Newspaper Page Text
#ratro! Crlrrtir.
From the Home Journal.
COCKNEYISM OF ENGLISH CASCADES.
My Dear
the Marquis of Hollohed, ever take
you out of a morning, before luncheon,
through a mile and a half of damp
forest (with unlimited common of soak
aye!) to show you his cascade?
Ten to one, if he has. your predomi
nant feeling on reaching the spot where
it ought to be, and where his lordship
makes a grand pause, and points out
what he means you shall take for it,
has been a burst of disappointment
that there was not water enough in
which to drown him!
A few bucketfuls of water dripping
over a heap of rocks, in comparison of
which the paving-stones that went to
make the substratum of the Bowling
Green fountain were cyclopean—a cas
cade !
At that rate a barrelful would be a
cataract, and the contents of a hogs
head would be the deluge over again in
spite of the rainbow.
This to a man who has summered at
Trenton; whose eyes and ears have fed
on Niagara!
But the English have no conception
of the element, water.
They have an idea of the ocean at
Brighton; of the channel at Dover;
and vaguely defined geographical no
tions of Hudson’s Bay, Behring’s
Straits, and the Gulf of St. Lawrence.
But, practically, their ideas on the sub
ject are pre-eminently cockneyish. Do
you know that it is a sober fact that
most Englishmen have no conception
that in length, depth, width, or capaci
ties of navigation, the Mississippi or the
Amazon are in any way equal to the
Thames?
But on the point of cascades they
are incorrigibly insular and insufferable.
They revenge themselves on Nature
for not having seen fit to tumble an
English river over an English preci
pice, even to accommodate the Duke
of Devonshire, by twisting innocent
little rivulets out of their placid, pre
destined, and unpretending course, and
torturing them over artificial declivities
and through imitation Alpine gorges,
approaching in effect about as near the
original as a coffee-mill does to a loco
motive.
Alas for my unhappy childhood! If
ever youth was the victim of decep
tion, that victimized youth was I.—
Many a day have I sat and read “ how
tlie water comes down at Lodore;”
read and re-read about the magnificent
whirling and twirling, and dashing and
splashing, and warring and roaring,
until 1 wanted wings to fly to the spot
where all this poetized grandeur and
sublimity thundered in the ears of the
Laureate.
No one had done for Niagara, so far
as my juvenile apprehensions were
concerned, what Southey had done for
Lodore.
It was my inevitable practical con
clusion that Lodore was grander, more
poetical, more inspiring than Niagara !
“If I ever travel, I will go to Lo
dore!”
And with this deliberate project I
would shut up the volume, and go to
bed, and the torrent went rushing head
long through my dreams.
Well, the travel came, and to Lodore
I went.
By this time I had found out that the
“phantoms of imagination,” as the au
thor of Rasselas calls them, are less
substantial even than Cock-lane ghosts.
But, drown me in a bathing-tub, if I
ever expected such a complete snuffing
out of all the lights of expectation and
youthful anticipations as l experienced
on that hitherto classical spot —Lodore.
llow I whistled contempt at the in
significant rocks, ravine and rivulet! —
Ilow I made my way back to Keswick,
and rejoiced that brown stout and roast
mutton were at least a trifle more sub
stantial than the romantic stuff of po
ets laureate! llow, with deliberate
and predetermined malice I w'reaked
my vengeance on the deceiver Southey
in that last refuge of indignant poet
asters—a parody!
LODORE.
Do you want to be told how it is that the water
Comes down at Lodore ?
Why then I’in the man
Os all others that can
Or rather, the man of all others that ought to
Be able to tell you without any more
Fuss:
Thus!
Behind a small tavern,
Suppose a dark cavern,
Or ravine more correctly.
From whose summit directly,
As from a stone pitcher,
Out of the which a
Volume of fluid
Enough for a Druid
To wade to his knees in
Pours out unceasin
Gly down,
And not up;
Which would be a sup
position so very
To Nature contrary,
That it couldn’t be thought a
Supposable case,
For a cascade of water,
On any man’s place ;
Much more
At Lodore,
Where the water has always come down
Heretofore!
Down deep precipices
And awful abysses,
10 feet or 15,
The water is seen
To drip,
Skip,
Trip,
Slip,
Dip,
A gill in a minute. gtv-at agitation ;
Then goes ;r c.> <i?! f
With a very perpen
dicular smash,
Dash,
Splash,
Crash, •
A pint at the least calculation !
Making no bones
Os wetting the stones,
Which can’t get out,
But wriggle about,
A whole quart of the cascade has got ’em,
And the way they go
Down isn’t slow;
Rumble,
And jumble,
And tumble,
Hip!
Hop!!
Drop!t
Whop |; m
Stop !!! |!
A gallon has got to the bottom !
, e ’ sai< i 1, throwing my pen into
“re, and casting a glance of triumph
out of the window of the Royal George
.owar s the Southey mansion—“there
is ie cue reward of imposition; and
may a i poems be parodied, and, if
possible, in worse style, that undertake
to eke out the shallowness of English
cascades with ladles full from Helicon.”
What evil genius was it that prompt
uu that personification of tidiness with
a bunch of keys, the housekeeper, who
came sailing into my chamber just
then, for a final benevolent inspection
and calculation of my chances for
comfort, to look at me with an air as
who should say—now, at last, you have
got your money’s worth in coming from
America—and I remarked as she un
pinned the curtains—“ Been to the Falls
of Lodore to-day, 1 suppose, sir?”
It cost her a half-crown, misguided
woman that she was.
Jacques du Monde.
(Original jAu'tnj.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
I WOULD FORGET.
I know a glad and beautiful maiden,
Who carrols a bird-like glee, *
And when my heart is wearily laden,
She sings her songs to me ;
I clasp her hand—her eyes meet mine,
Till my cheeks with tears are wet;
I bask in smiles that seem divine—
And her I would forget!
By her side I’ve sat, when fleeting hours,
Were full of heaven to me,
And thought the blest in Eden’s bowers,
Not half so happy as we ;
I never knew such rapturous bliss,
Till thus our souls had met,
I wished no greater joy than this—
And her I would forget!
I love this glad and beautiful maiden,
Who warbles a bird-like glee,
And fancy I dwell in blissful Aidenn,
When she sings her songs to me.
Her angel face—bewitching eyes,
Have all my thoughts beset,
More beautiful than starry skies—
And her I would forget!
How long I’ve prayed that she might love me,
Alas! my prayers are vain—
My lot is dark, like skies above me,
That lower with storm and rain ;
I’ve loved her as I’ve loved no other—
’Tis useless, sad regret,
She loves me not —but loves another—
And her I would forget. W. G. C.
Lawrence, Mass.
(Original (Bssntjs. ■
Forthe Southern Literary Gazette.
EGERIA:
Or, Voices from the Woods and Wayside.
NEW SERIES.
LXXXVII.
Fame. It is the erroneous belief and
doctrine of many of our statesmen and
philosophers, that the world is, at all
times, in profound ignorance of its own
resources. “The world,” says Mr.
Taylor, in his Philip Van Artevilde—
“ The world has never known its greatest men.”
This is a very consoling philosophy for
that innumerable crowd of illustrious
obscures, who would be thought great,
without acting greatness —who would
receive the wages without doing the
work. Now, there could be nothing so
startling—perhaps nothing so untrue,
in the line, were it written —
“ The time has seldom known its greatest men.”
A great man is one, who, in some sense
or other, adds to the world’s possess
ions; be it in government, in poetry,
or in philosophy, he is a bringer into
life—a builder, a creator, a planter, an
inventor—in some sort, a doer of that
which nobody else has done before
him, and which nobody, then, besides
himself, seems willing or prepared to
do. Now, it is very certain that the
world loses none of its possessions.—
A truth once known, is known forever.
It is an immortality, as well as a pro
perty ; and he who makes it known, is
known with that which he discovers and
because of his discovery. He possibly
gives it his name! It does not alter
the case very materially, to show that
the name is sometimes mistaken, mis
applied, confounded with another.—
The supposed discoverer receives the
prize of the discovery, and whether we
call him Columbus or Americus, it
matters little in affecting the universal
acknowledgment that it is obviously
the intention of the world to make to
his memory. But it is very seldom,
indeed, that the mere time is ignorant
of the merits of its great men. These
may be baffled, denied, not
in what would seem to be the aim in
their endeavour; but the very fact that
their lives are struggles —that there is
opposition—earnest, angry opposition,
perhaps persecution, and a bloody
death—these are sufficient proofs that
the w r orld acknowledges the greatness
—which provokes its fear, its jealousy,
its various passions of envy, or hos
tility, or suspicious apprehension. No
truth ever yet failed because of the
martyrdom of its teacher; and the life
of the teacher, and his glory, lie in the
ultimate success of the truth which he
taught, and not within the miserable
limit of his seventy years of earthly
allotment. It is one quality of true
greatness, to be always at work; push
ing its truth forward; never sleeping;
never doubting; always pressing on to
the consummation of its final object!
A man may die before his work is
utterly done! Some truths require
the lives of successive generations of
great men, before they are perfected,
so as to become clear and useful in the
inferior understanding of the million;
each of these workers has his share in
the glory; not, perhaps, when the struc
ture is completed, but during the se
veral stages of its progress —though
that glory be, itself, nothing greater,
and nothing less, than the opposition
and reproach, the persecution and mis
representation, which they encounter
in the world-fight forever going on be
tween the subjects of routine-tyranny
and the prophets of the better faith.
The wmrld knows all these great men,
preserves their labours, and consecrates
their fame. The time, itself, though
unbelieving, is never improvident; for
it preserves the history of its own un
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
belief; the penalties which it inflicted.
and the constancy, firm faith and un!
flagging resolution of the martyr; and
from these come the human glory in
other generations. There is in man an
inherent sentiment of justice. This will
work out its way. I conscientiously
believe that man never yet toiled for
man—that he did not ultimately re
ceive his acknowledgments; and this
working for our race, constitutes the
only sure claim upon which we may
reasonably expect the gratitude either
of our fellows or of the future!
t
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
Extract from an Address before the
Literary Societies of the University
of Oxford , delivered by Hon. E. A.
Nisbet, in July , 1848.
My object in addressing you to-day,
young gentlemen, is something more
than simply to please. Believe me, I
am not indifferent about that. But lam
here for a more serious purpose than
merely to play a part in this beauti
ful literary drama. I would that these
broken sketches might stimulate you
to value justly all things lovely and to
cultivate a taste for the beautiful. That
is the lesson I teach—that the moral of
the tale. Ours is a practical age, and
we are called, and justly too, I appre
hend, an eminently practical people.
Utility is the aim and end of domestic
instruction, and of Academic and Col
legiate education. It is the young
man’s hope and the fruition of the aged.
It stimulates to every enterprise
prompts to every adventure—guides
the counsels of statesmen— sweetens
the labours of philosophers, and even
inspires the pen of the poet. It is
mingled with thought and blended with
principle. The universal inquiry is,
“ What shall it profit a man ?” The
per centum of advantage is the touch
stone of utility. That which yields
most is the great good. With the
educated, there are two grand objects
of pursuit—money and the honours of
the Republic—wealth and political dis
tinction. Now, far be it from me to
underrate the power of money, or to sup
press laudable ambition. The former
is the greatest of all the agencies of
power—the latter is the life force of
character. In the pursuit of money,
however, we may realize the fate of
Midas, and political airtbition, in most
instances, consumes the heart of its
votaries. Remember that w T e live not
alone for wealth or distinction. These
are but means—the end is to be useful
and happy. A desire for what is use
ful may exist in excess. A love of the
beautiful is a counteracting force—a
restraining power—an ameliorating
element of character. Money and place
are expediences—beauty an immortal
principle. A principle conservative of
peace, joy and virtue. It will continue
so to be until the deformities of time
are lost in the beauties of anew heaven
and anew earth. It is in danger, how
ever of losing something of its influence
in the go-ahead madness of the times.
We, as a nation, make progress every
where, and in every thing, except in
the refinements of taste. Excitation is
the ruling spirit of the hearer. Listen
to the whirl of the nations. The foun
dations are breaking up. It is as though
the Almighty had loosened the bands
of the universe for reconstruction. —
Look nearer and survey our own coun
try. Society is agog. Men run to and
fro, as in a carnival. The coarser pas
cions of humanity are triumphant.—
The fine arts, social charities, the quiet
household virtues, accuracy in scholar
ship, and delicacy in sentiment, give
way before the mere lust of accumula
tion and the puerile passion for noto
riety. Our people wait not, as did the
Athenians, to hear something new —
they run to do something rash. Upon
this western continent, reared by the
heroism of virtue, stands a temple de
dicated to liberty. It is sublime in its
foundations, its attitude and its vast
proportions. It belongs so an order of
political architecture unknown to the
past. Thither were the tribes accus
tomed to go up to worship. Now they
mingle tumultuous in its courts to
wrangle. They kindle unholy fires
upon its altars. The money changers
sit in its halls and hucksters sell doves
in its porches.
The old ways are obliterated, literally
and figuratively obliterated. The steam
horse chafes beneath his iron curb.
With “a roar and a rattle, with a shriek
and a howl,” he bounds away—away
through granite hills, o’er bogs and
bournes and the boiling seas. In his
fiery train he drags the conservative
habitations of society, old truth and
ancient honour. His surging course
may drive through the temples of the
living God. To register his triumphs
and telegraph his conquests, comes the
lightning, and in maiden meekness says,
lo! here I am, send me. But steam and
lightning are not alone on the land and
the sea—they are also in the hearts of
the people. The life fountain of the
nation is impregnated with an element
as strong, as quick, and as controlless
in morals, as are steam and lightning
in physics! It is a passion for what is
called proyress. Hence the furious
beatings of the national pulse. Hence
the unhealthful action of the social sys
tem. It needs the soothing application
of letters, love and taste. It is mani
fest that in the excitements of the
times, the virtue and happiness of man,
as an individual, are in peril. There is
too much heat in the social machinery.
So absorbed are we in externals, that
we neglect the wants of the inner man.
So hurried are we by the rapid succes
sion of events, that we have no time
for introverted thought. Whilst, there
fore, I admit that action is your voca
tion, and wealth and distinction your
privilege—whilst I despise the dreamy,
impracticable, intellectual voluptuary,
as I do the sensual sot—allow me to’
commend to you the refinements of
life, the social charities and the pursuit
of letters. Excitement is the force of
the mind. With imperious force it
demands gratification. But it may be
governed. A little child may lead it,
if it be disciplined in time. You must
guide and restrain it, or it will guide
and govern you. It will drag you to
the obscene altars of sensualism and
immolate you there. 1 hold that a
taste for letters, for the fine arts, for
the natural sciences, and for the con
templation of all those things in the
intellectual world which are soothing
and agreeable, for the ideal in short, is
a preventive against vice. At Athens,
in its best day, the grosser offences,
such as homicides, riots, forgeries and
arson, less abounded than they do at
this day in many parts of our own
land. It was owing to a taste among
the people for the tine arts, and for the
beautiful in nature and sentiment. —
The people were quiet when they could
listen to the eloquence of Demosthenes
or the poetry of Sappho—criticise the
paintings of Appelies, or witness the
representation of the play of Euripides.
Bathe your spirits in the amber foun
tains of moral truth and they will be
ever pure and fresh. Pay your orisons
at the shrine of beauty and you will be
the stronger and the better for the
homage. Imbue your minds with the
loveliness of things and you will be
yourself lovely.
The effect which the contemplation
of any natural object calculated to ex
cite love and complacency, produces
upon the physical man, is thus described
by Mr. Burke:
“The head reclines on one side, the
eye-lids are more closed than usual,
and the eye rolls gently with an incli
nation towards the object. The mouth
is a little opened, and the breath drawn
slowly, with now and then a low sigh.
The whole body is composed and the
hands fall idly to the sides, and all this
accompanied with an inward sense of
melting and languor.”
Most of you, no doubt, have seen, if
you have not felt, that this delineation
of the effect of beauty, at least in one
of its most attractive forms, is true. It
produces on the body .all those signs
which indicate quiescent pleasure. Just
the same are the effects of the morally
beautifnl on the soul. It soothes, de
lights and composes the spirit. Is it
not,therefore, to all vicious excitements
a counteracting cause; and if it is, I
submit to you whether or not it is con
servative of virtue and happiness.
A taste for the beautiful is an im
proveable faculty. It may be improved
by culture and it may be lost by dis
ease. Its cultivation and enjoyment
are computable with high office, high
honours, profound science and unre
mitting industry. Nay, a[l these things
may become, without effort on your
part, tributary to it. To the eye edu
cated to see it, it is an all-prevailing
presence. As I have already said, God
himself is its sublime impersonation,
and it is revealed in all his works and
throughout the whole range of his
moral government. It is strewed in
every path of life. To the natural
eye, it is visible in figure, colour, mo
tion and proportion. It is seen in every
aspect of Heaven and in every phase
of earth. In the floating cloud and the
flowering shrub—in the star-spangled
cope and the enameled tree —in the
mid-day Armament, whose mystic re
cesses seem to reveal the portals of
eternal light, and in the glades and
glens, the ancient forests, the fountains,
streams and verdant fields of earth.
To the intellectual eye, it is present in
all the laws of science, the demonstra
tions of mathematics, the deductions of
reason, and the creations of fancy. To
the moral vision, it is revealed in vir
tue, hope, faith and charity, in fellow
ship and in every social concord, in the
living word and the final adjustments
of the judgement. To the soul of
man, reconciled to God, the universe of
mind and matter is the organ of eter
nity, pealing from age to age the an
them of truth and beauty.
You will find, as you advance in life,
that trouble is one of its conditions.
Happiness, 1 believe, is the rule—
misery the exception. The exceptions
in number and intensity depend much
upon ourselves. One of the secrets of
living happily, is to resist in the begin
ning our native tendencies to vice, and
to nurse from the baginning every
pure thought, every innocent taste, and
every pleasurable association. We re
quire but little pressure in the direction
of had taste and false principles to ac
celerate our downward tendencies. It
is also true, that once fairly on the
wing, and an upward flight is an accel
erated motion. Watch therefore each
scent perception of beauty. With
ly vigil guard the gentle words and
kind acts and innocent associations of
home and kindred. These are the
richest gems of memory and should be
worn about the heart. The domestic
charities—the beautiful things of the
heart—are to the character clothed with
duties and with honours, what the
fountain is to the vegetable gems of
the desert. It may be hid, but it sends
forth the flower and the fruit—it cre
ates the cooling shade and the reviving
air. If life be indeed a desert, as some
teach, how wise is it to redeem at long
intervals some fields of verdure—to
w r ear within a fountain of sweet waters.
To enjoy the beautiful, you must over
come the dominion of the passions.
No victory is so glorious as that which
youth achieves over the rude, vulgar or
profane tendencies of our nature. Each
triumph is a title to self-respect and a
guarantee of future repose.
“ A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.”
It is indestructible —it has the resur
rection power. It will re-appear with
you, and you, with it, shall be im
mortal.
ifntr i'rttrrs.
Correspondence of the Southern Literary Gazette.
NEW YORK, Aug. 3, 1850.
The dog-days have fairly set in, —
the great problem is how r to keep cool,
—frequent thunder-showers seem only
to increase the sultriness of the atmos
phere,—every variety of white hat is
sported in Broadway,—all sorts of thin
costume, except the fig-leave, are in
request, —but all to no purpose. The
town looks as parched as a corn-field
after a four weeks’ drought, and the in
tellectual stagnation is no less oppres
sive than physical. Even the usual
sources of gossip are dried up and
scarce a breath of life moves over the
barren torpidity of August in the city.
A little excitement was produced
yesterday by the reception of General
Paez City Hall by our municipal
authorities. The guest, in whose hon
our the pageant was got up, was w r aited
on at Staten Island, where he has been
staying since his arrival from Philadel
phia, and briefly addressed by the
Mayor, in belpilf of the Civil Authori
ties and by Gen. Morris, as the repre
sentative of the militia York.
He was then escorted to the steamer,
which was to bring the cortege to Castle
Garden, and from thence the procession
advanced up Broadway to the Park
and City Hall. General Paez was on
horseback, and formed a conspicuous
object of attention to the throngs of
spectators which lined the streets. He
was welcomed along the whole course
of the procession with loud cheers, and
having reached the City Hall, was con
ducted to the Governor’s Room, where
he was formally introduced to the prin
cipal functionaries. After this, lie made
a short speech from the balcony, which
gave great satisfaction to the multitude
below. The General speaks only the
Spanish, Mr. Purroy, late American
Consul at Venezuela, acting as inter
preter. At the conclusion of the cere
monies, he was escorted by the military
on parade to the Astor House, where
he will remain for the present as the
guest of Messrs. Colman & Stetson.
He cannot fail to be made to feel at
home in the enjoyment of their courte
ous and elegant hospitality. The ap
pearance of Gen. Paez is prepossessing,
though without any of the remarkable
traits which arrest the attention at first
sight. His stature is less than that of
our late President, and his person looks
more like a stout specimen of John
Bullisin than one of Spanish blood.
His face is indicative of more than
common intellect, and of a bold, de
cided character, showing that he is one
of those who “never say die.” It is
his intention, I understand, to take up
his permanent residence in the United
States, but he has not yet decided on
the particular location.
Gen. Garibaldi has been completely
disabled since his arrival, by an attack
of acute rheumatism, contracted, it is
said, by his exposure in the Italian
campaign and after his escape. He is
able to sit up and converse with his
friends, but not to move from his sofa.
Ilis physician is Valentine Mott, the
younger, who was distinguished for his
brave exploits in the cause of the Italian
patriots. Garibaldi will probably be
honoured with a public reception by
the city, as soon as he recovers.
The Ohio poetesses, Alice and Phoebe
Carey, have been in tow for a week or
two past. I do not learn that their
visit has produced a sensation in any
quarter, with all the rage in New York
for using every kind of material in the
manufacture of artificial lions. Our
principal artists in that line, however,
I believe, are out of town. I see some
of the contributions of these ladies to
the city papers, so it seems that they
retain the gift of song in our dusty
thoroughfares, as well as in their sylvan
solitudes.
An addition to Poe’s miscellaneous
criticisms is announced, including seve
ral pieces not before published. From
some specimens which have been shown
to me, 1 amagine they will create not a
little fluttering among the bright-feath
ered birds which he shoots on the wing
with murderous effect. Poe w r as a
literary surgeon by nature; mental
anatomy was his favourite study ; and
no man could dissect a subject with
more skill, celerity, and heartfelt en
joyment. Among the authors treated
in this volume are some distinguished
names; others will derive their princi
pal celebrity from having been the vie
tims of his keen, glittering, searching
scalpel. Every thing which I have
seen of Poe’s, in the way of verbal
criticism, is acute, ingenious, and for
the most part just, under its veil of ap
parent paradox. When he comes into
a higher sphere, his opinions so ©ften
bear the stamp of his crooked person
ality as not to be worth preserving.
We have received Edward Everett’s
Oration at Charlestown on the Anni
versary of the Battle of Bunker Hill—
a singular illustration of his magic
rhetorical power, of the force of simple
words in the right place, and of the
charm of his graceful manner, although
not sustained either by any peculiar
depth or originality of thought. The
oration is quite destitute of any con
nective train of ideas, except those
which are the common property of
every intelligent man. Yet they are
set forth with such skill of graphic ex
perience, and so embellished with the
picturesque allusions suggested by the
occasion, that the effect of the Discourse,
is said to have been almost overwhelm
ing at the delivery, and on its perusal
it so musically, so blandly, steals upon
the ear and the mind, that you are
scarcely sensible of its poverty of
thought, until having laid it aside, you
find that you can recal little of the spell
that has enchanted you, but the re
membrance of sweet melody, with one
or two rainbow-like dissolving views.
Mrs. Crowe’s ‘ Night Side of Na
ture,’ just issued by Redfield, is an in
teresting collection of marvellous inci
dents, making quite a readable book,
not only for the professed amateurs of
the preternatural, but for all who be
lieve that there are dark chapters in the
history of human nature which would
not sutler in the least from the acces
sion of more light. It is pleasant, too,
to have such subjects handled with
something of a philosophical spirit,
without being dragged through a mush
of superstition by some credulous fan
atic. Mrs. Crowe seems to be nothing
at all of this. She writes with cool
ness, discrimination, and great self-pos
session, though with a decided taste for
the study of those abnormal phenome
na, which, beyond the voracious appe
tite of German investigation, have
hardly been regarded as tit subjects for
an intellectual bill of tare—certainly
not in the fastidious cuisines of Eng
land and this country.
The Appletons have in press the
posthumous poem of Wordsworth, com
prising his spiritual autobiography,
and said to be a characteristic produc
tion.
A slight lull prevails just now among
the busy presses of the Harpers, their
Magazine for the last three months
having principally absorbed their atten
tion. I understand they are to bring
out several important works early in
the autumn.
Putnam has published to-day the
fourteenth volume of Washington Ir
vings Collected Works, containing
“The Conquest of Grenada”; and we
have from the dainty Boston house of
Ticknor & Cos., a volume of “Dis
courses” on Life, by Henry Giles,
savoring less of pulpit than of the free
and fervid passion of Irish eloquence.
T.
#limjJsfs us Unit Stanks.
CARLYLEISMS.
From tlie “ Latter Day Pamphlets ’’in course of publi
cation by Messrs. Harper, of N. Y., and Messrs. Phil
lips, Sampson & Cos., of Boston.
CARLYLE ON THE U. S. CONGRESS.
Only perhaps in the United States,
which alone of countries can do without
governing—every man being at least
able to live, and move off into the wil
derness, let Congress jargon as it will
—can such a form of so-called “ Go
vernment” continue for any length of
time to torment men with the sem
blance, when the indispensable sub
stance is not there. For America, as
the citizens well know, is an “unparal
leled country”—with mud soil enough
and fierce sun enough in the Mississip
pi Valley alone to grow Indian corn for
the extant Posterity of Adam at this
time; what other country ever stood
in such a case? “Speeches to Bunk
um,” and a constitutional battle of the
Kilkenny cats, which in other countries
are becoming tragical and unendurable,
may there still fall under the comical
category. If indeed America should
ever experience a higher call as is like
ly, and begin to feel diviner wants than
that of Indian corn with abundant ba
con and molasses, and unlimited scope
for all citizens to hunt dollars. Amer
ica too will find that caucuses, division
lists, stump-oratory and speeches to
Bunkum will not carry men to the im
mortal gods: that the Washington
Congress, and constitutional battle of
Kilkenny cats is, there as here, naught
foi such objects ; quite incompetent for
such; and in fine that said sublime
constitutional arrangement will require
to be (with terrible throes, and travail
such as few expect yet) remodeled,
abridged, extended, suppressed; torn
asunder, put together again ; not with
out heroic labour, and effort quite other
than that of. the Stump-Orator and the
Revival Preacher, one day !
CARLYLE ON MINORITIES.
On the whole, honour to small mi
norities, when they are genuine ones.
Severe is their battle sometimes, but it
is victorious always like that of gods.
Tancred of Hauteville’s sons, some
eight centuries ago, conquered all Italy;
bound it up into organic masses, of vi
tal order alter a sort; founded thrones
and principalities upon the same, w hich
have not yet entirely vanished—the
last dying wrecks of which, still wait
for some worthier successor, it would
appear. The Tancred Normans were
some Four Thousand strong ; the Italy
they conquered in open (light, and
bound up into masses at their odering
will, might count Fight Milions, all as
large of bone, as eupeptic and black
whiskered as they. How came the
small minority of Normans to prevail
in this so hopeless-looking debate] In
trinsically, doubt it not, because they
were in the right; because, in a dim,
instinctive, but most genuine manner,
they were doing the commandment of
Heaven, and so Heaven had decided
that they were to prevail. Butextrin
sically also, I can see, it was becanse
the Normans w’ere not afraid to have
their skin scratched; and w ere pre
pared to die in their quarrel where need
ful. One man of that humour among
a thousand of the other, consider it!
Let the small minority, backed by the
whole Universe, and looked on by such
a cloud of invisible witnesses, fall into
no despair.
CARLYI.E ON THE LITERARY MEN OF THE
PRESENT DAY.
A crowded portal this of literature,
accordingly ! The heaven of expatri
ated spiritualisms, and, alas! also of
expatriated vanities and prurient imbe
cilities. Here do the windy aspira
tions, foiled activities, foolish ambi
tions, and frustrated human energies
reduced to the vocable condition, fly
as to the one refuge left; and the Re
public of Letters increases in popula
tion at a faster rate than even the Re
public of America. The strangest regi
ment in her Majesty’s service, this of
the soldiers of literature. Would your
lordship much like to march through
Coventry with them ? The immortal
gods are there, quite irrecognizable un
der these disguises, and also the lowest
broken valets; an extremely miscella
neous regiment. In fact the regiment,
superficially viewed, looks like an im
measurable motley flood of discharged
plavactors,funambulists, false prophets,
drunken ballad-singers; and marches,
not as a regiment, but as a boundless
canaille, without drill, uniform, cap
taincy, or billet; with huge over pro
portion of drummers ; you would say
a regiment gone wholly to tin* drum,
with hardly a good musket to be seen
in it, more a canaille than a regiment.
Canaille of all the loud sounding Levi
tes, and general winnowings of chaos,
marching through the world in a most
ominous manner, proclaiming audibly,
if you have ears, ‘Twelfth hour of the
Night; ancient graves yawning ; pale
clam.ny puseyisms screeching in their
winding-sheets ; owls busy in the city
regions; many goblins abroad! Awake,
ye living; dream no more; arise to
judgment! Chaos and Gehenna are
broken loose; the Devil with his bed
lams must be flung in chains again, and
the Last of the Days is about to dawn!’
Such is literature to the reflective soul
at this moment.
THE SHEIKH-GHOST.
[From Bayle St. John’s Two Years Residence in a I,e
vantine Family.]
I have omitted until now to commu
nicate the fact that I was living in a
haunted house—a house in which a cer
tain ghost, or incorporeal Sheikh, was
known to be a constant resident, wan
dering about the rooms, passages, and
galleries, by night and by day, though
seldom allowing himself to be seen by
the other inhabitants.
I am going to relate all I know about
this extraordinary personage, and beg,
in the first place, to be excused if 1
seem to admit his existence. There
are fifty different arguments in favour
of the belief that phantoms do some
times present themselves to the eyes
of man, and but one good one against
it—namely, that for the most part the
phantoms whose appearance is testified
to have no definite reasonable mission,
but are mere inexplicable accidents.—
This argument, however, has purely a
logical value, and does not counterbal
ance universal tradition and irrefraga
ble testimony. Besides, there are many
things equally unaccountable which no
body attempts to deny. Let it be ad
mitted, then, whatever may be the faith
exercised in this particular instance,
that certain forms or phantoms re-*
sembling persons deceased, and either
having in themselves a limited power
of action, or moved by celestial or in
fernal agency, have been from time to
time actually made manifest to mortal
vision.
In Egypt, haunted houses are often
met with, though more frequently in
Cairo than in Alexandria. The latter
city, however, possesses several, one,
especially, where the inhabitants are
constantly persecuted by stones falling
on the roof or into the court-yard,
without any body having been able to
discover whence they come. This is
remarkable, as a well attested instance
of the same kind has lately occurred in
France. It is of no use for a sceptic
to observe here that similar facts have
often been positively explained by
private malice; for if this proves any
thing, it will also prove that, because
some rustic, armed with phosphorus,
a hollow turnip, and a white sheet, has
been detected in a gross imitation of
a ghost, therefore no such thing could
exist.
I was sitting on a divan, pipe in hand,
at a window which commanded the on
ly exit from the house, and a view of
a small portion of the gallery. 1 had
not long before returned from .the
Arab’s Tower, and was meditating on
my journey to Siwah. The Sitt was
in her kitchen lighting a shisheh. Zara
was occupied winnowing a pile of grain
in the court-yard; Hanna was in the
door-way preparing to take the little
Henneneh to her aunt’s; the robust
Ayshe was washing my room, when
suddenly a simultaneous cry rose of
“The Sheikh! the Sheikh!” I turned
rapidly round, and distinctly saw a hu
man figure—a man advanced in years,
with a somewhat tarnished tarboosh, a
long gray beard, a faded blue jacket,
white trousers, and red slippers, bear
ing a pipe in his hand—pass with down
cast eyes, along the gallery in the full
glare of the sun. 1 instantly recog
nized, from the description, the appari
tion of which I had so often heard
speak ; and I shouted out to close eve
ry exit. I waited to hear Hanna roll
back the heavy doors that led to the
street, and then sprang into the gallery.
Every one was in the same position as
when the alarm was first given, but no
one could tell whither the Sheikh had
gone. One said he had faded away in
the sun ; another, that he had ascended
to the terrace. The last was most
probable, but on examination 1 found
the door closed and bolted. I searched
everywhere without the slightest suc
cess, and remained perfectly convinced
of two things; first, that no man was
concealed in the house; second, that
there were no apparent means by which
he could have effected his escape un
perceived. I made another observa
tion, too. All the rooms and staircases
had been washed that morning, and
were still slushed with water. The sun
had dried the gallery, but no trace of a
wet slipper could be seen. The Sitt
laughed at my researches and remarks,
saying that the Sheikh would not be
found, and left no trace behind him.—
She explained the universal agitation
created by his appearance, by the fact
that he had raised his head and looked
round with a menacing aspect. The
idea of any conspiracy to alarm or un
nerve me was inadmissable.
larrdi slltnr.
From the Saturday Gazette
THE SINGLE-HEARTED
Good angels watch the spirit pure
Os every earnest, righteous doer,
Recording thought and deed ;
Till, as successive moments roll,
They form a bright, unfading scroll
That God delights to read.
The while on Him, the Holy, High,
The saint has fixed his eager eye,
Himself forgotten quite;
As we may gaze upon the sun,
Till every object looked upon.
Gives back the solar light.
Lesson for Sunday, August 11
REMEMBRANCE OF CHRIST’S L()Vl’
“ We will remember thy love.— Cam. i. /
What a wonderful faculty is tl„
memory ! It produces in the mind 1
kind of resurrection of past scenes a ,i
circumstances. We do well to cult!
vate the exercise of it, with regard t,,
the things of God. Note here
The subject of remembrance. It
one of the deepest interest and high
est importance to which we can reltr
Let us remember
Its antiquity. It is from everlast
ing ; before the creation of the world
or the music of the spheres.
Its freeness. It is shown to those
who neither deserved nor desired it,
nor could make any adequate return.
Its development. The love that con
sists in’ words does not deserve the
name. We see its designs in the Hi
vine purposes, and its displays in the
Divine proceedings. The love of
Christ was manifested in his own per
son when he was on earth, and by his
Spirit now he is in heaven. Its dura
tion is eternal.
dHE REMEMBRANCE OF THE SUBJECT.
It must be
With feelings of gratitude amt jot/.
This will especially he the ease in our
devotional exercises, when the mind is
softened by meditation; in prayer,
reading the Scriptures, and at the sa
cramental table.
It must be continual. We must live
and act, and suffer, and die, in the re
membrance of it. It will he an ingre
dient to sweeten the bitter waters of af
fliction, give a relish to the streams ot
comfort, and bear us up in the swellings
of Jordan.
It must be practical. It will lead to
a steady adherence to the cause of
Christ, the conscientious performance
of duty, and the patient endurance of
trials; it will moderate our attach
ment to earthly objects, and draw our
souls to God, the great centre of at
traction.
Nf.ttleton and the Unfaithful Min
ister. —The following anecdote of Dr.
Nettleton, is a delightful instance of his
peculiar tenderness for the ministerial
reputation and influence of his brethren.
It serves both as a powerful rebuke to
that reckless spirit which too often
marks the character of flaming zealots,
and as a gentle admonition for that rep
rehensible coldness, which perhaps
equally as often prevails in the bosom
of the ministry.
Dr. Nettleton was most sensitively
careful to sustain the influence of his
brethren. He would not, when be
knew there was an evident deficiency,
do any r thing that might tend, in the
least degree, to disparage them in the
estimation of their people. There was
one instance, which 1 am about to name,
in which he showed his delicacy of
feeling and address, in a most Chistian
manner. A clergyman who lived not
far from the place where Dr. Nettleton
resided, bore the reputation af an indo
lent and inefficient pastor, and had, in
consequence, caused considerable un
easiness amongst his people. Some of
the more faithfuj part of the church,
who deplored the low state of religion
and growing laxity of morals among
the youth of the congregation, went
to Dr. Nettleton, and desired him
to come and preach to them. To this
he would by no means consent, without
an express invitation from the pastor,
and of that he had little hope. But
there happened to be a desert spot on
the borders of the town, where religious
meetings were seldom held, and where
the influence of the pastor did not par
ticularly extend. When he was made
acquainted with the fact, he said that
he had no objection to go there and
hold a few’ evening meetings with them.
He went, and without exciting obser
vation, held several religious meetings.
In a short time a number of the youth
were under deep conviction for sin.
As soon as he perceived the joyful ap
pearance, he requested all who* were
under serious impressions, to meet with
him the next day, informing them that
he had something of an important na
ture, which he wished to communicate.
When they had all met, he advised the
young ladies to go that same evening
to their pastor, and ask his counsel re
specting the present state <Sf theirmiuds;
and the young men he advised to g<
the evening following for the same pur
pose. They all did as he had prudent
ly directed them : and the effect was
so powerfully electric, that the slothful
pastor rose up at once, went to work
with all his might, preached and la
boured with assiduous energy, and was
the favoured instrument in reaping a
glorious harvest of souls. As soon as
the pastor got thus fairly to work, Dr.
N. retired; the pastor ever remained a
faithful and useful man.
Superstition of the Chinese. —* hi
the 13th of May, 1818, a storm sud
denly arose at Pekin, which darkened
the heavens, and filled the air with
sand and dust. The Emperor was ex
cessively alarmed, conceiving il to i,,J
a divine judgment. Anxious to know
the meaning of the portentous event
lie required of his ministers of state >”
endeavour to ascertain the cause, hi
public document, he reprimanded h' >
astronomers for not having previous).’
informed him when the hurricane ‘ u>
to take place: they had but three da) >
before stated to him, that felicitous >t>n
shed their happy influence around 1>
person, and indicated long life and l 1
perity. ,
The Mathematical Board
their opinion, and affirmed that it 1111
kind of hurricane, accompanied >’ 1
descent of dust, continued a” 10,1 _ • ‘
it indicated perverse behaviour an ,
cordant counsels between the sox u n
and his ministers; and also a6*
drought and dearness of grain.
wind should blow up the sand, w
the stones, and be accompanied “ ,
noise, inundations were to be expei <•
If the descent of dust should contm
but an hour, pestilence may be
pected in the south-west regions, a"’
half the population will be diseased 111
the south-east.