Chapter XXI: Front Matter (21)

But, as Byron says, greater "than this, than these, than all," are the wonderful phenomena which have occurred in the science of medicine. The physicians of modern times, have snatched the imperishable laurels from the brows of Galen and Hippocrates, and have compelled Old Esculapius himself, to "hide his {156} diminished head!" It had long been a source of the most poignant regret to the philanthropic observer of the ills and afflictions incident to human nature, that the benign system of medical jurisprudence, designed originally for the alleviation of human suffering, had been so dilatory and uncertain in its operation, and so fatally ill adapted to the eradication of numerous diseases from the human frame, as to effect only a partial accomplishment of its beneficent purpose. This radical disadvantage in that system of medical science, might reasonably have been attributed to the want of a proper firmness and adventurous temerity in its practitioners;--probably, also, it might have resulted from their lamentable ignorance of the structure and conformation of the human frame. This system, as was to have been expected, had met with numerous advocates, principally in consequence of their perfect personal indemnity from the frequently fatal result of their ignorance or mismanagement; it being well known that under this system a practitioner might, if he so chose, administer a deadly poison to his patient, who would naturally "shuffle off this mortal coil," while his afflicted relatives would piously attribute his decease to a dispensation of Providence; and the physician, composedly pocketing his fees, would have the satisfaction of seeing himself eulogised in his patient's obituary, as a man of "science and skill." It is obvious that under this system the patient's life was but

"A vapour eddying in the whirl of chance,"

and the distressing frequency with which we were called on to attend the remains of a fellow being to the gloomy prisons of the dead, imperatively demanded a radical and extensive reform.

But fortunately for the human species, the "March of Mind" has led to medical discoveries which have chained up the monster Death in impotence, and rendered him a plaything to "the faculty." The long and pompous pageants of M. D.'s diplomas, &c &c. have ceased to overawe the eager aspirant for medical celebrity, and he now steps forward in the path of fame at the age of nineteen, _maximus in magnis_, greatest among the great! Diseases that formerly baffled the utmost skill of science, and preyed upon their victims for years, are now thoroughly extirpated in an hour! The long catalogue of noxious medicines with which the pharmacopia was crammed, and which served no other purpose than to swell

"The beggarly account of empty boxes,"

which the shelves of a rascally apothecary presented to view, are now discarded; and their places are supplied by medicines so simple and so efficacious, that the value of life, once considered so inestimable, has actually undergone a considerable diminution, merely because of the ease with which it may be enjoyed. It is now no longer necessary to watch the various diagnostics of an obdurate disease through their origin and development; it is no longer important that the unfortunate patient should be bolstered up in bed for months, and his stomach annihilated by a nauseous diet of mush and water gruel. This was but the quackery of the rapacious cormorants, who grew rich upon the credulity of their dupes. The patient may be on his feet in half an hour, by the salutary operation of some harmless medicine, which produces no other evil effect than a remarkable elongation of the visage, and divers contortions of the abdominal viscera! Instead of first ascertaining to what extent the body of the patient has been debilitated by the ravages of his disorder, it is only requisite to refer to a mystical talisman, vulgarly called a _teetotum_, which entirely supersedes the necessity of thought or reflection; and whose final position, after performing sundry gyrations on its point, informs the practitioner with unerring certainty, whether his patient should be _puked, sweated, or blistered!_ The result is certain. The most complicated case of pulmonary consumption is instantly and thoroughly cured by _steam_; and an obstinate fever, produced by a superabundance of bile upon the stomach, is effectually extirpated by an injection of _cayenne pepper!_ As revolutions never retrograde, these important changes in medical jurisprudence will only terminate in the actual resuscitation of a dead body, by an external application of camphorated salts! a "consummation devoutly to be wished," and most certain to be effected, by the rejection of all mineral medicines,--which the "March of Mind" has demonstrated to be hurtful,--and the substitution in their stead of a few simple vegetable remedies, accurately arranged, classified, and _numbered!_

But enough. No man can reflect upon these things, without applying, as I do, the trite quotation, "_tempora mutantur_," &c. Although it has been used for the ten thousandth time, by the whole tribe of newspaper scribblers and juvenile poetasters, yet it has never been more _apropos_. Times _are_ changed; and "oh, _how_ changed!" What mind does not expand at the delightful contemplation of these grand revolutions; and who does not look forward with eagerness to the memorable era when all the vulgar _bourgeois_ qualities of common sense, common decency, and common virtue, will fade into nothingness before the resistless and all powerful "March of Mind!"

V.

_Lynchburg, Oct. 30, 1834_.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE VILLAGE ON FOURTH JULY 183--.

A TALE.

Ergo agite, et lætum cuncti celebremus honorem.--_Virgil_.

Risum teneatis amici?--_Horace_.

I do not know that the celebration of a Fourth of July in a country village has ever been thought worthy of appearing in print; nor do I know that a tale, founded on such a celebration, has ever been written; and I doubt whether the fancy of any of our geniuses has ever pictured such a subject, either with the pen or pencil. Many of your readers will perhaps be amazed at the thought of such a subject for a tale; but permit me to ask, why not a tale of the Fourth of July as well as any other? Is it because the hearts of a free people, rejoicing on the anniversary of the day which gave them liberty, throb in harmony, and therefore can afford neither novelty nor variety? Granted. But are there not various modes of manifesting, more or less appropriately, the inward emotions of our hearts? Are not our ideas dissimilar as to the manner of exhibiting our feelings, according to our various means, situations and vocations in life--high or low--in cities, towns and country? Then wherefore not? We have read of tales of wo, and tales of bliss, and tales of neither; and, this being the case, I am imboldened to this undertaking, {157} leaving to the better judgment of the reader to assign it to whichever class it properly belongs.

* * * * *

At the foot of a slope, and on the right of a stream compressed between two abrupt and craggy hills, covered with oaks and pines, stands a small village, remarkable only for the rude and romantic scenery which surrounds it. Access to it from the left side of the stream can only be gained by a rocky, rugged and declivous road, the greater part of which seems to have been either blasted or hewed out of the side of a hill, around which it winds at a considerable height above the water--and, at its termination is a neat frame bridge, which when crossed admits you into the village. This stream bounds a conterminous portion of two counties bordering upon the Potomac, into which it empties itself at about five miles below the village, where the influx and reflux of the tides are felt. Although there is considerable depth of water at the village sufficient to float vessels of a large size, yet the clayey alluvion brought down by the stream, and reacted upon by the river at their junction, becomes a deposite which forms a kind of bar, over which none but small crafts can pass. The number of inhabitants may be estimated at from two to three hundred, the greater part of whom are attached to a cotton factory but recently erected, and the remainder, with the exception of a few families of consideration, are more or less connected with the country and merchant mills, established many years since, from which the village has its origin and perhaps its name.

The beating of a drum, and the shrill and false tones of a fife, at dawn of day, betokened to the villagers who still reposed upon their pillows, that the glorious birthday of independence was likely not to be passed unobserved, as hitherto it had been. This novel, and, in effect, startling ushering of the day, soon brought them upon their feet, and ere the sun had peered over the eastern, or crested the brows of the western, mounts, the streets, such as they are, had become quite enlivened. Most of the villagers had never heard the sounds of martial music, and the greater number of those who had, were indebted to the troops that had passed through the village during the late war. Those who had never seen nor heard the sounds of a drum and fife, disclosed their amazement by their gazing eyes and mouths agape. To a looker on, the performers could not but be remarkable. A European, tall, erect, lank, and already tippled, thumped away upon a drum, the vellum of the nether end of which was rent,--followed by a stout, awry necked, crumped backed and limping African, as _fifer_--a contrast at once striking and ludicrous, hobbled along, most earnestly occupied with their _reveille_, heedless of the gaze of the wonderstruck multitude--the din of their music echoing and reverberating from the surrounding hills. The _drummer_ had been such in the United States Marines, and had but recently quitted the service--and though not sober, his performance was far from being bad. The _fifer_ had served in that capacity during the revolutionary war. His finger, stiff from long disuse of the instrument, which he had preserved with religious care since that epoch, did not allow him to give but an imperfect specimen of his store of marches and quicksteps in vogue at that time, and his recollection of them was scarcely better; the tunes of the present times he knew nothing about. The drum used upon this occasion had been _put hors de combat_ during the late war, as the troops passed through the village. This, together with the hallowed fife and veteran _fifer_, in connection with the day, did not fail to give rise to associations eminently calculated to excite enthusiasm.

It appears that the celebration of the day had originated with, and was suggested by, an honest son and follower of St. Crispin, (who had lived in a city and had acquired some knowledge of _l'art militaire_,) whose ambition to command a corps had led him to the most indefatigable exertion to inspire the villagers with the spirit of _amor patriæ_, and success having crowned his exertion, application had been made for commissions as well as for arms, in order to organize themselves in time for a parade on the approaching festival. In this however they were disappointed; for they had obtained neither when the day arrived, and having determined to celebrate it, in spite of their disappointment they would.

This resolution soon circulated through the adjacent country called the _forest_--its inhabitants _foresters_, who, anxious to witness the parade--"_the spree_," as they termed it, came flocking into the village on foot and horseback, singly and doubly, et cetera, by every byroad and pathway which led to and terminated there. By meridian the gathering was so great that the oldest inhabitants declared that such an influx was not within their recollection. As regards the character of the _foresters_, men and women, they are an honest, hardy, industrious and independent people, and on Sundays, high-days and holydays, cut a very respectable figure in the way of apparel and ornaments--and for this occasion particularly, no pains had been spared to make an _eclat_.

In consequence of the disappointment alluded to, every firearm that could be found was put under requisition, and the entire forenoon was consumed in collecting and preparing them for use, during which the music to arms continued without intermission. It was in this interval that the buzzing of an expected oration was heard, which swelled into a report, and heightened not a little the pre-existing enthusiasm.

Discharges of guns repeated at irregular intervals on the skirts of the village, was an indication that the parade was about to commence, and at a little after twelve o'clock the soldiery made their appearance. They wore no uniform, but were clad in their best "Sunday go to meetings;" and in the ranks were many of the foresters who had joined them--

"The rustic honors of the scythe and share"

being given up for the time, for the warlike implements then to be used.

Their arms were of divers descriptions; double barrelled guns, deer guns, ducking guns, and a blunderbuss, with powderflasks and horns swung round their shoulders,--and, volunteers in number exceeding arms, poles were substituted. A cutlass distinguished the captain; a horsewhip the lieutenant; a cane the second lieutenant. These three, together with the soldierly appearance of some, the rigidity of others, the apparent _nonchalance_ of a few, and the deformity of several, presented a _tout ensemble_ the most grotesque and diverting.

{158} In the midst of this band was a small man, the stiffness of whose carriage and the peculiarity of whose countenance attracted the attention of the crowd. His eyes were small--appeared to be black and twinkling, and were set into the deep recesses of sockets which projected considerably, and surmounted by dark shaggy brows; his face was contracted--his features small--and his forehead, though retreating, was not sufficiently so to denote the entire absence of the reflective faculty, according to phrenology. In his hand he bore a scroll, and the dignity which his stiffness was meant to affect, was reasonably enough imputed to the importance which he attached to the part he was to act. The scroll was the Declaration of Independence, which was to be read by him; and from the peculiarly reverential manner with which it was held in his hand, he seemed to feel that it was an instrument coeval with the birth of, and coexisting with, a free and powerful nation, and demanded deference even from the very touch of his hand. This man was not altogether devoid of talent, for he had succeeded in earning for himself among the villagers a reputation of high literary acquirements; and on hearing the report of an expected oration, (suspicion fixed on him the origin of it,) had spontaneously proposed to verify it. Of course the proposition was well received, and dissipated at once any uncertainty. The spot at which it should be delivered was soon decided upon and designated--well known--and but a short distance out of the village. Thither the multitude repaired in advance of the military, who were not to arrive there until all the necessary arrangements for their reception had been made. This duty devolved upon a self-constituted committee of arrangement, who discharged it with all the zeal and ability which the briefness of the notice would allow.

The locality was well chosen, and seemed to have been designed by nature for the scene for which it was now appropriated. From the village and around the foot of the hill, winds a path that leads by an easy ascent to the summit of another hill, capped by a grove or cluster of huge pines and oaks, which overshadow a surface clear of undergrowth and interspersed with rocky prominences. These prominences, though rough, answered admirably well the purpose of seats for the auditory, and one of them being flat and overswelling the rest, was pitched upon as a rostrum from which the orator should hold forth. On one side of it, which might be called the rear, was planted a staff, to which was tacked an old bunting American ensign or flag, pierced with holes, received at the battle of Plattsburg. At the end of the staff hung a red woollen cap, the symbol of liberty--its color emblematic of the ardor of its spirit, as explained by the committee. At the foot of the staff stood a cask of "_old corn_," for the refreshment and entertainment of the _corps militaire_, in honor of the day and orator.

The village and country belles and beaux, attired in their gayest possible manner, by way of regard, were suffered to have precedence in the selection of places, and the former had possessed themselves of those crags which might best suit them to the convenient hearing of the oration. The assembled people were now impatiently awaiting the arrival of the orator and escort, when they were at length descried wending their way up hill, at the tune of _Molbrook_, sent forth to the air from the fife in fragments--and having arrived, the orator was conducted in form to the rostrum by the committee, which he mounted with unfaltering steps.

The bustle and buzz incident to the choosing of convenient places amid the rugged area having subsided, the _coup d'oeil_ presented was well worthy the pencil and genius of a Hogarth; the pen can convey but a faint idea. The gay females, elevated upon the asperated crags, overtopping every other object, seemed to shed lustre and life upon every thing around. Their attendants or beaux, resting in various postures at their feet, or lolling against a tree hard by, proved that the village and sylvan belles command the devotions of the rude sex no less than those of courts and cities. The boys were perched upon every oaken bough that overhung the spot that could bear their weight, and the military and the rest were strewed about thickly and promiscuously on the ground--sitting, squatting, kneeling; in fine, in every position indescribable which the human frame is susceptible of when adapting itself to some particular locality for its comfort.

The speaker being about to commence, many who had kept on their hats or caps were bid to uncover; the greater number of whom did so cheerfully; a few reluctantly; and several, more independent and less tractable, kept on theirs. To have insisted upon this point of decorum might have been attended with consequences to mar the rejoicing--so the point was very wisely given up. Silence obtained, nothing was heard but the rustling of the leaves, through which the breeze that prevailed passed and refreshed all below. The orator bowed and addressed his attentive auditory. His voice was clear and audible, and his words were carefully noted by a chirographer, and are here inserted.

"Citizens of the village and farmers of the forest!--I will not offer any excuse for the peramble that I will speak subsequent to the reading of this _glorious_ document (holding up the scroll) of our ancestors. The honor with which you have extinguished me this day, by making me the reader on it, is duly depreciated.

"When you have heared the sentiments contained upon it, you will find your hearts in trepidation at the conjointure at which your forefathers dared to put their fists to it.

"While they was employed in this business, the immortal Washington, called the _frater pater_, because he had a brotherly and fatherly love for his countrymen, was commanding an army made up of such soldiers as _you_ are. (Cheers.) It was with the like of you--such powerful men as you--with such cowrageous souls as yours, that John Bull was fighting with, running before and falling dead. (Great cheering.) The great Thomas Jefferson and John Adams was driving the quill in peace and comfort in Philadelphy, about this grand production, (stretching forth and unfolding the scroll,) because they knowed, and all that was there with them knowed too, that such soldiers as _you_, fighting for liberty, barefoot, bareback and half starved, just as you are now when you are all at home hard at work, was unresistible and unvincible. (The deafening and reiterated cheers interrupted the speaker for a short time.)

"Without you, what would have become to them, and this now free, brave and happy nation? Shall I tell you? Why they should have all been hanged or shot, and this nation would have been made up of {159} slaves. They worked with their heads, and you with your arms; to use a learned expression, they physically and you bodily: and if it had not a been for your arms and bodies, they could never--they would never have dared to do nothing with their heads. You was the strong ramparts behind which they retrenched themselves to save their necks. (Cheers.)

"Your beloved Washington could work with ither his hand or his arm, but he showed his wisdom by choosing to work with his arm--that is, by flourishing the sword instead of driving the pen--by putting himself at your head in battle--facing the cannons of the enemy, and leading you to _victory_ or _death!_ (Tremendous cheering.) To make this plainer still to your understandings, which is very good,--suppose a man was to abuse you and call you hard names? Why, you would up fist and knock him down at once, if you could, in course; and if you did you would be safe enough, and the matter would end. This was Washington's maxim, and he acted up to it. Now-a-days, amongst them who drives the quill, when one abuse another, they go to writing, and when they have lost a heap of time to prove one another in the wrong--mind you, because they don't want to come up to the sticking point, they are at last obliged to end the difference by shooting at one another, or one murdering the other. Now what does it all amount to in the end? All their writing did no good, and they might as well have fight it out 'right off the reel' at first--not with pistols and the like of that, but the arms that God gave them--their fists, (clenching his fist.) In times of war men fight with firearms and the like, because they can't come in contact man to man. (Cheers.)

"It was your worthy fathers and the like on 'em, who atchieved the freedom of your beloved country. Tom Jefferson and Jack Adams wrote down what they fought about, that you might have it in black and white--that you might never forget what your forefathers fought for, and that you might stimulate their actions. This is all that writing is fit or good for. Many of you don't know A from a bull's foot, but which amongst you could'nt take up a gun and shoot the crows that would come to your cornfields to destroy your crops. The British came here like crows to destroy what was yours, and you shot them down like crows and drove away the rest.(Cheers.)

"My brave friends! your present conditions is a proof of your being the ascendants of those naked and half starved warriors. You have turned out this day to prove to the world that you can depreciate the yearly anniversary of this fourth of July. You are now enjoying the blessings which they got for you by their lives, and at the peril of them who has outlived the revolution. You are now resting at ease, and listening to me, (for which I am complimented,) but they never rested at all--they was always on the go; they went through thick and thin--sunshine and rain--dust and mud--snow and ice--_fire and sword_--DEATH AND DESTRUCTION, (tremendous cheering,) and made less of it than you do now, for I can see that some of you is getting mighty restless. (A shriek from a female at this instant spread consternation in the assembly, which turned into a simultaneous burst of laughter as soon as it was discovered she had fallen from a crag, being unable to endure any longer the pain caused by its asperity.)

"I will not keep you any longer in distraint; but I cannot finish without saying a few words to the lovely gathering of our fair countrywomen, which has complemented me this day with their smiles.

"Your sex too, gentle hearers! had a helping hand in this glorious revolution. Your foremothers was industriously employed at home for your forefathers, while they was fighting for their country, their wives and their offstrings. With such lovely being as I see now gathered around me, this happy country need never fear of being in want of warriors. (Cheers.) Sweet lasses! may heaven send down upon you such partners as will make my prophecy come to pass."

The peal of applause which ensued and continued for some minutes, rung through the woods and welkin, and resounded from hill to hill, until lost in the distance, after which the orator proceeded to the reading of the Declaration of Independence. When he had read that part in these words--"To secure these rights governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the _consent_ of the _governed_. That whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the RIGHT of the PEOPLE to _alter_ or _abolish_ it, and to institute new governments,"[1] &c. in which his feelings were deeply enlisted, he concluded the clause by giving vent to them in the following fervid comments: "_Behold_ Americans!" cried he, "_behold_ the _whole_ of _your_ rights explained. Do you not _see_ the figure which EVERY _one_ of you cuts?! Out of you _the power_ comes, and _nothing_ can be done _without_ you. Don't this prove what I said in my extompere address, '_that their heads cannot work without you_?'" (Here a voice was heard to cry, "By jingo, Jack, clap on your hat; ding it, do as I do!")

[Footnote 1: In the extract the words are in italics and small capitals on which much stress was given by the reader.]

The reading ended, the assemblage broke up and dispersed, leaving the military to honor the day and orator in the manner already intimated, during which many national and sentimental toasts were drunk; after which they returned into the village in the military order they had left it for the purpose of parading.

Various evolutions were performed; among them occasionally a left wheeling for a right--a countermarch for a right or left face--keeping time with right or left foot indifferently. They carried arms either upon the right or left--trailing, supporting, sloping, advancing--just as it suited their own whim; in other words, _will_. In vain did their commander command, threaten or entreat. A volunteer, bolder than the rest, went so far as to ask the captain, "If he had forgot what they had heard from the Declaration?" and hinting at his being commander so long as they willed it. They felt that they were the sovereign people and only citizen soldiers.

At the order "halt!" they came to a stand, and were drawn out in a line, facing the stream, for the purpose of firing their _feu de joie_--an apt simile, by the way, of the state of their minds after the closing scene of the hill. The orders for execution were simply, "prime and load--ready--fire!" which was executed with tolerable precision. Three rounds being fired, they were ordered to "right face!" in order to file off and resume their march; but few only obeying the order, some confusion took place in the ranks. "_Right face!_" again {160} vociferated the captain, whose impatience for shaking off his brief authority was very apparent. Still the contumaceous kept their position, declaring that they would not "_budge_" until they had received the word to fire a fourth round, for which they had already loaded. A dispute arose between the officers and men--the former asserting and endeavoring to enforce their authority--the latter denying and obstinately determined not to move until they had received the word to discharge their pieces, considering the reservation of their fire until the order be given a sufficient evidence of their subordination. The captain finally yielded, and crying out, "make ready--fire!" the fourth round went off, and the men filed off without further hesitation; some at a common time--some at a quickstep--some skipping, and one hopping; the captain brandishing his cutlass over the _drummer's_ pate for not "_treading in a straight line_"--the _fifer_ blowing off fractions of marches and quicksteps, and the lieutenants endeavoring to keep order in the ranks. In this style they once more marched out of the village, to partake for the last time of the refreshment at the hill, and crown the celebration.

The sun was just reclining upon the western mount when they made their third and final entry into the village, in a march, technically known as the "rout march," thereby showing that the effect of the "old corn" was predominating.

The omission of testifying their respect in a military manner to the chief magistrate of the village during their first parade, had occurred to them at the hill, and concluding that it had better be done late than never, they had returned to the village, contrary to their intention when they had left it, in the manner described, and drawing up in front of the dwelling of that excellent man, they commenced and kept up a tremendous firing, shouting and huzzaing until nightfall, when all who were able dismissed themselves, (their officers having abandoned them,) leaving many on the ground as it were _dead_--_pro tempore_.

Thus terminated the village celebration of the anniversary of the day out of which a great and virtuous nation was ushered into being. However much our mirth may have been excited by the description given, yet none will deny that the feeling which actuated them in their celebration, was the identical feeling that dictates the observance of the same day throughout the cities of the union--with this difference only, that _this_ savours of the pomp and circumstances of wealth, pride and refinement, while _that_ is perfectly in character with nature,--true, simple and unsophisticated. I will conclude with a quotation from Boileau.

"La simplicité plaît sans étude et sans art.
Tout charme en un enfant dont la langue sans faìd,
A peine du filet encor débarrassée,
Sait d'un air innocent bégayer sa pensée.
Le faux est toujours fade, ennuyeux, languissant:
Mais la nature est vraie, et d'abord on la sent;
C'est elle seule en tout qu'on admire et qu'on aime."

T. P.

_Alexandria, November 1834_.

EXTRACT FROM LACON.

Mental pleasures never cloy; unlike those of the body, they are increased by repetition, approved of by reflection, and strengthened by enjoyment.

_University of Virginia, Nov. 13th, 1834_.

To the Editor of the Southern Literary Messenger.

SIR--If you think the following verses worthy of an insertion in the Messenger, you will gratify me by giving them a place. They were written two or three years ago, by a young lady of this state; and it certainly never was her intention to publish them, but I am induced to offer them to the public eye, because I think they are creditable, and that they will not appear disadvantageously in the Messenger.

R.

TO D----.

I'll think of thee--I'll think of thee
In every moment of grief or of glee;
The memory will come of these fleeting hours,
Like the scent that is wafted from distant flow'rs;
Like the faint, sweet echo that lingers on
When the tones that waken'd it are gone.

There's many a thought I may not tell,
Hidden beneath the heart's deep swell;
There's many a sweet and tender sigh
Breath'd out when only God is nigh;
And each familiar thing I see,
Is blended with the thought of thee.

Thy form will be miss'd from the social hearth,
Thy voice from the mingling tones of mirth;
When the sound of music is poured along--
When my soul hangs entranced on the poet's song--
When history points from her glowing page,
To the deathless deeds of a former age--
When my eye fills up and my heart beats high,
I shall look in vain for thine answering eye.

When the winds are lulled in the quiet sky,
And the sparkling waters go surging by,
And the cheering sun invites to walk,
I shall miss thine arm and thy pleasant talk:
My rustling step--the leafless tree--
The very rock will speak of thee.

I'll think of thee when the sunset dyes
Are glowing bright in the western skies;
When the dusky shades of evening's light
Are melting away into deeper night--
When the silvery moon looks bright above,
Raising the tides of human love--
When the holy stars look bright and far,
I'll think of thee--my _guiding star!_

When all save the beating heart is still,
And the chainless fancy soars at will,
When it lifts the dark veil from future years,
And flutters and trembles with hopes and fears,--
When it turns to retrace the burning past,
And the blinding tears come thick and fast--
And oh! when bending the humble knee
At the throne of God--I will _pray_ for thee!

And wilt thou sometimes think of me,
When thy thoughts from this stormy world are free?
When thou turnest o'erwearied from toil and strife
The warring passions of busy life,
May a still, small whispering, speak to thee,
Like a touch on thy heartstring--Love, think of me.

E.

{161}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

INVOCATION TO RELIGION.

Come blest Religion, meek-eyed maid,
In all thy heavenly charms arrayed,
Descend with healing in thy wing,
And touch my heart while yet I sing.

Heaven's own child of simple truth,
The stay of age, the guide of youth,
All spotless, pure and undefiled,
How blest are those on whom you've smiled.

Oh! come, as thou wert wont, and bless
The widow and the fatherless--
Temper the wind to the shorn lamb,
Pour on the wounded heart thy balm;

Strew softest flowers, where e're they stray,
And pluck, oh! pluck the thorns away.
Come like the good Samaritan,
Bind up the sick and wounded man;

Not like the Priest thy love display--
Just look devout, and turn away.
Oh! no--the bruised with kindness greet,
And set the mourner on his feet.

Teach me with warm affections pure,
That holy Fountain to adore,
From whence proceeds or life or thrift--
The source of every perfect gift:

Teach me thy fear--thy grace impart,
And twine thy virtues round my heart;
With pity's dew suffuse my eye,
And teach me heavenly charity--

That blessed love, which will not halt,
Or stumble at a brother's fault;
But with affection's tender care,
Will still pursue the wanderer.

Oh! teach my heart enough to feel,
For human woe and human weal.
Not that mad zeal, which works by force,
And poisons goodness, at its source;

But that mild, pure, persuasive love,
Which thou hast brought us from above.
Thro' thy fair fields, oh! fatal change,
Let no distempered _maniac_ range,--

No frantic bigot spoil thy bowers,
And blight thy pure and spotless flowers.
Still, still, thou pure and heavenly dove,
Still speed thy work of perfect love.

Pursue the pilgrim on his road,
And oh! take off his heavy load.
Peace whisper to the troubled breast,
And give the weary mourner rest--

And when in that last awful hour,
Death shall exert his fatal power,
Oh! blunt the print of his keen dart,
And sooth the pangs that rend the heart.

When the last vital throb shall cease,
Oh! be then present, with thy peace:
Then let thy healing grace be given
To light and waft our souls to Heaven.

L.

_Pittsylvania_.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

BEAUTY AND TIME.

[Written under a vignette, representing a branch of roses with a scythe suspended over it, in a Lady's Album.]

Emblem of woman's beauty,
This blooming rose behold!
Time's scythe is hanging o'er it,
While yet its leaves unfold.

Alas! that Time is ever
To Beauty such a foe!
How can she shun his power?
How ward his withering blow?

Has she no art to foil him,
And turn his scythe aside?
Must she, who conquers others,
To him yield up her pride?

Yes, yes, there is a conquest
That Beauty gains o'er Time:
Forget it not, ye fair ones,
But prize the homely rhyme.

For every charm he pilfers
From Beauty's form or face,
Upon the mind's fair tablet,
Some new attraction trace.

Thus, Time's assaults are fruitless,
For, when her bloom is o'er,
Woman, despite his malice,
Is lovelier than before.

S[obelisk].

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

ANTICIPATION.

When life's last parting ray is shed,
And darkness shrouds this pallid form;
When I have laid this aching head,
Secure from ev'ry earthly storm--

Oh! then how sweet it is to think
That some fond heart yet warm and true,
Will cherish still the severed link
Which death's rude hand has snapt in two.

Who oft, at evening's pensive hour,
From all the busy crowd will steal,
To dress the vine and nurse the flower
That deck my grave, with pious zeal.

And ling'ring there, will lightly tread,
As fearful to disturb my sleep,
And oft relieve the drooping head
Upon her slender hand, and weep.

And oh! if in that world which rolls
Sublime beyond this earthly sphere,
That love still warms departed souls,
Which once they fondly cherished here.

Oh! yes, if in such hour is given,
And parted souls such scenes may see,
At that pure hour I'd leave e'en heav'n,
And kiss the heart that wept for me.

L.

_Pittsylvania_.

{162}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

HINTS TO STUDENTS OF GEOLOGY.

BY PETER A. BROWNE, ESQ.

NO. I.

The word "_science_," in its most comprehensive sense, means "knowledge." In its general acceptation, it is "knowledge reduced to a system;" that is to say, arranged in regular order, so that it can be conveniently taught, easily remembered, and readily applied to useful purposes. An _art_ is the application of knowledge to some practicable end,--to answer some useful or ornamental purpose. The sciences, are sometimes divided into the _abstract_ and the _natural_; by the former we are taught the knowledge of reasons and their conclusions; by the latter we are enabled to find out causes and effects, and to study the laws by which the material world is governed. To the abstract sciences belong, first, language, whether oral or written, including grammar, logic, &c.; secondly, notation, including arithmetic, algebra, geometry, &c. Philosophy inquires into the laws that regulate the phenomena of nature, whether in the material or immaterial world; it is generally divided into three classes, two of which are material and one immaterial. The material are, first, those which relate to number and quantity; secondly, those which relate to matter. The immaterial are those which relate to mind. The second class of the material is called "natural philosophy" or "physics," and sometimes the "physical sciences." Natural philosophy, in its most comprehensive sense, has for its province the laws of matter, whether organic or inorganic. These laws may regard either the motions or properties of matter, and hence arises their division into two branches--first, those which regard the _motions_ of matter, which are called _mechanics_; and secondly, those which regard the _properties_ of matter, which are subdivided, and have various names, according to the different objects of investigation. When the inquiry is confined to organized bodies and life, it is called physiology; which is again subdivided into zoology and botany. When it treats of inorganic matter, it is subdivided into chemistry, anatomy, medicine, mineralogy and geology. The principles of natural philosophy rest upon _observation_ and _experiment_. Observation is the noticing of natural phenomena at they occur, without any attempt to influence the frequency of their occurrence. Experiment consists in putting in action causes and agents, over which we have control, for the purpose of noticing their effects. From a comparison of a number of facts, obtained from either observation or experiment, the existence of general laws are proved. The laws of man are complicated; to understand their objects, we are often obliged to take the most circuitous routes; but the laws by which nature governs all her works are beautifully simple, and they are found to lead directly to the end she has in view. To study them, therefore, according to the rules that have been laid down, viz: from observation and experiment, is pleasant and easy. The principal difficulties that have arisen, are owing to the improper manner in which the subjects connected with natural history have often been treated. Natural philosophy regards what was the condition of natural bodies: but many persons exert the whole force of their genius to discover what they _might have been_. And as there is no department of natural philosophy into which this erroneous method of procedure has made greater inroads than geology, nor any science that has suffered so severely in such conflicts, it may not be amiss to appropriate half an hour to the inquiry whence this error has arisen; and, if possible, point out the best method of avoiding its dangerous tendency. The word geology is derived from two Greek words, signifying "the earth" and "reason;" and it is that science which teaches the structure of the crust of the earth, and ascertains its mineralogical materials, and the order in which they are disposed, and their relations to each other. Geognosy is used by the French as synonymous to geology, but in English is generally understood to be synonymous to cosmogony; which is an inquiry, or rather a speculation, as to the original formation or creation of the world; hence geognosy has sometimes been called "speculative geology." In pursuing the examinations to which geology leads, we reason from facts, as is done in other branches of natural science. The strata of the crust of the earth, owing to the disturbed manner in which we now find them, are in a great measure open to our examination; their composition, formation, deposition, eruption, depression, succession, and mineralogical contents, are all objects of sensation. The objects of geognosy (in the English sense of the word) are, on the other hand, for the most part, ideal, visionary and delusive. We are sensible that this earth exists and that it is material, and therefore we know that it must have been created. We know that it was not created by man, who hath not the power to add to it one single atom, nor diminish it by a single grain--so that it is manifest that it was created by a superior and omnipotent power; but by what process it was done is a mystery, and the more we seek to discover it the more we expose our ignorance. The geologist, like the mathematician, deals with the understanding; his advance is wary, admitting no conclusion until his premises are fully established. The professor of geognosy, on the contrary, addresses himself entirely to the imagination, and he delights in hypothesis and suppositions. The progress of the geologist is necessarily slow; he is like the patient miner, making his laborious but determined way into the solid rock: but the professor of geognosy will make a world or even a universe in an hour, for he deals in fancy and works in visionary speculations. The geologist delves into the bowels of the earth in search of useful metals, earths and combustible matters, which nature has kindly placed within his reach, and he strives to turn them to the best advantage in administering to the wants and increasing the comforts and convenience of his fellow creatures; but all the labors of the professor of geognosy are directed to discover a secret which appears to be hidden from human ken; a secret, the discovery of which would not, as far as we can judge, add any thing to the sum of human happiness. It excites our astonishment therefore, that so many persons of fine genius and brilliant talents should have wasted so much time in forming what are called theories of the earth, who might have been so much better employed in investigating the secondary causes by which the materials composing the crust of this earth obtained their present forms, and in examining the changes which those materials are daily undergoing. But so it is; the curiosity so natural to our {163} species opens the way--the vanity of being supposed to have penetrated deeper than others into the abstruse mysteries of nature urges them forward--the silly pride of having in their own estimations discovered the hidden ways of Providence quickens their zeal; and, such is the love of the marvellous, that if they exhibit only a tolerable degree of ingenuity, and embellish their performances with a few flowers of rhetoric, they are sure to command more attention and praise from the general mass of readers, than can be extorted by the most laborious examination of nature's works. While Martin Lister was ridiculed by Doctor King for the laudable minuteness with which he described the different natural objects he met with in his journey through France, Mr. Thomas Burnet, for a fanciful theory of the earth, was extravagantly lauded by a writer in the Spectator. Saussure crossed the Alps in fourteen places; Humboldt traversed nearly one half of the habitable globe; Cuvier spent seven years in the study of comparative anatomy, as subservient to the study of fossil remains; and Hauy studied geometry for the sole purpose of obtaining a knowledge of crystalography; but neither of these distinguished philosophers have been able to win the laurels that have been heaped upon the brow of Count Buffon for a visionary hypothesis which he calls a theory of the earth.

The substitution of these hypotheses for knowledge, unfortunately, has not been confined to the early and dark ages of geology. One entirely new theory of the earth was published as lately as the year 1825--another in 1827--and a third in 1829. It is proper therefore that the student should be warned against their fascinating and baneful influence.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

ESSAY ON LUXURY.