's deportment with the most jealous vigilance: a slip is at once exposed, and punished by expulsion; even a slight indiscretion is sure to draw down remonstrance, and if that fails, complaint to the ruling power. The boys and girls are allowed a reasonable part of the year to attend the common-schools; and are encouraged at all seasons to frequent Sunday schools. Lectures, occasional or in courses, are delivered, of which the operatives are eager hearers: and social Libraries, with habits of reading, sometimes produce among them strengthened and well stored minds. Wherever these good effects appear, be it observed, the proprietors and superintendents (generally men of fortune, as well as intelligence) have taken the greatest possible care to produce them. And where the unfavorable appearances occurred, there seemed to have been a corresponding neglect on the part of owners and agent.

The _natural_ course of these establishments, then, seems to be _down the stream of vice_. Great exertions may enable them to resist, nay to surmount and ascend the current; but so soon as those efforts cease, that instant the downward tendency prevails.[1] While the manufacturing system is young--while high protecting duties enable employers to give high wages--while a desire to conciliate favor to the system keeps both owners and operatives upon _their best behavior_--the favorable moral condition I have described may continue. But the oarsman cannot forever row up the stream; weariness, or confidence, or incaution, will, some day, relax his arm. In process of time, these promiscuous assemblages of hundreds and thousands will vindicate the justness of the reasoning, which argues the danger of contamination (a sort of _spontaneous combustion_) from so close a contact:[2] will shew themselves rank hot beds of vice; and make the lover of good morals grieve, that so many souls should ever have been seduced from the healthful air of field, and forest, and rustic fireside, to sicken and die in a tainted, unnatural atmosphere.

[Footnote 1: Non aliter quam qui adverso vix flumine lembum
Remigiis subigit; si brachia forté remisit,
Atque illum in præceps prono rapit alveus amni.]

[Footnote 2: In Godwin's Inquirer, are some very just and forcible observations on the corrupting effect upon youth, of too close and numerous an association with each other. He applies it to large boarding schools. The enlightened President of a Rhode Island University, on similar grounds (as he told me), does all that he can to discourage students from boarding and lodging in _College_. Observation and experience had shewn him the danger of _spontaneous combustion_, from the too near approach of human passions and weaknesses. The same principle applies to the case of Factory hands: only, here, are superadded, elements which incalculably enhance the danger.]

I mentioned _Lectures, and social Libraries_.--These, and similar institutions for diffusing knowledge among the multitude, are among the chief glories of New England. In all the cities, and many of the larger and middling towns (towns in the English sense,) there are Lyceums, Young Men's Societies, Library Societies, or associations under some such name, for mental exercise and improvement. A collection of books is a usual, and a philosophical apparatus an occasional appendage. Connectedly with these institutions, or sometimes, independently of them, Lectures on every variety of subjects that can instruct or profit mankind, are delivered by public spirited men--professional and unprofessional--sometimes, by farmers and mechanics themselves. They are gratuitous; and in a style plain enough to be understood by all classes of society, who flock to hear them. For these occasions, the first abilities of the country have now and then been put in requisition. Story, Everett, and Webster--alike with the village teacher and mechanic; have contributed their quota of MIND, towards the holy cause of Popular Instruction. A valuable lecture from each of these; from Mr. Everett indeed, two Lectures--are in Vol. 1 of the "American Library of useful knowledge." The name of this work at once suggests that a similar one, published by Mr. Brougham and his generous associates in Great Britain, in _fortnightly_ pamphlets, at a rate so cheap as to be within every laborer's reach; unfolding, in a familiar style, the useful parts of scientific and historical knowledge. To his share in this work, Brougham, you remember, having his hands already filled with pressing employments, was obliged to devote "_hours stolen from needful rest_." How magnanimous the spirit, which could prompt that "hardest lesson that humility can teach--a voluntary descent from the dignity of science,"[3] to explain the simple rudiments of knowledge to unlettered minds! the spirit, which could make genius and power drudge in the lowliest walks of learning, to open and smooth them for the ingress of intellectual "babes and sucklings!" When will the great of Virginia deign this magnanimous descent? When will our Leigh, our Tazewell, our Barbour, our Rives, our Johnson, our Stanard, our Robertson--a generous spirit, from whose devotion to democracy, something might be expected towards fitting his countrymen for self government--when will they, and the host of talents besides that Virginia possesses, be found striving in this noble race of usefulness with Brougham, Jeffrey, McIntosh, Webster and Everett? That trumpet-call of the North American Review five years ago, which might have roused apathy itself to energetic effort in the cause of Popular Education, and which--whether it _betokened_ only, or _strengthened_, the beneficent operation of the spirit that has so long been diffusing through the North the blessed light of MIND--doubtless met a response in every Northern bosom; that trumpet-call, in Virginia, fell upon senseless ears. You indeed, I remember, echoed it; but trumpet-call and echo both, sounded in ears deaf save to the miserable wranglings of party, about the more miserable pretensions of opposing candidates: and, at this day, our people, and their leaders, are in a slumber as profound on this subject, as if we had no Literary Fund--no Primary Schools--no youth to educate--no country to save from the certain fate of popular ignorance.

[Footnote 3: Dr. Johnson.]

It is bed time, and I must forbear saying more at present. Yet I have not done with New England: there remain several topics, which I incline to touch. So you shall hear from me at my next stopping place.

* * * * *

_West Point, N. Y., July 28._

On board the Steam-boat this morning, I met ---- ---- and his family; who, without my knowing it, were in Albany all of yesterday. They have landed here too; and we expect to descend the river together to New York city, to-morrow. He has given me a very gratifying account of the Temperance reformation in this state. It seems to be triumphant, beyond all experience in Virginia, or even in New England. The _means_ have been, _perfectly organized action_--_great diligence of exertion_--and _the use of the_ PRESS. The organization consists in a regular and intimate concert, of _township_ societies with _county_ societies, and of these with the _State_ society. This powerful machinery has been aided by the active zeal, and generosity, of individuals, who have profusely lavished time, and toil, and money, to advance the goodly work. And by a judicious use of a great modern improvement of the Press, a monthly paper (the Temperance Recorder) is published, at the price of seventeen cents per annum: a copy of which, or of some other Temperance newspaper, it is believed, is received by almost every family in the state. Measures are taking to convey light thus to, absolutely, _every family_. Cannot something like this be done in Virginia? In Massachusetts, I perceived with regret, a strong disposition to invoke Legislative action in support of the Temperance Society: to get the making and vending of ardent spirits prohibited by Law. In New York, they disarm opposition of so plausible a pretext for hostility, by fixedly determining to ask--to accept--no such aid; but to rely exclusively upon _reasoning_, _the exhibition of facts_, _and the influence of example_--means, which have already achieved, what were seven years ago deemed chimæras, and which will doubtless be fully adequate to the consummation of this great work.--But I am digressing from my design, of dwelling a little longer on some features of New England.

_Manual Labor Schools_ (on the Fellenberg plan) have not multiplied there, or grown in esteem, as might have been expected from the forwardness of the people in adopting every valuable improvement; and particularly, from the congeniality of this one with their own long-cherished custom, of blending labor with study. Possibly, this very custom may, in their eyes, make the improvement unnecessary: since their youth already substantially enjoy its advantages. To study in winter--to work in summer--has, time out of mind, been the routine of New England education: differing from the Fellenberg method only in having the alternations half-_yearly_, instead of half-_daily_.--Franklin, the Trumbulls, Sherman, Dwight, Pickering, Webster, Burges, and all the illustrious self-made men, who have rendered that otherwise unkindly soil so verdant with laurels, were nurtured strictly in the discipline of _manual labor schools_: and perhaps the new method would be quite needless, were not the progress of wealth, luxury, indolence and pride, now rapidly swelling the numbers of those who, urged by no necessity, and relying upon no exertions of their own for distinction, would never feel the salutary influence of labor, if not sent to schools where it is taught; and were not the same progress multiplying those also, who never could procure instruction, except by the opportunity which this method affords them, of purchasing it by their labor. Perhaps too, the Common Schools (in which poor and rich are equally entitled to learn) may tend still more to render the new plan useless; as to the branches of knowledge taught in them.

_Infant Schools_ appear to have sunk a good deal in esteem, among intelligent people in New England. At Hartford, a lady, whose name (were it seemly to publish a lady's name) would give commanding weight to the opinion, told me that they were found hurtful both to body and mind: To _body_ (and this the physicians confirmed) by overexciting, and thus injuring, the brain and the nervous system: to _mind_, by inducing the habit of learning parrot-like, by rote--by sound merely--without exercise of the thinking power. It seems agreed, that some features of the infant school system may advantageously be transferred to ordinary schools: for instance, the use of tangible and visible symbols and illustrations. And infant schools themselves are certainly well enough, for those children who would otherwise have to be left alone, or untended, while their parents are abroad or at work. But for _young children_, where the sternest necessity does not forbid, there is nothing comparable to _domestic education_; no care, no skill, no authority, like those of a mother--or of a father. And how few parents there are, who, by methodical husbandry of time, and reasonable exertion of intellect, might not find both leisure and ability to train the minds and form the habits of their offspring, for at least the first nine years of life!

The Common-school system, _as a system_, is certainly admirable. But some _minutiæ_ of its administration may be censured. Teachers are often tasked with too many pupils. I saw a young woman of twenty, toiling in the sway of fifty-two noisy urchins, with twenty of whom I am quite sure my hands would have been over-full: and it was said to be no unusual case. Then, _Webster's spelling book_ is in frequent use. There are half a dozen better ones. And the barbarous usage, of making a child go on to spell in five or six syllables, before he is allowed the refreshment of reading--instead of teaching him to read as soon as he can spell in three letters, and then carrying on the two processes together, to their mutual acceleration--is still kept up, as in our _old-field_ schools.--A usage about as worthy of this enlightened age, as the old rule, of whipping a boy for miscalling a word, or for not crossing a _t_. I was glad to see Warren Colburn's books--his Intellectual Arithmetic particularly--in pretty general use. His merit is, not so much that he has smoothed the road to that child-perplexing branch of knowledge (though in that respect he has entitled himself to every child's gratitude), as that he has rendered the study an improving exercise to the mind--a strengthener and quickener of the reasoning faculty; and has disclosed the _rationalia_ of many processes of calculation, as mysterious before to the young mind as so many feats of jugglery. A pervading fault in the management of the common-schools, is a _false economy_; shewn, in choosing teachers less by their proper qualifications, than by their cheapness. In Connecticut, more especially, this wretched mistake seems to prevail; as a curious fact, told me in Providence, strikingly illustrates. Of the many who go forth from the University there, and from several good Academies in the state of Rhode Island, to find employment as teachers in the adjoining states, few or none, it was said, found it in Connecticut: owing to the niggardly wages paid there. The man for their money, is he who _asks the least_.

Wide discretion, as to the classification of the Common-schools, and as to the extent of the studies in them, is given to the _Towns_. In some, the people, or their commissioners appointed to superintend the schools, are content with a single grade or _tier_, in which are taught merely the _necessary_ sorts of knowledge, from Arithmetic downwards. Others classify them, into 1st. _primary_ schools, where only spelling, reading, and writing, are taught: 2nd. _secondary_ schools, for the rudiments of Arithmetic, Geography, English Grammar, and further progress in reading and writing: 3rd. _Apprentices'_ schools, where the above branches are further taught, with the addition of some History, Book-keeping, and Geometry: 4th. _High_ schools, for Algebra, Geometry, use of the Globes, Latin, (and sometimes Greek) with perhaps the elements of Natural Philosophy. The classification sometimes stops at the third, sometimes at the second, tier. There are but few towns, in which it is carried to the fourth. Worcester is one of these: Boston, and Salem, are the only others that I heard of. In the first and second grades, boys and girls are schooled together: in the higher grades, male and female schools, are separate.

Latin and Mathematics are coming to be considered as a regular part of female education, throughout the North. But I have not ascertained satisfactorily, whether it is a mere smattering that is taught, or so thorough a course as may solidly improve the memory, taste, judgment and reasoning powers. In relation to women even more emphatically than to men, (it seems generally agreed) these studies are less to be prized, for any specific pieces of knowledge they furnish, than for the activity, strength, acuteness and polish, they give to the various powers of the understanding. The Yankees are too shrewd, and too habitually observant of practical utility, not to perceive this truth, and act accordingly.

The voyage hither from Albany abounds with captivating spectacles. For the first fifty miles, these consisted chiefly of waving hills, interspersed with modest but handsome country seats half-veiled by trees;--and of villages and landings, where, at intervals of four or five miles, our immense floating Hotel would halt to take in and land passengers--if halt it could be called, when her motion was not actually suspended, but only slackened, while by _her boat_, she rapidly communicated with the shore. The Catskill Mountains were in sight; and we were nearly entering the Highlands, so celebrated in the journal of every tourist, from Dolph Heyliger downwards, for their almost matchless combination of beauty and sublimity; when the _lean_ "orderer of all things," for reasons best known to himself and his employers, contrived to coop us all under hatches at dinner. A slender appetite, and a surmise that there would be something worth seeing, carried me on deck before the rest were half done eating; when mountains, hemming in the majestic Hudson to a width of not more than five or six hundred yards, broke at once upon my view. They rise, from the water's very edge, within twenty or thirty degrees of the perpendicular, to a height of fourteen or fifteen hundred feet; their sides and summits undulating with various prominences and depressions, occupied by dark brown rocks, intermingled with scanty shadings of evergreens, stunted bushes, and shrubs. After sailing three or four miles between these awful embankments, we reach West Point. Here are quite too many pleasing objects, for enumeration; a skilful book-wright could make a volume of them. 'Kosciusko's Garden' is a romantic _sinus_, or recess, in the precipice which forms the eastern face, (upon the river) of the _table land_ called West Point. Hither, it is said, that hero used daily to retire for meditation and repose; and a shelf in the rock is shewn, as the couch where he often reclined. Nay, within a few inches of where his head probably used to lie, an indentation in the rock is pointed out, said to have been made by a cannon ball, fired at him from a British man of war that lay in the river: but this story "wants confirmation." You descend by a flight of stone steps to the "Garden," which is only ten or fifteen feet above the river. It is furnished with wooden seats; and with a neat fountain of whitish marble, in which bubbles up a bold vein of water.

On the north-eastern angle of the "Point," around which the river somewhat abruptly sweeps, is a handsome monument, erected by the Cadets some years ago, to the same hero. It is a plain marble column, about fifteen or eighteen feet high; with no inscription save the single word "KOSCIUSKO." This simple memorial is, in moral sublimity, scarcely inferior to that conception, one of the noblest of its kind in the whole compass of poetry--

"We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,
But we _left him alone with his glory_."

There are few names which can justly be relied upon, thus to speak the epitaphs of those who bore them. Among those few, doubtless, is the name of KOSCIUSKO. History, and the halo thrown around that name by Campbell, will ensure it a place among the "household words" of Poland and America, and of every people who shall speak the language or breathe the spirit of either.

"Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shrieked, as KOSCIUSKO fell!"

To be mentioned thus, and so deservedly--is to be embalmed in Light, and set conspicuously on high in the Temple of Fame.

A similar inscription is upon the tomb of _Spurzheim_, in the cemetery of Mount Auburn, near Boston. To me, this seems to be taking too high a ground for him: though you, who are a phrenologist confirmed, may not think so. Possibly, you are right. Contemporary celebrity is no measure of posthumous fame. PARADISE LOST was almost unknown till near half a century after its author's death: and he was contemptuously designated as "_One Milton_," by a man then conspicuous, but whose very name (_Whitelocke_) it has at this moment actually cost me _an effort_ to recollect. So, possibly, Spurzheim's renown may freshen with time; and a discerning posterity, honoring him above Napoleon, and even above Kosciusko, may apply the just saying of a _great_--that is a voluminous--poet:

"The warrior's name,
Though pealed and chimed on all the tongues of Fame,
With far less rapture fills the generous mind,
Than his, who fashions and improves mankind."

Good night.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

EXTRACTS FROM MY MEXICAN JOURNAL.

CITY OF MEXICO--CHAPOLTEPEC.

May 25, 1825.--This morning we made our entree into the city of Mexico. Passing through the little villages of _Istapalapa_ and _Mexicalsingo_, we rode for several miles over a paved causeway--_calzada_--lined with the _schinus_,[1] aspins, and a species of willow very much resembling the lombardy poplar--in sight of the numerous towers and domes which rise above the scarcely visible flat-roofed houses of the city. The approach to it, but for this and other fine avenues, would be perfectly tame, as its situation is a level, whose elevation above the plain which surrounds it is quite imperceptible. From the gate--_garita_--we turned into the _Paseo de las Vigas_, a beautiful promenade on the bank of the canal, which leads from _Chalco_, through the eastern portion of the city, into the lake of _Tescuco_. We were here joined by the few American residents of Mexico, and accompanied by them, soon entered its streets, which in the suburbs are exceedingly filthy, but as we advanced, they were clean, well paved, but not wide, with good yet narrow sidewalks of broad flags of porphyry. My first feeling was disappointment--not so much with the city, as with the crowds of wretched ill-dressed people, of beggars, and poor half-naked Indians, bending under heavy burdens. There are no carts or drays for the transportation of goods, which are carried upon the backs of these poor creatures, who are enabled to carry a load of three hundred pounds, by means of a leather band or strap, the _cargador_ leaning forward at an angle of about 45°, the burden resting on the back, supported by this strap. With so heavy a load they travel great distances, moving in a brisk walk or trot.

[Footnote 1: The _Schinus_ or _Arbol de Peru_ is a beautiful tree, somewhat resembling a willow; it is odorous, and bears in bunches a small red berry, which is almost as pungent as black pepper, as a substitute for which it is used by the poorer people.]

The houses of Mexico, some of which are very spacious and magnificent, are constructed generally of a light volcanic production called _tetzontli_, in some instances cut smooth and square, but more frequently rough, when the walls are plastered with lime and painted. The handsomest are built of light gray porphyry. They are mostly of two stories, some of three, with _axoteas_ or flat roofs. They have all open squares. A gate, large enough for carriages to pass through, leads from the street into the _patio_, or court yard. The basement upon the street is occupied commonly as a store or shop, and in the rear are the stables. Across the patio, fronting the gate, is the staircase, which leads to the _corridors_, or interior porticoes, which surround the area, and are ornamented with flowers. From the corridors, the doors open into the various rooms, which communicate with each other around the whole area, in instances where the house is so large as to occupy the four sides. It is an airy style of building, the windows being large, level with the brick floor, opening like double doors, and is well adapted to the delightful climate of Mexico. The most serious evil is the want of privacy to the chambers. Each window has its balcony.

The streets of Mexico run nearly from north to south, and from east to west, crossing at right angles. The greatest longitudinal length is about two miles--the latitudinal about a mile and three quarters;[2] but as the figure of the city is unequal, these lengths are far from uniform. In either direction the view is terminated by the mountains which bound the plain of Mexico. In the central and most frequented parts of the city, the streets are well paved and are kept clean; but apart from these, they are amazingly dirty--the drains passing through the centre being open, offensive both to the sight and to the smell.

[Footnote 2: This measure does not mean the distance of the opposite _garitas_ or custom-house gates from each other, which is considerably greater--but comprises the compactly built part of the city, not comprehending the scattered houses in the outskirts.]

The _Plaza Mayor_ is the principal open square in the centre of the city. On the northern side of it is the cathedral; the government house, formerly the vice regal palace, occupies its eastern side; on the southern and western sides are the _Cabildo_, (town-hall,) and colonnades or _portales_, within which are the principal stores, and where varieties of goods and trinkets, lottery tickets and shilling pamphlets, are sold. In the southeastern portion of this square stood the magnificent equestrian statue of Charles IV, raised on a fine pedestal, and surrounded by a handsome iron railing. It has been removed lately to the patio or court of the university, where it remains to be admired for its admirable workmanship in bronze, although it is seen to disadvantage in a compass too confined for it. In the southwestern part of this plaza stands a collection of stores, a sort of bazaar, called the _Parian_, which disfigures it extremely; but as the city derives a large revenue from the rent, there is little prospect of the levelling system being extended to this little town of shops.

The cathedral is a splendid edifice, with a front of three hundred and fifty feet, upon the plaza. It stands upon the same spot which the famous Aztec Temple of _Huitzilopochtli_ occupied. The eastern part of the front, built of red _tetzontli_, is a curious gothic, bearing a more antique appearance than the other portion, which last, indeed, is the front to the body of the edifice. This is built of gray porphyry, ornamented with pilasters and statues, and surmounted by two handsome towers. The interior is very rich and magnificent; the dome is lofty and supported by large stone columns. The grandeur of the whole is diminished greatly by the choir, which occupies a large portion of the nave, and is connected with the chief altar by a railing of bronze, surmounted by silver figures supporting branches for candles. A superb chandelier of silver is suspended nearly under the great dome in front of the grand altar, which is richly ornamented with gold and silver. The tout ensemble has an imposing effect; and at night, when illuminated, with the music of a full choir, instrumental and vocal, the impressions it makes are irresistibly strong. The depth of the whole edifice is about four hundred and fifty feet.[3]

[Footnote 3: The entire length of the interior of the cathedral is 373 feet--its width 179 feet. Those in the journal are the external dimensions. The structure was begun in 1573, and cost $1,752,000. It was dedicated in 1667. The grand altar bears a later date, and was dedicated in 1743.]

In the southwestern corner of the cathedral, inlaid in the exterior wall, is the celebrated calendar stone of the ancient Mexicans. It is a huge mass of gray porphyry, having a circular face seven feet in diameter, on which the figures that represent the months are sculptured in relief. In the centre is a head, from the mouth of which water seems to flow--surrounded by two circles, a large and a small one--the latter divided into twenty parts, with hieroglyphics which designate the twenty months of eighteen days each, into which the Mexican year was divided. The remainder of the face is ornamented with figures in relief.

The _Palace_, filling the eastern side of the _Plaza_, occupies a square of six hundred and sixty feet by six hundred, within which space are comprised the residence of the president, the offices of the different departments of the government, the senate chamber and that of the deputies, the mint, prison, botanic garden, and the barracks of a regiment of infantry. On this spot Cortes fixed his residence after the capture of the city; but he exchanged it subsequently for the site of Montezuma's palace, on which now stands the _Casa de Estado_, the family mansion of the conqueror. This classic ground is to the west of the cathedral, fronting it; and the space, believed to have embraced the residence of the Mexican kings, is a square of about six hundred feet. On the northern side of this square passes the street running west, _Calle de Tacuba_, by which Cortes retreated on the memorable _noche triste_ (unfortunate night) when he was driven from _Tenochtitlan_, or _Tenictitan_, as Cortes writes the name of the ancient city.

The botanic garden occupies an inner _patio_, or court of the palace, and is altogether unworthy of the celebrity which it has obtained in foreign countries. It is confined and crowded. Collections of seeds sold by the superintendent at high prices, have, to the great chagrin of foreigners, been found invariably to comprise the most ordinary plants, when the most rare and valuable were promised to the purchasers. An additional garden has been laid out recently at _Chapoltepec_. There are two tall trees of the _Manitas_, in the botanic garden--all, with the exception of one at _Toluca_, that are said to be growing in the republic. The Professor of Botany, _Don Vicente Cervantes_, informed me that it is a common tree in Guatemala. The flower is exceedingly beautiful, of a bright scarlet color; its supposed resemblance to a hand, gives the name to the trees, _Arbol de las Manitas_--but it is far more like a bird's claws.

* * * * *

Less than a league from the city to the west, is the porphyritic rock of _Chapoltepec_,[4] which rises one hundred and sixty feet above the plain. On its summit is a palace or castle built by the Viceroy Galvez, but never finished. Towards the city it bears the appearance of a fortress, and the work is so constructed as to withstand a siege. The founder, no doubt, had it in view in its construction, as the resort of the Viceroy in case of insurrection among the people, of which there had been several instances. The view of the city and plain of Mexico from this spot, is remarkably beautiful. Baron Humboldt, whose enthusiasm sometimes led him to extravagance, thus eloquently describes it:[5] "Nothing can be more rich and varied than the picture which the valley presents, when, on a fine summer's morning, the heaven being cloudless and of that deep blue which is peculiar to the dry and rarified air of high mountains, we ascend one of the towers of the Cathedral of Mexico, or the hill of _Chapoltepec_. A beautiful vegetation surrounds this hill. The ancient trunks of cypress, of more than fifteen or sixteen metres[6] in circumference, divested of foliage, rise above those of the schinus, which, in figure, resemble the weeping willows of the east. In the depth of this solitude, from the top of the porphyritic rock of _Chapoltepec_, the eye overlooks a vast plain with well cultivated fields, which extend even to the foot of the colossal mountains, covered with perpetual ice. The city seems washed by the waters of the lake of _Tescuco_, whose basin, surrounded by villages and hamlets, reminds one of the most beautiful lakes of the mountains of Switzerland. Long avenues of elms and poplars lead on all sides to the capital. Two aqueducts, constructed upon lofty arches, cross the plain, and present an aspect both agreeable and interesting. To the north is seen the magnificent convent of Our Lady of _Guadalupe_, with the mountains of _Tepexacac_ behind it, among ravines which furnish shelter to dates and tufted yuccas. To the south, the whole country between _San Angel_, _Tacubaya_, and _San Agustin de las Cuevas_, appears an immense garden of oranges, peaches, apples, cherries, and other European fruit trees. The beautiful cultivation is contrasted with the savage aspect of the bald mountains which enclose the valley, and among which are distinguished the famous volcanoes of _Puebla_, the _Popocatepetl_, and _Iztaccihuatl_. The first forms an enormous cone, whose crater, constantly inflamed, throwing out smoke and ashes, opens in the midst of eternal snows."

[Footnote 4: _Chapoltepec_ signifies the mountain of grasshoppers; from _Chapolin_, a grasshopper, and _tepetl_, mountain.]

[Footnote 5: Vol. 2, Book 3, c. 8.]

[Footnote 6: About fifty English feet.]

A less enthusiastic spectator would subtract many of its beauties from this glowing description, and still could not fail to admire--to admire much and long, the prospect from _Chapoltepec_. He would see a fine city, with its sixty domes and twice as many towers, but the lake of _Tescuco_ is too distant and indistinct to seem to wash it with its waters--and he would look in vain for the villages and hamlets that surround it. The fruit trees of _Tacubaya_, _San Angel_ and _Agustin_ exist, but unfortunately are not seen. These villages are situated on the southwestern border of the plain, and abound in orchards, but these are shut from view by high stone walls. With like disappointment he would look towards the _smoking_ volcano of _Puebla_; the _Popocatepetl_ does indeed smoke, but the smoke is indiscernible except from the mouth of the crater itself--nor has it been known to throw out ashes since 1665, when it continued to discharge for four days. In other respects the preceding description is not too highly wrought.

* * * * *

About a mile from _Chapoltepec_ is situated the little village of _Tacubaya_, celebrated for its mills, but chiefly for the _palace_ and garden of the Archbishop of Mexico. From this palace, which stands upon a commanding point above the village, the view is as extensive, and perhaps even more beautiful than that from _Chapoltepec_, inasmuch as this last is comprehended in it. The garden is laid out prettily, and contains some fine plants and fruits, but is very much neglected. A large orchard of olive trees adjoins it, which yield plentifully; but the olives, which may not be so well cured, are not as good as those imported from Spain. The cultivation of olive trees was forbidden under the Spanish government, lest it might interfere with the monopoly of the mother country, which exported in 1803, olives to the value of thirty thousand dollars.[7]

[Footnote 7: Humboldt, vol. 4, p. 374-564.]

In two subjoined articles, extracted from the "American Annals of Education," a very useful periodical, published in Boston,--are the same which are referred to by an intelligent correspondent in the last number of the "Messenger." (See page 205.) They are well worth the reader's attention.

HEINROTH ON THE EDUCATION OF INFANCY.

(Translated from the German.)

We have often put the question to parents, at what period of infancy moral discipline should begin, and we have heard various ages assigned, from six months to a year. But in watching the management of early infancy, in observing one child incessantly fed and dandled, and yet incessantly fretful, in seeing another burst into distressing outcries, if its wants were not gratified at the instant, in remarking how another would submit, with comparative quiet, to be laid down when it desired to move, and suppress its cries when its gratification was delayed,--above all, in seeing how the infant of poverty, or of savage life, submits to be left unnoticed and unattended, while its mother toils the livelong day for a subsistence, and can only snatch a few moments of repose to feed and fondle her nursling, we could not but ask, whether the _first want_ and the _first gratification_ do not in fact commence the course of moral discipline. Is not the question often, if not always, settled in early infancy, whether the appetites and passions shall be established with uncontrollable despotism before the dawn of reason, or whether they shall be kept in their appropriate and subordinate place, until reason assumes the throne? On points like this, we are anxious to present the results of wider experience and deeper research than our own; and we have been gratified to find in a work of Heinroth, Professor of Medicine in the University of Leipzig, opinions expressed which entirely accord with those which observation and reflection have led us to form. We present our readers with a translation of the passage, and earnestly recommend it to the attention of mothers especially, as containing the results derived from extensive experience, by a man whose medical knowledge, and whose reputation as a writer on education, give his opinion high authority.

"When a child enters the world, its education is commenced by its physical treatment,--by the manner in which its bodily wants are provided for. As it is the offspring of love, so it should be cherished in the arms of love, from the first moments of its life. We take it for granted that it is blessed with a healthful, virtuous, and affectionate mother. She is the angel who is to watch over that frail existence, and guard it from accident; she should suffer nothing in the elements of nature, nor surrounding circumstances, neither cold air, dazzling light, excessive heat, or oppressive clothing, to excite the child to pain. Even its first nourishment should not be given till the want begins, lest injurious excitement be the consequence; and it should not be given more freely, or more frequently than this want absolutely requires.

"The _first day_ of the infant's life must be greeted with _order_ and _temperance_; and both must preside over its whole future management. As one sense after another developes itself, each should be supplied with agreeable objects; for cheerful circumstances produce cheerful dispositions. No obstacle should be allowed to the free play of all the limbs and muscles--nothing which will hinder the development of life and strength--and no undue pains must be taken to excite even these; let them advance quietly and naturally.

"The look and voice of the mother's love should be the first food of the infant soul. Life itself is joy; let joy cherish the germs of life. The sight and the touch soon find appropriate objects; but even now must the spirit of education watch over the child. It must not grasp all in its reach; it must not touch the flame, or the knife, or in short, any thing injurious to it. As soon as it learns to hear, it learns to listen to its mother's voice, that is, to obey. The ear gradually becomes the spiritual leading-string of the growing man. The child cannot see and touch, without _desiring_, and does not desire, without exercising _the will_. His first will is _self-will_, and it soon takes root and strengthens, if the will of the mother does not promptly meet, and gently, but firmly check it.

"Here then, education must begin,--with the first want, and its supply. It begins, therefore, immediately, with the physical treatment of the child, for its first wants are only physical. Every mode of treating an infant is wrong which does not satisfy its wants in the right way, and peculiarly wrong is every unseasonable or excessive supply. The first wants of infancy are food, warmth, air, motion and sleep. A greater number of children suffer from an excess of these comforts, than from too scanty a portion of them. It is true, bad nourishment, confined air, want of cleanliness and of free exercise, and unquiet sleep arising from these causes, destroy many children who are left to the care of hireling nurses. But on the other hand, a greater number suffer from the peculiar care of an over-anxious mother, from superfluous nourishment, and excessive wrapping, from guarding against all those influences of air, deemed pernicious, from artificial motion, and from the sleep thus artificially produced and maintained. In this way, many of the most favored nurslings leave the world when they have scarcely entered it. It is not however with the dead, but with the living that we have to do. Few mothers will allow themselves to be charged with too little care or indulgence; and even experienced nurses avoid it from prejudice and disposition. Let us then examine the errors in physical treatment, arising from excess, and particularly from excess in food.

"It is a most pernicious custom to stop every cry of a child with food, whether it is done from the idea that it needs so frequent nourishment, or to make it quiet. Inquire why the infant cries, and remove the cause, if it can be discovered. It will be more rarely the want of food, in proportion as it has been accustomed to regularity. If the child is irregularly fed, it acquires bad habits, it departs from _order_, ('Heaven's first law,') whose first principles should be implanted in man while instinct still governs him. But the infant who is thus accustomed to excess, soon becomes _inordinate_ in its demands, and TEMPERANCE and ORDER, the great pillars of life, are both overthrown. It will become greedy when it is unseasonably fed, even with simple food, and the evil becomes still greater when it is pampered with delicacies. An artificial necessity is produced for continual gratification of the palate, so that it will often not be pacified without having something pleasant to the taste constantly in its mouth; and upon this, the whole enjoyment of its young life depends. The sense of taste checks the progress of every noble sense; the child concentrates its whole thoughts on the enjoyment of this single appetite. In this way, it is prepared to become, not only an epicurean, but a sensualist; and the obvious evils of overloading the stomach and producing disease are not the only evils arising from this treatment. The _moral character_ is also injured before it is fairly developed. The child thus miseducated, becomes obstinate and self-willed. If its demands are not satisfied, (and its cries are demands,) it will soon learn to fret itself, almost into childish insanity. See now the seeds of moral corruption implanted in the physical soil, whose roots strike deeper in proportion as they are sown earlier!

"Whence is it that we so frequently see this pernicious physical treatment, and its natural fruits? Why do we see so many over-fed, gormandizing, ill-humored, selfish and self-willed children? The combined power of three great causes are at work: _maternal love_, _vanity_ and _ignorance_. We may venture to say, every mother in her senses loves her child more than she loves herself. How can she then refuse to give him any thing! Food is the most obvious comfort, the greatest pleasure he enjoys, and she gives it freely. She wishes her child to _thrive_, to become strong, vigorous and fleshy. And now _vanity_ comes in play. Every mother is vain of her child, and would fain have it the finest, and for this purpose also it is excessively fed. Yet this does not happen without the third cause,--_ignorance_. Ignorance does not perceive that the thriving of the child depends upon the quantity which it digests, rather than upon the quantity it swallows, and overlooks the great medium, which it does not understand, the organs of nourishment, whose office it is to prepare _nourishment_ for the body from the food which enters the stomach. Only so much food as the child really digests does it any good; what remains undigested is a source of evil.

"As these bad habits began with blind and injudicious affection, so they end with the same. How can one who loves a child so much, give it pain! When the necessary consequences of this treatment appear, and the child becomes ill-humored, selfish and self-willed, and beginning very early, to worry its mother; this blind and weak love, incapable of resistance, pleads, '_The poor child cannot understand yet._ The understanding is not developed the first year. Let it grow older, and then I will educate it.' In the meantime, before the understanding is developed, the child is _miseducated_ and _spoiled_. The first use it makes of the understanding, is in tormenting the mother; and it soon becomes a little tyrant. There are too many mothers of this sort, who are slaves to their children. They reap only what they have sown."

* * * * *

EFFECTS OF MATERNAL INDULGENCE.

We have expressed more than once the pleasure we felt on finding the subject of education occupy so much more attention of late in other periodicals, &c., and have given several extracts. We add another striking article from the Albany Journal and Telegraph.