Chapter I: on "English Poetry," tracing as it does the rude and (11)

The period now approached when I was to quit school. I had never returned home, but the pains of absence had been alleviated by the monthly visits of Scipio, always laden with letters of reproof from my mother, love from Lucy, ambition from my brother, and scraps of Horace and quaint gallantries from my uncle. I had learned rapidly and accurately, mastering the spirit and elegance of the Latin language, and acquiring that measure of Greek literature which enables the Virginian scholar to play the pedant on it for one year, and authorises him to forget it in two.

Arthur Ludwell had promised to accompany me home; and in a short time the Chalgrave chariot, with its massy doors, conceited driver, tangled harness and gazing postilion, brought the glad tidings of my return to the home of my fathers. I quitted school without regret, for there I had spent some of the most miserable hours of my existence. With how much delusive philosophy do we dwell on the vapid pleasures of our schoolboy days! and when tired of the poor farce of cheating ourselves into a little happiness, we labor to coax ourselves into tenderness by invoking the remembrance of some shadowy and negative dream. Our cares, vexations and disappointments, as men, make us envy the apparent tranquillity of the boy, while we forget that youth, though a smaller circumference of mortality, has yet the same centre of passion, hope and disappointment. In the spring-time of life we are full of elastic anticipation; and over the brilliant horizon which it creates, each cloud drifts rapidly by and none sojourns to darken the brilliant outline. We fondly believe that all beyond is a candid and generous world, eager to applaud our genius or reciprocate our sympathies. How soon is this gossamer fabric crushed beneath the rugged grasp of reality, and how truly do we find that anticipation is folly, and retrospection an utter foolishness of heart.

On a laughing morning in spring I quitted school for home, with all my buoyant feelings of filial and fraternal love chastised into wretchedness by the curse of Pilton.

* * * * *

CHAP. III.

Even the pine forests in which he rambled in boyhood, are still hallowed in his recollection.--_Farmer's Register_.

There is a bright and glowing loveliness in the climate of Virginia. Its sudden vicissitudes, like the smiles of the coquette, bring with them all the excitements of pleasing variety, and we half forget its momentary frowns in the constancy of its brightness. Spring dallies away all its freshness and gentleness among the hills, the flowers and the forests of Virginia; at this season of the year the cloudless sky, the exhilarating luxury of the noontide sun, the dark yet bright green of her woods and meadows, and the busy hum of animated nature, steal over the heart with a holy and impassioned sympathy. Habit, with all its deadening attritions, cannot wear off that admiration and rapture with which we revel in the softness of a Virginian day. Italy's burning sky awakens into ecstacy the sluggish native of England, and he breathes in polished verse the brilliancy of that clime which stands in bold relief against the gloomy fogs of his own sea-girt isle. We catch the delusive truth which poetry whispers, and forget that the climate of Italy is saddened, even in its brightness, by a tedious monotony which falls on the sated appetite. It is a spirit without animation, and burns on with the steadiness and glare of a sepulchral lamp. In Virginia it is diversified by endless and varied blushes of gentleness and beauty. The laziest cloud seems to roll away in voluptuous ether. The breeze murmurs through the forest, and lingers there to gather all its swelling fragrance. Every thing is redolent of that freshness of nature which fancy would invoke for the bridal of the earth and sky.

"And all the scene in short, sky, earth and sea
Breathes like a bright-eyed face--that laughs out openly."

It was in this beautiful season of the year that, on turning an angle of the forest, the Chalgrave plantation with its stately mansion, extensive champaign and numerous cottages, broke upon our anxious view. The last rays of the setting sun poured their struggling light over the broad bosom of the Chesapeake, which reflected in trembling obscurity the shadowy outline of the forest, hill and plain. One bound from the chariot, placed me in my mother's arms. She was dignified even in her tenderness; and disengaging herself from me with a kiss, she left me to the affectionate salutation of Lucy, the warm greeting of Frederick, and the smiles of my uncle. A scuffle now ensued among the negroes who should be the first to grasp my extended hand; for in the fulness of my joy, I had offered this simple politeness with more of feeling than generally characterizes this striking indication of the well-bred Virginian. My old nurse sobbed, and laughed aloud in the rapture of her pleasure; the ostler commenced a tedious history of the pedigree, form, and swiftness of every colt on the estate; while the dining room servant told me that he was (Je-oh) delighted I had not learned to chew tobacco or wear striped pantaloons. For every salutation I gave, I received a compliment remarkable for its wildness of metaphor and for the affection which accompanied it. "Mass Lionel (said one) is a true Diomed, every inch of him." "He is born like the eagle, (cried another) a gentleman, and a man of spirit." "He is prettier (exclaimed a third) than all Miss Lucy's flowers!" I laughed outright at their odd and curious courtesy, and dismissing them with a promise that I would visit the aged and infirm in the morning, I lingered at the door, listening to their light and frolic laugh, which mingled and lost itself in the murmuring breeze which was now dancing over the Chesapeake.

And this was slavery! That heart must be torpid--that sensibility obtuse, which could experience such a display of unbought affection, without emotion. This devotion disarms slavery of half its gorgons dire, and leaves us the gratifying consolation, that its abstract vice is softened into gentleness by the humanity of its practice. Laws are not always the truest indications of the moral tone of society. They are the heartless creations of policy, necessity and faction, and take their pride of place from the darkest passions of human nature. Power and obedience are the necessary components of their being; penalty and punishment the active spirit of their existence. Fully armed, they spring into the conflict of virtue and depravity, and bear an iron front, independent of season, time and {543} circumstance. Policy may rivet their fetters, yet they fall inoperative and harmless beneath the silent force of that gigantic lever of society--public opinion. Slavery, considered with reference to the laws of Virginia, is a state of penalty, degradation and suffering. Viewed in relation to its practical existence, it is a condition of ease, tranquillity and protection. There is no misery where there is no complaint; no wretchedness where all is peace; and if happiness arise from comparative situation, the Virginian slave eminently enjoys it. He is far removed from the starvation and nakedness of European pauperism. He is a being who invites kindness by acknowledging gratitude; who excites humanity by the noiseless virtue of his life; and who awakens protection by the constancy of his fidelity. The master feels the pride of protection expanding into a chivalry of defence; the slave, in confiding in it, makes no other offering than that of fidelity. These blended feelings invigorate and form the strength and harmony of social life, and eloquently argue to us the truth of that simple maxim, that there can be no fear where all is confidence--no treachery where there is no oppression. The Virginian slave becomes a member of the family in which he was born, and what mutation soever of fortune attend him, his heart is never recreant to the scenes of his childhood. Proud in the prosperity of his "_family_," yet never faithless in its adversity, he is the living chronicler of its rise and elevation, and cannot--will not, believe that it can fall. He is the greatest aristocrat on earth; and the surest avenue to his friendship, is made by that vanity which induces him to believe that the family in which he was _raised_, is noble, prosperous and proud. Quick to perceive vulgarity, and constant in his hatred of it, he wears his pride gracefully, and his dignity with calm tranquillity. Public opinion will suffer no master to use him inhumanly. Undisturbed by the cares and vexations attendant on the support of a family, he is clothed with comfort, and has enough of finery to be a Sunday exquisite; and though he be degraded in the order of society, he feels and believes himself to be an important link in the chain of life. Claudian's beautiful lines convey no paradox when applied to the slavery of Virginia:

"Nunquam gratior, extat libertas
Quam sub pio rege."

Home, with all its endearments of early association and present enjoyment, was now within my eager embrace, and my affections poured out their suppressed enthusiasm, in the expanded circle of tranquil rapture, even as a bold stream which gushes up to the full fountain which gave it life. This was _home!_--that ideal abstraction which takes the deepened hue of reality, and which leaps into existence, independent of all control. Strange, powerful, unconquerable passion! It asks no aid from the sternness of reason; it demands no support from the habits or pursuits of life. The heart is its chosen dwelling place; and around this hallowed altar, memory invokes her active drama, and fancy scatters its opiate dreams. It burns on amid the eternal snows of the poles, and glows with unextinguishable ardor under the sunny skies of the equator. It breathes its soft melody to the slumbers of the child--stimulates the energy of virtue--nerves the arm of courage--chequers with light the gloom of despair--invigorates the hope of the exile--chastens into patriotism the wild riot of ambition--and while it is the first passion of our nature, it is the last vital fragment in the wreck of mortality.

The history of one day at Chalgrave, was the history of the year. Its portals were ever open to the neighbor and stranger, and a constant throng of company, attracted by its easy hospitality, rendered it gay, social and animated. Each morning the old bell summoned the household to prayers, which by their simplicity, awakened religious awe, without melancholy, and excited humble piety, without fanaticism. Breakfast was a feast, where the mongrel compound of dinner and supper appeared like the relics of a banquet for giants. Earth, sky and sea produced their tributary luxuries; and we were left not to wonder at its extravagance, but at that generous hospitality which found its honor in profusion. This important hour, so useful in dividing the day, having passed, the old chariot was regularly wheeled to the door; ponies for the ladies, blooded horses for the gentlemen, and colts for the boys, were brought out, and the whole household prepared for a ride. Any route would suffice--any highway would be agreeable; but the ride was as necessary to a Virginian's existence, as sedentary grumbling is to an Englishman's. He is then happy--for early and unbroken habit has made him for one half of his life a perfect centaur. On horseback he experiences no solitude, and in its exhilarating exercise, he can forget his much loved politics. The excursion being finished, the company to please their own feelings as much as the pride of their host, would gather around the stables, and for hours critically examine, and earnestly dispute the merits and points of every blooded colt. Dinner was the feast of a caravan. At its close, my mother would retire, followed by the ladies--and at the door she would make a curious old fashioned court'sy, which my uncle, graceful as he was, uniformly returned by a bow, equally aboriginal and grotesque. The pure wine of Madeira now sparkled on the board, and awoke flashes of wit from the indolent, and started from its dream of torpor that spirit-stirring eloquence which sleeps in the intellectual quiescence of the Virginian character. Festivity was never prolonged to debauch, and a firm step carried the gentlemen into the parlor, where the ladies, chess and newspapers, beguiled the lethargy of time.

Arthur Ludwell had resolved to pursue his studies at the College of William and Mary, and his determinations had influenced my mother to send me to the same institution. In a few days I was summoned into the library, where my mother and Frederick were prepared to persuade me into the scheme,--she by the resistless weapon of maternal tenderness, and he by the deceitful logic of ambition. I heard with patience their advice and flattery; and first learned to dread, from an intimation of my brother, that fiend-like spectre, which in the guise of a chancery suit, greets the rising opulence of every family in Virginia--lends a hue of melancholy to its prosperity, and never quits its iron grasp, until it shriek a requiem over the utter ruin and despair of its victim.

"You are affluent," said Frederick, "but whether we gain or lose one chancery suit, it is highly probable that you may yet be forced to engage in some profession which {544} can ensure an honorable support. Can you object to the practice of law? It is a profession full of profit and honor--the highway to intellectual distinction and political advancement. Enter then diligently on its study, and how rude soever may be its details, you will quickly find that its pursuit will imperceptibly fashion your mind into a passionate love for its wisdom and philosophy. Look on it as a jealous coquette; give it all your attention or none; and success will be as honorable to your genius as it is gratifying to your pride."

"Go! my dear boy," said my uncle, who now entered the room, "for we all belong to William and Mary--it is the cradle of our genius, and the nurse of our chivalry. I care naught about your profession, but for God's sake, learn something about the mystery of this fatal chancery."

I might have been stubborn! My indolence reeled under the fear of this dark suit, and I instantly resolved to propitiate the demon by becoming a priest in his temple.

THETA.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

A VISIT TO THE VIRGINIA SPRINGS,

_During the Summer of 1834_.

NO. II.

SALT AND RED SULPHUR.

Having engaged a seat in the best line, I took a last look at the beauties of the White Sulphur, and soon found myself rolling away for the Salt. The morning was dark and cloudy, with occasional showers, and having shut up our splendid coach, we were left to our own reveries except when disturbed by an occasional "long yarn" from an ex-gentleman of the box, narrating his adventures among the mountains of North Carolina, or ever and anon by the nasal melody from the olfactory organs of some fellow traveller, who had resigned himself into the arms of Morpheus. Our whole company, however, seemed to partake somewhat of the gloom which the aspect of the day was calculated to inspire, whilst our driver, on the contrary, with all imaginable glee, took advantage of the smooth turnpike and a noble team, to whirl us at a jehu rate over the first part of our journey. The joys of a good road and rapid travelling, were, however, very soon terminated, for our way left the turnpike and led us for several miles up the rough, stony bed of a creek, and over long and rugged hills, much to the annoyance of one or more fair fellow passengers. The day began to brighten as we approached Union, the seat of justice of Monroe county, and a neat village, containing a wealthy and intelligent population. Most of the country, after leaving the White Sulphur, had been wild and uncultivated, although it had the appearance of natural fertility; but now some of the large grazing farms, for which this section of Virginia is so celebrated, spread out their clovered fields in rich luxuriance before us. The general aspect of this region is that of a newly settled country; most of the farm houses, even of men of wealth, being the log tenements erected in the rude style of the frontier settlements. Occasionally, however, there are handsome edifices, built in accordance with a more modern and refined taste. Large numbers of cattle are annually taken from this and the adjoining counties, to the northern markets. The natural growth of grass, found even in the forests, offers great facilities for amassing fortunes by speculations of this description.--After arriving at Union, there remained but three miles of our journey before us; and having taken leave of the worst of the rocks and hills, we forgot the unpleasantness of the morning, in the enjoyment of the beautiful scenery, and the fine, clear day, with which we were blessed, as we drew near the Salt Sulphur. On our right lay a continued range of mountains, upon one of the spurs of which could be seen the residence of a gentleman of South Carolina, who has erected a showy summer retreat upon this airy peak, which commands a view of the springs, the village of Union, and the adjoining country. On our left, was pointed out as we passed, amongst other attractions, the "royal oak," an immense and most noble tree, to which Mr. Jefferson has given this title in his "Notes on Virginia." The valley of the Sweet Sulphur opened to our view as we approached, but its beauties were forgotten, as through its further extremity we caught a glimpse of our place of destination, and especially as we soon plunged through the "creek," and into the gate at the Salt Sulphur.

A stranger who takes the White Sulphur, as a specimen, as to external appearance, of the other springs, would be disappointed, when, after the first glance, he gets a full view of the Salt Sulphur. Nature has not been so lavish of her gifts as at the White Sulphur, and art has as yet added but little to its outward charms. The Salt Sulphur is situated in a ravine, between two small mountains. One of these, slopes very gradually, and upon its side at the distance of some two hundred paces from the base, a row of cottages has been erected. Parallel with these, at the base of the hill, is a similar range, both fronting the level in the valley. Then on the same ascent, and in the direction of the gate, through which you enter upon the spring's premises, is a small hollow square, the farther side of which is connected with the range at the base of the hill, and runs up the acclivity at right angles to that range. Most of these buildings are constructed, according to the early fashion of the country, of hewn logs: many of them have piazza's, and all are close and comfortable. We understand that the proprietors will soon erect ranges of two-story stone buildings in their stead. The hotel is a noble building; the main body of the edifice is near two hundred feet in length, the entire lower floor of which is used as a dining room. A double piazza extends along the whole front, and the upper story is occupied as a dancing {545} saloon, lodging rooms, &c. At right angles to this building, at the western extremity, and facing the long ranges on the opposite side of the level, are a few framed cottages, and a two-story stone building, affording very comfortable and pleasant accommodations. The spring, which is some hundred paces higher up the ravine, is protected by a temple somewhat similar to that at the White Sulphur, from the floor of which flights of cut stone steps lead down to the reservoir. The reservoir is a square of about two feet, and is also constructed of hewn sand-stone.

At the White Sulphur, the fairest prospects greet the visiter at his arrival, and every succeeding day of his sojourn only serves to make disclosures, such as mar the first impressions. At the Salt Sulphur, on the contrary, first appearances are rather unpropitious, but there is every thing to gain; we know of no more delightful place in the southern country for spending the sultry months of summer. Indeed we believe, that several families from the Carolinas, and one or more from the north, are accustomed to establish themselves here for the whole season. The proprietors are intelligent gentlemen, and more thoroughly skilled in the art of accommodating, than any men I have ever seen. Their table, which is so justly celebrated, is perhaps the finest in this country. The great danger, however, from this source, is, lest the refined luxuries of the culinary department, should destroy the medicinal effects of the waters. Every attention which could reasonably be required at such an establishment, is here received. All the arrangements are made with the most perfect system. During the last season, the visiters, generally, were of the very first order, and there was a smaller proportion of low characters than was to be found at perhaps any of the other springs. There was also much sociability and true Virginia feeling.

In the evenings, a fine band sent its notes over the still valley, and the more gay portion of the company passed the hours in the ball room. Among the visiters at this place also, was the Rev. Dr. Johns, of Baltimore, and other eminent ministers, and those disposed to enjoy the more abiding pleasures of religion, met, with the close of every day, and were led in their devotions by these men of God. On the Sabbath, too, there were always interesting and appropriate services.

The proprietors have provided for the visiters means of amusement and recreation, which serve to give a zest to the hours which sometimes hang heavily at these watering places, at the same time that they afford a substitute for those pernicious games which are so frequently resorted to in weary moments. Many of the younger visiters gratify their taste for horsemanship, by taking excursions along the wild and romantic roads, which wind through the country, on the fine Virginia steeds, which are found in this region.

The Salt Sulphur water has been particularly efficacious in affections of the stomach. It possesses most of the active, without the stimulating properties of the White Sulphur. On this account the Salt Sulphur water would probably be a more suitable preparative, in pulmonary cases, for those waters which act more directly upon the respiratory system. Indeed, some instances are mentioned where the use of this water alone has effected the cure of individuals subject to hemorrhage from the lungs. With an occasional use of the blue pill, its effect upon the liver is also very pleasant, although not so beneficial as the White Sulphur water. With dyspeptics, in addition to its other action, it has the peculiar property of neutralizing by its alkaline matter, the distressing acidity, to which they are subject. Cold and tepid sulphuretted baths, can be obtained at any time, so that the patient can have the combined effects of the external and internal action of the water upon his system at the same time.

At the distance of less than a mile, in the direction of Union, there is another spring called the Sweet Sulphur, which is also the property of the proprietors of the Salt Sulphur. This spring was a place of considerable resort, until the Salt Sulphur was discovered and improved: no separate accommodations are now provided, but it can be conveniently used by visiters at the Salt Sulphur. It is said to possess less sulphuretted hydrogen, and greater tonic properties than the latter spring.

We must now bid adieu to the Salt Sulphur, leaving with it our best wishes. The enterprising proprietors are continuing their improvements, so that this spring will, in every point of view, soon merit the praise of being the most inviting resort among the mountains.

RED SULPHUR.

After taking a lunch, we sat off early in the afternoon, with a crowded stage, for the Red Sulphur, seventeen miles west of the Salt. Our road wound by a very circuitous route, to the summit of the small mountain, in the rear of the Salt Sulphur. On our left, as we ascended, the mountain's side became quite precipitous, and at the base and immediately beneath us, lay the valley of the springs--its green lawn and white cottages presenting a most interesting and beautiful scene. This is one of the favorite strolling spots of visiters, since the view which it affords of the springs and the adjoining country, fully compensates for the labor of climbing the mountain. We believe, however, that most of our company would have preferred a situation on _terra firma_, to that which they occupied in the stage coach, which ever and anon, as it slowly grated over the rough and rocky way, gave fearful symptoms of carrying us down the dizzy steep which we had gained.

A great part of the road between the Salt and Red Sulphur, leads over long hills and continuous {546} ridges, out of the sides of which it has been in many places cut, in order to obtain the proper inclination. From some reason, most probably a scarcity of funds, the road is so narrow as to render it often dangerous, and entirely unsuitable for so public a thoroughfare. The reflections of the traveller, as he dashes down these narrow descents, are by no means pleasant. He involuntarily transfers himself to the upper side of the stage, as he gets a glimpse from the window, of the deep ravine, along the verge of which he is rolling at so furious a rate. The anticipation too, as well as the actual fact, of meeting other vehicles in these passes, is not at all agreeable. The driver of the coach, however, obviates, as far as possible, the difficulty from this source, by sounding his horn as he approaches and travels through these narrow parts of the road. Perhaps, however, we are conveying rather too unfavorable an impression of the way between the Salt and Red Sulphur. If, however, the traveller wishes to avoid all unpleasant reflections on account of his personal safety, it may be as well for him to adopt one of the expedients of the hero of "Sleepy Hollow," as he trod its gloomy paths, amidst the tortures of a fertile imagination, and shut his eyes, at least, if the presence of fellow passengers will not admit of one's raising his voice in a consolitary _solo_. We can, however, present to our readers, the prospect of a resource, which will be a more satisfactory expedient than this. Arrangements were making during the last summer, for the immediate construction of a turnpike over this ground; then the trip would present many attractions. The country is wild and generally uncultivated, and often delightfully romantic. About half way between the two springs, we saw the wreck of the family carriage of a gentleman from South Carolina. This accident, however, was not, at least, the _immediate_ consequence of the roughness of the road; for it occurred on a perfect level, and on, perhaps, the smoothest part of the whole way. Carriages constructed for the Carolina sands, are badly adapted to the mountains of Virginia.

Our driver quickened his speed as the distance before us diminished, and we reached the Red Sulphur just after night had drawn his sombre curtains around the silent hills. Our first impressions of this spring, were very favorable: the effect was exceedingly imposing. On our arrival the whole establishment had been lighted up, and from every range of buildings, streams of light were pouring across the area. The large hotel presents at any time a beautiful appearance. The whole building has a light and airy piazza connected with each story, and on the flank of the edifice most conspicuous on approaching the spring, the upper floor is open and surrounded by a balustrade. The first story of this building contains a large dining room, connected with which is a drawing and reading room. When we approached, these piazzas were all lighted up, and from the doors and windows of the halls and apartments of the hotel, the chandeliers were pouring forth their brilliant streams. Two long and handsomely set tables, were visible through the doors of the dining room, and every thing had the aspect of comfort and even of luxury. The lower piazza was thronged with cheerful groups of visiters, eagerly awaiting the arrival of our coach, which on that evening was rather behind its usual time.

For the last hour our meditations had been excited only by the gloom and wildness of the dark mountain hollows, and the song of the frogs from the neighboring creeks, or the cry of the screech owl as the rattling of our coach echoed through his dark domains. In the midst of the pensive reveries incident upon such circumstances, the buildings of the Red Sulphur burst upon us in all their brilliancy. The scene of light, and life, and bustle, came over us like enchantment. The valley before us presented a picture of brightness and refinement, whilst on each side the venerable peaks of the Alleghany rose in all their wildness, and spoke to our hearts in silent sublimity, as we discerned their rugged outline against the evening sky. One might have found it almost difficult to convince himself, that he was not taking for reality the romantic visions of his sleeping hours. This impression is not diminished by the winding of the post horn from the "western stage," as it rattles over the crags of the mountain above, or by the plaintive notes of "Home, sweet home," wafted from the band stationed in the drawing room.

The Red Sulphur has recently been purchased by Mr. Burke, an intelligent and enterprising gentleman, who has already given to the place an almost entirely new aspect. Many of the old houses have been removed--a large and beautiful building, in addition to the hotel, has been constructed, and most of the log cabins have been exchanged for neat white cottages. The irregularity occasioned by the projection of the mountain spurs, has prevented the arrangement of the buildings in the order calculated to produce the most pleasant effect. The Red Sulphur is completely enclosed by mountains, except a narrow space by which you enter the circumscribed valley. On each side they rise almost perpendicularly to a considerable height. One of these, we understand, the proprietor intends laying out with terraced walks, so that you can with ease ascend to the summit, and enjoy the extensive prospect. The buildings are erected close under the base of the mountains. The intermediate area will be set in green sward, with gravelled walks and shrubbery. The temple at the spring is very similar to those at the White and Salt Sulphur. There are, however, two springs, and two separate and beautiful reservoirs. One of these is about four, and the other about two {547} feet square. They are constructed of white marble, which agrees beautifully with the lilac and peach blossom sediment, and the clear limpid water of the springs.

The Red Sulphur, though but lately improved for the comfortable accommodation of visiters, has been for some years known as a place of considerable resort by pulmonary patients. The company bears much more the aspect of sickness, than that at the other springs. Their death-like countenances can be seen on every hand; and the deep hollow cough, which is heard almost incessantly, has at first a tendency to affect the sympathies and to throw an air of melancholy over the feelings. Many in the last stages of consumption, are taken to the Red Sulphur as the final resort, and many, during almost every season, find their long, last home, among the hills near the Red Sulphur. The funeral of Gen. Alston, of South Carolina, was attended on the day of our arrival, and another individual soon followed him to the tomb. The Red Sulphur is well calculated to remind a reflecting man of his mortality.

Many cases are also mentioned of astonishing cures, which have been effected by the use of these waters. Their properties are singular, and apparently contradictory. They deplete and strengthen the system at the same time: they reduce the quantity of blood, and still act with all the power of a tonic. The most peculiar property, however, is that which effects an almost immediate reduction of the pulse. Instances are known where the pulsations have been reduced from one hundred and twenty to eighty in the space of twenty-four hours. The effect of these waters, is at first apparently unfavorable. They frequently, and perhaps generally occasion a feverish excitement, and an unpleasant sensation of fulness throughout the whole system. I have been informed, however, by those who attribute the renovation of their constitutions to the Red Sulphur, that this excitement ceases after perhaps ten days or two weeks, and often much earlier, and then, if at all, unless the ravages of disease have been excessive, they begin to produce the desired effect. I met with a gentleman, in returning from the Red Sulphur, who had been pronounced past recovery by the most eminent physicians in this country, from a chronic affection of the lungs, but who, at the time I saw him, was enjoying excellent health, and as he believed, was entirely free from any pulmonary symptoms. He attributed his restoration solely to a residence during several seasons at the Red Sulphur.

We must, however, in closing this brief notice of the Red Sulphur, record some complaints against that establishment. We do it, however, with a spirit very far from that of reproach. Our object is rather the comfort of the public, and the more extensive encouragement of the gentlemanly proprietor. The great defect at the Red Sulphur arises principally from the want of system. The irregularity in the arrangements is exceedingly unpleasant to the visiters, and especially to those who are invalids. There is also a great want of proper attention, on the part of those who have charge of the establishment, and particularly from the servants. We must also express the same opinion of the manager of the Red Sulphur, which we have advanced in relation to the person who holds the same office at the White Sulphur. He may be admirably adapted for some other situation, but, in our opinion, he is not suited for that which he now occupies. Both of these gentlemen have certainly seen enough of the world to know, that something more substantial than promises, is necessary to satisfy the wants of men. We again affirm, that we have spoken nothing in ill will, either toward the White or Red Sulphur, nor to the gentlemen to whom we have alluded. Our remarks have reference to them only as _managers_ of extensive public establishments, and not as private men.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

CONVERSATION PARTIES, SOIREES AND SQUEEZES.

MR. WHITE,--If I may be permitted to imitate in _my_ exordium, the happy brevity of the time-saving merchant in auditing _his_ letters, I will begin by expressing the hope, that "my last of ---- date has been received and contents duly noted." The excuse for following it up so speedily with another, is not so easily found. Indeed I know of none, unless you will accept as such the old plea--"in for a penny, in for a pound." Even this implies a less risk of censure than I fear my rashness may very possibly bring upon me. Methinks I already hear some of your younger readers demand--"what the deuce has such an old croaker as this impertinent Oliver Oldschool to do with the inroads that _we_, his juniors and therefore his betters, may choose to make on any or all of those antiquated manners, customs and fashions which seem to be the gods of his idolatry? Age, which stamps their value upon wine and ardent spirits, is precisely _that very thing_ which renders fashion of no value at all. In _this_, novelty and unexpectedness are our _grand_, and often our sole desiderata; and for _their_ attainment, we want neither grey headed matrons, nor grey bearded old men to advise _us_. What they call _their experience_! (of which they are so fond of boasting,) if listened to at all, serves only to cramp and to trammel _our youthful inventions_. Therefore, to all such we say:--Ladies and Gentlemen, both hands and tongues off, if you please; _laissez nous faire_--let us alone."

The bare expectation of any such flouting, you will probably say, should keep me silent, if I was a man of only a moderate degree of prudence. But like many other obstinate people, my inclination to persist seems to augment inversely to my chances of success. Maugre then the danger and forlornness of my undertaking, I must go on. But before I come to the main purpose of the present letter, pray have patience with me, while I offer a few more remarks in anticipation of another {548} still more serious charge, which I expect will be made against me. I must make them too, with the perfect recollection of the maxim, that "he who begins to plead before he is accused, knows himself to be guilty."--True, however, as this may be in general, _my case_, I hope, will be excepted, after you hear me. The charge to which I allude is,--the odious one of being _a Cynic_. With _you_, sir, I am very sure my bare denial would suffice; but you have many readers who know nothing of me. In deference to _them_ therefore, I feel bound to offer some stronger proof of my innocence; if that which is of a negative character (and it is all I can adduce,) will be accepted. Be it known then, to all whom it may concern, that I, Oliver Oldschool, have always denied, and do hereby deny, the truth of the most important, prominent and offensive of all the cynical dogmas, which is,--that "_men are nothing but monkeys without tails!_" and furthermore, that I hold myself bound and always ready to make battle in this behalf, "_pugnis et calcibus, unguibus et rostro_:" and all this too, notwithstanding the following most startling and humiliating resemblances which have been traced by the true Cynics between the two species. For instance--"Man" (say they) "is a biped"--so is a monkey; at least so nearly one, that his anterior legs serve him admirably well for arms, and accordingly it is still a mooted point, a much vexed question among naturalists which to call them, _arms_ or _legs_. Man generally walks erect, although sometimes, when _top-heavy_, he moves quadruped fashion. The monkey, at least the kind called the ourang outang only reverses the practice, by going more frequently on his two certain and his two quasi legs, than on the two first alone. Man has a facial angle by which those curious, prying fellows, called craniologists, measure the degree of his intelligence and infer the nature of his dispositions. Monkeys also have this angle, often so nearly the same, (mathematically speaking,) with that which we discern in many of our race, that few things are more common than to hear the exclamation "such a one has a monkey face." Lastly, man is most decidedly and conspicuously _an imitative animal_, so is a monkey, and in a degree so very striking, that there is scarcely an outward movement, action, or gesture of ours which his mimetic talents do not enable him to take off to the life. This is especially true of all those peculiar airs indicative of self-complacency and vanity which mark these two races of animals in contradistinction to all others,[1] and may be termed an idiosyncracy of intellect. The coxcomb's ineffable smile of fascination; the witling's pert and sudden smirk of self-conceit; the vain pedant's awkward cachination at his own ill-timed, out-of-place strokes of classic humor; the despicable miser's self-gratulating chuckle at inordinate gain; the _great man's_ gracious grin to his supposed inferiors, and the _little man's_ side-shaking, obstreperous laugh at the abortive joke of some superior from whom he is courting favors; all these and more, your true monkey can enact with such perfect verisimilitude, that if properly dressed for the occasion, he might pass off for the real man in each case, instead of his counterfeit, without the least danger of detection. _His mimickry_, in addition to its fidelity, has this other remarkable circumstance about it, that in applying it, he seems to have no particular choice of objects, but imitates all external actions alike, whether they be praiseworthy or the reverse. Man, on the contrary, in the exercise of _his_ imitative propensities, shows too often a stronger inclination for the bad than the good--for the faulty than the commendable--for the fantastical and the ridiculous rather than the becoming. In nothing is this more remarkable, than in the greedy, ever restless perseverance with which he seeks foreign fashions and customs, and the reckless pertinacity, under all possible discouragements, with which he strives to imitate and adopt them. Of this assertion I have already endeavored to furnish you with some proofs, which to _me at least_ appeared irrefutable. But I will now attempt to supply a few more. These also shall consist of remarks on certain foreign fashions, which may be said to be still under the process of naturalization, having proved so entirely uncongenial to our principles, habits and opinions, as not yet to be firmly established. They may, therefore, be considered as still within the reach of that exterminating power--public opinion.

[Footnote 1: Goldsmith is the only natural historian, I believe, who has urged the claim of the goose to a participation in this enviable human quality, vanity. In his "Animated Nature" he has the following remark in his natural history of the goose, of which I can give only the substance, not having the volume before me. Speaking of the action commonly called "the strutting of the gander," he says: that in _this situation_, there is probably no animal on the face of the earth more important in the eyes of another, than a gander in the eyes of a goose!! Verily, I think, (with due submission) he is mistaken; for a fully whiskered, well mustached beau, with all his bristly honors thick upon him, is to a belle, as far above the gander in the estimation of a goose, as imagination can possibly conceive.]

At the head of these fashions or customs, pre-eminent above the rest, we find the Conversation Party, the _Soiree_, and the Squeeze. The first is admitted to be an emigrè from Italy, although the term is here anglicised; the second is from France, and the third from ---- nobody knows where, unless from our mother country Great Britain; for Johnson gives both a Saxon and a Welsh etymology to it, both meaning _to press or crush between two bodies_; which meaning their American derivative (much to its honor,) has most faithfully preserved.

The conversation party would naturally be deemed by one not in the secret, a party particularly formed for the pleasures of conversation; for imparting and receiving agreeable thoughts; for blending amusement with oral instruction; in a word, for such a voluntary and talented reciprocation of ideas as would improve the taste, gratify the feelings, and heighten the mental enjoyment of all the parties concerned. _Is it this or any thing that bears the slightest resemblance to it?_ I ask an answer from any individual who has ever been to one of them, no matter with how much care it might have been selected. To these parties, such as they really are, I have no intention here to object. All I wish or aim at now, is, to have them called by their right names, as every thing ought to be, if we really desire to confine language to its proper use, which is, to make ourselves, at all times, clearly understood. But in styling these things _Conversation Parties_, before persons who had never been at them, we should practice the grossest deception. For instead of such an assemblage as the current meaning of the term would lead them to expect, and might induce them to seek, they would soon find themselves surrounded by a Babel-like {549} confusion of tongues, where all sorts of odds and ends of unconnected exclamations and eliptical sentences are uttered simultaneously, and in the highest vocal key, by every member of the company--_the mules only_ excepted. Why _they_ should ever frequent such uncongenial spots, is more, I believe, than any one can tell. But certain it is that some of them will always be found there, although as much out of place as the Alumni of the Deaf and Dumb Asylums would be in Congress Hall, attempting to take a debating part in that _other_ Tower of Babel, as John Randolph, with his customary felicity of conception, used to call it.

Of the _Soirée_, I may truly assert that it is an exotic, still so uncongenial, so illy suited to our people, and even to their organs of speech, that not one in a thousand has learned so much as to pronounce its name correctly. Some, even of those who are so far Frenchified as to have been to France, and consequently to interlard their mother tongue with unintelligible French phrases, by way of authenticating the extent of their travels, call it "_Swar-ree_;" as if it were a place where all the attendants were to have oaths of some sort or other administered to them, so as to entitle them to be designated _Sware-rees_. Others again, in a more sportsmanlike manner, pronounce it _So-ree_, which (as Mr. Jefferson has told us,) is the true Indian appellative for the Rallus, or water-rail. Such orthoepists, we may suppose, if asked where they had been, on returning from a party of the kind, might well answer, in the Virginia sportsman's dialect, "we have been _so-russ-in_;" for this twistification of the term from its original meaning would be nothing comparable to many that have been made by etymologists of the highest reputation. For instance, all Virginia sportsmen, living near fresh water marshes, know well, that at _so-russ-in parties_, (as they universally call them,) the great object is _to kill and eat fat birds_. But a principal object of a _soirée_ party being _to catch and use_ what may well be figuratively called _fat birds_, the substitution of the term "_so-russ-in party_" for a "_soirée party_" is amply justified upon all etymological principles. I therefore take the liberty of strongly recommending it, unless our _soirée_-giving gentry would suspend their operations long enough, at least to learn from some native French teacher how to invite a French gentleman to their parties, in language that he himself would understand; since to ask him to a swàr-ree or sò-rée would be quite unintelligible.

To gratify the curious I have consulted a friend as to the literal meaning of the French word "_soirée_," (being no French scholar myself) and find that the term, like thousands of others in all languages, has been pressed from its original signification into its present service, by a sort of metonymy, as the rhetoricians call it; and instead of being applied to designate that portion of the twenty-four hours which we call _evening_, is now used to express the receiving of short evening visits on any named day, by one's friends and acquaintance. This, according to one of Leontine's letters, published in your February number, seems to be the French fashion. But we Southerners of these United States, either from ignorance or design, have so innovated upon the foreign practice, that it would puzzle a much more experienced man than myself in such matters, to explain what is to be understood, in Virginia parlance, by _swar-ree_ or _so-ree_, or whatever other barbarous pronunciation they choose to give the French word. I can only say, that I myself have seen a few thus variously called, each of which proved a kind of olla podrida or dish of all sorts; fish, flesh and fowl in _one_ place; a non-descript, desultory kind of dancing in _another_; all talking-and-no-listening politicians battling in a _third_; and card playing, drinking and uproarious mirth in a _fourth part_ of the general assemblage, wherein were gathered together, as many as could be, of all sizes and sorts of persons, "ring-streaked, speckled and spotted" to the full, as much as Laban's flocks themselves. Take notice, good Mr. Editor, that I am not now daring to _censure_, but only to _describe_, as well as I can, what my own eyes have beheld. I am not now "telling tales out of school;" for my school going days furnished me with no such secrets, however "the march of mind" may have since disclosed them to other tyroes in the pursuit of education.

The _Squeeze_ I shall endeavor more particularly to describe; since my reminiscences, although "few and far between," are still so vivid, that I can venture to delineate them without fear of their suffering, at least from forgetfulness. It is true that I cannot say, as Æneas did to queen Dido, of _his_ sufferings at and after the siege of Troy--"quorum pars _magna_ fui;" as one or two experiments quite sufficed for me; but I can truly apply the same line to myself, could I only substitute the word _patiens_ for "_magna_," without too much offence against the measure of the poetry, and I could then give in my experience, as the Trojan hero did, in perfect sincerity and good faith.

Know then, sir, that in the year and month ----, and on a certain night, I was seduced by curiosity--that fell destroyer of our race--to go, for the first time, to a party called a Squeeze, in the city of Washington, denominated by some "the Grand City of O," after the capital in Cunningham's amusing fiction of "_The World without Souls_." Being accompanied by one of the initiated, my debut was readily made as others made theirs. Without material obstruction we were ushered through the passage by the escorting valet; but when we reached the door of the principal pressing and crushing room, _hic labor, hoc opus est!_ here commenced that series of efforts and struggles which was not soon to end, as I afterwards found, to the no small detriment of various parts of my body and limbs. Through this door also, my entrance was at last effected; for what obstacle may not perseverance overcome? A strong effort of my own in the van, and the unsolicited aid in the rear of those who, like myself, wished to see all that was to be seen, very soon protruded me "_in medias res_," which I beg leave to render in idiomatic English--"up to the hub" in the business. Not many minutes however elapsed, before the pressing and crushing became so intense as to excite an earnest desire for a change both of place and posture. Accordingly I bent my course towards another room, having understood there were several prepared for _the accommodation!_ (strange misnomer, thought I,) of the company. This joint removal of body and limbs, which I had a particular fancy should not be disunited, having kept company with each other from my birth, I found toilsome and oppressive in no ordinary degree. For the instant I began to move I was met by a strong counter-current composed of a compact mass of my co-squeezers and {550} squeezees--many of whom were of such "breadth and heft" as would verily have done great honor to a Massachusett's cattle show of the highest grade, had the subjects only been quadrupeds instead of bipeds, and in equal condition for market.