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'From Legends of New-England'
A NIGHT AMONG TIIE WOLVES.
“The gaunt Wolf,
Scenting the place of slaughter with his long
And most offensive howl, did ask for blood."’’
“The wolf—the gaunt and ferocious wolf!
How many talcs of wild horror are associated
with his name! Tales of the deserted battle
field—where the wolf and the v.dture feast to
gether—a horrible and obscene banquet, real
izing the fearful description of the Siege of
Corinth, when—
‘Outlie edge of the gulf,
There sat a raving flapping wolf,’
amidst the cold and stiffening corses of the
fallen; or of the wild Scandinavian forests,
where the peasant sinks down exhausted amid
the drift of winter, and the wild wolf-howl
sounds fearfully in his deafening ear, and lean
forms and evil eyes gather closer and closer
around him, as if impatient for the death of
the doomed victim.
“The early settlers of New England were
Hot (infrequently incommoded by the num
bers and ferocity of the wolves, which prow lid
around their rude settlements. The hunter
easily overpowered them, and with one dis
charge of his musket scattered them from about
his dwelling. They fled even from the timid
child, in the broad glare of day—but in the
thick and solitary night, far away from the
dwellings of men, they were terrible from
their fiendish and ferocious appetite for blood.,
“I have heard of a fearful story of the wolf,
from the lips of some of the old settlers of Ver
mont. Perhaps it may be best told in the
language of one of the witnesses of the scene.
“’Twas a night of January, in the year 17—.
"We had been to a line quilting frolic, about
two miles from our little settlement of four or
five log-houses. ’Twas rather late—about
twelve o’clock, I should guess—w hen the par
ty broke up. There was no moon—and a dull
grey shadow or haze hung all around the hor
izon, while overhead a few pale and sickly
looking stars, gave us their dull light, as they
shone through a dingy curtain. There were
six of 11s in company—Harry Mason and my
self, and four as pretty girls as ever grew up
this side of the Green Mountains. There
were my two sisters and Harry’s sister and his
sweat heart, the daughter of our next door
neighbor. She was a right down handsome
cirl —that Caroline Allen I never saw her
equal, though 1 am no stranger to pretty faces.
She was so pleasant and kind of heart—so gen
tle and sweet-spoken and so intelligent be
sides, that every body loved her. She had an
eye as blue ns the hill voilet, and her lips
were like a red rose leaf in June. No won
der then that Harry Mason loved her—boy
though he was—for we bad neither of us seeii
our seventeenth summer.
“Our path lay through a thick forest of oak,
with here and there a tall pine raising its
dark, full shadow against the sky, with an
outline rendered indistinct by the darkness.
The snow was deep—deeper a great deal than
it ever falls of late years—but the surface was
frozen strongly enough to bear our weight,
and wb twirled on over the white pathway
with rapid steps. We had not proceeded far
before a low, long howl came to our ears.—
We all knew it in a moment; and I could feel
a shudder- thrill mg the arms that were folded
as a sudden cry burst from
the lifc’S' ; hi fill of us—“the wolves—the
wolvesp
“l)id roc ever see a wild wolf—not one of
your ea^c.l, 'broken down, show animals, which
are exhibited for sixpence a sight, children
fialf ps‘its& —but a fierce, half-starved ranger of
the v'i.ttrv forest, howling and hurrying over
pie k&ron snow, actually mad with hunger?
SmSmte is ho one of God’s creatures which has
a frightful, fiendish look as this animal.
*Ht lias the lonn as well as the spirit "of a de
mon.
“Another, and another howl-*—and then we
could hear distinctly the quick patter of feet
behind us. We all turnpd right about, and
looked in the direction of the sound.
“ ‘The devils are after us,’ said Mason,
pointing to aline of dark, gliding bodies, —
And so in fact they were—a whole troop of
them—howling like so many Indians in a
.pow way. We had no weapons of any kind;
and we knew enough of the nature of the vile
creatures who followed us to feel that it would
be useless to contend without them. There
was not a moment to lose—the savage beasts
wore close upon us. To attempt flight would
have been a hopeless affair. There was but
one chance of escape, and we instantly sei
zed upon it.
“ ‘To the tree—let ns climb this tree !’ 1
cried springing forward towards alow hough
ed and gnarled oak, which I saw at a glance,
might be easily climbed into.
“Harry Mason sprang lightly into the tree,
and aided in placing the terrified girls in a
place of comparative security among the thick
boughs. I was the last on the ground, and the
whole troop were yelling at my heels before 1
reached the rest of the company. There was
one moment of hard breathing and wild ex
clamations among us, and then- a feeling of
calm thankfulness for our escape. The night
was cold—and we soon began to shiver and
-s-hake, like so many sailors on the top-mast of
Jin Iceland whaler. But there were no mur
murs—no complaining among us, for we could
■distinctly see tiie gaunt, attenuated bodies of
the wolves beneath us, and every now and
then we could see great, glowing eyes, star
ing up into the tree where we were seated.—
.And then their yells—they were loud and long
and devilish!
“I know not how long vse had remained in
this situation, for we had no means of ascer
taining the time—when I heard a limb of the
tree cracking, as if breaking down beneath
the weight of some of us : and a moment af
ter a shriek went through my ears like the
piercing of a knife. A light form went plun
ging down through the naked branches, and
fell with a dull and heavy sound upon the still'
snow.
* ‘Oh, God : I am gone !’
It was the voice of Caroline Allen. The
paor girl never spoke again! There was a
horrid dizziness uud confusion in niv brain,
and I spoke no?—and 1 stirred not —for the
the whole was at that time like an ugly, un
real dream. I only rrmcrnbi r tlint there were
cries and shuddering? around me; perhaps I
THE MACON ADVERTISER, AND AGRICULTURAL AND MERCANTILE INTELLIGENCER.
joined with them—and that there were smoth
ered groans, and dreadful howls underneath.
It was all over in a moment. Poor Caroline!
She was literally eaten alive. The wolves
had a frightful feast, arid they became raving
mad with the taste of blood. .
“V lien I came fully to myself—when the
horrible dream went off—and it lasted but a
moment—l Struggled to shake off the arm of
my sisters, which were clinging around me,
and could i have cleared myself, I should have
jumped down among the raging animals. But
when a second thought came ovc* - me, 1 knew
that any attempt to rescue would be useless.
As for poor Mason, he was wild with horror,
lie had tried to follow Caroline when she fell,
hut he could not shake off the grasp of his
terrified sister, llis youth, and weak consti
tution and frame, were unable to withstand
the dreadful trial; and he stood close by my
side, with his hands firmly clenched and his
teeth set closely, gazing down upon the dark,
wrangling creatures below with the fixed stare
ot a maniac. It was indeed a terrible scene.
Around us was the thick cold night—and be
low, (he ravenous wild beasts were lapping
their bloody jaws, and howling lor another
victim.
“i lie morning broke at last; and our fright
jV enemies fled at the first advance of day
light, like so many cowardly murderers. We
waited until the sun hail risen before we ven
tured to crawl down from our resting place.—
Wc were chilled through—every limb was
numb w ith cold and terror—and poor Mason
was delirious and raved wildly about the
dreadful things he had witnessed. There
were bioody stains all around the tree; and
two or three long locks of dark hair were
trampled into the snow.
“We had gone but a little distance when
we met our friends from the settlement, who
had become alarmed at our absence. They
w ere shocked at our wild and frightful appear
ance - and my brothers have oftentimes told
tne that at first view we all seemed like so
many crazed and brain-sicken creatures. —
They assisted us to roach our homes; but
Harry Mason never recovered fully from the
dreadful trial. He neglected his business,
his studies, and his friends, and would sit a
lone for hours together, ever and anon mut
tering to himself about that horrible night—
He fell to drinkingsoon after and died a mis
erable drunkard, before age had withered a
hair of his head.
“For my own part I confess I have never
entirely overcome the terrors of the melan
choly circumstance which l have endeavored
to describe. The thought of it has haunted
me like my ow r n shadow; and even now, the
whole scene comes at times freshly before me
in my dreams, and I start up with something
ol the same feeling of terror which l experi
enced, when more than half a century ago, I
passed a night among the wolves.
,T. G. W.
'
“ Other employments and arts serve for the em
bellishment, but Agriculture is necessary fur the
support of human life,’’
THE rniteKNT STATE OF AOIiICJ.TUHE.
Ify John Taylor, of Caroline.
A patent must know that he is sick, before
he will take physic. A collection of a few
facts, to ascertain the ill health of agricul
ture, is necessary to invigorote our efforts to
wards a cure. One, apparent to the most su
perficial observed, is,that our land has dimin
ished in fertility.—Arts improve the work of
nature — when they injure it, they are not
arts, but barbarous customs. It is tile office
of agriculture, as an a*t, not to impoverish,
but to fertilize the soil, and make it more use
ful than in its natural state. Such is the ef
fect of every species of agriculture, which
can aspire to the character of an ait. Its ob
ject being to furnish man with articles of the
first necessity, whatever defeats that object,
is a crime of the first magnitude. Had men
a power to obscure or brighten the light of
the sun, by obscuring it, they would imitate
the morality of diminishing the fertility of the
earth. Is not one as criminal as the other?
Yet it is a lact, that lands in their natural
state, are more valuable, than those which
have undergone our habit of agriculture, or
which emigrations are complete proofs.
The decay of a multitude of small towns,
so situated as to depend for support on unal
terable district:-, is another proof of the impov
erishment of the soil. It is true, that a few
large towns have grown up, but this is owing,
not to an increased product, but to an increas
ed pasture; whereas, in every case, where
the pasture is limited, or insolated by local
circumstances, small towns have sprung up,
whilst the lands were fresh, and decayed, us
they were worn out. I have no facts to ascer
tain certainly the products of agriculture at
different periods relatively to the number of
people; such would furnish a demonstration
of its state. But I have understood, that six
ty-thousand hogsheads of tobacco were expor
ted from Y irg.nia, when it contained about
one fourth of its present population. If
had the fertility of the country remained uu
diniinished, Virginia ought now toexporttwo
hundred and forty thousand hogsheads, or an
equivalent. In this estimate, every species
of export except tobacco, is excluded at one
epoch, and exports of every kind included at
the other; yet the latter would fall far short of
exhibiting the equivalent necessary to bring
itself on a footing, as to agriculture, with the
former. Two hundred and forty thousand
hogsheads of tobacco, which, or an equivalent,
Y irginia would now export, if the state of ag
riculture had been as flourishing as it was sixty
or seventy years past, at the present value, by
which ail our exports are rated, would be
worth above seventy millions of dollars; and
supposing Y irginia to furnish one seventh
part of the native agricultural exports of the
United States, these ought now to amount to
one hundred and twenty millions of dollars,
1 had the product of agriculture, kept pace \\ ith
the increase of population. If this statement
is not exactly correct, enough of it certainly is
so, to demonstrate a rapid impoverishment of
tile soil of the United States.
'The decay of the cultute of tobacco is tes
timony to this unwelcome fact. It is desert
ed because the lands are exhausted. The
conceal from ourselves a disagreeable truth,
we resort to the delusion, that tobacco re
quires new or fresh land; whereas every one
acquainted with the plant knows,that its quan
tity and quality, as is the case with most or
all plants, are both greatly improved by
manured land, the fertility of which lias
been artificially increased. Whole counties,
comprising large districts of country, which
once grew tobacco in great quantiti s, are
now too sterile to grow any of moment; and
the wheat crops substituted for tobacco, have
already sunk to an average below profit.
From the mass of facts, to prove that the
fertility of our country has been long declin
ing, and that our agriculture is in a miserable
state, I shall only select one more. The av
erage of our native exports, is about forty
millions of dollars annually. Some portion
of this amount consists of manufactuies, the
materials for which are not furnished by agri
culture; another, as is extensively the fact in
the case of flour, has passed through the hands
of the manufacturer. Of the first portion he
receives the whole price, of the second a pro
portion. And a third portion of our products
is obtained from the sea. Of the fortv mill
ions exported, agriculture, therefore, receives
about thirty five. The taxes of every kind,
state and federal, may he estimated at twenty
millions of dollars, of which agriculture pays
at least fifteen, leaving twenty millions of her
exports for her own use. Counting all the
slaves, who ought to be counted both as
sources of product and expense, in estima
mating the state of agriculture, the people of
the United States may probably amount to
about seven millions, and it may be fairly .as
sumed, that the interest or occupation of six
millions of these seven, is agricultural, Ot
the whole surplus product of agriculture ex
ported, after deducting the taxes it pays, there
remains for each individual a few cents above
three dollars. Out of this mass of profit, he is
to pay for the manufactures, luxuries and ne
ccsssaries he consumes, not raised by him
self;,and the only remaining article to be car
ried to the credit of agriculture, is the small
gain it derives from its domestic sales, not to
itsell, or from sales by one of its members to
another, for that does not enrich it, but to
other classes, such as manufacturers and sol
diers. Against the former, agriculture is to
be debited with the bounties she is made by
law to pay them; against the latter, she has
been already debited by deducting her taxes
from her exports. Neither can be a source of
much wealth or profit to her, because in one
case she furnishes the money by taxation, and
in the other by bounties, with which her pro
ducts arc purchased. It is, therefore, nearly
true, that the income of agriculture is only
three dollars per poll, and that this income is
her whole fund for suppying her wants and ex
tending her improvements. This estimate is
infinitely more correct, than one drawn from
individual wealth or poverty. To infer from
the first, that every body might become rich,
as a defence of our agricultural regimen,
would be a conclusion as fallacious, as to in
fer from the second, that every body must be
come poor, as a proof of its badness. Extra
ordinary talents or industry will produce ex
traordinary effects. Instances of happiness
or wealth under a despotism, do not prove
that its regimen is calculated for general
wealth or happiness. A system, commercial,
political or agricultural, so wretched as not
to exhibit cases of individual prosperity, has
never appeared, because an universal scourge
would be universally abhorred. It is not
from partial, but general facts, that we can
draw a correct knowledge of our agriculture.
Even a personal view cf the country, might
deceive the thoughtless, because neither the
shortness of life, nor the gradual impoverish
ment of land, are calculated to establish a vi
sible standard of comparison. A man must
be old and possess a turn for observation from
his youth, to he able to judge correctly from
this source, t have known many farms for
above forty years, and though I think that all
of them have been greatly impoverished, yet
I rely more upon the general facts I have
stated, for agreeing with Strickland in opin
ion, “tlnit the agriculture of the United States
affords only a hare subsistence—that the fer
tility of our lands is gradually declining—
and that agriculture has arrived to the lowest
state of degradat ion.”
1 Hferna 1 1 inprorrincni.
From the Savannah Georgian.'
We have been very much gratified to ob
serve that a consideration of the means, by
which the commerce cf our city maybe revi
ved and extended, is beginning to engage the
attention of our intelligent citizens. The
bridge which it is proposed to build at the up
per end of the city, and which was suggested
many years ago by a practical man, will be a
valuable acquisition—but whoever will at
tentively peruse the following articles, which
we have extracted from the Charleston Cour
ier, will see that we are called for higher ef
forts, if we do not wish to be deprived of the
natural advantages of our position, by the
greater facilities of int* rior communication,
which are about to be afforded, by our enter-
Ifewill jie seen that the
meree of the AjirttA,’.v aceJ an
Atlantic outlet, ami-#. dVvsfils upon us wheth
er Charleston, or Savannah shall afford that
outlet. A canal, or a rail road of proper con
struction, to Columbus via Macon, will decide
this controversy in our favor—and we earn
estly hope that our fellow-citizens of Savan
nah, and of the State generally, who will par
ticipate largely in the benefits of the propos
ed measure, will unite in the efforts which arc
necessary to its accomplishment. We will
cheerfully open our columns to the discus
sion of this interesting subject.
Extract of a letter from a gentleman of res
pectability and intelligence, near Knoxville,
in Tennessee, to a member of the Direction of
South Carolina Canal and Rail-road Compa
ny, dated 14tli April, 1831.
“You will observe that owing to the circu
! tious character of our present route to mar-|
j krt, (the Tennessee river) as well as thc-dan-J
gers of the subsequent voyage from New Or-j
leans to the Atlantic sea ports, and to Eu
rope, our cititens are compelled to look out J
for a more direct communication with the rest
of the world, and one in which the value of!
our imports be received with shorter delay, j
and at less expense. The inquiry has thus)
become an important one, what channel of'
trade will lead vs most directly, with our stir- !
plus products, to the best market, and afford
the greatest facilities for the reception of our
importsl The circular invites our attention
to a land communication between a navigable
branch of the Ohio river, and the North Caro
lina line. A Committee has examined the!
route and reported favorably. It is now pro
posed that Delegates from all sections of the
country interested in the contenplatcd im
provement, should meet on the first Monday
in June, to deliberate on the general subject,
and to form some plan of extensive co-opera
tiori. It occurs to me that it is essential to
all concerned, that the South Carolina Rail
Road Company should be represented at the
proposed convention. After an attentive ex
umination of the subject, it is my deliberate
opinion, that Charleston is the point from
which ail our European imports will eventual
ly be received; and that twenty five percent,
of the exports from the Mississippi valley,
will find the same outlet to market. lam not
so sanguine as to believe that the present
means of the country arc adequate to the com
pletion of a Rail Road from the point at which
your road will terminate, to the" Great West."
iiut in the commencement of our works of in
ternal improvement—in our surveys and ex
amination, that ultimate object should be kept
constantly in view. Our turnpikes and other
roads should, receive that location and direct
ion, which will ultimately lead ton branch of
your Rail Road, and form the basis of a con
tinuation of it to our country. Such a bifur
cation it appears to me could be advantage
ously made through Colombia, and along the
dividing ridge between the Tiger andEnoree
rivers, pursuing pretty much the present
route of the State Road, and terminating at
the Saluda Gap. Good roads from North
Carolina and Tennessee, already meet your
State Road at that point, and are susceptible
of, and arc now receiving additional improve
ments. It is believed that our river, the
French Broad, can be made navigable to New
port—a village upon its banks, less than 100
miles from the Saluda Gap. Steamboats may
not ascend so high, but that point may be cer
tainly reached by keels. Should your compa
ny, therefore, coutinue the road to Saluda
G ap, that point will become a depot for the
Western country, and will be within one hun
dred miles of a navigable branch of the Ten
nessee river. Should the Sandy river commu
nication be found the most available, the ter
jminationof your Rail Road will be within
200 miles of a navigable branch of the
Ohio.”
In addition to the above, it may be impor
tant to notice the following communication
concerning the navigation of the Tennessee
river, from the Cincinnati Daily Advertiser:
"Enterpnze. —The ‘Knoxville,’ a beau
tiful light draft Steamboat measuring 100 feet
keel, and 17 ) feet beam, belonging to compa
ny at Knoxville, (Tenn.) and built under the
superintendence of Col. YV. B. A. Ramsay,
of that place, is intended to navigate the Ten
ncssee river, from the Muscle Shoals to Knox
ville, a distance of 500 miles. She is well
calculated to carry freight, and is fitted up
wr.li superior accommodation for cabin and
deck passengers. Her arrival at her desti
nation will, we doubt not, be cheeringly
greeted, and tend to produce anew era in the
agricultural and commercial interests of that
enterprising town.”
From the London New Monthly Magazine.
LITERARY CHARACTERS.
James Fennimore Cooper.
Thcf ollowing article is but an abstract of that
in the New Monthly, which is accompanied
by a handsome engraved portrait of Cooper.
Among the frequenters of circulating li
braries, and indeed in literary coteries of ail
kinds, Mr. Cooper is generally designated
“The great American Novelest.” YVhen the
name ol a writer becomes identified in this
manner with that of his country, he may feel
sufficiently assured of the permanency of his
reputation. He may, with perfect safety,
leave his fame to the care of itself. His is no
fleeting or narrow renown ? it is associated
with his ‘land’s language.”
YVe are not hazarding much in saying, that
no writer ever possessed the advantages enjoy,
ed by the author of “The Spy,” on liis outset
in literary life. The very peculiarity of his
situation rendered it next to impossible for
him to fail in charming that large portion of
tiie English people denominated the novel rea
ders. An Esquimaux poet, brought over by
Capt. Parry could hardly have excited more
wonder than the “great American Novelist,”
when he made his first appearance in Europe-
The world fell into a fit of admiration at the
first sign of a genius on the barren waste of
America, and started at it as the bewildered
Crusoe did at Friday’s footmark on the sand.
But in addition to these lesser advantages, the
Novelist enjoyed the grand and all sufficing
one that arises from an entire originality of
subject. The field that lay open before him
was not merely of immeasurable extent, but
lie tyidfe?’ 1 felicity of having it all to himself.
Like fife Artier,{Mariner,
Into that silent sea.”
He suddenly found himself recognized as
the Sir Walter* of the New World—one who
was to do for his country what Scott had done
for his; to delineate the character of its peo
ple; to paint its scenery; to exult in its ac
quirements and prospects; but above all to
assert its glory and independence.
If some portion of the success of our trans
lantic Novelist was referable to circumstances
*An example of Mr. Cooper’s appreciations of
his illustrious rival occurred while he was sittimr
for the portrait that accompanies our sketch. The
artist, Madame- Mirbel, requested him, as is usual
in such cases to lix his eye upon a particular
point. “Look at that picture,” said she, pointing
to one of a distinguished statesman. “ No” said
Cooper, “If 1 must look at any, it shall be at my
master,” directing his glance a little higher, to a
portrait of Sir YY'alter Scott.
j and to the peculiar attractiveness of his sub
jects, a still greater portion was attributable
I to himself, and to the energy and enthusiasm
which he brought to his labors. We never
| met with novels—(and wo have read all that
i were overwritten since the creation of the
world,) of a more absorbing character, or more
j fatal to the female propensity of skipping the
! digressive portions. Every word of Mr. Coo
per s narrative is effective,or appears so while
you read ; and yet he docs not scruple to des
cribe an object in the most elaborate and un
compromising terms, three of four times over
in the in the same work, if it be necessary that
j the reader should have an accurate outline of
it before his eyes. Ilis sea scents are unique.
He docs not give you “a painted ship upon a
painted ocean.” All is action, character and
ami poetry. You see in tire images which he
conjures up, every accessary of the scene,
however insignificant; you hear, in the terms
in which he describes them, the roaring of the
surge, the voice of the seamen, and the flap
| pings ol the sails. Amidst such scenes as
these, where
“His march is o’erthe mountain wave,
Ilis home on the deep.”
wc lose sight ot land altogether ; and are star
tled, a lew chapters farther on, at finding
ourselves, in a wild barren, wintry region, the
antipodes of that we had left. “The Mater
M itch, ’ his last production, has several sea
scenes, not inferior to any that preceded them.
It is more wild and experimental in parts, but
it lacks nothing in point of freshness and en
ergy.
i* rom all that we can loam of the gifted
American, from those who have had the best
and most recent opportunities of personal ob
servation, we should judge that this general
bearing indicates a man of strong natural
powers, great decision of character, and ob
servant habits—more perhaps, of things than
men. He is rather above than under the mid
dle height, his figure well and firmly set, and
his movements rather rapid and graceful.—
AH liis gestures are those of promptness and
energy. His high, expansive forehead is a
phrenological curiosity; a deep indenture a
cross its open surface throws the lower organs
of eventuality, locality, and individuality” in
to fine effect; while those immediately above,
comparison, casuality, and gaiety—are equal
ly remarkable. His eyes, which are deeply
set, have a wild, stormy, and restless ex
pression, as if they scorned sleep, and were
perpetually in search of something. But it is
his mouth that has the strongest pretentions
to singularity of character. An inflexible
firmness forms its expression when silent, but
when he speaks, it seems as though he held
all the passions and feelings of the heart un
der his command, and could summon them to
his lip at pleasure. It is then that he rivets
the attention more than any living writer—riot
excepting Words worth. David, the French
sculptor, in his fine bust of the novelist, has
given this character admirably. His head al
together is strikingly intellectual; its severi
ty is relieved by simplicity. Nature moulded
it in majesty, yet denied it not the gentle
graces that should ever adorn greatness.
His manners are a pleasant mixture of the
mariner and the gentlemen. He is an Amer
ican, even in our English sense of the term;
the amor patrice is in him a passion that never
subsides; he is devotedly attached to liis eoun
try, to its institutions, and (as is apparent
Iroin his works) to its rugged but magnificent
scenery.
lhe family of Mr. Cooper was originally
front Buckingham in England, settled in A
inerica in 1679, and about a century after
w-ards became established in the State of New
York. He was born at Burlington, on the j
Delaware, 1789, and was removed at an ear
ly age to Cooper’s Town—a place, of which
he has given an interesting account in “ The
Pioneers.” At thirteen, he was admitted to
Yale College, New Haven, and three years
afterwards, went to sea—an event that gave a
character and a colour to his after life, and:
produced impressions, of which the world has
already reaped the rich result. On his mar
riage with a daughter of John Peter De Lan
cey, ofYYestchester county, New York, he
quitted the navy, and devoted himself to com
position. Mr. Cooper’s first work was pub
lished in 1821, and every year since that pe
riod has brought its new novel. He has al
ready printed and become popular in many
cities—in London, Paris, Florence and Dres
den.
In 1810, his health having suffered consi
derably from a fever that attacked him two
years before, he was induced to visit Europe ;
this lias restored him, and ho now thinks of
returning to a homo which his heart has nev
cr abandoned. YVe had omitted to mention,
that Mr. Cooper, was appointed chiefly to pro
tect his papers to the Consulship at Lyons a
nominal post, which he resigned about three
years ago.
In Paris, where Mr. Cooper at present re
sides, no man is more sought after, and few
so much respected. Under the old regime it
might have been different. The whispering
jealousy, and national dislike that were oc
casionally audible here, do not. reach him
there. He appears to bo perfectly at bb ease
—sensible of the estimation, but not over-es
timation, by which he is held by all sects and
parties. Yet he seems to claim little consul
j eration on the score of intellectual greatness
( he is evidently prouder of his birth than of
his genius ; and looks, speaks, and walks as
it ne exulted more in being recognized as an
American citizen, than as the author of “The
1 1 lot. and “The Praric.”
LACONICS.
Passion Have not to do with nnv man in
Ins passion ; foi men arc not like iron, to be
wrought upon when they are hot.
lie whose mind possesses nothing more than
ho can express by words, is in truth very poor.
I' or get not that life is like a flower which
w"t.lur fKr fU 7 1,,0Wn ’ ,lum lt br L nns to
A Politician —A fellow that turns his coat
because n he did not he would soon have no
coat to turn.
Foreigners—Ho that cannot forgive others
breaks the bridge ovt r which he must pass
himself, for every man hath need to be for
given. *
Conversation People that change their
religion from reading books of controvert
are not so much converted*as outwitted
SLAV Kit V :
Its Caricature,exhibited in Mr. MnlPn', i r
sionary Address.
Me have now before us one of those f an H
ml and splendid pictures'of human intdl .•*
on which the smile of pity and the frown ’•
contempt may alternately rest. See a n-,n ,
it in the following words : 1,04
“1 rise with the most heartfelt concurrence
in your noble design of sending a Mission-,
to the colony of Liberia, on the coast of \J
ca. Ihrougli tins propitious opening Vo ,.
uulreach the heart of that benighted cent
nent. lour object is clothed with [the nuw
nifacence of benevolence, and accords 3
the promise of God to Ethiopia in the lam
days. Ihe descendant .of Africa is not an an
onymous being— the child of accident. V,
see .unilabouring in the scorched fields e'
the slave holder, the inheritor of a labour th t
profited, him nothing— and this lean inhere
anceof misery is, he well knows, all Z
earthly good that hard-hearted task master
design lor him and his children. M'e see !■
face darker than the palo demon ofavarice'lo
wborn, at the whip’s end, he is driven to ]/,
ceaseless, profitless toil— but no one mark,
this man of grief as one on whom the sun bin
looked in his wrath and scorched him i nto a „
abject inferiority to human kind. Rather
when we see him, wc think of a fair off l,nd
a vast continent which hangs in the opposite
balance to our own stupendous America M T .
feel when we see the slave in Free America
as if wc behold a branch of ancient empire
torn from its parent stock withering under ai •
other sky.
Ob, how I tremble for America, when I
think ol the sins of slavery, piled mountain
high agamst her in the chancery of heaven I
fearfully anticipating, and yet depreciating
the judgments which so terrible a natiomd
sin cal s down upon the fairest portion of
earth, I cannot but feel a thrill of horror as 1
j N-’PeaDfoe eloquent language of one who ah
: juded to the punishment of a certain nation
for the less cruel and inconsistent sin of inf
deny. Says he, “the tale ina:’e every 4
which heard it, tingle, and every heart chill
with horror. It was, in the language of Os.
slat/, the song of death. It was like the reim
ot the plague in a populquS citvi Knell toil
ed upon knell; hoarse &llowc<f hearse; mi
coliiin rumbled after coflin, without a iiitfini
ner to shed a tear upon the corpse,’''ot a soil
tan attendant to mark the place of the grave.’l
M e cannot conceive the consistency of that!
philanthropy which would drive the ambassaJ
dor of the sav iour froni-the cottage of the slarel
and doom him to grope iq the darkness ot fciJ
depraved nature. And yet, tnis is precise!?!
the philant ropy of Mr. Maffit’s speech. Tiu|
moral energies of his mind lost in the mazesl
ol his tancy exhibit such a caricature of slavl
ery as once drove our Methodist Mission™!
from the abodes of our negroes; and just sucil
an one indeed, as would now deprive them oil
the means which they enjoy of benefiting tliatl
class ot our population.—M' here, may we ask,l
is to be found such a picture of the wretch.. I
ness of slavery as that which he has draw,!
. here is to be found “the descendants of -I
nca, labouring in the scorched fields ol til
slave owner, the inheritor of a labour t®
profiteth him nothing ?” VVill such a tel
muster be found in the United States-®
rather may w e not go to Africa, the famrcU
land of light and liberty, to find him! . .1
la the literal acceptation of this sweeping i®
flow ery sentence, we know no such a
in human shape, and with a very ‘few e.ra®
j tioris (and those, strange to tell, the einiga'j®
of Europe and New England, who cane A
mong us in the characters of high-toned pH
fessors and ministers: now driven from t?!!
Church for cruelty to their states) w< .M
knowledge olno one who bears even the; :fl
blance ot such an one. Are there no
! men be found labouring in “the scerc!®
fields ’ of the farmer on hire, as pitiful asisH
ot the slave ? Is not the number of ibis cifl
of human beings greater in every ( ountry!®
that ot the slaves in our own ? Why have!®
bowels of comparison been closed” to l l :.'®
Is there no voice of pity in all the .-wide ii®
of Christendom to cheer them in their
fate ! Is it the office of charity, /feare/i!®
charity, to close her ears to their cries,
heed only those of the slave whose
wants are amply supplied ?—Can he wlioH
ceives food and raiment enough to
coinfortabls from infancy to old age, be :®
“to labor for nothing ?” Is the master ofsfl
a slave an execrablq wretch, worthy only
place in the pit of darkness ?—YVhere
the Book ot God can lie found the sen'iii®
that "his sin is less cruel and
that of infidelity!''’ These are grave 1 1
tions, predicated upon the graver charge®
-Mr. Maflitt’s fancy. If the laws of our ol
try regard the protection and comfort cl H
slave in every state of liis existence,and I
master ol that slave is fonnd acting
principles of those laws—if among that
of human brings who have such a strong®
upon the tender sensibilities of the On®
soul, are found thousands and hundred®
thousands, happier, and living under l>{fl
circumstances thsn those of the poor,®
men of any other country, where is theyi ; ®
where is the truth of the assertion, that
blacker than Infidelity rest upon our ro®
and our fellow-citizens? Truth isti®
unce in which every sentiment shot?®
weighed, and if this bo truth, well w®
tremble for our fate. But we ask agaa®
trutn ? Me have the testimony of Mr m
fit’s funei ul trope, borrowed from tlu'l
authority of I)r. Dwight, but tropes and®
ers ot rhetoric arc not always founded "I
M r c presume that it will not ho den®
those who threaten us with “Heaven®
curses,” that much the greater part oft! l ®
man family in every country, work &®
benefit of the rest. ” Why is this so? J®
power, human and divine, has this erd®
ol distinction been drawn and sustain-®
May we regard it a merciful dispense®
Providence to render more probable '■
vat ion of so large a portion
saving them Iroin the snares incident W l ®
| or has it been effected by the hand i®
I S! °n, the mere chance efforts ot jad®
I characters as pour a tide of wrath, np-’®
t M’e are not fastidious in the solution i®
i problems—the fact and I’-hoß't®