Monthly Register, Magazine, and Review of the United States 1807: Vol 3 Iss 7-12
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- » ss es . ‘ F = ata ~< . - ie 5 ' tied a f — sa = mas rs SEES — _—— - 2 a es Apes ie a = 5. tg me eS be See atl 2 ee fo nyo — - oar 352 The Wanderer. Noy, except those pert and idiotic remarks upon Adam’s letters on Silesia, in the Annual Review, Vol. 3. page 45—is to be found in the nineteenth number of the Edinburgh Review, page 116 —where Mr. Jefferson is called,—“that eminently wise ruler.” It is not my intention, at present, to inquire into the merits of Mr. Jefferson’s administration, nor into the sources of information, from which the Edinburgh reviewers have been Jed to draw this notable conclusion. But I will indulge my- self in citing the outlines of our President’s character as it is sketched by the hand of a master; by one, who has known and acted with him in his political capacity. I allude to a pamphlet lately published in this city, entitled — The British Treaty ;—a publication, which bears upon it’s contents the the broad stamp of that excellence, which is the offspring of the combined: powers of a statesman, a scholar, and a gen- tleman. * Mr. Jefferson is a man of pleasing, modest, unassuming manners. His conversation, generally amusing, is frequently instructive. ‘Though not deep in any one science, he has that acquaintance with them all, which becomes a scholar, and adorns a gentleman. He has a considerable share of genius; and there is, in his deportment, an air of frankness and of deference to others, which are agreeable to all, and are sure of captivating the young and inexperienced. If there be blemishes in his private character we have nothing to do with them. We consider him as a public man, and in this view, he has great defects. ‘“¢ Like others, who have fallen into the idle habit of ques- tioning established truth, his faculty of weighing evidence is impaired. Hence, such an astonishing degree of credulity, that he could not only believe the French were free, while suf- fering oppression the most cruel and bloody, that ever poor wretches groaned under ; but—(finding it printed in a French book)—he believed, and gravely told the Congress, there is a great mountain of salt in Louisiana. Mr. Jefferson has also the misfortune to be a schemer, perpetually occupied with some strange out-of-the-way project. If this were con- fined to speculation, it would be a harmless foible; but he tries to carry his projects into effect. Sometimes he pre- The Wanderer. 353 yails on Congress to adopt them, and then poor sailors are seut a-dacking over the ocean in gun-boats. At other times he is less successful, as when he proposed to stow away ships of the line upon shelves. He labours also under such defect of menial vision, that he seldom sees objects in their natural state and true position: just as when we look through a fog, many things near us are not perceived, and those we see ap- pear larger and nearer than they really are. “ We have said Mr. Jefferson is not deep in any science. He is more deficient in that of politics than in in any other ; and indeed, it is impossible he should ever become a states- man; because a clear, distinct, and comprehensive view of objects, with a ready conception of their bearings on each other, is a needful pre-requisite. A second pre-requisite is so to weigh evidence, presumption, and probability, as pro- perly to give or withhold our faith: in short to believe what we ought, and nomore. A third is never to indulge notions, which have not experience to recommend them: for though it be possible, that, after the many years, which history num- bers, and the many thousand events it records, something new in the science of ethics may be discovered, it is not likely; and if it were, the maxim of physicians should be a- dopted, to make experiments on bodies of little value and not on the body -politic. “ If any gentleman assume as a principle, mankind can be governed by reason, and insist, notwithstanding the evidence of all history, ancient and modern, sacred and profane, to the contrary, that we may prudently rely on reason for the de- fence of nations, we would advise him to commence a course of experiments with his own family, and see how far reason will go there. If successful, let him proceed to those, with whom he transacts business. Let him reason them into the support of his pecuniary or political views, without any re- gard to their own interest. If again successtul, let him go, or send to such a man as Bonaparte, and tell him ‘tis uwnrea- sonable, that boys should be taken from their parents to fight and perish in the plain of Poland. That, instead of empiloy- ing large armies, it would be cheaper and better to pick out a few able negociators, if any can be found among his own sub- Siiiaieerimee: sme > ame Smt —_— = 854 The Wanderer. Noy, jects; but if not, to borrow Messrs. Armstrong and Munro, and send them to persuade the Emperor of Russia and King of Prussia to surrender their domininions. That a proposi- tion so reasonable in itself, and supported by so much elo- quence, could not be rejected. If Napoleon, being persuad- ed himself, should, in this quiet, friendly way, persuade his brother Alexander, the specific would indeed have the sanc- tion of fair experiment, and might safely be adopted. It would surely be a great improvement. Happy condition! without fleets or armies, judges or constables, laws or execu- tioners, to sit secure and happy under the broad shade of reason ! “ But if it should prove on trial, that neither in a family, a city, or national assembly, or with a leader of nations, the force of reason can be relied on; if it should again, for the ten thousandth time, be demonstrated, that what has been true since the world began, remains true at the present hour; and the gentleman still insist on his project, he could not be much respected as a politician. “ But though Mr. Jefferson is not, and from the reasons, just mentioned, can never become a statesman, he is a man of great address. Having a quick sense of danger, he has studied the means, by which it may be avoided. Knowing the instability of popular opinion, he knew that to rely on it was unsafe. He determined, therefore, to avoid responsi- bility. This is the cardinal point by which the course of his administration has been directed, with undeviating attention. Consistently with this plan, he associated the house of repre- sentatives in the exercise of his functions. The leaders, to whom he applied, were charmed with the mark of conf- dence, and beyond all measure delighted with that republi- can spirit, which, instead of seeking unlawful power, so free- ly and frankly discharged itself of the lawful power, with which it had been invested. “ When, over and above that excessive condescension, the patronage of office was laid at their feet; when they were in- vited to select the proper subjects for appointment; and when they were told, that they, the immediate representatives, were the organs, through which he wished to learn that will 1807. The Wanderer. 455 of the people, which it was his pleasure and pride to obey, how could they suspect the motive to be se/fish ? It was na- tural to believe the fountain pure when its waters were so re- freshing. “‘Inthis way, however, the house of representatives was brought to initiate executive business, and, taking responsibi- lity from his shoulders, to invest him with unlimited power. Like a sly animal in the fable, who likes roasted chesnuts, but will not put his paws in the fire, he crept behind the cur- tain, and persuaded a friendly cat to undertake that part of the business; content, provided he gets the nuts, to leave with others all the honour of raking them outof theembers. By this course of conduct Mr. Jefferson has not only injured the constitution, and established a system of corruption; but— (extending the web of intrigue over the whole country )—he has composed a congress of such materials, that respect for the national government is much diminished. He has plac- ed himself also in a state of dependance, whereby he is driven to do unrighteous things, and which disables him from becom- ing useful, should any course of events restore him to the love of honest fame.” Men and Women. WSO Way -— <i ee 23 ae oe re a 2g =i. a = a ee Se a 1 =o : SECOND SECTION. MEN AND WOMEN. A MORAL TALE BY THE WANDERER. (Continued from Vol. 3. No. 5, page 296.) DWARD hurried home in a state of inconceivable emo: tion: all the past endearments of the softer hours, which, on angel wings, had flown over his Mary and him; all their fond, plighted, mutual vows; her innocence and simplicity, so strongly contrasted to the impudent artifice of Lady Hardy, now but too apparent to him; all rose to his remembrance, and weighed him down to the dust, with sensations of the keenest remorse and agony, for having dar- ed, even in thought, to violate his loyalty and faith to his departed Mary. He despised himself as an idiot for having been the dupe of a wanton woman, and loaded himself with reproaches, till his frame, worn out by the conflict of contend- ing emotions, sought refuge in the repose of slumber. Edward had scarcely left Sir James Hardy’s house, before the baronet, himself, returned thither, somewhat unexpec- tedly, from a little excursion, which he had made to the Wes- tern Isles. The servants informed their master, that Lady Hardy was ill, that Edward had been sent for, and, had, that moment, left the house in a violent hurry. Hardy went up into his wife’s chamber, and found her in the fiercest parox- ysm of passion. His unexpected entrance, at first, embar- rassed her, but she soon recollected herself, and thus addres- sed her husband—Sir James, you are come in a most oppor tune moment.—So I perceive, madam,—replied the bar- onet, coolly, and rapping his golden snuff-box, as he spoke-— 1307. Men and Women. Here Lady Hardy wept, and with great violence, reproached her husband with his cruelty, and his infidelity to her, and was proceeding in a high strain of invective, when he stopped her by saying,—Not another word, madam ; if you do not like to stay with me, you are at full liberty to go elsewhere ; I will never be bullied in my own house, nor be dictated to by a wife. Lloved you once, and I married you; I no longer love you, and you may depart when you please: upon second thoughts, I will not call Edward out, unless he personally insults me ; on your peril, madam, I charge you never to mention what Vou. III. Aaa i cll Sonny 358 Men and Women. Noy, has passed between you and Ned, this morning. He has of- fered a violence to your person; at any rate, it is a compli- ment paid to your beauty ; it is manifest that he has done you no harm, for I never saw you look better in my life; and, as no one knows it, I donot see why you and he might not be as civil to each other as usual. To all this, Lady Hardy, who well knew the stern, unbending imperious disposition of her husband, made no reply ; and on more mature consideration, thought it prudent to let the matter rest where it was, lest by pushing it too far she should only ex- pose herself. She however never forgave Edward for having neglected to pay the homage due unto her beauty. The next morning Hardy called upon Edward, whom he found chagrined and dreary. With a very serious face he de: tailed the complaint made by Lady Hardy ; Edward was about to reply, when the Baronet said ;—-Pshaw ! man, never attempt to stammer out an excuse ; ¢very lad of spirit would have done as youdid. Perhaps you think, that I amcome to call you out but it is not so; I am very liberal in my way of thinking on these matters ; I care not how she amuses herself ; for I have been long since, tired of her; toujours perdrix, you know, aman can never stand.—Edward—What do you mean by toujours perdrix ?—Hardy—What! know you not? I thought as the grave-digger in Hamlet says, every foolknewthat. Theanec- dote to which I allude, is this. Henry the fourth of France was very much addicted to women; the Archbishop of Soissons, one day, gravely remonstrated withthe King on this laxity of con- duct. Henry listened attentively, and then said,—My lord Archbishop, what dish most gratifies your palate ?—The prel- ate answered,—roasted partridges.—The king gave orders, that the hierarch should be confined toa suite of rooms in the palace, during the royal pleasure, and have nothing but roasted partridges every day fordinner. At the end of a month the king called upon the Arch-bishop, and asked him how he liked his confinement? [have nothing to complain of, Sire, but the roasted partridges,—replied the prelate. —Did you not tell me said the king—that you liked roasted partridges better than any other kind of viands ?—yes sire,—quoth the archbishop = —but I want a variety, a change of foed, toujours perdrix 2 = a a - = = wow. - - eae . = * am, =< > ee. = 7 - = 5 -% ~ = — tl 22 Ae. mee go - : = = —s Ss 7 mictad te = —s- 3 m seated ee 4, yr ae NS eae » o-< —- a. > am ait Sate <a ~ ae cane - a oe Se TEA PR eg me pets > - “ve on Bee 1807. Men and Women, 359 would wear out the patience of a saint.—To which the monarch replied—If toujours perdrix tires you, so does toujours the same woman tire me.—But where was your christianity, Ned, when you offered violence to my wife ’—Edward—Do you put implicit confidence in Lady Hardy’s manner of telling the story’ —Hardy—yes.—Edward—why.—Hardy--why should I not ?——Edward—Because you have taught her, that to tell an untruth is a matter of no consequence.—Hardy—come come Ned, that sophism will not do ; is it very likely, that a young man, under such circumstances, would proveasaint? But we will drop the subject, if vou please ; though I must tell you, that if I had not already established my character, as one not shy of fighting, I should embrace this opportunity of calling you out, in order to shew the world, that Iam no coward. Pray, Ned, are you a good marksman with the pistol? Edward —Yes.—Hardy—Can you ensure killing a man at the distance of twelve yards ‘—Hdward—Yes.—Hardy—Are you a good swordsman ‘—Edward—lI can fence tolerably well ; there are some foils in the next room; if you wish to make a trial of my skill, I will order them to be brought in.—Hardy—No ; I merely asked in order to be informed, if you (which indeed I did not doubt) possessed those two very essential accom- plishments of a gentleman, I suppose you know, that I fought aduel for Lady Hardy before I married her. —Edward-—Yes, and [ think you killed your man, did you not ‘—Hardy—Yes, I killed him the first shot, and was tried for it at the old Bailey, and acquitted. I was then, I must confess, distractedly in love with her, and would have fought a whole regiment for her, one after another ; but five years of marriage, and her be- ing now, the mother of four children, has dissipated my affec- tion for her, and I careno more about her now, than I do about my grand-mother, who died last week. To be sure, Lady Hardy is avery handsome woman; her countenance, in which the expressions of dignity and of voluptuous softness are most happily blended, that portion of her person, which Edmund Burke so emphatically and so justly styles, “the most beautiful partof a beautiful woman,” over whose smooth variety of sur- face, never for a moment the same, the unsteady eye glides giddily, knowing not where to fix, or whither it is carried ; -_— ?- “ * ee — . : : ere a. —_——— at ——-— ~ me — = 7 ee. — - —— -— — > 4 2 OS Se ig ? Rp Sooc et RF i EIS 2s ti hig dematt ote : i -2. Ps <n $2: .° * = f—- e Votre. nk ee - “¥. ace. ad hn de ee, ae ee + we < LA a egy, | e ae le ecoT —_ cs = ntact. ss er ee ey — 2a, eo . — 5 Brrr ass > ae pcs Py _—~ = = : — —++ a crf et ra ——. . J ; : : om ioe } DOERR te Ss Sa eae” t. oe i me 360 Men and Women. Noy. her waist fine by degrees, and beautifully less ; and the full, soft, sweepy rounding of her finished form beneath, would make a monk forget his breviary, as you know full well, Ned, (in spite of that modest, maidenly blush, whichdeep crimsons all your cheek) but as Richard says, she has one fault, which more than counter-balances all these attractions ;—she has outlived my liking.—Edward—How can you speak so lightly and with so much indifference of your wife How can you so totally disregard one of the most ‘solemn and sacred obliga- tions imposed on man‘—Hardy—And what may that sacred, solemn obligation be :—Edward—Marriage : the most impor- tant, and the most beneficial in its consequences, of all the in- stitutions derived from God to man, that great and hallowed institution, upon which, as an indestructible basis, rests all the fabric of human society. ** Hail wedded love, mysterious law, true source Of human offspring, sole propriety In Paradise, of all things common else. By thee adulterous lust was driven from men Among the bestial herds to range ; by thee, Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure, Relations dear, and ail the charities Of tather, son, and brother, first were known. Far be it that I should write thee sin or blame, Or think thee unbefitting holiest place. Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets, Whose bed is undefiled, and chaste pronounc’d, Present, or past, as saints or patriarchs used. Here love his golden shafts employs, here lights His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings, Reigns here, and revels ; not in the bought smile Ot Harlots, loveless, joyless, unindeared, Casual fruition ; nor in court amours, Mixt dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball, Or serenate, which the starv’d lover sings To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain.” Hardy—Sravo, bravo, da capo: well done, Ned ; not one of all the hierarchs could be more devout and fervent in their zeal to support the cause of matrimony ; your father mistook 1807. Men and Women. 361 it widely when he bred youa gentleman; he should have train- ed you up a priest ; what a portly, pious bishop you would make some forty years hence ; or what think you of a canon ? surely you, who have been a d/underbuss so long, would make an excelient cannon; Ah Ned! was I not with you there for the blunderbuss :—Edward—-You never was with me any where but fora blunderbuss :—but to leave this trifling; If I mistake not, you said that Lady Hardy had borne you four children; where are they ? I have never seen them.—Hardy— Seen them! Common sense forbid that I should be plagued with a parcel of squalling brats about my house ; what should aman, in his twenty-eighth year, do with a whole herd of chil- dren trooping at his heels? Besides, nursing children would destroy Lady Hardy’s shape, and my vanity would be hurt if any one could say, what a coarse, clumsy woman is Hardy’s wife! The children are out atnurse somewhere, (I know not the place, Lady Hardy sent them there, and I have never inqui- red about it) in the neighbourhood of London ; to which place Edward, I am going in a few weeks ; remember that as soon as you leave Scotland, and come to town, my house is entirely at your service, and that you cannot confer a greater kindness upon me than by making your visits frequent. As soon as he was gone, Edward mused upon the propriety of continuing his visits at Hardy’s house ; he felt very awk- wardly at the thought of again meeting Lady Hardy ; at length, however, he determined to go, lest his acquaintance, perceiving a sudden shyness, abruptly following so very close an intimacy, might raise surmises, and spread reports, which would be more troublesome than the restraint imposed upon him, by being in Lady Hardy’s presence. a eee - . s * ——— ae ro rterpnatnm cal. , . » = a 7 SE RE I cE Uy neg 74 a a 362 Men and Women, Noy: Accordingly he called upon the baronet the next day, and Lady Hardy received him with the utmost ease and politeness, never, for a moment, betraying, by a single look or gesture, that any unpleasant incident had taken place ; she prattled to him on different subjects, with her usual gaiety and liveliness, and even ventured to rally him on his reserve and bashfulness, all which completely put Edward at rest, he threw off his em- barrassment, and conversed with his accustomed alacrity and cheer of spirit. Thus were matters restored to their old course, and flowed on in their usual channel, with regard to the baronet’s family and Edward. But Hardy could not refrain from occasionally endeavouring to enlighten Edward, as he termed it, and to eradicate all prejudice from his mind, notwithstanding their late agreement, not to make religion a subject of their conver- sation. One day they devoted to a little excursion to Rosse- line Abbey, a romantic ruin, in the neighbourhood of Edin. burgh. After viewing these noble remains of ancient archi- tecture with much delight, they descended to the river at the foot of the hill, on which the abbey is situated, and determined to follow its winding track. Accordingly, they wound their way by the edge of the river whose sides were steep, and cloth- ed with wood. They occasionally stopped to contemplate the graceful foliage of a pendent willow, that drooped its head mournfully over the stream ; the weeping of a still, small, si- lent rill welled from out the bosom of the rock, or the rude over-jutting of the fragment of a rifted hill. After a while, however, they became weary, and not very | well satisfied ; because they knew not their way, and the shades of night began to thicken around them, and to shroud all the objects of their view in the misty mantle of obscurity. At length, when the darkness had thrown a deeper horror on she surrounding scenes, they found themselves at the foot ofa most romantic building, seated ona lofty rock; it was the castle of Hawthornden, once the seat of the celebrated William Drummond, the poet, the friend of Ben Johnson. Opposite to the mansion, across the river, on whose brink they stood, rose an elevated ridge of hills, adorned with wood, from the base to the summit. » > onde, Sacre _ a i , ae ew ys aed a he ee ee ee = Fe eye * . a ? <i a ==. = soa © ~ > —_—o7 Br - SE eee as se : “ —iinstess ee es a = ae oy * — 1807. Men and Women. 863 At this moment, the moon emerged from a mass of embat- tled clouds, and cast a silver-gieaming ray on all the objects of their sight ; and pointed out to them a road, by which they might find their way back to Edinburgh. Edward looked up and saw, upon the battlements of the mansion above, some fe- male forms arrayed in white, he stood a while, contemplating the pleasing etlect, which the white drapery produced, when seen at a distance, and by such an obscure light ; and gave his imagination full! play and scope to decorate the wearers of these robes in all the beauty and in all the majesty of the angel’s floating pomp, and seraph’s glowing grace. While Edward was yet musing, Hardy clapped him on the shoulder, and said.—On my life, now, Ned, you are phantomi- zing; I see by the continued shiftings of your countenance, and the frequent sighings of your heart, that you are wander- ing about in the clouds after the Deity ; but by my honour, if all mankind could do as well without God and Christ, as I do, it would be better for them.—Edward—No more of this Har- dy, I beseech you ; such impious absurdity, it neither becomes you to utter, nor me tohear ; pray, do you industriously pro- mulgate these miserable opinions to your tenants and peasantry, at your country-seat in England ?——Hardy—No; I am always as pious as the best of them, when I am in the country.—Ed- ward—That can never be, for you swear horribly, almost eve- ry other word, in all companies, even before women.—Hardy —True, I am apt to swear a little now and then, in order to give energy to my discourse ; but when I amin the country, I sometimes go to church, and often have the parson of the par- ish, who holds his living by my gift, to dinner, on a Sunday, and fill him with beef and pudding, and port-wine, and scraps of divinity out of Mosheim’s ecclesiastical history, Lowth’s com- mentary, and Stackhouse’s history of the Bible, and other books of that stamp; so that I am looked upon asa prodigy of piety there, considering, that Iam one of the hereditary aris- tocracy, and in possession of a most ample inheritance. —Ed- ward—Then you are completely armed at all points ; for you have hypocrisy, as a grand auxilliary to all your other accom- plishments of immorality and unbelief ; as it is not very prob- able, that a man. professing such tenets as yaur’s, should be OE I = t ig :. ! - 4 “ ,o ‘ ‘9 mL i\ iM - ae , fl ti if a 4 % wi ‘ y a r- e~12t. 4 * -- . a _ ~ ‘Stee ead ~~. , cee 364 Men and Women. Noy; too full of scruples ; pray what do you think of spilling human blood ?—Hardy—Just as much as I do of spiliing a bottle of burgundy. I am not yet twenty-eight, and I have killed ele. ven men fairly, and as a gentleman; not to mention, that I once, at Dublin, put a waiter to death for impertinence.—Ed- ward—But why did you killso many men !—Hardy—I killed some from necessity, and others out of frolic.—Edward—Ex. plain yourself, [ do not understand what you mean by necessity and frolic—Hardy—Why you know very well, that I am one of the most expert marksmen with the pistol, and one of the most adroit swordsmen in Europe ; arid a man is always de- sirous of displaying his excellence, particularly in such very fashionable accomplishnients ; wherefore I now and then, amuse myself with duelling. You know I killed Colonel Ham- ilton from necessity ; he paid his addresses to the present Lady Hardy, my wife, then Miss Percy, and I also wooed her; I sent him peremptory orders to desist from his amatorial atten- dance upon Miss Percy, because I intended to marry her my- self; the colonel, being a man of honour and a gentleman, of course, refused to obey my orders ; we therefore met to de- cide who should have the lady, and I killed him the first shot, so you see, Ned, that I was fairly entitled to my present wife, in consequence of my having removed my competitor.—Ed- ward—Well; but you sometimes killa man for a frolic ; give me an instance of this kind of frolicsome killing. —Hardy—I will; when I was in Dublin, some eight or nine months since, in a public coffee-house there, I heard an officer say, that he himself was the best swordsman in Europe, having taken par- ticular pains to finish himself in this exercise in Italy and in France. Sir, replied I, I will lay any gentleman in this room a thousand guineas, that, in less than ten minutes, I pin you up to the pump, which stands at one end of that yard, into which this window looks. The wager was immediately taken, and out we went, and, after a little tilting, I ran my gentle- man through the body, and nailed him up to the pump in six minutes and a half, by the stop watch of the umpire of the wa- ger; although, at first, the bets were four to one against me} I withdrew my sword from the major’s body, and he feli down dead ; I won my bet, and left Dublin that very morning. And 1807. | Men and Women. 865 when I was in Holland, in that dismal expedition, under the duke of York, I sawa captain flourishing and foining with his sword. I locked the room-door, and rang the bell; presently, some ene came up; are you a waiter! I asked ;—yes, sir, was the reply ;—send me up the land-lord directly, said I—the land- lord came to the door, which I opened slowly, and in part, and which, as soon as he was in the room, I again locked, I then took the pale, and trembling host by the collar, and shewed him his bleeding servant ; that fellow,—said I,—I killed for his impertinence ; and if you make the least noise or resistance, I will put you to death, also ; take pen, ink, and paper, and Write out a bill, and put this article in it: to I. , Esq. for killing a waiter, fifty pounds, sterling.—The land-lord, in ter- ror and in dismay, obeyed, and wrote the bill as I had com- manded ; I then saidto him,if you make the least noise or stir about this, you will certainly be put to death ; I am of too high a rank, and have too much influence to be called to account for dispatching a common waiter at a tavern. I then, gave Vou. III. Bbb = _ patie. SS Tr - a - - ~~ 866 Men and Women. | Nov, the innkeeper a bank-note for a hundred pounds, fifty for his dead waiter, and fifty for the fright, in which [ had put him; I left the house and made my way directly to France : the bill I keep as acuriosity, which I occasionally show to my particu- lar friends; here it is in the land-lord’s own hand-writing.— Edward—I see it, and wonder that you are not ashamed of shewing such a bloody memorial of your deeds ; but what did you mean by telling the land-lord, that your rank and influence would protect you, when you know, that neither influence nor rank can protect a murderer from the punishment due to his crime, as established by the law of England?—Hardy— Murderer! what do you mean by that? do you mean to call me a murderer; to rank me with a common house-breaker and highwayman !—Edward—No ; for highwaymen and _ house- breakers in Britain very seldom commit murder ; but not now to dispute about words, I will thank you to answer my ques- tion. —Why then he was of no use to you, I replied—upon this the old woman began to cry bitterly, and bless herself, and pray that no evil had befallen her poor, dear boy, who was the only comfort of her old age.—I then bade her be pacified, tor it was of no use to cry, as a vicious horse had, that morning, killed her son, whose master would be graciously pleased to allow her four shillings a week for her life. —The old woman’s agony was great for the loss of her child; she, however, sob- bed out her gratitude for the generosity of the boy’s princely master ; and there ended the whole of the matter. The wo- man continues to receive her weekly pension, and now and then to mourn the loss of herson. Why do you muse so iutently, Ned, and keep vour eye so steadily fixed ’—Edward—I am thinking how infinitely preferable the life of an uncutored, naked savage is to ail the splendid iniquity of these murder- ous atheistss—Hardy—Ha, ha, ha, bravo, Ned, bravo; you would make an excellent monk ; we agree very well together inthe main; but you have some prejudices, which stick about you, and give you an awkward appearance ; for instance, a squeamishness as to snufhing out the candle of human life, nay, do not look so sternly, boy ; for my own part, I wouid willingiy, if it were in my power, empty all the Atlantic ocean of its wa- ters, and fill it with human blood, rather than I wouid suft-r a single hair of the aristocracy to be blown upon by the poiluted breath of the mob. While Hardy was uttering these words they reached Edin- burgh, and separated, each directing his steps to his own hab- itation. The baronet spent the remainder of the night in consuming champagne, and in dalliance with a frail iair one, whom he kept, in the capacity of an attendant, as lady’s maid, upon his wife. Edward passed nearly the whole of the night in-anxious, painful musing upon the abandoned protiigacy, and the unprincipicd audacity of Hardy, and the ineviiable horrors which resuit to the human race, individually and col- lectively, from the baneful tenets of infidelity, which, of iate Se ‘ Ar de SEGRE: ee ae Sains — * i \ : iY P 5 : 7 3 - note oo egret et a as. : — Vr hw eae . ’ > 2 ~~ 368 Men and Women. Noy: years, have so generally polluted the fair face of society, and have let out the waters of bitterness, and the streams of deso- lation to overflow and to destroy the earth. The next morning, a servant came running, and breathless, to Edward’s lodgings, and begged him to come to his master, Sir James Hardy, with all speed ; for something bad had hap- pened, though he knew not what. Edward, instantly, has- tened to Hardy’s house, and found the baronet, lying ona sofa, fixed in the profoundest silence, and lady Hardy, sitting by him, and weeping in an excess of agony. Edward went up to Hardy, and took him gently by the hand, with a look, ex- pressive of the most benevolent compassion, such as his heart always felt for his fellow-creatures, when he witnessed their distress. | But, involuntarily, and with horror, he back recoiled a few paces, when he heard the most tremendous burst of blasphe- my, and horrid effusion of execrations, which rushed from the lips of the miserable sufferer, who, instead of yielding to the storm, defied the raging of the blast.—‘* My brother is dead, is murdered”—said Hardy, in tones more than human, —there is a letter, (pointing to several pieces of paper, that lay scattered on the floor, for in the first impulse of his fury, he had torn the letter into a thousand parts) informing me, that my brother perished in a storm in the Mediterranean. Who raised that storm? Why did it destroy my brother? Hah! tell me that! but do not delude me.” Edward, gently, and by degrees, endeavoured to lead him off from the contemplation of his brother’s death; by intro- ducing other subjects of discourse; but in vain, Hardy still recurred to it, and, always, with increasing violence and fury. Edward, then, attempted to inspire some comfort from the consideration of a future life ; but all there was dark ; nota ray, not a faintly-glimmering gleam of hope served to illumine the dreary, cheerless prospect: Hardy turned to Edward, and said, with a pale, livid, quivering lip, and with eyes emitting intolerable flashes of fire, and with a countenance rendered ghastly by despair—what comfort can I derive from the con- templation of a future state, the existence of which I disbe- lieve? or what can I hope from the mercy of that God, whose 1807. -- Men and Women. 369 being I more than doubt, and who, if he exists at all, delights to snuff the scent of blood, and rejoices in misery and in de- vastation? Has he not bereft me-of my brother? Here he threw himself on the floor, and in convulsive agony poured fourth a torrent of imprecations, and uttered such hor- rid curses, as harrowed up Edward’s soul, and benumbed his every faculty of reflection. After along and a gloomy pause, Hardy faultered out in a faint and a feeble tone, and with a look of unutterable wo, these words, while he pressed Ed- ward’s hand to his heart—my young, but mistaken friend, if ever such a brother, so brilliant, so dignified, so endeared, shall be rent from your bleeding bosom, then will you feel the childish inutility, and the pitiful inefficacy of your boasted re- ligion. Mock me no more, I beseech you, with the phantoms of speculation: nothing is certain, but that man is born to an- guish, to lamentation, and to destruction, as his only portion, and his only inheritance. Now, another burst of tears choked his voice, and, for a while, forbade all farther articulation. After a few moments he said, in broken, and in trembling accents—I have only one brother left; he is a soldier, bold, spirited, noble ; I once sav- ed his life in battle, in the disastrous expedition to Holiand, under the Duke of York, and he loves me to distraction; if he, also, is to be murdered, I will not survive his loss; no, by every curse, that hath fallen upon mankind, from the begin- ning of time down to this darkest, dunnest moment of despair, I will apply a pistol to my brain, or a dagger to my heart, and go to see that future state, about which you talk so much. Here he burst into a fit of wild, convulsive, phrensied, ma- niac laughter, and yelled out tones so horribly terrific, that Ed- ward’s blood crept chill through all his veins ; and, unable to endure a spectacle so terrible, he staggered out of the room ; his knees knocking against each other, the joints of his loins being loosened, and all his countenance expressive of the deepest horror. Surely—said Edward, when he had reached his home, and somewhat quelled the agony of his sensations—surely, infi- delity! thy ways are ways of bitterness, and all thy paths are death. To be continued, 370 Depons’ Voyage to Terra-Firma. Noy, THIRD SECTION. AMERICAN LITERATURE REVIEWED. i — DEPONS’ VOYAGE TO TERRA-FIRMA. (Continued from Vol. 3, No. 5, p. 307.) VERY obstacle, which a blind and narrow system of policy can throw in the way of improvement to the colonies, is rigidly laid and enforced by the Spanish govern- ment. No one can embark from Spain for Spanish America without the King’s permission, which is never granted, except for commercial purposes, and is generally limited to a resi- dence of only two years. For a permanent establishment a permission is not easily obtained. The creoles, who visit Spain, cannot return home without the express permission of the King. Till lately, no passport to these colonies could beprocured, unless the applicant proved himself to be of Spanish extraction; but a royal order of the 3d August 1801, called the Tarif of Graces, permits foreigners to reside in the Spanish Indies ; under such restrictions,however, and such enormous taxations, not to mention, also, the innumerable sources of papal persecu- tion ; as to amount almost to an entire prohibition. In consequence of these absurd regulations few people em- igrate frdm Spain to Terra-Firma, and still fewer return from Terra-Firma to Spain. The creoles, themselves, fancy that their own country surpasses all the rest of the world in excel- lence, both physical and moral. A circumstance not very wonderful, when we learn, from the authority of D. Miguel Joseph Lanz, a gentleman of the law, born at Valencia, in the province of Venezuela, and a great favourite of M. Depons, 1807. Depons’ Voyage to Terra-Firma., 371 that the system of education in the Spanish colonies is most vileand despicable ; caiculated only to render the inhabitants the slaves of gross ignorance, and the blindest superstition. Yet M. Depons assures us, that the creoles of Terra-Firma possess a quick, penetrating mind, very admirably adapted for the acquisition of the sciences ; and a most decided attach- ment to all French fashions, particularly that of dress, whence —* slouched hats, cropped and unpowdered heads, pantaloons up to the breast, short vests buttoned half way, is the style in which the young Spaniards appear, who by their opulence and rank, are entitled to preside in the circles of fashion.” All the people in these settlements s/eep from two to four hours every day after dinner. They marry very early ; despise old bachelors, and aged spinsters ; almost universally commit adultery, and the wives are encouraged by the police to cornute, to insult, and to ruin their husbands in the mode, which is, in their own opinion, the most convenient, and most pleasing. By a cedule published at Caraccas, the 3d Febru- ary, 1804, his catholic Majesty has endeavoured to remedy the evil consequences of inconsiderate marriages, by giving fathers the power of forbidding, at their own discretion, the espousals of their children. ‘The effect of this royal order re- mains yet to be proved. Parents have very little authority over their children, who, however, universally affect to be all submission, and every morning and night, and many times during the day, crave and receive upon their knees the benediction of their father and mother, whom they address with terms of great reverence, and whose hands they kiss incessantly, and with much per- severance. 