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Prose "A Dialogue" (Nov.1845). The Democratic Review. 
Printed 
copy.EACH NUMBER EMBELLISHED WITH A PORTRAIT.

THE
DEMOCRATIC
REVIEW.

Vol. XVII.—No. 89.
THE BEST GOVERNMENT IS THAT WHICH GOVERNS LEAST.
[[image]]
NOVEMBER, 1845.

NEW-YORK:
J. L. O'SULLIVAN AND O. C. GARDNER,
136 NASSAU STREET.
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OIL OF TANNIN,
Or, LEATHER RESTORER.
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    Most people know that Skins and Hides are converted into Leather by the use of Tannin, ex-tracted from certain barks, &c.  When the force and strength of the Tannin is worn out, leather becomes dead, hard, dry, brittle, cracked and covered with a crust.  This all know.  To restore then life, softness, moistness, strength, smoothness, and remove all crust, fly, or blister—restore the Tannin.  This substance the leather never can receive the second time; but the whole virtues of it are in this article, the Oil of Tannin, which penetrates the stiffest and hardest leather, if it has been twenty years in use; and if it tears easily with the fingers, it imparts at once a strength that is utterly incredible until seen.  It becomes like new leather in all respects, with a delightful soft-ness and polish, and makes all leather completely and perfectly impervious to water—particularly boots, shoes, carriage tops, harness. hose, trunks, and, in fact, all things made of leather; giving a splendid polish, even higher than new leather has, and at least doubling its wear and durability, in whatever manner the leather is used.  These are facts.
    To convince of their truth, any man trying the article and not finding it so, shall have his money again.  Remember that this is serious and true.
    We have to say it, for we would never have believed the wonderful effects of this Oil upon leather without seeing it, and we ask not the credulity of the community till they have seen, and then we know that they must know these to be facts.  Directions for use with each bottle.  Patent leather and its polish restored by this Oil.
    Corns cannot long exist where this is used for boots and shoes, it keeps the leather so soft.
    Leather cannot decay, crack, mould or blister, during the common age of man, so far as we can judge by experience, if this oil is properly used.
    Ladies' shoes of the finest kinds, are beautiful and rendered water-proof by it; and so are the shoes and boots of all others who use it.
    Banish, then, all India rubber or other over-shoes, and use this oil.  The proprietors will warrant, that if leather is first soaked in this oil, and then made into a boot, and that boot sunk three months in water, not one drop of wet or moisture can ever enter the boot unless it runs over the top!  and such a boot shall wear double the time of its mate that is not so prepared.
    Now, if these things are true, the discovery is of infinite value to the world.  If not true, it is the easiest thing in the world to prove it, without cost.  Who, then, will refuse a trial?
    Those who will may wear old shoes, groan with corns, ride with old carriage-tops—have old harness, and throw them away half-used—look filthy themselves and all about them—expend double what is necessary for articles of leather, to their heart s content, for what we care, if their prejudices are so strong, they will not try a new discovery.  We have no favors to ask of them, they are the greatest sufferers, and we beg for nobody s custom or patronage.  Now, gentlemen, please yourselves.
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    Deafness.—Dr. McNair's Acoustic Oil has proved very successful in curing even total deafness.  We have many certificates from citizens who have used this oil to complete success.  We invite all who are troubled with any disease of the ear, to examine the proof.
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    N. B.—It operates without the slightest pain, as a mild but thorough cathartic, and never leaves the person costive, even if taken very often.
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    COMSTOCK & CO'S SARSPARILLA is a pure and strong an extract from this celebrated Root as can possibly be made-  The price is so reasonable that the poor can afford to use it, being bar 50 cents per bottle, or $4 per dozen.  It is the only article that will effectually purify the blood from all impurities.  Those who have been imprudent in the use of calomel, %c, will sure find relief from it.
     Worms.—Kolmstock's Vermifuge is a safe, easy and effectual remedy for Worms in Children or adults, in every case.  It is entirely vegetable, and cannot injure the most delicate child,even should there be no Worms.  Price 25 cents.  Do not confound it with other names.
    Shaving Cream.—The best article in use anywhere.
    Magic Hair Oil.—It gives the hair a beautiful gloss, and inclines it to curl, and wholly unlike any other Oil, it never soils the finest ladies' hats in the least.  If any lady or gentleman shall use this Oil, and find these statements to be untrue, their money will be refunded.
    New discovery, by which all stoves and pipes and grates may be kept a jet black, with as beautiful a polish as a coach body, with one application a year.  It keeps all pipes and stoves from rustling through the summer.  This Var-nish is an entire new invention, and surprises and delights all who use it.  Special of Stoves and pipes in use may be seen at 21 Courtlandt street, where the polish may be had at the cost of 25 cents per bottle.
    Cologne, Florida and Bay Water, Extracts of all kinds, Foreign and Domestic Perfumery.
    Oriental Water of Gold, a new and delightful perfume.
    CAUTION TO BE REMEMBERED.—The above named articles are sold genuine in this city by COMSTOCK & Co., 21 Courtlandt street, and NOWHERE ELSE, except by their conntry agents.[[image]]
Engraved by T.Doney,N.Y.
John A, [[?]]
U.S. Senator
Printed by J.Neale
Engraved for the Democratic Review,
From a Daguerreotype by Anthony Edwards & Co.THE
UNITED STATES MAGAZINE,
AND
DEMOCRATIC REVIEW.
Vol. XVII.  NOVEMBER, 1845.  No. LXXXIX
| TABLE OF CONTENTS. | Page |
| I. Review of the Edinburgh and Foreign Quarterly | 323 |
| II. Sketch of Talleyrand.  From the French of George Sand, | 332 |
| III. The Artist, Merchant and Statesman, | 340 |
| IV. The Clinton Prison, | 345 |
| V. Spanish Ballads.  By Edward Maturin, | 353 |
| VI. A Dialogue, by Walter Whitman, | 360 |
| VII. La Vendetta, or the Feud.  By Mrs. F. A. Butler. From the French of Balzac.  (Concluded.) | 364 |
| VIII. The Malthusian Theory—Discussed in a Correspondence between Alex. H. Everett and Professor Geo. Tucker, of the University of Virginia.  (Continued.) | 379 |
| IX. Monthly Financial and Commercial Article, | 392 |
| X. New Books of the Month, | 395 |
| XI. Monthly Literary Bulletin, | 400 |

Vol. XVII.—No. LXXXIX.      21THE
UNITED STATES MAGAZINE,
AND 
DEMOCRATIC REVIEW.
Vol.XVII.  NOVEMBER, 1845  No. LXXXIX

The
EDINBURGH AND FOREIGN QUARTERLY ON THE OREGON.

Since the article in our June number
on the Oregon question, two of the
British Quarterly Reviews have contained
articles on the same subject, 
which may be regarded as expressions
of the views of the two parties into
which the people of Great Britain are
divided.  The Edinburgh reasons in a 
liberal spirit; and though it leans to
the British side, thinks, nevertheless,
that there may be some justice on ours, 
and counsels moderation  The Foreign 
Quarterly is insane in its hatred of
America and everything American, 
sees nothing in our claims but unfounded 
pretensions, and appears to think
that nothing more is needed than British
threats to frighten us into an abandonment
of them.

Neither of these articles in itself 
would be entitled to much consideration;
but they are to be treated differently.
The Edinburgh is moderate, and should be answered with reasons;
the Foreign Quarterly is too furious
to be reasoned with, if its braggart
tone did not place it beyond the 
pale of argument.

Perhaps our readers would like to
see the latest arguments of the English
in a condensed form.  We will give 
them, therefore, a summary of the argument
of the Edinburgh, passing over 
all that part of the article which does
not relate strictly to the disputed question.

It begins with assuming that sovereignty
over an unoccupied country
may be acquired by five different
means: discovery, settlement, contiguity,
treaty and prescription; and it
Vol.XVII - No. LXXXIX

lays down the preliminary proposition,
that the acts by which the sovereignty
is acquired must be the acts of a government,
not of unauthorized individuals.

As to discovery: it admits that the 
title of Spain, so far as that could give
it, was complete, and it rejects the
claims arising from discovery of both
the English and Americans.  As to
our claim to the country of the Columbia, 
founded upon the discovery of the 
river, it gives three reasons for rejecting 
it: first, that Gray was not actually
the first discoverer; second, that
if he were, he was but a private individual;
and third, that the discovery of
a river gives no title to the country
drained by it; three reasons any one 
of which would be sufficient, if it 
were well founded.

As to settlement: it rejects equally 
the claims of America, of England, 
and of Spain, on the ground that all
the settlements, small and partial at
best, were the unauthorized acts of
private individuals, up to the time of
the Convention of 1818, since which no
act of either America or England can
have affected the title.

As to treaty: it admits that the Convention
of the Escurial ought to be
deemed a temporary arrangement, and 
that either nation has the right to terminate
it, as it has the right to terminate 
the Convention of 1818.  Then it 
insists that our claim, founded on purchase
from Spain, is sophistical, for
the reason, as we understand it that
we ceded to Spain the territory below
42, to which we had not title, and,
21 
























 





























324   British Reviews on Oregon.  [November, 1845]
therefore, could, under the same treaty,
take no title from Spain to the territory
north of that parallel; a reason the
force of which we acknowledge ourselves
unable to perceive.
Prescription it considers inapplicable 
to a case so recent; and as to contiguity,
while it insists that neither America
nor England can claim a perfect title
by contiguity it nevertheless admits 
that each has an imperfect title from
that source to the portion of Oregon
which adjoins its own frontier; America 
to that south of the 49th parallel, 
and England to the rest.
Upon the whole, it maintains that 
the dispute is one eminently proper to
be adjusted by arbitration, and thinks
that an honest arbitrator would divide
the territory by the 49th parallel. giving,
however, the whole of Vancouver's 
Island to England.
Such is a very brief summary of the 
argument of the Edinburgh.  Our
readers will perceive that it makes no
claim upon the pretended discoveries of
Drake, and that it abandons what we
considered the strongest ground of the
English claim, the Convention of the
Escurial.  Its other positions, viz., the
denial of the priority of Gray's discovery,
the denial of right acquired 
from discovery of a river gives a claim to 
the territory which it waters, demand
some notice from us.
First, as to the priority of Gray's 
discovery.  His only competitor is Heceta.
The existence of the great river
of the west was matter of tradition and
general belief long before his time.
Who first actually discovered it is the 
question.  To have seen the coast
where the river empties itself was
not enough; that must have been done
by all who coasted along the shore.
To constitute a discovery of the river, 
it was necessary either to enter it or to
see it, knowing it to be a river. Heceta's
account of what he saw is as follows:
"In the evening of this day, I discovered
a large bay, to which I gave the 
name of Assumption Bay, and of which a 
plan will be found in this journal.  Its
latitude and longitude are determined according
to the most exact means afforded 
by theory and practice.
"The latitudes of the two most prominent 
capes of this bay, especially of the
northern one, are calculated from the 
observations of this day.
"Having arrived opposite this bay at
six in the evening, and placed the ship 
nearly midway between the two capes, I
sounded, and found bottom in twenty-four
brazas; the currents and eddies
were so strong that, notwithstanding a 
press of sail, it was difficult to get out
clear of the northern cape, towards which
the current ran, though its direction was
eastward, in consequence of the tide
being at flood
"These currents and eddies of the 
water caused me to believe that the place
is the mouth of some great river or of 
some passage to another sea.
"had I been certain of the latitude of
this bay, from my observations of the
same day, I might easily have believed it 
to be the passage discovered by Juan de
Fuca, in 1592, which is placed on the 
charts between the 47th and the 48th degrees, 
where I am certain that no such
strait exists; because I anchored on the 
14th of July, midway between these two
latitudes, and carefully examined everything
around.
"Notwithstanding the great difference
between the position of this bay and the
passage mentioned by De Fuca, I have
little difficulty in conceiving that they
may be the same, having observed equal
or greater differences in the latitudes of
other capes and ports on this coast, as I 
shall show at its proper time; and in all 
cases the latitudes thus assigned are higher
than the real ones.
"I did not enter an anchor in this 
port, which is my plan I suppose to be
formed by an island, notwithstanding my
strong desire to do so; because, having 
consulted the second captain, Don Juan
Perez, and the pilot, Don Christoval Revilla,
they insisted that I ought not to attempt
it, as, if we let go the anchor, we 
should not have men enough to get it up,
and to attend to the other operations which
would be thereby rendered necessary.
Considering this, and also that, in order to
reach the anchorage, I should be obliged
to lower my long boat (the only boat I
had), and to man it with at least fourteen
of the crew, as I could not manage with
fewer, and also that it was then late in
the day, I resolved to put out;  and at the
distance of three or four leagues I lay to.
In the course of that night I experienced
heavy currents to the south-east, which
made it impossible for me to enter the
bay on the following morning, as I was 
far to leeward.
"These currents, however, convinced
me that a great quantity of water rushed
from this bay on the ebb of the tide.
"The two capes which I name in my 
plan Cape San Roque and Cape Frondosa,
lie in the angle of ten degrees of the

British Reviews on Oregon.         325
third quadrant.  They are both faced
with red earth, and are of little 
elevation."
It will be seen from this account
that Heceta did not enter the river;
that his actual position was far outside
the bar, in twenty-four fathoms of 
water; and there is no evidence that 
he even saw the opening of the land
through which the river issues.  All
that he himself says, is, that the currents
and eddies led him to believe that
the place was "the mouth of some
great river or of some passage to another
sea."  This was not seeing the
river or entering it.  It was a belief in
its existence produced by the phenomena
which he observed.
The two next are questions of international
law.  According to that law, 
does a discovery or settlement of an
unoccupied territory by private individuals
give any right whatever to the 
government of nation to which the individuals
owe allegiance?  We maintain
that it does, and that this necessarily 
follows from the doctrine of allegiance
and protection.  Every citizen of
this country who goes abroad on any
lawful undertaking, goes as an American
citizen, and is entitled to the protection
off his government.  If he enters 
the jurisdiction of another government,
he submits himself to that for
the time being; but so long as he remains
out of another jurisdiction, this
government should not permit another
to touch him.  What follows?  That
American citizens settling in any unoccupied 
country, not under another jurisdiction,
are as much subject to the 
jurisdiction and government of their
own country as if they were at home,
and are equally entitled to its protection.
Rights and duties are correlative. 
The new country having to be 
defended by the original government of
its settlers, may be governed by it also.
And the rule that obtains in respect
to settlements by American citizens, 
must obtained also in respect to discovery, 
which is but preparatory to settlement.
The doctrine of the English leads to
this; that a nation cannot communicate
its authority, except in particular
cases.  Now it must be admitted that 
any nation may give its sanction in
what manner and to whom it pleases. 
It may commission a few officers to
make discoveries and settlements in its
name, and by its authority; or it may
authorize all its citizens to discover and 
settle new countries; or it may declare
that it adopts any discovery and settlement
made by any of its citizens.  If 
the sanction of the government is all
that is wanted, we do not see why it
may not be given afterwards as well as
beforehand.
The remaining point is the extent of 
claim accruing from the discovery of
the mouth of a river.  It is to be
observed at the outset, that the article
in the Edinburgh does not state
the claim itself with exactness.  The 
ground taken by us is, that the discovery 
of a river is deemed a discovery
of its course and branches, and of the 
country drained by it.  Then we contend
that from discovery flows the right of
occupancy within a reasonable time.
What is discovery?  Is it the actual 
sight of all the land or water
within the limit?  If it were so, the 
view of one side of a mountain would
not be a discovery of the other, or one 
side of a bay the discovery of the opposite
side.  According to this, a discoverer
might have sailed hundreds of
miles along the northern shores of the
Amazon without acquiring the rights
of a discoverer in its southern shores,
or any greater portion of the river
than he actually saw.  Now, so far
from this being the received doctrine, it 
was pushed rather to the opposite
extreme, and, on one occasion, so far
that the Spaniards laid claim to the
Pacific, from the discovery by Balboa
at Panama.
In reason as well as in fact, the discovery
of one part of a river must be 
deemed a discovery of the rest: for it
gives a clue to the rest, and it is 
impossible to apportion it without
leading to the most whimsical confusion.
This is as far as we need to go.  If
we had any title to the country of the
Columbia by discovery, it has not been
lost through the settlements of other
nations; for, in point of fact, there 
have been no such settlements on any
of the waters of that river prior to
ours.
But we could go further, and extend
the same principle to actual settlement.
The settlement is subsequent
and auxiliary to the discovery; it perfects
the title, otherwise imperfect.  A326  British Reviews on Oregon. [November,]

settlement at the mouth of a river
extends its jurisdiction over the upper
country, unless some part of that 
country has been already settled or
discovered by another. 

How is this doctrine of public law to
be established? By the practice of 
the nations concerned in the discovery
and settlement of the New World. 
Before the opening of the great
Columbian Continent to the eyes of Europe,
there was no occasion for the
establishment of any rule on the subject; but
when the ambition and cupidity of the 
maritime nations of Europe strove to
obtain as much as possible of the 
new-found hemisphere, some rules of
partition, some founding for their
relative rights, became indispensable. 
The western shore of the Atlantic was
the scene of their enterprises. How
broad lay the continent before them they
little knew. When they landed on 
the coasts, they took possession, as of
the country to its westernmost limits. 
The first who reached the mouth of a
river had found an opening into the
land. The rivers were the gates of the 
interior; they who possessed 
themselves of these gates conceived that
they held good against of comers
whatever lay within. And thus it
happened that, without exception, so
far as is now known, the possession of 
the mouth of a river was considered a
title as against other European nations
to all the country which lay above it, 
and was approachable through it; in
other words, to all the country which
its waters washed in their whole
course. 

Thus the French, taking possession
of the mouth of the St. Lawrence,
claimed the country to the north and
west; and although the Spaniards
actually first discovered the mouth of
the Mississippi, yet they were met
in their ascent by the French, 
descending from the Ohio and the 
Upper Mississippi, whither they had
crosses from the head of the 
St. Lawrence; and these titles of the 
French and Spaniards had the effect to
contract the titles of the English
colonies, which before had claimed to the 
South Sea. 

It was said by the British
negotiators, in 1818, and has been repeated
by their journalists since, that 
different titles are inconsistent with each
other. What if they are inconsistent?
Does that weaken out claim, or make
the British a better one? There may
be different claims to the same
territory, of more or less strength; none of
them perfect. Take for example, the 
case of the claim by discovery, the 
claim by occupancy, and the claim by
contiguity, held by different 
governments. If any one of these
governments can by treaty unite tehm
all in itself, it strengthens its title,
and it does so because it thus
furnishes an answer to its adversaries.
One may prefer for the first title, another
may maintain that the second is the
best. Neither of them can be 
demonstrated to be perfect; but the 
purchase of all the titles silences all
the objectors. It is so in private 
affairs. A land-owner purchases in an
outstanding claim against his estate,
to quiet his title. He does not thereby
admit the title purchases to be good,
or his own previous one to be bad.
You cannot destroy both his titles
by asserting that the two are
inconsistent with each other. His answer
will be, "tell me which title you
consider good, and I will show you that
I have it." It is puerile then for any 
Englishman, diplomatist or journalist,
to disparage our titles as inconsistent
with each other. They are a source
of strength, not an evidence of 
weakness. 

In regard to the line of partition
which the Edinburgh recommends,
we have no much to say. We have
already expressed the opinion in our 
former article, that the offer of the 
49th parallel, which our government
formerly made, was a reasonable and
proper compromise, and the 
southernmost which we ought to concede.
Our government has twice offered that
line, and the English Government has
as often rejected it. We would not 
repeat the offer, after two refusals. But
at the same time we are free to say,
that if England were to offer us taht
line without more delay, so as to put
an end at once to the disquietude,
which the very agitation of the matter
occasions, we would accept it. We
are not insensible to the objections that
have been made to such a compromise,
and we know very well that the state 
of irritation towards England which 
prevails among us, particularly at the 
west, disinclines a great body of our 
countrymen to make any terms with

[1845.]  British Reviews on Oregon.  327

her. But strong as are these 
objections and this feeling, we think they
are outweighed by the considerations
which favor an immediate settlement of
the question, on the basis of some 
compromise. It is not the case of a
proprietor giving up territory which
belongs to him by an undisputed and
indisputable title. We believe our title
to the whole to be good - that to the 
part south of 49° to be the best - but
we cannot reasonably assume that Great
Britain is not sincere in her claim also.
We think it unfounded, but it is not 
indisputably so. How are these claims
of two great nations to the same
territory, each being sincere in its claim
to be adjusted? By compromise, by
arbitrament or by war. We are less
disposed to arbitrament than to 
compromise, for the reason given in the former
number. War is the last resort
when all others fail. We would
compromise sooner than go to war; though we
would go to war sooner than submit to 
a dishonorable compromise. As to 
Vancouver's Island, it should belong
wholly to America. England has 
now almost a monopoly of islands. 
The rest of Oregon is not 
important to us. With Vancouver's 
Island, and the country south of the 49th
parallel, we hold the keys of the Pacific.

Thus we believe we have answered 
all the arguments of the Edinburgh,
which make against the positions
that we have heretofore maintained,
in this Review. One other observation of
the reviewer must not escape us; that 
in which he sneers at the "ignorance
of international law, which is the 
glaring defeat of American statesmen."
This is rather a remarkable 
observation for a Scotchman to make, seeing
that neither Scotland nor England has 
yet produced any work of authority on
international law, nor shown any
particular aptitude for such studies, whether
among its statesmen or lawyers, and 
that the observation is made of a 
country which has numbered Franklin,
Adams, Jefferson, Jay, Gallatin and 
Webster among its statesmen and
diplomatists, and now boasts of the best
living writer on international law. It 
should seem to be impossible for
Englishmen or Scotchmen, however fair in
general, to finish any discussion 
concerning America, without a sneer at 
her. We do not care to retaliate on
the Edinburgh. If we did, we should
ask it to point to any English
statesman, eminently instructed in the law of
nations; and if it could point to one, we 
should then refer to the history of
English diplomacy and war, as to a
history of infractions of that code.

The Foreign Quarterly, as we have
already observed, puts itself, by it
insane scurrility, out of the pale of 
argument. It gives us slanders for reasons.
To pronounce its article more furious and 
abusive than those which have preceded
it, in the same journal, on American
affairs, would be to make a distinction
where all are eminent in wickedness.
One might suppose that all the spleen
of the disappointed through England,
all the falsehood of all the false, were
engaged in the service of that single
journal.

The journal, however, is nothing.
Who the reviewer may be, we know
not. He may be a person whose
opinions would not be thought to
deserve a moment's notice in any private
circle. But we fear that the utterance
of such sentiments is grateful to the 
popular feeling in that country. We fear
that they are the sentiments of a large
class of its inhabitants. It is as the 
representative of a party that the
journal can alone claim attention. 
Otherwise it has no significance.

As such a representative we regard
it; and we ask whither this thing is
tending. Is it the settled purpose of
any considerable number of persons in
that country to disparage this? Is it
their aim to stir up ill blood between
us? If such be the case, we are
sorry for it. There are too many
inflammable elements in each country to
make it safe.

Perhaps we exaggerate the 
importance of these systematic attacks of the
British press. In themselves 
considered, we certainly do no think them of
any consequence; it is only as an index
of the direction in which the English 
mind is settling, that we consider them
worthy of observation: and even then
possibly we overrate the evil 
which they can do. But we cannot help
thinking that there is a world of
danger in the course of our foreign 
relations at present, immeasurably 
increased by the tone of the English
press ; and on that account alone we 
make these observations respecting it. 
328    British Reviews on Oregon.    [November,
Let us understand each other. The
people of this country want nothing of
the people or government of England.
We are willing to exchange with them
the products of our soil, and the work of
our hands.  We are glad to meet them 
in the offices of peace.  Above all, we 
desire to participate in the advantages
of every step in the arts, in science, in
civilization throughout the world.  But
in our intercourse with Great Britain,
we give as much as we receive.  Certainly,
we are not sensible of any benefits 
received, for which we should be
grateful, and we feel no gratitude.  If
they like not our civil polity, we like
theirs as little.  If they are shocked at
what they call the rudeness of our 
equality, we are not the less shocked
at the servility which we see in all
their classes, from the cottagers to the
nobles, each crouching to and fawning
upon its superior.
It is not, therefore, to obtain advantages
for ourselves;  it is in not from
admiration or fear of England, nor from 
any other selfish or timid motive, that
we refer to the spirit which appears
now to prevail in that country towards
us.  But we take this occasion to make
some observations respecting the attitude
of the two countries towards each
other.
That this attitude is at present unfriendly
is too apparent.  Perhaps at
no period since the Revolution, with 
the single exception of last war,
and the occurrences immediately preceding,
has it been more unfriendly
than it is at this moment.
Why is it so?  It is not from any
dislike entertained by Americans towards
Englishmen.  On the contrary,
there are prejudices in their favor, associated
with the name and history of
their country, prepossessions traditional 
and hereditary, nurtured in childhood,
promoted by the studies of youth,
which the soberness and reason of maturer
age cannot wholly eradicate.
Their sources are obvious, and their
strength has proved hitherto greater
than revolution and war;  bands multifold,
and stronger than iron, wound
about the hearts of people.  Our
education, even at this day, to our
regret be it spoken, is substantially 
English.  In this, the eighth
generation from the settlement of Virginia
and Massachusetts, we look to England
as the great mother of our learning
and our arts.  From our youths upward,
her books are in our hands and 
her songs on our lips.
Our people have always desired
the sympathy of the English. --
As soon as the Revolution
was over, notwithstanding the
circumstances of atrocity with which it
was carried on, we were willing to lay
them
"In the deep bosom of the ocean buried;"
to shake hands across the water, and
make friends.  The offer was repulsed,
and from that day to this England has
been neither a sincere friend nor a generous
enemy.
What is the reason?  It is her 
haughtiness and our rivalry.  She
could not forget the mortification of her
own defeats, and had not the magnanimity
to forgive the success of her revolted
colonies.  Not that she had any
cause for mortification or resentment.
If she had been swayed by a catholic
or philosophical spirit, she would have
remembered that English power had
been foiled in an attempt to put down
English law, and that just so much as
law and freedom are better than power 
and oppression, she should have gloried
in the triumph of the first over the last.
If she had regarded less the disappointment
of the moment, than the permanent 
success of her best principles, and
the spread of her laws and language,
she would have rejoiced in the prodigious
extension of all, by the dismemberment
of the empire, and its partition
into two great empires, one republican,
and the other monarchical.
If there were nothing then to justify
this repulsive haughtiness to us, has
there been anything since?  Beginning
at the separation of the two countries, to
which period their histories were the 
same, compare them from that point 
of divergence, to see which as done
most for its own glory, and the advancement
of the race.  For half
the period, she has been waging a furious
war, to prevent the spread of revolutionary
doctrines in Europe, and 
to maintain pretensions the most arrogant
against the rights of neutral
nations throughout the world.  And in
the intervals of European and American
war, she has been warring in 
Asia, forcing her trade upon unwilling
nations, despoiling people and princes,
and interfering in the quarrels of the

1845.]    British Reviews on Oregon.    329
natives, to find pretexts for absorbing
their possessions into her own dominions.    NEED TO COMPLETE TRANSCRIBING THIS PAGE....















330 British Reviews on Oregon [November,

beyond examples of every calumny, applied 
to Americans.  And even while we
write there has appeared a charge too
gross we should have thought to be 
made or believed by men in their 
senses, that one of our national ships
had been engaged in carrying slave
shackles, to be used in the slave
trade.  If such things can be believed
in England, or even spoken with
the chance of being listened to, then
are the people of that country ripe
for a war with us, and on the verge
of it.

It is at best a pitiable employment to
stir up animosities, and especially between
communities related to each
other as theirs and ours.  If by reason
of conflicting interests or opposite maxims
of policy, wars between us are inevitable,
at least let us not add to the
evils of ordinary warfare the tenfold
bitterness of national revenge.

We should say to Englishmen:  You 
are profoundly ignorant of America;
you are blind to her history, her progress,
her condition, and her destiny.
You exaggerate your own importance,
and you depreciate your adversaries;
two errors, of which you will reap the
fruits in your next wars.  Your military
resources alone would never have
placed you in the front rank of nations.
Your greatness was essentially and altogether
maritime.  Can any man tell 
how long even that can survive the
changes that are now occurring in
naval warfare?

You have indeed a noble country.
God forbid that we should slander or
debase it.  It was the home of our ancestors, 
which makes it sacred.  No 
man can look upon the unsurpassed
richness of your island, its heavily-
laden fields, its stately mansions, the
vast commerce that fills its harbors,
without doing homage to the industry
that created such prodigies of wealth.
But money alone is not always power.
There may be a cancerous disease
within, fastened upon the vitals of the 
state, and eating out its strength. You
have in your own bosom weakness more
than a counterpoise to all your power,
discontented and indigent millions,
whom a lost battle or a deficient harvest
may turn into rebels, clamorous for
bread and their rights as men, and
pulling down in their fury the pillars of
the state.

But where lie the foundations of our
power?  Deep in the hearts of the
millions who themselves raided and
now bear on their Atlantean shoulders
the frame of our polity.  With exhaustless
territories of the most fertile
soil, with energies untramelled, free to
seek their own good in their own way,
competence within the reach of all,
there is no task too great for our countrymen
to accomplish, in a just cause
and with united efforts.  Unite them
once in a war with your country, exasperate
them by encroaching upon their 
rights, and by making them believe that
they are the objects of your dislike,
and you will have raised up against
you an enemy more formidable than
Holland under the commonwealth or
France under Napoleon.

Do not count upon dissensions among
us.  The genius of our institutions 
tolerates all sorts of opinions.  There 
have been differences among us on 
almost all subjects, and they will
doubtless continue.  But the conduct of
your countrymen does more than anything
else to obliterate all differences of 
opinion respecting them.  Notwithstanding
the prejudices of an education
favorable to you, and the innumerable
ties which have hitherto drawn us
towards each other, we fear that at
this moment, if all America were polled,
there would be a majority of voices
for a war with you, and we are confident
that all would desire your expulsion 
from the continent.

There is one subject above all others
on which there can never be a difference
of opinion among Americans; and 
that is, the introduction into the New World
of the European system of intervention.  
The balance of power is
an idea purely European.  It has no
place in the relations of other States.
Its introduction here would at once
draw us into the vortex of European
politics, and would be resisted by all
Americans as one man.  We will meet
the evil at the threshold.  If force be
necessary to prevent it, we will use
force, and we will use it at the first
moment of provocation.  To hesitate
would be to fall.

You may arrange your system in
Europe as you choose, supervise each
other's governments, cut down a state,
if it be too large, or partition it, if it
harbor dangerous doctrines;  but your 
scheme of a policy shall not cross the
Atlantic.  We form no part of your


332   Sketch of Talleyrand.   [November,
SKETCH OF TALLEYRAND.
(From the French of George Sand.)
"Think not, however, that I am led
by indolence alone to advise my philanthropic
friends to repose. When a crime
may be prevented, it is dastardly to wash
one's hand of the matter, like Pilate.
But, lost as we are, in the crowd, what
could we effect? -- and even had we the
divine mission of genius, would we be
listened to? Instead of seeking a guide, and
listening eagerly to the inspired teaching
of Genius, the whole human race rush
and jostle each other, to take possession
of the pulpit or the rostrum. All would
be teachers -- all flatter themselves with
being superior in eloquence and knowledge
to those who have preceded them.
This miserable din and bustle of noisy
presumption which pervades our age
is but the echo of unmeaning words and
loud sounding declamations, wherein 
the heart and the intellect ask in vain
for a single ray of heat or of light. --
Truth, neglected and discouraged, becomes
torpid, or hides itself in those
souls which are worthy to receive it.
No more prophets, no more disciples.
The insane multitude is more of an
orator than the missionaries of God. All
the elements of force and activity are
thrown into disorder, and stop and stun
each other in the universal concussion.
We shall reach the goal at last, say
you? But after what length of time?
Well! well! let us be resigned -- let us
wait. To make one self-violent way, 
torch in hand, through this blind and 
impotent multitude, it would be necessary
to massacre and burn all around
you! Do you not know that?
How many certain disasters does it cost
to establish one doubtful success!
How many crimes must be committed
against society to bring it to accept a
single benefit! This does not comport
with persons of our humble condition, 
my friend! And when I see a superior
man open his lips to speak, or 
advance an arm to act, I tremble still and 
examine him with a mistrustful and 
searching eye, which would penetrate
into the recesses of his conscience. O,
God! what a course of austere reflection
of sanctifying trial, should not the man
submit himself to who would be 
properly prepared to play a part on the
stage of the world? What should he 
not have studied, what should he not
have felt? Hold, then; let us go plant
in our little garden twenty-seven 
varieties of dahlia, and devote ourselves to
study the habits of the wood-louse.
Let us not adventure our humble intellect
beyond these limits, for conscience
is, perhaps, not strong enough to control
the imagination. Let us content
ourselves with living men of probity,
in that narrow sphere where probity is
of easy practice. Be we pure, since 
all things invite us to purity, in the 
bosom of our families, and under our
rustic roofs. Let us not go risk our
little luggage of virtue upon that boisterous
ocean, where so many innocences
have perished, so many principles been
wrecked. Do you not feel an invincible
disgust, an instinctive horror for a
life of action, in presence of that mansion
where so many foul project and
crooked iniquities are incessantly
concocted in the silence of night?
Know you not that the man who
resides there has been playing for sixty
years back with thrones and nations on
the chess-board of the universe? Who
can say that, the first time this man
took up the pen of diplomacy, he had
not in his head an honest resolution, in
his heart a noble sentiment?"
"Never!" exclaimed my friend;
"profane not honesty by such a supposition.
That skinny upper lip of his,
convex and stringent, like that of a cat,
with its fellow large and pendant,
like a satyr's, index of blended dissimulation
and lechery; those soft
and rounded lineaments betraying suppleness
of character; that wrinkle
of disdain on a prominent forehead; 
that arrogant nose, with the reptile
eye; -- so many contrasts in a 
human face discover a man born for great
vices and petty actions. Never has
that heart felt the glow of a generous
emotion; never has an idea of faithfulness
crosses that active brain. This
man is an exception in nature, a 
monstrosity so singular, that mankind,
while despising, have contemplated
him with a sort of imbecile admiration.
I defy you to debase yourself to the

1845.]    SKETCH OF TALLEYRAND.    333
most marvellous of his talents! Let
us invoke the God of virtuous - the 
God who blesses the unsophisticated of
heart!"
Here my friend paused, with an air 
of sarcastic exultation, and after a few
moments' silence resumed: "When I
think of the ideas that just occupied us
in this place, almost under the very
windows of the greatest knave in the 
universe, us, poor children of solitude,
all whose dreams, all whose concerns
tend but to make our integrity contagious,
I feel an inclination to laugh at
our folly; for here we are shedding
tears of sympathy for mankind, who 
are ignorant for our existence, and who,
should we offer to instruct them, would
repulse our officiousness, while they
bow and crouch to the intellectual authority
of those who detest and despise
them. Observe the pale and stern aspect
of that old palace; listen and
look. All is gloomy and silent as a 
grave; you might imagine yourself in
a churchyard. Fifty persons at least
inhabit this dwelling. A few windows
are dimly lighted; not the least noise
betrays the sitting-place of the master,
his company or suite. What order,
what respect, what awe prevails in
this little empire! The doors open
and shut without noise; the waiters
are in motion, but their footsteps awake
not an echo through those mysterious
chambers. Their offices seem to be
performed by magic. See that window
of particular brilliancy, through
which you perceive faintly delineating
itself the spectre of a white statue -- it
is their dining hall. There are assembled
sportsmen, artists, beautiful women
and accomplished men -- all that
France, perhaps, can produce of most
exquisite in point of elegance and grace.
Is there heard from this pleasure party
a song, a laugh, a single vocal utterance
attesting the presence of a human
being? I would lay a wager they 
avoid even to look at each other, for
fear of letting a thought escape them
beneath those ceilings, where all is silence,
mystery and suppressed terror.
Not a velt who dares to sneeze, not 
a dog that knows how to bark. Does
it not seem too that the very atmosphere
around these Moorish turrets
is more sonorous than in any other spot
of the earth? Is it that the master
has silenced the breezes of the night,
and the murmurings of the brooks?
Perhaps has he constructed artificial
ears in the walls of his dwelling, 
like Dionysius the Elder of his Latomia,
to seize in its transit the shadow of
an opinion, and make the discovery
subservient to his dark and puerile
plots. Here comes, I think, the rolling
of a carriage, on the finely-gravelled
court. It is the master returning; 
the castle clock has just struck eleven.
Never was life more regular, regimen
more strictly observed, existence more 
avariciously cared for, than by this octogenarian
fox. Go ask him if he
deems himself necessary for the conservation
of the human race, that he
should watch over his own so sedulously.
Go relate to him that twenty
times a day you are tempted to shoot 
yourself, because you dread to be, or to 
remain, unuseful to your kind; because
you shudder to live without virtue;
and you will see him smile with
more than the contemptuous pity of a
prostitute, to whom a pious virgin has
made confession of some lukewarmness
or yawning during her morning devotions.
Ask you what offices of friendship,
what actions of public beneficence
constitute his daily occupation. His 
people will inform you that he rises at 
eleven, and spends four hours at his 
toilette (time lost in endeavoring doubtless
to restore some semblance of life to
that marble face, petrified by dissimulation
and utter soullessness, still more
than by age.) At three o'clock, they
will tell you, the prince mounts his
carriage alone, with his physician, and
goes to air himself in the solitary
walks of his spacious demesne. At 
five he is served with the most succulent
and scientific that is cooked
in France. His cook is, in his own 
sphere, a personage as peculiar, as profound
and as admired as himself. After
this banquet, each course of which
is introduced by a formal announcement,
the prince graciously bestows a
few moments' conversation on his family,
his little court. Each exquisite
word, mercifully dropped from his lips,
is received with religious respect. A
canonized saint would not inspire more
reverence in a community of devotees.
At nightfall the prince again mounts his 
carriage, and takes a second drive. He is 
now returning, and his window is being
lighted yonder, in that secluded apartment,
guarded by lacqueys in his absence,
with an affectation of mystery so
solemn and so ridiculous. Now he334 Sketch of Talleyrand. [November, 1845]
goes to work until five o'clock
morning.  To work!  O, luminary of
the night, obtrude not thy disturbing
presense! - hide thy timid rays behind
the dark horizon of the forest!  River,
suspend thy current, already so slow
and so silent!  Foilage, tremble not on
the brow of thy parent trees!  Grasshoppers
of the meadow, lizards of the
walls, adders of the bushes, stir not a 
blade of grass, lift not a leaf of ivy or 
hearts-horn, excite no rustle in the 
withered leaves and the brittle stalks of
the nettle and wild poppy.  Universal
nature, hold thyself mute and motionless
as the tomb-stone; the genius of
man keeps vigil.  His might should
inspire thee with awe and respect.  The 
most able and influential of the princes
of the earth goes to lean over his desk,
by the light of a single taper; and from
the depth of his closet, like Jupiter
from the height of Olympus, is going
to shake the world with his frown.
Miserable vanities of man! - proud
peurilities!  - vain-glorious fooleries!
what has this astonishing man produced
during sixty years of midnight
meditation and incessant labors?  what has
brought to his cabinet the representatives
of all the powers of the earth?
What services of importance, tell me,
has he rendered to all the sovereigns
who have held and lost the crown of
France for the last fifty years?  How
is it that the whining look of this man
has always inspired an inconceivable
terror?  why is it that all obstacles
disappear before his steps?  What
revolutions has he wrought or suppressed?
What are the sanguinary wars,
the public calamities, the scandalous
confiscations which he has prevented?
he must then have been necessary indeed,
this hypocritical voluptuary, since 
all our kings, from the haughty Conqueror
down to the narrow-minded
zealot, have imposed upon us the scandal
and shame of his elevation!  
Napoleon characterized him by the metaphor
of a soldier and the sarcasm of a
cynic, and Charles X., in his days of
orthodoxy, used to say of him in a whisper 
- "But he is a married priest!"  Has
he arrested them in their terrible fall,
those masters, whom one after another 
he adulated and betrayed?  Where 
are his benefactions?  Where are his
works?  No one knows; no one can, or is
willing to say what titles this
consummate statesman has to power and glory.
His most brilliant actions are wrapped
in impenetrable darkness; his genius
lies entirely in silence and simuation.
What shameful turpitudes then are
covered beneath the pompous mantle of
diplomacy!  What think you of that 
mode of governing a people which
refuses them any hand in the management
of their own affairs - a glimpse
into the future which is being prepared
for them?  Such are the overseers and
administrators who are given us, and to
whom are committed, without consulting
us, our fortunes and lives?  We are
not permitted to revise their acts or
inquire into their intentions.  Grave
mysteries are agitated about our heads, but
so far off and aloft as to be inaccessible
to our ken.  We are the statke, in a 
game we do not understand, in the hands of invisible players - mute
spectres who smile majestically on reading 
our destinies in a debt-book.
"And what say you," cried he, "of
the imbecility of a nation which tolerates
this infamous jugglery, and which it is
not even to know the purport, to be
signed with its name, its honor and its
blood?  After this, are you not 
disposed to mount in your turn the stage of
politics?"
"the more my fellow-men are 
debased," he replied, "the more would
I desire to elevate them.  I am not 
discouraged on their account.  Let me
indulge my indignation against that 
impenetrable man who has moved us like
pawns over his chess-board, and who
has not had the will to exert his
influence for our improvement.  Leave me
to execrate that enemy of the human
race who has used his possession of the
world only to pilfer a fortune, satisfy
his vices, and impose upon his plundered
dupes a degrading esteem for his
iniquitous talents.  The benefactors of
humanity die in exile or on the cross.
And thou, thou, exppirest slowly and 
regreted in the nest, bald and sated old
vulture!  As death crowns the
celebrated with a halo of complaissance, thy
vices and thy villainies will be speedily
forgotten; thy talents and accomplishments
only will be remembered.  
Prestigious man, scourge whom the Ruler of
the World has kicked from the celestial
abode, and thrown upon the earth, like
the cripple Vulcan, there to forge
unintermittingly some unknown engine of
destruction, in the depths of inaccessible

Sketch of Talleyrand.  335
caverns, you will have nothing to
say for yourself on the great day of 
judgment.  You will not even be questioned.
The Creator who has denied
you a soul will demand no account of
your sentiments or your passions."
"For my part, I think so," interrupted
I.  I am convinced that in some
men the heart is so craven, so cold, so
barren, that no flower of affection can
spring in its soil.  There attachments
appear to be more durable than those
of other men, and their connexions are,
in fact, more firmly based.  These
have been formed by vanity and self-interest;
they are maintained by habit
and necessity.  Esteeming nothing
cordially, such men never incur the deceptions
of which we are the sport - we,
poor dreamers, who cannot form a simple
liking without robing the object in
an ideal magnificence.  We, indeed,
deceive ourselves frequently: frequently
it happens that in anger we crush what
we had caressed.  But honor, faith,
conscience, all are, in the eyes of the
politician, but the proper springs
whereby to impress certain movements
upon a system of machinery of which
he alone is acquainted with the intricacy.
He can touch them appropriately,
and make them subserve, unconsciously
to themselves, the accomplishment
of the iniquitous scheme, of
which he alone is in possession of the
secret.  This is called having comprehensive
views (voir de haut) in politics.
If the man of purity be proficient
in the immoralities of the 
diplomatist, if he grow more pliant by
corrupting his conscience, he daily
advances in the favor of his master;
for in diplomacy the useful is the 
criterion of the estimable.  Words have
a different meaning, principles another
bearing, sentiments a different form, in
the cabinet from that which they bear
in common life.  For hte rest, it is
not so mighty a thing as is imagined
to attain to the sublimities of that foul
science; it needs but to trabple one's
conscience under foot, and take in
exactly the opposite sense every 
principle of general morality.  This, it is
true, would to many be impossible in
practice; but were we both disposed
to act a comic scene for the amusement
of our friends, I would lay a wager
that, with a little assurance and a 
certain choice of words, adroitly expressive,
prudently unintelligible - of those
words of ambiguous meaning in which
the French tongue abounds - we could
dress up barefaced sophisms in a very
decent disguise, and give ourselves on
a stage the airs of a statesman
without much learning, and without the
least invention.  Our friends would see
through us, and laugh; but should 
some blockhead attend our representation,
be assured he would take us for
very great men, and would return
home overwhelmed, surprised, full of
half paralyzed, with the evil instinct
already awakened; transported with
hope at the thought of some permissible
larceny, some excusable injustice;
but, above all, with his head stuffed
with our pretty court phrases, repeating
them to his friends, teaching them
by heart to his children, without 
perceiving that theft, plunder, and assassination,
are at the bottom of these
elegant maxims.  or, on the other
hand, should our nincompoop be a 
person of some education, he would be 
seen shrugging his shoulders, affecting
a sardonic smile, a mysterious look;
letting off in private conversation some
one of our gracious precepts of infamy,
and receiving as many mysterious looks
of approbation, as many sardonic smiles
of assent as there might chance to be
brother fools around him.  I can 
endure the inevitable existence of those
nobler reprobates whom Providence,
in its mysterious designs, leaves to
accomplish their mission upon earth.
Destiny exerts a direct influence upon
remarkable men, whether for good or
for evil.  It need not concern itself
about the vulgar; the crowd obeys
passively the impulsion of those levers
which are moved by an invisible hand.
It is against that impotent and stupid 
class - against that inert vase which
lets itself be hoed and dug into, 
producing whatever is planted in it,
without knowing why, without enquiring
whether the root be poisonous or wholesome,
which is stuck into its rank and 
sluggish soil.  It is against these forests
of thistle-heads, which bend and very
at the will of every wind, that I would
hurl my indignation; I, who desire to
remain in the crowd, but who cannot
bear its pressure, its din, and its fatuity.
It is against these two-legged 
wethers, who contemplate statesmen
with a stolid awe, and astonished to 
find themselves shorn so deftly, look at336   Sketch of Talleyrand  [November.

each other and say, 'See what great men!
and see how trimly we are 
shorn!"  O,boobies!  Your very hogs
cry and do not amuse themselves with
the glitter of the knives that castrate
them".

A window is thrown open; it is that
of the prince.  "Do corpses feel
incommoded by heat?"  observed my 
friend, lowering his voice; "can statues
need to breathe the night air?
Who are those two hoary-headed persons
that approach the window and 
lean forward as if to gaze on the moon?
These two old men are the prince and
his - how shall I express it? - for I
will not profane the name of  'friend.'
which M. de M--- assumes amongst
the servants and underlings.  It is , 
besides, a title which he would not permit
himself to take in presence of the 
master; for the latter must ridicule
any word which represents the sentiments.
To borrow a term of their 
trade I would say M. de M--- is the
attache of the prince, although his
functions near him are confined to 
applauding and registering all the good
sayings which have fallen for forty
years from that peerless mouth.  Here
is one of them, which I offer as a specimen
and which must be a topic of 
comment i the part we are to play,
if thou art willing, during the ensuing 
carnival, between two screens, in
suitable costume, which grave deportment,.
staves in our hands and boards
to our backs, to prevent all inconsiderate
motion of body or arms; we will 
wear plaster masks; and the scene
will open with this memorable and
historic maxim: We should mistrust
our first impulses, and never yield to 
them without examination; for they are 
almost always good.  Who would believe
that villainy, erected into a fashionable 
doctrine--a thing of itself, new
and quite piquant--had, moreover, its
pedantry and common-places?  But
hark to that hoarse cry!  Which of 
the two patibulary philosophers has 
given up the ghost?  I am mistaken;
it is the scream of an owl starting from
its covert.  Good!--chant louder, thou
bird of ill omen--harbinger of funerals!
Ah! monseigneur, here is an 
announcement which you cannot compel
this insolent to retract.   Do you
hear this rude refrain of the cemetery, 
which respects no one, and dares to
tell a man like you that men are all
mortal, without adding, by way of 
saving clause, the almost of the court 
preacher?"

"Your indignation is bitter," said I 
to him, "and your resentment cruel.
If this man could hear us, mark how I
should address him: 'May God prolong 
your days,  O, unfortunate old
man!--meteor about to re-enter the 
shades of eternal night! ---luminary
that Destiny has sent into the world,
not to conduct men to the good, but to
mislead them in a labyrinth of intrigue
and ambition!  Heaven, in its impenetrable
designs, had denied thee that
mysterious ray which men call a soul
--reflection faint but faithful of the 
divinity, lightning-flash which glances 
occasionally across our vision and opens
us vistas of immortal hope; grateful
and vivifying warmth, which reinvigorates
from time to time our dejected
spirits; vague and sublime love; holy
emotion, which makes us desire the
good with delicious tears of longing;
religious terror, which makes us detest
evil with energetic shudderings of aversion
Being indescribable! thou wast 
endowed with a powerful brain, with
vigorous and delicate senses; the 
absence of that something unknown and 
divine which makes us men, made thee
greater than the first of thy countrymen,
meaner than the last of thy kind.
An invalid, thou didst trample upon
the healthful and robust; the most
vigorous virtue, the most complete 
organization, the united, perfections of
body and mind, were, in thy presence,
but a fragile reed.  Thou hadst an 
unaccountable influence over beings more
noble than thyself/  What thou didst 
lack of their own greatness constituted thy
own; and there thou art, for all this,
on the brink of a grave which for thee
will be hollow and cold, like thy 
indurated breast.  Behind this yawning
mound there is for thee nothing, no hope, 
perhaps, not even the desire of another 
life.  Miserable man!  the horror of
that moment will be such as, perhaps, 
to expiate all the woes thou hast 
occasioned to mankind.  Thine approach
was fatal, they say--thy look flashed 
a fascination like that of the basilisk.
Thy breath was the nipping breeze of 
an April morning, withering the buds
and flowers, and strewing them at the 
foot of the mourning trees.  Hope and 
candor were dashed by they words 
from the brow of those who approached

1845.]   Sketch of Talleyrand.     337

thee.  How many fresh buddings of 
heart thou has blighted!  How many 
holy creeds, how many consoling illusions
hast thou trampled under foot,
living problem, human-faced enigma?
How many cowards hast thou made?
How many consciences perverted or 
annihilated?  Well; if the pleasures
of thy old age limit themselves to the 
gratifications of flattered vanity, to the
exquisite enjoyments of  surfeited gluttony,
eat, old man --eat, and inhale the 
blended odors of the incense and the
viands!  Who would envy thee thy
lot, or wish thee a worse?  For our 
part, who pity thee as much for having
lived as for having to die, we will pray 
that on thy bed of death the adieus of
thy family, the tears of some affectionate
servant may not awake in thee
an emotion of sensibility or unknown
affection; that no sparkle of feeling be
stricken from that flint which served 
thee for a heart.  We will pray, in fine, 
that thy taper of life expire without 
having ever been kindled by a sunbeam
of love; that thy tearless eye 
may not moisten, thy pulse not beat;
that thou mayest go to thy 
habitation in the dank womb of the 
earth without having felt upon its surface
the warmth of vegetation and the
impulse of life.  We will pray that, at
the moment of returning into eternal
nothingness, thou mayest not feel the 
tortures of despair on seeing hover
above thee those souls whose existence
thou didst deny with contempt--immortal
essences, whom thou didst vaunt
of having crushed beneath thy haughty
feet--and who ascend glorious to heaven,
while thine shall evanish like bodyless
breath.  We will then pray 
that thy last word be not a reproach to
thy Maker, in whom thou didst never
believe.'"
A white and lithe figure crossed the 
angle of the greensward, and we 
observed it ascend the exterior stairs of 
the turret, at the father extremity of 
the chateau.
"Is it the shade of one of the just
evoked by you," said my friend, "that 
comes to dance and sport in the moonlight,
to dishearten the impious wretch?"
"No; this spirit, if it be one, inhabits
a beautiful body."
"Ah!  I understand," rejoined he;
VOL.XVII.--NO.LXXXIX 22

"It is the duchess.  The rumor goes
that" -----
"Repeat it not," said I, interrupting
him; "spare my imagination those
revolting images, those horrible 
suspicions.   This old dotard has been capable
of conceiving the profanation ; but the 
woman is too beautiful--it is impossible.
If crawling debauchery or sordid avarice
dwell in creatures thus lovely, 
lurk under forms so pure, leave me, I
beseech you, in the happier ignorance of
it--do not deprive me of the pleasure of
denying it.  We are men without gall,
good-natured villagers.  My friend, let 
us not suffer so easily to be tarnished
what remains to us of kindly emotions
and sunny smiles in the soul. Let us 
now own to the heart the suspicions of
our reason, but leave the deluded eyes
to control its sympathy.  You are too 
charming, Madame la Duchesse, not 
to be at once virtuous and kind."
"Well, be it so; you are as kind
as you are beautiful  Madame la
Duchess," cried my friend archly;
"of this I became readily persuaded
this morning on seeing you pass.  I
was lying in the park under the shade
of the trees, resplendent with the 
sunlight.  Through the transparency of
that autumnal foliage you seemed to
dart golden rays, in the sultry air of 
noon.  Robed in white, like a girl in
her teens, like a nymph of Diana, you
flew, wafted by a beautiful horse, in
a slight and souple tilbury.  Your 
tresses floated around your fair brow,
and from your large dark eyes (the
most beautiful in France, they say),
flashed a magical lightning.  I was not
then aware that you were a duchess;
I saw in you but a transporting woman.
I was tempted to run the length of the
avenue which you pursued, to keep 
sight in your chamber, and that portrait,
placed within the curtains of your
bed"--
"That circumstance alone,' said I
"would prevent me from putting a 
sinister construction upon the ingenuous
sentiment of a gratitude almost filial for 
favors received, and for a protection no
doubt legitimate.   No, no; depravity
cannot consist with a look so sweet and
so brilliant--a beauty so marvelously 
fresh and fay-like, with that frank and 
noble port, that musical voice, and those
affable manners.  I have seen her occupy
herself solicitously with a sick child;
































338
Sketch of Talleyrand
[November, 1845]
in woman, beauty and goodness mutual-
ly appeal to and sustain each other! The 
God of the Virtuous, whom you invok-
ed a while ago, I also invoke to pre-
serve me from learning what I am un-
willing to believe-- vice lurking beneath
an exterior so touching, a foul insect
in the chalice of so balmy a flower!
No, Paul; let us return to the village
with this pretty image of a duchess in 
our memory, and remember us, should
we ever write a romance of chivalry, of
her graceful figure, her flowing locks,
her beautiful teeth, her captivating
glance, and the noon-tide sun of the
park."
     We quitted the stone bench, and my
 friend reverting to his first idea, said to 
me: "How comes it that men (and I 
among the first, in spite of my convic-
tions) are so dazzled with the endow-
ments of intellect?  Why is it that 
these qualities alone obtain wreaths of 
immortality, without the aid of a singe 
virtue, while the purest probity and 
most tender-hearted benevolence re-
main buried in obscurity and oblivion, 
if they be unaccompanied by genius or 
talent?  Is not this a melancholy re-
flection, and may it not seem proof to 
the weak or the wavering, that the 
practice of virtue is lost labor here be-
low?"
     "If it be considered a labor," replied 
I, "it is in effect a labor lost.  But is 
it not, on the contrary, a delightful ne-
cessity, a condition of existence, in hearts 
which have early and earnestly com-
prehended it?  Men requite virtue 
with ingratitude, because men are ig-
norant, credulous, indolent; because 
the attraction of curiosity prevails with 
them over the sentiment of thankfulness 
and the love of truth.  But in serving 
the cause of humanity, is it not from 
God alone that a recompense is to be 
expected?  To labor for mankind only 
with the object of being borne in tri-
umph, is but to act with reference to 
one's own vanity, and this sort of zeal 
must expire and evanish with the first 
disappointment it chances to encounter.  
Let us leave self behind when we en-
ter upon the barren route of philanthro-
py.  Let us endeavor to have sensibi-
lity enough to weep, sincerity enough to 
enjoy, in solitude, our reverses and our 
successes.  Let our own approving 

heart be our sufficient reward!  Let us 
leave to Providence to renovate and for-
tify it, when it begins to languish!"
     "For all that, I own to you," said 
my friend, pursuing in his mind the 
thread of his revery, "that I cannot 
help liking that Bonaparte, that master-
scourge of mankind, before whose ma-
jestic shadow all the minor monsters, 
demolished by his arm, appeared there-
after insignificant and almost innocuous.  
He was a great man-slayer, but also a 
grand framer, a bold founder of so-
cieties, a conqueror, alas!--ay, but 
also a law-giver!  This, does it not 
repair, does it not compensate, the 
evils of destruction?  To make laws, 
is it not a good that outweighs the ill 
of slaying men?  Methinks I behold 
some great agriculturist, some beni-
ficent divinity--Bacchus arriving in In-
dia, or Ceres landing in Sicily--armed 
with fire and sword, levelling the ine-
qualities of the ground, piercing the 
mountains, laying the tall heath, burn-
ing up the forests, and sewing upon all 
this, upon the wreck and the ashes, a 
new species of vegetables, destined for 
a new race of men --the wheatfield 
and the vineyard, inexhaustible bene-
fits for unnumbered generations."
     "It is not proved," replied I, "that 
those laws are to endure.  But admit-
ting this, I should still dislike the man 
of whom Providence availed himself 
as a sledge to hammer us into a 
new shape.  I have been facinated 
in my boyhood, like others, by the 
force and activity of that devastating 
machine, who was dubbed with the 
title of "great man"--neither greater 
nor less than Jesus or Moses.  Human 
language making no distinction be-
tween the benefactors and the butch-
ers of the human race: the epithet 
'good' being almost a term of con-
tempt, and the appellation 'great,' being 
equally applied to a painter, a legis-
lator, a military chieftain, a musician, 
to a god and a commedian, to a diplo-
matist and a poet, to an emperor and 
a monk--it is quite natural that chil-
dren, women and the ignorant multi-
tude should misapprehend the word, 
and set to crying: 'Vive Napoleon!' 
in 1810, with as much enthusiasm as 
animates to-day,* at Venice, the cry 
of 'Vive le Patriarche!'  The one

1845.]
Sketch of Talleyrand.
339

made widows and orphans; he was a 
powerful monarch.  The other feeds 
the widow and the orphan; he is an 
humble priest.  No matter; they are 
equally 'great men.'"
     "In truth," replied my friend, "that 
blind enthusiasm which glorifies with0
out measure or distinction, genius, cha-
rity, courage, talent, resembles rather 
a morbid excitation than a rational 
sentiment.  But do you know there 
would be very few great men in the 
world, if the title was to be limited to 
men of virtue?"
     "True; but call them as you will, it 
is only such men that I esteem; who 
can win my admiration, and whom I 
would inscribe on the calendar of hu-
man greatness.  I would enroll the 
most humble, the most obscure names, 
down to the Abbe de St. Pierre, 
with his system of universal peace, 
to the Dieu Enfantin, with his ri-
diculous costume and fantastic Uto-
pias; all those who to a degree of 
information shall have united conscien-
tious research, patent reflection, sacri-
fices or labors designed to improve the 
mind, and to mitigate the condition of 
their fellow-men.  I will be indulgent 
to their errors, to the infirmities of our 
human lot, wherewith they may be in 
a greater or less degree affected. I 
will forgive them many faults, as was 
done by Magdalene, if only it be 
proved to me that they have loved 
much.  But for those men of cold and 
haughty will, those supercilious fabri-
cators of their own glory, not of our 
happiness--these legislators who en-
sanguine the earth, and oppress the na-
tions to obtain for themselves a wider 
space whereon to construct edifices 
without limit or use, who care neither 
for the tears of woman, nor the hunger 
of old age, nor the fatal ignorance in 
which the youth are left to grow up--
for these men, who seek but their present 
aggrandizement, and who think they 
have made a nation great, when they 
have made it active, ambitious, vain-
glorious, like themselves--for these, I 
say, I deny their title.  I erase them 
from my roll.  I write our village cure 
in place of Napoleon."
     "As you like," replied my friend, 
who was not listening.  The night was 
so beautiful that its solemn stillness 
subdued my soul.  Flashes of heat-
lightning at intervals lit up the horizon, 
and threw a lurid glare along the dark 

surface of the forests that clothed the 
surrounding hills.  The air without 
being cold, was fresh and stimulating. 
This spot is one of the most beautiful 
on earth; and no potentate possesses 
a park so picturesque, trees of more 
majestic growth, lawns of livelier 
green, and of a surface of more varied 
and graceful undulation.  This cool 
and woody vale is an oasis amid the de-
solate plains that surround it, and 
which give you no sign, no suspicion 
of approaching it.  You fall, all of a 
sudden, into a ravine bristling with 
rocks and trees, into gardens of regal 
magnificence, in the midst of which 
rises a Spanish palace of elegant and 
poetic structure, which, from its ele-
vated site on the rocky eminence, con-
templates its mirrored image in the 
waters of an azure stream.  One 
feels as if transported in a vision into 
some enchanted scene, which was to 
vanish on waking, and which did in 
fact vanish in a quarter of an hour af-
ter you crossed the valley and follow-
ed the southern road.  The boundless 
plains, the yellow heath, the bare and 
level horizons re-appear.  What has 
been just seen seems all imaginary.
     We followed the path leading to the 
grottos.  The poplars on the banks of 
the river threw along to where we 
walked their slender and immeasurable 
shadows.  The deer fled from our ap-
proach.  We reached those sequester-
ed caverns which are set in the richest 
and deepest verdure, and whose re-
cesses present a scenic decoration 
truly theatrical.
     "Get under that sonorous vault," 
said my friend to me, "and sing me 
your 'gloria.'  I will sit here below 
to hear the echo."
     I did as desired; and when I had 
finished it, he returned towards me, re-
peating the simple words of the can-
ticle:
     "Glory be to God in heaven, and 
peace upon earth to men of good 
will!'"
     You see," said I to him, "the can-
ticle does not say, 'Glory upon earth 
to men of learning or of intellect!'  
Peace is the most precious boon which 
God has to bestow upon us.  God alone 
can bear worthily the fardel of glory; 
and those humble souls who mean well 
are greater in His sight than these 
so-called great men who do ill.340 The Artist, Merchant, and Statesman. [November, 
THE ARTIST, MERCHANT AND STATESMAN.*
SUCH is the title of a work, the subjects 
of which are attractive from their 
genuine American character. We do 
not propose to discuss the literary meanings 
of the volume, but suggest a few 
thoughts on their contents. These are 
made up of a memoir of Hiram Powers, 
the sculptor, whose statue of a 
Greek slave, has recently  attracted 
such eulogistic notice in London ; and 
a letter to Hon. W. W. Campbell, on the 
Consular System of the United States. 
Mr. Lester writes for the people. 
His language is for the most part colloquial 
and direct, and he deals chiefly 
in facts, of which he is evidently an
assiduous collector. Those embodied 
in the present volume are both interesting 
and important, having reference 
to an Artist who has reflected much 
honor on his country, and to a question 
national rather than political, bearing, 
as it does, upon the comfort and interests 
of all citizens. On such grounds 
we can safely commend the "Artist, 
Merchant, and Statesman" to our 
readers.
Before perusing these desultory records 
of the life and conversation of a 
man of genius, we had some doubts as 
to the expediency of their publication. 
As a general rule, the works of the 
artist and writer should speak for themselves, 
and their biographies had better 
not be written until death has canonized 
their memories. We have no sympathy 
with the impertinent curiosity of 
penny-a-liners, who, like the  insects 
that feed upon the brain of dead 
elk, make a commodity of the private 
lives of men whose achievements have 
given celebrity to their names. A 
poet of our own country in depreciating 
the recent attacks upon Campbell's 
fame, which have appeared in the 
English magazines, recalled to our memory 
the anecdote related of Burns, 
who, when visited on his death-bed by 
a fellow-soldier, said with much feeling: 
"Don't let the awkward squad 
fire over me." There is an awkward 
squad in literature, who often make 

sad work with the memories of illustrious 
men. It is more reverent and 
delicate-not to say honorable-to 
treat with silent respect the privacy of 
genius. The critic should deal only 
with its fruits. In this point of view, 
we heard an autobiography of Powers 
announced, with regret-fearing it 
would compromise him somewhat with 
persons of refinement and judicious 
taste. We are now, however, inclined 
to view the subject in a different light. 
It was only the other morning that we 
encountered in the streets of New 
York, one of our most gifted artists. 
He invited us to inspect a picture he 
had just completed, and remarked, that 
the great obstacle in the way of his 
profession in this country was the difficulty 
artists experienced in keeping 
themselves and their works before the 
public.  In other employments a system
of advertising, or puffery, served
the purpose ; but with the exception of
an annual exhibition, where the most
limited facilities were afforded, the
painter and sculptor had no means
to keep himself remembered, except 
through the influence of personal
friends.  In a busy, commercial and
political community like our own, neither
leisure, general taste or fashion
beguile visitors to studios, as is the 
case in Europe.  Hence, our artists
are often unemployed, simply because 
their claims are not more significantly
presented to the world.  This state of 
things makes it not only excusable but
necessary, to promote the cause of
Art as far as possible through the press.
In the case of Powers another consideration
of no little force obtains.  Some
writer has compared the situation of
Europe relatively to ourselves, to a
living posterity.  Distance as well as
time, "lends enchantment to the
view."  Powers is nobly prosecuting
his art in Italy-a far-off and classic
land.  It is natural and right that his
countrymen should desire some authentic
information regarding him.  The
fame of his works come to us

* The Artist, Merchant and Statesman, by C. Edwards Lester.  New York : Paine
and Burgess. 1845.

1845.]   The Artist, Merchant and Statesman.     341

through the English papers, and the
reports of American travellers ; but he
has now attained a position so eminent 
that all that can be told of him
that is genuine and encouraging should
be revealed, not to gratify idle curiosity,
or pander to national vanity, but
to awaken enthusiasm for art, to recognise
its value and importance, and
by the bright light of example, to

'Gide young Glory's foot along the path
of fame."

We, therefore, cordially approve
Mr. Lester's assiduity in gleaning the
materials of this autobiography, and
giving it to the public.  No candid
mind, after being made acquainted 
with the manner in which the consent
of Powers was obtained to the publication,
can possibly inpugn either his 
modesty or good sense ; while the success 
which has at length crowned his
efforts, independent of his country,
renders interested motives quite out of 
the question.
As to the record itself, the first part
is an artless and spirited narrative of
circumstances, similar in character,
though differing in kind, to those which
so frequently serve as the rough but
effective school of early genius.  here
we follow a child of poverty through the
sports of boyhood, the sad privations
and golden dreams of youth, through
vicissitudes that weary and lacerate the
heart, and exigencies that try the faculties 
to the utmost, through eras of
glowing hope and philosophic endurance,
and brave perseverance, until an arena
is obtained, an occasion granted-until
the vocation and the man are brought
in contact.  It is a common story, only
varying in its particulars from that of 
many a child of fame.  It is only another
illustration of the great truth that
"there's a divinity that shapes our
ends," and that bravery, fortitude and
earnest faith will, sooner or later, enable
every human being to work out the 
problem of destiny.  Many of the
scenes in the early life of Powers are
interesting.  We quote an incident that
occurred on one of his collecting tours
in the West, which is graphically
told :

"But I must tell you a robber story.
Many a wild scene you know passes in

those old woods.  During this tour of collecting,
I had arrived one afternoon at a
log tavern too early to stop for the night ;
but it was nine miles to another house,
and the road lay through a dense forest ;
I should arrive long after nightfall, and not
unlikely encounter some danger, and I
thought I would stop.  I had a large sum
of money in my saddle-bags, principally
in silver ; and as I dismounted, the hose
took off the bags, and seeming somewhat
surprised at their weight, asked me if I
would have them placed in some secure
place.  I replied that I would carry them 
to my room, as I wished to take out
something for immediate use.
"Two suspicious-looking men were
witnesses of all this, as they stood by the
corner of the house, leaning on their 
rifles, and it was evident I was the subject
of their conversation, which was carried
on in a suppressed voice, with more
than one wink and shrug of the shoulder,
which would not have come with an ill-grace
from an Italian bandit.  There was
no lock on my door, and that looked a little
suspicious, for I could have sworn, as I
examined the door carefully on the inside
when I retired, that a lock had been recently 
removed.  But never being much 
given up to the control of my fancy at
any period of my life, I half persuaded
myself it was a groundless suspicion, and
pulled off my clothes to go to bed.  But
I had not reasoned away my fears so completely
as not to bethink myself of the
means of defence in case of need.  So I
barricaded the door as well as I could
with a few chairs and stools the room
contained.  But, contrary to all expectation,
not a noise was made around the 
premises all night ; and my testimony on
this point ought to be pretty conclusive,
for if there had been, I think it more than
probable I should have heard it.  But I
was not a little annoyed, as I was prepraing
to start in the morning, to see those
same two men at the door, leaning on
their rifles.  One of them steppe up,
and with what seemed to me an affected
manner, 'Stranger,' says he. 'we seem
to be going the same way : suppose we
keep company, as the gals say-for I
kinder reckon my legs won't fall much
behind your beast's.  I and this neighbor 
I've fell in with are going down about
half way to the next settlement, and then
we go off the road for a hunt."
"I didn't know exactly what to do, as
you may well imagine.  But I didn't hesitate 
long.  Neck or nothing, thought I ;
and so I replied, 'Oh, yes ; company 
shortens the road : we'll go on together.'
The truth of the latter sentiment I felt
the force of ; for whether we went in 
company or not that time depended upon
the walkers and not upon the rider.  But
there was no backing out ; so off we342	The Artist, Merchant, and Statesman.	[November,  
[[header, which stretches across 2 columns, continues on opposite page ]]

started, one of the said gentlemen with a 
shouldered rifle walking on either side.

“ ‘Now,’ thinks I to myself, ‘is my 
principal chance. Go it, Rosinante!’ 
But neither jerk, whip, nor spur could 
urge her into an inconvenient gait for my
 companions. It was a new road, through 
what was called the Beech-flats, where 
the soil being thin, and resting upon a 
hard clay pan, the roots formed a kind of 
web-work just beneath the surface, which the 
travelling had laid bare, and rendered 
dangerous for rapid movement. Finally 
they left me—one to the right and the 
other to the left, assuring each other as 
they did so that they would rendezvous 
at ‘Hog Hollow,’ which was not put 
down in the geography I had studied.
‘Bandit Hollow,’ says I to myself, ‘you’d 
better call it.’ I now applied the implements 
of war upon my steed with increased 
activity, hoping I might gain upon the 
fellows, and defeat their infernal plot, 
which this ruse de guerre, or, as we say 
in Yankeedom, sham, only rendered still 
more evident. But I found the roots 
thicker and the mud deeper of course, 
just in proportion as my exigencies increased; 
and on the whole, all my twitching 
and spurring and beating only acted 
upon my beast like so much friction in 
machinery, to diminish the motion. The 
only living objects I saw for the next 
mile or two were a large flock of wild 
turkeys standing on a log, with the gobbler 
strutting before them; a moment 
after, a slight noise in the woods to my 
right, gave me an involuntary start. The 
bushes moved and the sticks cracked; 
Rosinante stopped short, and began to 
prick up her ears, and for the first time in 
many years, perhaps, assumed a somewhat 
spirited attitude. I looked steadily, 
and saw a cap moving slowly from behind 
a tree, at less than a rifle-shot. It 
was followed by just enough of a man’s 
face to give me a glimpse of his eye. I 
felt my hair lift my hat from my head. 
Suddenly the cap dodged behind the 
large tree. I knew escape was impossible, 
and it being more honorable to receive 
a bullet before than behind, I determined 
to await the result where I was. 
In a moment or two the cap and face appeared 
again with the end of the rifle 
pointed pretty nearly in my direction. 
‘Fire away, my boy!’ thought I; ‘you 
must be a great shot if you miss.’ The 
cold sweat ran down my breast, and even 
Rosinante trembled. I looked as steadily, 
however, towards the man as though 
my life depended on dodging his bullet. 
He beckoned to me with his hand to go 
on; but I shook my head with a sort of 
an expression which I intended should 
say, ‘Blaze away where I am; for a few 
paces to the north or south make very little 
difference to me in the place I fall.’

[[column break]]

The man repeated the gesture with a 
dreadful, I might say an infernal expression 
on his face, and then pointed with 
his finger to some object on the other side 
of the road. I looked slowly round, expecting 
to receive a ball from him or one 
from his murderous companion opposite 
to him; but you may judge of my surprise 
when I saw instead, six fine deer 
nearly in a line with me, and the man 
skulking behind the tree. I saw through 
the plot of the hunters in a flash. ‘Well,’ 
said I, as an involuntary blush burned on 
my cheek, ‘aint it strange I should make 
such an extraordinary ass of myself?’ I 
put spurs to Rosinante, and had hardly got 
clear of the shot of the honest hunter before 
I heard a rifle ball whistle by me, 
which struck a fine buck just about the 
instant I heard the report. The deer 
made a single leap, and fell dead. ‘So
 much,’ says I, ‘for the difference between 
an honest hoosier hunter and a highwayman!’ 
It shows what suspicion will do 
when once excited; but I must confess 
suspicion was pretty natural under the 
circumstances.”—Pp. 50–54.

A prominent subject which these 
pages suggest is that of the respective 
agency of education and talent. The 
theme is trite; but in the case of Powers 
one inference appears very clear— 
that much that is not esteemed legitimate 
training is made such by the instinct 
of genius. The years of our 
sculptor’s life preceding his first bust, 
were fitting him, unconsciously to himself, 
for his career. At the first thought, 
it strikes us as quite marvellous that he 
should be able to model an excellent 
portrait in wax without previous instruction; 
but we are to consider that 
he was by nature a great observer. 
Human faces and forms were seen by 
him not carelessly, but artistically. 
He needed only mechanical practice; 
the imitative power was already his, 
and he had received the best of educations—
that of an attentive eye and 
truth-loving mind. Accordingly, he 
came not to his art a novice, but armed 
with the might of keen perception and 
intelligent confidence. These have 
ever been the weapons with which the 
world has been conquered. They carried 
Napoleon over the Simplon; they 
made Alfieri a great tragic poet; they 
cast over Washington the mantle of authority, 
and they won the soul of Raphael 
into the rarest intimacy with the 
spirit of Beauty. What Academies 
can do is very evident. They can inform 
the devotee of art or literature

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1845.]	The Artist, Merchant and Statesman.	343

with the past trophies of their profession; 
they can refine the taste and indicate 
details of execution; but they 
cannot give energy to the will, invention 
to the fancy, or original conceptions 
to the mind. These spring from 
native endowments. Everyone has felt 
the distinction between learning and 
wisdom, the power of thought and the
power of memory. A similar difference 
is evident between the artist who 
is born to his inheritance and the votary 
who thinks, by dint of external appliances, 
to realize a position to which he 
has no birthright. There are several
 impressive indications that Powers, 
at a very early age, recognized Nature 
as his guide, and that he was soon 
aware that, under her inspiration, his 
best powers were developed. He says:

“I have ten thousand times thanked 
God in my very soul that my early days 
were passed in the country, where my 
tastes and feelings were developed under 
the teachings of nature, whom I have 
found in after life to be the great master: 
and I have often thought since, that if I 
have done anything worthy of being remembered 
in the history of my art, I 
have done it under the impulse of those 
tastes and feelings that were all developed 
in my boyhood, under the guidings of nature.”— P. 44.

And again

“It would be difficult for me to describe 
the intensity of desire I felt for a 
long time to know all about this mysterious 
art; for there was something in it 
that woke up a kind of feeling I had 
never known before. If at that time 
there had been set before me wealth and 
honor, on one side, and a place on the 
other where I could live among such 
works, and do what I pleased, with some 
one to guide me, I’m certain I should 
have chosen the latter. And could I have 
been told then that in a few years I should 
have had a studio of my own, and made 
busts with my own hands, I should have 
been the happiest boy in the world.”— 
P. 47.

We were forcibly reminded by these 
and similar passages of Carlyle’s observation: 
“As if it were by universities 
and libraries and lecture-rooms that 
man’s education—what we call education — 
were accomplished; solely or 
mainly by instilling the dead letter or 
record of other men’s Force that the
 living Force of a new man were to be

[[column break]]

awakened, enkindled and purified into 
victorious clearness.”

By many, Art is regarded as an 
isolated and peculiar thing, having no 
relation to common life or universal 
sympathies. The Greeks might teach 
us the reverse, for with them it mingled 
with the habitudes and influences of 
daily existence, and moulded, refined 
and improved the national genius. We 
met with a striking illustration of the 
manner in which the moralist and the 
artist suggest the same essential truth, 
while engaged with these pages. In 
one of our principal churches, an eloquent 
divine, on the last Sabbath, enforced 
the law of retribution by the argument 
that character betrayed itself, 
if not in words or acts, at all events in 
expression; that the nerves of the face 
involuntarily obeyed the soul, and 
traced on the features the spirit each 
man was of; thereby winning him the 
love or exciting against him the distrust
of his fellow-beings, and thus making 
him constantly atone for error or reap 
the harvest of virtue. Powers confirms 
the doctrine thus:

“It is an error to suppose that features 
are accidental, and nature makes them up 
at hap-hazard; for the face is the true index 
of the soul, where everything is written, 
had we the wisdom to read it. We 
can and we do read its mysteries by instinct, 
and we form an estimate of a 
man’s character from the first impression 
of his features, though we may not 
know how this is done;—the heart and not the 
understanding reads it. The truth is, the
mind forms the features after its own 
fashioning, and they vary as a man’s character 
varies. This any one may know 
who has attentively watched the progres 
of innocence to vice, or of vice to reformation; 
the features keep pace with 
the progress of the character.”—P. 65.

Thus truth may be reached through 
art as well as literature.

Another essential fact in which the 
true welfare of society is involved 
breathes in the words and works of the 
true artist. He is the eloquent advocate 
of progress. He perceives the 
warfare between the soul and circumstances, 
and aims to elevate humanity 
through the Beautiful as the philosopher 
does through the True and the 
moralist through the Right. Could it 
once be felt that these aims are identical, 
we should have no bigotry in religion 
or indifference to art, and infinitely344	The Artist, Merchant and Statesman.	[November,
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less blind utilitarianism in life. The 
observations of Powers on the True 
Ideal are eminently worthy of attention. 
He says:

“The blight which has fallen on the 
human face has defaced the human form 
more than the surface of nature or the 
forms of the brute creation. The incessant 
violations of the design of God in 
man’s creation, have brought into action 
a great variety of disturbing causes; 
and in almost every human form, however 
perfect we may esteem it, there is 
some palpable defect, which would appear 
to any one by comparing it with a 
perfect model. The beasts, the fish, and 
the birds, have, in a great degree, escaped 
this deforming blight. Milton has given a 
striking picture of this withering blast 
that has fallen on creation.

“All this proves that what is not beautiful 
is not natural; it may have life and 
soul, but adulterated by infirmity and defects. 
Anything that deviates widely 
from the model that mankind, by long observation, 
have wrought into the ideal of 
beauty, shocks the beholder as a palpable 
deformity or defect. A broken limb can 
never be perfectly natural again; it may 
be healed, to be sure, and return nearly to 
its original form, but the work of nature 
has been disturbed, and it can never 
again be harmoniously adjusted.
 *      *      *      *      *

“Nature is always struggling to gain 
her supremacy, and to beautify all her 
works; and, in defiance of the inconceivable 
opposition she meets with from the 
human race, still contrives to show herself—but 
like a beautiful landscape dimmed 
by the cold mist. She looks out 
from the eyes of one—she plays around 
the lips of another—she arches the brows 
of a third—she waves in the luxuriant 
hair of a fourth—she heaves on the 
bosom of a fifth—and she slides down 
the graceful slopes of the shoulders of a 
sixth—and she would enthrone herself in 
every breathing form, were not her mysterious 
sceptre broken by the waywardness 
of man and the blight that has 
breathed mildew over creation.”—Pp. 
98–99.

We have read these and other specimens 
of the table, or rather studio and 
fireside talk of Powers, with much gratification. 
It is delightful to observe 
the genuine independence of mind 
with which he speaks of names and 
processes hallowed by fame. Those 
not conversant with the sway which 
certain names and institutions exercise 
over popular opinion in Europe, can

[[column break]]

scarcely appreciate the manliness and 
sincerity necessary to discuss subjects 
of this kind boldly. How few artists 
or amateurs would venture to say what 
Powers does in regard to Michael Angelo, 
and yet what candid mind can 
fail to realize its truth? His remarks 
on the subject of government patronage 
we especially commend to the attention 
of every genuine patriot. Mr. 
Lester has done well to convey these 
indirect and therefore more forcible appeals 
of an American artist, to the ears 
of his countrymen; for he who uttered 
them in the frank intercourse of private 
communion, on the banks of the Arno, 
spoke with authority; and we know of 
no more appropriate and noble office 
that the agent of a government can 
fulfil than to bear the plea of genius to 
the hearts of a nation. In this connection, 
we are led irresistibly to the 
second part of the volume before us, 
which is devoted to a subject long neglected, 
but of vital importance—the 
Consular System of the United States.

It was a saying of antiquity, that Republics 
are ungrateful; another characteristic 
has not become proverbial— 
their indifference to any but immediate 
and familiar interests. Perhaps the policy 
of despotism requires that public 
attention should be diverted from home, 
and, on this account, great significance 
is given to foreign manifestations of 
power. Whatever the cause, it is a 
remarkable fact, that it is a work of almost 
insurmountable difficulty to fix 
the attention of either of our people or 
their representatives upon any subject 
not directly and palpably affecting 
their welfare. Since the commencement 
of our national existence, the superior 
position we have occupied has 
never been adequately sustained beyond 
our borders, except on that great 
highway of nations—the ocean. No 
sufficient pecuniary supplies, no conscientious 
discrimination, no serious and 
fostering attention has been bestowed 
upon that important branch of our government—its 
foreign representation. 
Now and then, an intelligent traveller, 
impressed with this neglect, or personally 
suffering from its consequences, 
has protested against it; at long intervals 
the voice of some patriot of comprehensive 
mind has been raised in 
the legislative halls in behalf of a thorough 
reform; but, generally speaking, 
the subject is one of those annually

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1845.]	The Clinton State Prison..	345
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postponed to a “more convenient season.”

It is unnecessary to dwell upon the 
growing importance of the question. 
The maintenance of amicable relations 
with other parts of the globe, the prosperity 
of our commerce, the claims of 
national self-respect, the growth of liberal 
principles, the dignity and weal of 
the country, depend more than careless 
observers are aware, upon the character, 
position and influence of our foreign 
representation. The wants of the people 
in this regard are beginning to find 
utterance. Our late Minister to London, 
in a letter replying to an invitation 
from his fellow-citizens to attend a public 
dinner, proffered in his honor, does 
not hesitate to state the inadequacy of 
the salary to the decent support of his 
late office. A citizen expelled from 
Tuscany, and denied a hearing, notwithstanding 
his American passport, 
appeals through the press of the country 
for redress. The letter of Mr. Lester 
to a distinguished Senator appears 
very seasonably, giving as it 
does, a consistent form to these and 
similar complaints, stating the case elaborately, 
and arranging facts and arguments 
equally incontrovertible against 
the lukewarmness and indifference of 
Congress. He has fairly brought the 
subject before the people. It is remarkable, 
indeed, that this has not been done 
before; and we sincerely hope that it 
will not now be done in vain.

Want of space alone prevents us from 
making copious extracts from this letter. 

[[column break]]

Its object is to expose the gross 
abuses of the present consular system, and 
prove the absolute necessity of reform. 
It sets forth the evils arising from appointing 
foreigners, or mere business 
men, or mere party men to these posts. 
It portrays the dignity and importance 
of the office, its relation to law, justice 
and humanity—to art, literature and 
commerce—and claims for it the rank 
of an independent profession. It explains 
how and to what extent the interests 
of the seaman, the ship-master, 
the merchant and the citizen are identified 
with its administration. These 
points are illustrated by numerous incidents, 
by the testimony of individuals 
worthy of all credence, by the writer’s 
personal experience, and numerous forcible 
reasons drawn from the principles 
of modem civilization. Such is the 
outline of Mr. Lester’s letter. We 
know not if it was designed, but to our 
minds there is something very significant 
in the fact that one half ox his book 
is devoted to the praise of American genius, 
and the other to the reproval of 
American policy. Such a coincidence 
most eloquently suggests that as the 
national mind developes, the national 
character should be sustained; that we 
owe it to ourselves to make the star-spangled 
banner respected in every 
corner of the globe, and every citizen 
of the republic feel, under whatever 
sky he may walk, that the wings of his 
country’s eagle are over him—the emblem 
alike of protection and honor!

[horizontal rule]

THE CLINTON STATE PRISON,
CLINTON COUNTY, NEW YORK.

The prisons of the United States are 
confessedly superior in their structure, 
economy, and reformatory influence, to 
those of any other nation on the globe. 
Delegates from nearly every nation in 
Europe have visited, studied and reported 
on them, and in every case, we 
believe, this superiority has been recognized. 
It should be a subject of very 
just national pride to us that a class of 
institutions in which the protection of 
society and all the instincts of humanity 
are alike profoundly concerned, 
should have been developed in this

[[column break]]

country with such distinguished success, 
and that the patriarchal nations of 
the old world should be obliged to 
study in this yet infant republic the 
first principles of penitentiary reform.

Our own systems of prison discipline, 
however, are yet far enough from being 
complete. The science and philanthropic 
devotion through which they 
have advanced to their present position 
are daily bringing to light new and 
important improvements, and discovering 
other, if not greater changes, than 
those which have distinguished the346	The Clinton State Prison.	[November,
[[header, which stretches across 2 columns, continues on opposite page ]]


American penitentiaries from the hulks, 
the mines, and the galleys of Europe.

The erection of the new prison in 
Clinton County, in the State of New 
York, has been commenced under such 
peculiar auspices, and for the accomplishment 
of such important results in 
the treatment of State criminals, as to
justify the belief that it is designed to 
create an era in the history of penitentiary 
reform. The enlightened and judicious 
statesmen through whose instrumentality 
the work was commenced, 
and the superior accomplishments of 
the officer through whose immediate 
agency it is to be conducted, furnish the 
amplest assurance of its success, and 
that their experiments will contribute 
in an eminent degree to the perfection 
of this most important class of philanthropic 
institutions.

Impressed with this conviction, we 
have taken some pains to possess ourselves 
of the history of this work thus 
far, and its design, with a view of presenting 
them to our readers, sensible 
that they, as we, will consider it in all 
its important aspects as a national 
rather than a local institution.*

[[footnote originally at bottom of page]]
* Aside from the scientific results to which we have alluded, the prisons of the 
State of New York derive a national character and interest from the fact that a very 
large proportion of the State criminals throughout the United States take a gradus 
from some of the New York prisons in the course of their lives.
[[end of footnote]]

One of the first difficulties encountered 
in the disposition of criminals, is 
to reconcile the reformatory treatment 
of the offended with public economy. 
In that our success has been perfect; 
and, under proper management, there 
is no difficulty in supporting all the convicts 
sentenced for a year and upwards, 
by their own labor. But another 
difficulty arises from the competition 
which is created, to the injury of 
the free mechanic, by teaching their 
trades to the most depraved classes of 
society, and selling the product of such 
labor under what would be the fair 
market price—such competition not existing. 
The consequences are: first, 
as is alleged, that new operatives are 
forced into their branches of business, 
by which an unnatural competition is 
created; second, that a vile set of men 
are led, when their sentences expire, to 
associate with and thus to corrupt the 
other workmen in those trades; third, 
that such trades become in a measure 
dishonored thereby.

[[column break]]

These consequences have rankled in 
the breast of the American mechanic 
from the beginning of this competition; 
and for more than forty years the Legislature 
of the State of New York 
have been memorialized and besieged 
with petitions upon the subject. Within 
the last twelve or fifteen years, the 
excitement upon this subject has been 
much increased. State conventions of 
mechanics have been called; a newspaper 
established to aid the cause; 
candidates for office required to give 
public pledges in relation to it, and tens 
of thousands of petitions have been 
presented to the Legislature for relief.

In this state of excitement and controversy 
the subject remained until 
1842, when a few mechanics suggested 
the employment of the convicts in mining 
and smelting the metallic ores.

The Legislature embraced the proposition 
so far as to pass a law, April 
9th, 1842, authorizing the Governor, 
Secretary of State, and Comptroller, 
to appoint a commissioner, whose duty 
it should be to examine the mineral regions 
of the State, and report to the 
next Legislature upon the practicability 
of the plan, and the expense of the 
proposed change.

The peculiar responsibility and enormous 
expense of such an experiment, 
and the disastrous expenses of a failure, 
made it of vital importance to select a 
commissioner who, with all the scientific 
qualifications and experience necessary 
to judge wisely, should have the 
integrity and firmness to judge honestly. 
With this view, Ransom Cook, of 
Saratoga County, was invited by the 
State to accept the commission. Being 
himself an experienced mechanic, though 
in no wise involved in the agitation 
about convict labor, and in every particular 
answering to the requirements 
for such a mission, he was authorized 
to proceed at once with the investigation.

The doubts which at the outset Mr. 
Cook expressed of the practicability of 
the enterprize probably increased the 
confidence of the Executive in his appointment, 
as it undoubtedly did the 
confidence of the Legislature in his report.

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1845.]	The Clinton State Prison.	347
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His first impressions, however, 
gave way as his investigations progressed, 
and he finally reported decidedly 
in favor of the project. He 
treated the subject as a financial one, 
expressing the opinion that this business 
could be prosecuted without the intervention 
of contractors, who at the other 
prisons generally absorbed a large portion 
of the convicts’ earnings. He 
thus closes his Report:

“The mechanics allege (and with truth) 
that they are abundantly able to supply all 
the demands of the country for their 
wares; and that the employment of the 
convicts in the same pursuits must necessarily 
throw a proportionate number of 
mechanics out of the business in which 
they have been instructed, and have also 
invested capital. It is not so with the 
manufacturers of iron. No exertions of 
theirs will, in all probability, prevent the 
importation of iron for a long time to 
come. The convicts, therefore, would in 
this business be put in competition with 
the manufacturers of iron in Europe.

“In addition to the production of iron, 
the business of wire drawing, and the 
manufacture of many other articles which 
are principally imported, would afford 
employment to such of the convicts as are 
too feeble or otherwise incapable of being 
engaged in the more laborious branches. 
Such manufactures can be prosecuted 
most advantageously on the spot where 
the iron can be produced of the requisite 
qualities, and then made to approximate 
the necessary forms without allowing it to 
cool.”

Early in the session of 1844, the 
committee of the House on State Prisons 
presented a report and bill (Assembly 
document 41, January 27, 
1844), for carrying the plan into execution. 
Petitions from many thousands 
of mechanics throughout the State were 
also presented, praying for the passage 
of the bill. It, however, met with a 
violent and powerful opposition; but it 
finally passed both houses, although 
by small majorities.

The event was hailed by the mechanics 
with great joy. In the City of 
Albany a salute of twenty-six guns 
greeted the ears of the members as 
soon as the vote was announced. This 
example was followed in most of the 
villages in the State. In the City of 
New York one hundred guns were 
fired on the reception of the news. 
The mechanics on the Hudson River 
afterwards met with those in New

[[column break]]

York, accompanied by several members 
of the Legislature and other distinguished 
citizens. Their gratification 
was manifested by firing salutes, a 
grand procession, supper, fireworks, 
toasts, speeches, &c.

Mr Cook was appointed the agent 
and required by the law to try an experiment 
he had suggested in his report, 
of using the heat escaping from 
the Catalan forge, while the manufacture 
of iron is in progress, for the purpose 
of generating steam, with which 
to drive machinery for blowing the 
fires and hammering the iron. The 
act provided that no mine should be 
purchased until the experiment was 
tried. The agent accordingly proceeded, 
in company with the Governor, 
Comptroller and Attorney-General, to 
make the experiment upon ore taken in 
part from the Cady and Averill vein, 
and part from the Skinner vein, which 
latter has since been purchased by the 
State, and both of which are adjacent 
to the tract, which was subsequently 
selected for the location of the prison in 
Clinton County. In Mr. Cook’s Report 
to the Legislature, in January, 
1845, after a full account of the experiment 
in detail, he adds:

“The object in trying this experiment has been 
fully realized, by demonstrating that the manufacture 
of wrought iron in the Catalan forge, can 
be prosecuted at the mouth of the mine, and 
without cost for power. The expense of transporting 
the ore, and often the coal also, from the 
same neighborhood to a distant water power, is 
thus entirely avoided. In the employment of 
convicts, it is of still more importance, as by 
being enabled to pursue mining, the preparation 
of the ore, and the manufacture of iron, within 
the prison yard, the convicts can be employed 
upon different branches, corresponding with their 
capacity and behaviour.

“While manufacturing in the Catalan forge, a 
loupe of common steel has been occasionally produced 
by accident. Such results were rare, but 
would sometimes occur in most establishments, 
while the cause of it was seldom, if ever, satisfactorily 
ascertained. It was thought advisable to 
ascertain whether this kind of steel could be produced 
at pleasure.

“From fifteen to twenty cakes of steel were obtained 
in these experiments. Apprehensive that 
we might be unable to work it in this state, the 
greater part was put into a large crucible, with 
the design of re-melting and tilting it according 
to the English practice. The crucible, however, 
failed in the fire, and the steel was lost Two of 
the remaining cakes were submitted to Mr. A. D. 
Peasely, an experienced cutler at Saratoga 
Springs; and he succeeded in making them into 
a variety of cutting implements. It was found to 
harden at a much lower heat than any steel he 
had ever used. The temperature at which a 
steel will thoroughly harden, is one of the leading 
tests of a good article. Its fracture presented 
a remarkably fine structure, while in bending 
its tenacity appeared equal to English cast-steel. 
The cutting edges of the knife blades348     The Clinton State Prison.     [November,

made of it were found decidedly superior to any 
from imported steel. As a trial which many will 
appreciate, one of these knives, when ground 
very thin, would cut the black spots called iron 
spots, which often occur in hard maple, rock-elm, 
basswood and hickory, without the least yielding 
of the edge-while in a shop containing a large 
supply of the best tools, none other could be found 
that would do so, although they had much thicker 
edges. A razor made of it proved tolerably 
good, but did not manifest that superiority which 
was exhibited by the knives. A longer practice 
in working the steel, with more experience in 
this branch of cutlery, would probably produce a 
better article."

This entire success of the experiment 
induced the Governor, Comptroller, 
and Attorney General, who had 
witnessed it, to purchase a mine of 
magnetic oxide of iron, in Clinton 
County, about fourteen miles west of 
Plattsburgh, and about fourteen hundred 
feet above Lake Champlain, and 
which Mr. Cook thus describes in his 
Report in 1845 :

"The ore yields a superior quality of iron, 
combining both firmness and tenacity, and is said 
by many to be superior to any that we import. 
The purchase includes two hundred acres of land 
with the mines. *  *  *  * 
There is also a brook upon the lot, which can be 
turned with facility so as to flow through the prison 
yard, for the purposes of washing the ore and 
general purification of the prison. In the midst 
of an extensive wilderness, a supply of charcoal 
can be readily obtained for the manufacture of 
iron to any desirable extent. The State also still 
owns large tracts of timber lands, so near these 
mines as to be available for charcoal. The 
moutainous regions to the north and west of the 
mines are not adapted to agriculture, so that the 
timber will be allowed to re-produce as it is cut 
off. In this location, therefore, a supply of fuel 
for an indefinite period, can be relied upon with 
safety."

Late in the session of 1845, the Legislature 
passed an act appropriating 
seventy-five thousand dollars for the 
erection of this prison, and making various 
amendments to the former act.
As it was an important feature in Mr. 
Cook's plan to build his prison by convict 
labor, the first step to be taken 
was to provide suitable accommodations 
for the number which he might 
require. In January last, in the midst 
of snow five feet deep, the agent commenced

the stockading of the prison 
yard, which embraces about fifteen 
acres of land and fifty-five rods of the 
mouth of the mine. This work was 
not completed until some time in May. 
While this was in progress, the temporary 
buildings for the accommodation of 
the convicts were commenced on the 
21st of April, with 32 inches of snow 
yet remaining upon the ground. A 
heavy growth of sugar maple, birch, 
beach, elm, hemlock and spruce, covered 
the greater part of the yard and 
all that part where the buildings were 
to be erected.
On the 3d day of June last, the 
agent set out for the new prison with 
fifty convicts from Sing Sing, who 
were mostly taken from the quarries of
that prison.
When the hour of departure arrived, 
the convicts were taken into the chapel, 
when the agent gave them a brief description 
of the place to which they 
were to be taken, the treatment they 
would receive, the industry and obedience 
that would be required. The 
chaplain gave them an exhortation and 
his parting benediction.
Embarked on board a tow-boat which 
lay at Sing Sing until the next morning, 
the convicts spent a restless night. 
After breakfast, the agent distributed 
tobacco amongst those who could not 
be persuaded to abandon its use. The 
avidity with which it was grasped by 
many was truly surprising. One said 
he had chewed nearly all his straw 
bed in prison as a substitute. Wood 
and leather cuttings had been used by 
others for the same purpose. No fabled 
spell or charm could have so 
quickly quieted the uneasiness and diffused 
the smile of cheerfulness upon 
the countenances of the men as did 
this tobacco.*
The convicts behaved extremely 
well on their journey, and reached their 
new abode without a single effort having 
been made to effect an escape.
__________________________________________________
* The propriety of allowing tobacco to convicts has long been a subject on which 
the directors of prisons have differed. At Auburn, it is dealt out in rations, while at 
Sing Sing its use is prohibited. Mr. Eldridge, the intelligent and experienced keeper 
of the latter prison, attributes nearly half the punishments inflicted upon the convicts 
to this inhibition. The agent of Clinton Prison assures us that, in addition to the quiet 
and good humor it produces in those addicted to its indulgence, he obtains at least 
twenty-five cents' worth of labor for every cent's worth of tobacco distributed, and 
that its withdrawal from the refractory occasionally will afford a most efficacious 
mode of punishment.

1845.]     The Clinton State Prison.     349

After seeing them comfortably quartered, 
the agent proceeded to the Auburn 
prison, where he procured and added to 
his number forty-four new convicts.
The temporary buildings erected for 
the reception of the convicts have good 
floors of two thicknesses of plank, are 
clapboarded with rough boards, and 
have roofs laid with the covers of 
boards. They are all 22 feet in width, 
and stand in a line. First is a kitchen, 
38 feet long, in which are a large oven 
and four cauldrons. About 10 feet 
distant is a building 26 feet long, used 
as tailors', shoemakers' and barbers' 
shop. Ten feet distant from this, the 
temporary prison commences, which is 
250 feet long. The beds of the convicts 
are upon the fleor, where they 
sleep with their heads to the side of the 
building. They are separated from 
each other by a partition of boards 
about two feet high. They are secured 
during the night by a piece of 
trace chain about three feet long, one 
end of which is connected with the 
floor and the other is attached to the 
ancle of the convict by a shackle and 
padlock. A space about 10 feet in 
width is still left in the middle of the 
floor, between the two rows of convicts, 
whose feet point towards each 
others. In this space the guard walk 
during the night. Four guards are 
kept on duty in this hall at a time ; one 
at each end in guarding the doors and 
two in walking the hall. A table, 
at which the convicts dine extend the 
whole length of the hall, and is so arranged 
as to be hung up by the beams 
when not in use, where it is entirely 
out of the way. The other temporary

buildings it is unnecessary to enumerate.*
Turn we now to the plan of the new 
buildings, as they have been designed 
by Mr. Cook, and in a measure executed.
On the next page we present a ground 
plan of the prison, agent's and clerk's 
dwellings, offices and incidental rooms 
for the accommodation of the convicts.
It will be seen that the centre building, 
which is the prison proper, is upon 
the Sing Sing plan, with the following 
variations : First, the cells are six 
inches wider, six inches higher, and one 
foot longer. Second, the doors are 
close to one side of the cells, instead of 
being in the centre of the end ; thus 
having a more convenient entrance 
when the convicts' bed is down. Third, 
the hall between the cells and the wall 
of the building is four feet and nine 
inches wider than the one at Sing Sing. 
Then there are the following variations, 
not shown in the ground plan : First, 
there are but three tiers or stories of 
cells, instead of five ; thus avoiding in 
part the difficulties of maintaining a 
uniform warmth and ventilation, which 
are increased in proportion to the number 
of stories. Second, the windows 
are large, and present the appearance 
of only two stories upon the outside. 
Third, the ventilation of each cell is 
independent of the others, air being 
conveyed through a sheet-iron pipe four 
inches in diameter, which is surrounded 
by the mason work of the centre wall. 
These pipes all terminate in the garret, 
from which a perfect ventilation, under 
the control of the keeper in the hall, is 
to be kept up through the freize. There
_________________________________________
* We take leave to extract the following lively description of the appearance of 
the work in progress from the Plattsburg Republican of the 16th August last :

"As we egressed from the woods on nearing the location, the view was picturesque and interesting. 
Directly in your face is the new village of Dennemora, about nine weeks old. There are several 
comfortable dwellings standing among the recently-blackened stumps ; then there are block-houses, 
log-houses and shanties, of various qualities, sprinkled among the tall trees, presenting a wild rural 
appearance ; but reminding one that a gust of wind might crush them beneath the falling forest.
" A few rods farther in advance, and we are met by the tall palisades enclosing the prison yard. A 
stream of one-horse carts is seen passing and repassing the gate, conveying the earth from the quarry 
and mine to the ravine on the outside. Within, the yard all is alive with industry. The mingled 
sound of stone-chisels, stone-hammers, trowels, picks, saws, planes and blacksmiths hammering, 
with the occasional booming of the blasts, creates a din that is peculiarly impressive, as it is unaccompanied 
with talking, calling and shouting among the workmen, so common (yet so unnecessary) 
where workmen are employed on extensive jobs. *  *  *  *  *  *
" The work of erecting temporary buildings for the accommodation of the convicts, guards and 
officers, was commenced on the 21st of April last, amidst a heavy growth of timber, and with thirty-
two inches of snow upon the ground. The difficulties of the location-of procuring materials over 
such roads-working in this region, and of a late, stormy spring, were far from trivial. Then the 
journeys to be made to the other prisons, the fitting out and removal of the convicts, all combined 
to consume the time ; so that it was the 24th of June before the ninety-four convicts from the other 
prisons were upon the ground. This number has been increased to one hundred and twenty-four by 
recent convictions."350     The Clinton State Prison.     [November,

B, Dining Room. 
C, Kitchen. 
D, Bath Room. 
E, Wash Room. 
F, Cellar. 
G, Agent's Dwelling.

a a, Blocks of Cells.
H, Guard Room. 
I, Inspectors' and Agent's Office. 
J, New Clothes Room. 
K, Clerk's Office. 
L, Clerk's Dwelling, 
A A, Keepers' Halls

1845.]     The Clinton State Prison.     351

are also to be movable ventilators in 
the ceiling of the hall. The grates for 
the windows and the cell doors are to 
be of cast-iron lattice work.
The principal novelty of the plan 
consists in the arrangement of the end 
buildings for dwellings, offices, &c., and 
connecting them by spacious covered 
ways or halls, which make convenient 
halls for the keepers, and prevent any 
ingress or egress without their knowledge. 
In that climate, too, the convenience 
of such an arrangement is of 
much importance. The plan shows 
the ground floor of the dwellings and 
offices, and the basement of the building, 
where the dining-room, &c., are 
located. The chapel is above the 
dining-room, and the hospital directly 
over that ; so that there shall be no 
noise over the heads of the sick.
It will be seen that this plan does 
not admit of increasing the number of 
cells beyond those contemplated without 
disarrangement. But gentlemen of 
experience and reflection have become 
convinced that from four to five hundred 
convicts are the greatest number 
that should ever be confined in any 
one prison ; regard being had to their 
moral improvement or economical employment.
The first section of cells, 126 in number, 
is now erected, and covered by a 
temporary roof, to enable the mason 
work to dry, while the building to enclose 
the cells is in progress. About 
300 feet of foundation work is laid, and 
the outer wall for the same distance 
nearly ready for setting the window 
frames and grates to the first story.
Apprehensions were entertained by 
some, when this location for the prison 
was chosen, so remote from civilization, 
and buried in the profound depths of a 
primeval forest, that it would constitute 
a temptation to the convicts to rise upon 
the keepers in the hope of making their 
escape in the woods. The agent now, 
however, seems to have become convinced 
that the woods rather protect 
the prison than expose it to this danger.
While he was absent at Auburn, 
on the occasion we have before referred 
to, two convicts who were at 
work in the yard, in which as yet there 
was much standing timber, erected a 
pole against the pickets, by which they 
climbed to their top, and then dropped 
on the other side. They were discovered 
by a guard, who gave the alarm,

and the signal gun (which is a twenty-
four pounder,) was fired, in order to 
give notice to the few inhabitants of 
the surrounding country. The escape 
was made immediately after dinner, 
and the following is substantially the 
account they afterwards gave of their 
experience in the woods :
As soon as they were over the pickets, 
they ran up the mountain to the 
north, intending to make their way 
through the wilderness to Canada, the 
line being about twenty miles distant. 
They continued to run almost constantly 
until about dark, when they 
found themselves near the south-east 
corner of the prison yard—some fifty 
rods farther south than the place from 
which they had started--while they 
supposed they had been constantly travelling 
north. Wearied and hungry, 
their feet badly wounded and bleeding, 
as they had left their shoes behind in 
their flight, the flies annoying them on 
every side, with the prospect of a cold 
stormy night before them, they discussed 
the project of going up to the 
pickets and asking admittance. But 
the fear of punishment finally determined 
them to make another effort, 
and as they were now near the south 
side of the prison yard, they imagined 
that it would be an easy matter to travel 
south and enter the road by which 
they had been taken to the prison. By 
the time they had decided on their 
course, a heavy fall of hail and rain 
commenced. After travelling about an 
hour, they found themselves in an extensive 
cedar swamp, in which they 
travelled around all night, much of the 
time in mire knee deep, the storm continuing 
unabated.
After taking a view of the swamp 
by daylight, they abandoned the idea 
of penetrating through it, and concluded 
to take an easterly direction, by which 
they hoped eventually to reach Lake 
Champlain.
They were this time more fortunate 
in their course, as the weather was 
clear. In the afternoon they approached 
a road, about seven or eight miles 
east of the prison. But at the time 
they discovered the road, they also discovered 
groups of men with guns and 
sticks, who were evidently on the lookout 
for them. The convicts lay still in 
the woods, concluding to take the road 
in the night, and conceal themselves 
during the day time, until they could
352    The Clinton State Prison.     [November, 

reach the lake. They were, however, 
so exhausted by hunger and fatigue, 
that they could scarcely move. 
After lying quietly until dusk, and seeing 
no person in the road, they found 
themselves unable to travel without 
first obtaining some food. After reconnoitering 
a cottage, which they believed 
at the time contained only a woman, 
they entered and enquired the road to 
Plattsburgh, telling her they had been 
lost in the woods, and were very hungry. 
The woman appeared to suspect 
them, and exhibited much alarm. She 
however, set before them a large quantity 
of johnny-cake, as they call it. 
Just as the famished creatures were 
commencing upon it, they heard a man 
running towards the house, and calling 
for his gun. The convicts sprang out 
at the door. One of them ran behind 
a hovel, and crawled under it, the other 
sped for the woods. The invader 
pursued him instantly, with a large 
stone in his hand, which he threw with 
such dexterity as to strike the convict 
upon the leg, and bring him to the 
ground. Still the pursuer dared not 
seize the man, but returned to the 
house, where, with assistance, the convict 
who had concealed himself under 
the hovel was secured. The one left 
in the woods crawled a short distance 
from the place where he fell, and lay 
there during the night. In the morning 
his hunger became so intolerable 
that he came out and surrendered himself 
to the men who were still watching 
along the road.
When returned to the prison they 
could scarcely stand. They were so 
spirit-broken and exhausted, that no 
flogging was inflicted upon them. They 
were, however, told that the punishment 
was suspended only until their 
ill behaviour should provoke it. Since 
that time, however, we are told they 
have conducted themselves with such 
perfect propriety as not to have deserved 
even a reproof.
Mr. Cook has very wisely, in our 
judgment, adopted the system practised 
at Auburn, of permitting men to eat at 
one common table.

He has also thus far purchased the 
provisions himself, without the intervention 
of contractors--undoubtedly the 
wisest and most economical course, 
where the fidelity of the agent can be 
ensured.
Mr. Cook is a firm believer in the 
efficacy of kind and considerate treatment 
of the convicts, and we have 
abundant reason for believing that every 
proper opportunity is embraced to cultivate 
their self-respect, to subdue their 
excessive propensities, and to awaken 
to a new action their more elevating 
sentiments. The punishments have 
only averaged one a week. A constant 
improvement of the convicts, both 
morally and intellectually, has been remarked 
by all the officers since their 
arrival.
Doubtless the novelty of their situation, 
and of their work, and the remoteness 
from all objects which remind 
them of their previous life and associations, 
contribute not a little to the improving 
moral condition of these unfortunate 
wretches, which is perceptible 
to the most casual observer. But more,
much more, is due to Mr. Cook's habitual 
respect for what in them remains immortal 
and God-created--his habitual 
recognition of their rights as moral and 
accountable beings, which rights are 
paramount to all laws of man's devising. 
He looks upon those haggard outlaws, 
all scarred as they are with vice 
and suffering, more in sorrow than in 
anger ; and leads them to the culture 
of virtue, by exemplifying in his own 
demeanor toward them some of her 
most beneficent influences.
We have confined ourselves to the 
history of this important enterprise, as 
it has thus far transpired. It would be 
premature to discuss its practical or anticipated 
results at present ; but when 
the prison shall have gone into efficient
operation, we shall hold ourselves at 
liberty to recur to this subject, and to
state more at length the reasons for, and 
nature of, the success which we have 
now no hesitation in predicting to the 
labors of Mr. Cook.

1845.]     Spanish Ballads.     353

SPANISH BALLADS.

Translated from the Spanish.
BY EDWARD MATURIN.
_____
BALLAD X.

THE VENGEANCE OF MUDARREZ.

Count Gonzalez Cordova leaves, and straight to Salas goes ; 
Within that fortress strong he grieves for years of countless woes : 
With pain he ransacks mem'ry's stores, revives his wrongs afresh, 
And rends again Time's half-clos'd sores,† as pincers tear the flesh.

“Oh ! blasted trunk ! of ev'ry leaf bare and decay'd art thou ; 
O'er me hath past the storm of grief, as the tempests strips the bough : 
There's not a single blossom left, to mark where once it stood, 
Alike of bough and foliage reft !-a curse is in my blood !

" I once had seven noble sons-but they are dead and gone ; 
Curst be the hand that laid them low, and left me here alone ! 
There's one-but one is left me yet : I would he, too, were dead ! 
His craven falchion ne'er he'll wet, nor a foeman's blood he'll shed ;

" For bastard's blood his veins doth warm-his is the coward's part-
Nor knightly strength is in his arm, nor valor in his heart ; 
E'en though his hoary sire were dead, no loyal son I have, 
A pray'r to say, a tear to shed upon my lonely grave !

" My murder'd sons ! how oft ye rise in the midnight lone and deep, 
When your agéd father's sleepless eyes their sorrowing vigils keep : 
Anon I seem to clasp each form—anon it takes its flight ! 
Your necks, with life-blood dripping warm, assail my aching sight !

" Can the weary captive break his chain ?-can he his wrongs redeem ? 
Can he avenge the bitter pain that shades life's holy stream ? 
No ! no ! my sons !  The God who gave ye life will yet atone 
Your wrongs in your foeman's bloody grave-your death-your dying groan !

" Would God I'd died in Moorish land ! for now were past in pain-
They would have used the naked brand, but never bound the chain ; 
But now I stand amid my own-shame on their recreant faith ! 
Christians !-what mercy have they shown ? A slow and painful death !"

Such sad and wailing accents rise from the captive in despair-
He presses now his streaming eyes, anon he rends his hair, 
When, on a sudden, he descries a knight in full career : 
'Tis a Moorish knight ! his pennon flies, and glanceth bright his spear.

He sees the dim and half-orb'd moon upon his rounded shield, 
Pillow'd on piles of fleecy clouds-the ground its azure field-
And, wrought in letters of pure gold, upon its breast appears : 
" Lost one! I go to find thee, tho' I brave a thousand spears!"
________________________
† " The flesh will follow where the pincers tear."-Young's Revenge. 
VOL. XVII.-NO. LXXXVIII. 23.354      Spanish   Ballads.        November.
Upon   his  lance  a  streamer  bright  spreads  for  its  snowy  sheen ;
Inscrib'd  upon  a  ground  of  white,  it bears  a  cross  of  green ;
While   dangles  from  his  saddle-bow  a  head  that  drips  with  blood-
It  is  the  head  of  a  Christian  foe  who  hath  his  lance  withstood.

Still on  the  knight  in  full  career  presseth  with  breathless speed ;
In  rest  he  holds  his  slanted  spear,  and  spurs  his  gallant  steed :
At  the  dungeon-grate  he  quickly  reins, and  to  his  father  cries :
 " Sire !  here  is  vengeance  for thy  chains,  and  the  tears  that  dim thine  eyes!"

" Here,  is  Velasquez's  head-thy  seven  sons  he  slew ;
I  swore  that  I'd  revenge  the dead,  tho'  I  the  blow  should  rue.
I am  thy  bastard-son,  my  lord  !   Revenge  thou  didst  not  deem,
Could  ever  gild  the  bastard's  sword, or  his  heart's  polluted  stream.

             BALLAD   XI.
  BERNARD   DEL  CARPIO.
Alfonzo  sate  in  his  castle-hall,  his  knights  on  either  hand ;
His  warriors  and  nobles  all  held  each  his  naked  brand-
A  stern  and  haughty  suitor  stood  before  the  monarch's  throne,
And   while  his  brow  was  flushed  with  blood, 'twas  thus  the  knight  spake  on :
" Within the walls  of  yonder tower in  chains  my father  lies ;
Thou'st  shut  the  sunny  day, for  aye,  in  darkness  on  his  eyes ;
Thou'st  palsied  strength  of  heart  and  limb,  by  the  weight  of the deadly  chain
And  the  youth  that  was  light  and  joy  to  him  hath closed  in  gloom  and  pain !
 " Senseless  we  deem  the  stones  that  guard  the  captain's  dungeon  deep-
Pity  within  their  bosoms  hard  is  lock'd  in  icy  sleep :
And  yet  upon  these  senseless stone  grief  writes  her  sacred  sign--
THEY  hear  my father's  sighs  and  groans !  Foul  Tyrant,  where are  thine?
" The bloom  of  youth was  on  his  brow,  its  light  was  in  his  eye ;
But  both,  alas !  are  faded  now,  by  long  captivity.
Bright  and  flowing  was  his  hair,  like  noonday's  golden  light,
But  Time  hath  set  his  signet  there,  and  Age  hath  made  them  white !
" The  blood  that  warms  my father's  veins  Alfonzo  holds  in  scorn,
The  flesh  that  moulders  in  his  chains,  he  deems  it  lowly  born ;
Yet 'twas  that  foul  and  worthless blood  that   nerved  Bernardo's  heart,
When, in  the  blaze  of  fight,  he  stood,  and  dar'd  the  Frankish  dart."

"When  Charlemagne,  his  steel-clad  horde  marched  proudly  thro' thy realm,
Who  was  the  first  to  draw  the  sword,  and  who  to  brace  the  helm ?
Bernardo  boldly  took  the  field,  with  Leon's  knightly  band.
Seiz'd  his  broad  and  burnish'd  shield,  and  bar'd  his  battle-brand !

"When  civil  discord's  lawless  rage  swept   thro' the  realm  of  Spain,
Dyed  deep  with  blood  her  virgin  page,  and  forg'd  thy  country's  chain,
Upon  the  instant  out  there  flew,  from  ev'ry  slumbering  sheath,
Swords,  that  baptiz'd  in  life's  warm  dew,  were  stained  with  its  last  breath."

" I am  thy  sister's  son, false  king !  Bernardo's  blood  is  thine !
It  were  a  foul  and  shameless  thing,  that  King  Alfonzo's  line
Should  bear  upon his 'scutcheon  bright  the  bastard's lowly  stain-
The  son  demands  the  father's  right,  or  vengeance  upon  Spain  !

1845.]    Spanish Ballads.     355

"Nay, flush not thus thy haughty brow-I fear not threat nor death !
Tho' arm'd men be round thee now, I tell thee in thy teeth,
The frozen heart and the whiten'd head of the old man now in chains
Shall, traitor, strew thy path with dead, and the blood of Castilian veins !"

BALLAD XII.

BERNARDO'S FATHER.

"Ere yet the beard of manhood's growth had left its darken'd track,
Thos swor'st false king ! a perjur'd oath to give my father back,
To free my prison'd sire, for aye, from dungeon and from chain ;
Yet, tho' I sue thee day on day, my hopes, my pray'rs are vain !

"Thy curse was on his bridal hour, when he thy sister wed :
The convent was thy sister's dower-the cell his bridal-bed ;
Nor convent-walls, nor dungeon-chains can alter nature's line-
The blood that warms Bernardo's veins is, traitor, also thine.

"Say, he was rebel to thy throne-the crime's wip'd out with years ;
His pillow's now the dungeon-stone ; his bread thou'st steeped with tears !
But no ! not treason to thy land did deadly vengeance move,
And kindle hate's undying brand-'twas that he dared to love !

"Alfonzo ! freedom hast thou sworn my sire upon thy sword :
Let not thy subjects hold in scorn a knight's, a monarch's word ;
For never yet was falsehood known her slimy path to trace,
Where stood the monarch's sacred throne, or flush a soldier's face !

"Bernardo men a 'coward' call.  'Tis false as hell the word !
The champion of Roncesvalles ne'er fear'd to draw his sword.
I dare the liars ! By the rood !  Bernard's true and leal
To write the falsehood in the blood of any in Castille !

"My sire for thee in bloody strife hath many a battle won ;
For thee, false king ! Bernardo's life hath many a peril run :
Shame, shame upon thy guerdon foul ! my father hast thou ta'en.
Tremble, traitor ! by my soul, this blade thy blood shall drain !

"Ten thousand curses on the sword that fought for thee and thine !
Curst be the breath that gave the word to Spain's embattled line !
The brand of craven's on my brow-its curs is on my hear :
To leave a sire in dungeon low, yet face a foeman's dart !"

Then spoke Alonze : "A monarch's faith is true as lover's token ;
Sir knight, fear not thy father's death, his chain shall soon be broken ;
Or ere to-morrow's sun shall rise o'er steeple hill and tower,
The old man's form shall glad thine eyes, free from Alfonzo's power."

The king his solemn vow he kept which he had made that day :
Deceit within his bosom slept to murder and betray.
His bloody 'hest the soldiers bear, to the dungeon lone and drear-
The trembling old man's eyes they tear from their dull and lightless sphere.356  Spanish Ballads. [November, 1845]
BALLAD XIII.
BERNADO DEL CARPIO TO ARMY.
The stoutest lances at his side that ever fought for Spain,
Bernardo's rallied far and wide 'gainst haughty Charlemagne;
In iron phalanx on they go--in rest is ev'ry lance--
Their leader is Del Carpio--their enemy is France!
Alfonso, traitor to his throne, hath sought for Frankish aid,
And France hath to his summons flown, and bar'd her ev'ry blade;
And foul the price the king hath paid for the hire of Frankman's blood;
His sire's soil he hath betray'd--the soil whereon he stood.
Weary with march, the glittering train, ere the bright sun goes down,
Halts in the middle of a plain, two leagues from Leon's town.
Bernardo rais'd his visor up, survey'd his army then,
And while he spake, no sound there brake from that line of steel-clad men.
" Sons of Leon ! ye who prize a warrior's fame and glory,
Whose valiant deeds of high emprize shall live in Spanish story :
Warriors! ye whose ev'ry vein with the noblest blood is fed,
Shall Leon wear the Frankman's chain, or fear her blood to shed ?
" Within your band no craven-hearts palsey the swords ye bear ;
Your breasts defy the Frankish darts ' then wherefore should ye fear ?
The strife is for your king and throne : then onward !--God looks down !
With ye I stake my life upon the honor of the crown !
" The land your Christian fathers sway'd for many a year of old,
Shall it to France be now betray'd thro' fear or love of gold ?
Your lives are on this mighty stake, as heroes brave and leal--
Rise, Leonese ! your fetters break, nor fear the Frankish steel !
" Will ye consent that stranger-blood should forge the griding chain,
That France should pour old Leon's blood o'er Leon's blooming pain;
That to-morrow's sun should rise upon your sons in bondage led ?
This sacred soil, to France a spoil, for which your fathers bled !
" Shall your bucklers broad and bright, forget the sign they bear,
Blazon'd on their breasts of might--THE LION in his lair ?
Shall the haughty LION yield his place to the pallid fleur de lis ?
Shall Leon's sons her arms erase for Frankish blazonry ?
" For many a year this land so fair, in peace your fathers sway'd ;
Freedom's foundations with their blood and valor have they laid.
Stout Leonese ! it cannot be that the terrors of a day
Should blot from ev'ry memory their toils and blood away !
" Where are those craven-hearts that fear to bite the ground in death ?
Remember, Leon's banners ne'er were fann'd by cowards' breath ;
We ask not of them sword or lance--we ask alone the brave,
To stem the iron-tide of France, or make old Spain their grave !"
He vaulted on his steed, and plung'd the rowels in his side,
And dash'd away with fiery speed, as shafts from bowmen glide ;
" Leal knights and true, your coursers spur !" His voice rose on the breeze--
" Shall the Lion quail before the cur ?--'fore France the Leonese ?"

Spanish Ballads.   357
BALLAD XIV.
THE CID'S FAREWELL.
" Should the god of battles lay me low in the field whereto Im bound,
Should I fall beneath the Moorish foe, and bite in death the ground,
Ximena ! let thy husband's grave be in San Pedro's shrine ;
Above me let no banner wave, save Jesus' holy sign !
"I charge thee let no woman's tear bewail they husband dead;
let warrior-hands, upon the bier, compose my pillow'd head.
I would not have my sodiers weep upon their leader's pall,
Nor grief her lightless vigil keep, where'er I chance to faill.
"As a knight of Christ, I charge thee, yet, should sorrow dim thy lid,
Let not the hordes of Mahomet see thee weeping for they Cid;
I charge thee further, by the sword Bivar in battle wore,
Let it not own a second lord of fell another Moor!
"It may be that my gallant steed, withc loose and dangling rein,
(True as e'er served a knight a need, or trod the soil of Spain)
May stand without his master's gate, with low and drooping head,
And the empty saddle where I sate will tell thee I am dead!
"Open the gate, as though I yet bestrode my courser brave,
And pr'ythee let his bones be laid within his master's grave;
For they who've fought in bloody field should still be one in death -
The spear should lie upon the shield, and the sword within its sheath!
"Soon as the parting soul is sped, and leaves to earth her spoil,
Ximena, thou anoint my head with myrrh and holy oil;
Then buckle harness on my breast, and helmet on my head,
And leave Bivar to take his rest among Spain's gallant dead!"
BALAD XV.
THE BANNERS OF THE CID.
Within San Pedro's blessed walls the Cid in prayer is bent,
Midnight in solemn silence falls o'er every monument;
and dimly doth the waning light fall on the Chapion brave,
So dim, the warrior seems a sprite fresh risen from the grave!
the suppliant still kneels in pray'r, the carved saints they stand,
Like spectres wroght in silent air, from a far and shadowy land;
The holy cress before him stands, the Saviour's bleeding brow,
While the kneeling knight with clasp'd hands renews his holy vow.
The Cid hath chosen well his part, in humble prayer to kneel,
For God doth better shield the heart in war than mail of steel;
He, who is battle's peril bears the Christian's holy faith.
Through thousands be his foes, ne'er fears to die a soldier's death.
new swells the organ's solemn peal - bends every casque and cowl;
The abbot and the monks they kneel, and speed the parting soul - 
Upon the cross their eyes they bend - full many a bead they tell -
That the Cid their banner may defend against the Infidel.358         Spanish Ballads.        [November, 

Bivar then raised the banner high before that kneeling line,
While solemnly was bent each eye on the Savior's holy sign.
He kissed the banner's dropping fold that round him fell in shade,
Undid his mantle's clasp of gold, and kneeling, thus he prayed:

"Cross of God! that o'er us waves, bright emblem of our faith,
Thy shadow rest upon our graves, and fan our dying breath;
Thy symbol soothe the closing lid, and dry death's icy tear,
Thy sacred fold enwrap the cold upon the warrior's bier!

"Blest banner of my country, come; the trump of battle calls, 
The heart of knighthood be thine home, thy shrine these sacred walls;
Castilian hands enfold the now, that Death alone can serve;
Upon my soul there lies a vow to die or guard thee ever!

"Alphonso's ear hath been betray'd by traitors false and foul. 
Their lying breath may stain my blade, but cannot touch my soul!
When knights and vassals thus are paid for the blood that they have shed, 
Who would worship Glory's shade, or make her field his bed?

"King! thou hast heard the syren sing -- there's death in every tone;
'Tis the sweep of the vulture's sable wing that echo's Death's last groan !
'Thou'st banished me from country -- home -- from all I love below;
No garlands e'er shall deck my tomb, nor laurel wave by brow.

"Now God forefend that luckless hours my country should befall!
That a foeman's flag should man her towers, a foeman guerd her wall!
May conquest never cease to tread through Spain's heroic land;
May the casque be brac'd to ev'ry head and the sword to ev'ry hand!

"I love thee, Spain! Dear land, farewell! I dare not disobey. 
To foes for thee my blood I'd sell, for thee myself would slay! 
Before God's holy men I swear, whom kneeling round I see,
In battle all I do or dare, dear Spain, shall be for thee!"

Then pealed "Te Deum" through the shrine, the monks their beads they told, 
The abbot markéd the holy sign upon the banner's fold;
The Cid then took the banner back, with proud and flashing eye, 
And forth on Babieca rode, to conquer or to die!

BALLAD XVI.
BABIECA.

Forth from the seat of Gothic power marches the bold Bivar, 
And halts beneath Valencia's tow'r, his own by right of war;
Nine hundred cavaliers, who wait upon their gallant lord, 
Thunder at Valencia's gate with dagger, hilt and sword;

And 'mid the troop, with naked heads, two knights in armor dight, 
The war-steed, Babieca, led. with eye of flashing light.
"Open, good King, your palace-doors: a soldier stands without, 
Whose stalwart arm hath crush'd the Moors!" -- 'Twas thus Bicar spake out. 

Bar and bolt asunder fly -- the iron gate gives away;
Move on the gallant companies, in plume and war array. 
Rodrigo sees a gallant throng surround their monarch's throne, 
And in the midst, his braves among, Alfonzo stand alone, 

1845.]    Spanish Ballads.    359

"Alfonze! behold a champion kneel who never knelt before!"
Thus spake Rodrigo of Castiile, the brave El Campeador. 
"I come not here to challenge thee to tourney, joust or fight;
But 'fore thee prove my loyalty as true and honest knight. 

"I have a steed, a better hath char'd where banners fly;
His speed like arrow from the quiver, or meteor from the sky.
I pray thee, King, receive this boon as thine for battle's tide;
Fear not the crescent of Malhoun if thou from my steed bestride. 

"Lest thou shouldst deem my speech a boast, my phraises false and vain,
King, come with thy gallant hose, and view him on the plain;
Thoul't see him pliant to my hand as 'neath a silken rein;
Come, King, and gentles of the land, gallants, and knights of Spain!"

Bivar now vaults upon his steed, armed from neck to heel;
The trumpet sounds, the course bounds, as he feels the rowell'd steel;
With winged feet and waving mane, with pois'd and shimmering spear,
Champion and steed, they skirr the plain, as though they rode on air.

Lo! ev'ry gallant's eye is bent on Babieca's speed,
Alfonzo stands in wonderment if he be spite or speed. 
But Silence severs soon her chain -- bursts forth a cry of fear --
For the furious steed hath rent the rein that check'd his mad career!

The champion moves not as he flighs the broken rein aside, 
But with the dangling fragment tries the madden'd barb to guide. 
Still, still they fly, as on lightning-wing, from a cloud of darkness freed, 
When suddenly, before the King, he checks his panting steed. 

"King, he is thine!" Rodrigo cried, as he lighted on the plain;
"A monarch's hand my steed should guide, a monarch hold his rein!"
"Foul shame it were," Alfonse replied, "that man, save thee, Bivar, 
Should spur so true a courser's side, when blows the blast of war."

BALLAD XVII.
ALFONZO'S OATH.

Within an old and Gothic pile the lamps with faintess beam'd 
While round and down the valted aisle the Spanish banner stream'd, 
And from the altar rose the while the incense, rich perfume,
As though Religion told her rites around a soldier's tomb. 

The altar round on bended knee throng many a casqued head, 
The monks they tell their beads full well, and many a prayer is sped;
A sword upon the altar lies, a cross-bow made of wood,
While to hear Alfonzo's oath the Cid in silence stood.

"Rodrigo, think not I am loath, in face of sword and chain;
Nay, before God to make my oath, the King I have not slain;
Anointed blood shall never smear a true Hidalgo's sword -- 
Dishonor ne'er shall crown his spear, nor treachery his word. 

"Asturia's hardy mountaineer, with slow and steady pace, *
His livid brow, bedew'd with fear, as ghastly as his face, 
The traitor's dagger might conceal beneath a courtier's air;
But not a knight in all Castille so foul a deed would dare.

* "With steady pace, and Tarquin's ravishing strides." -- Macbeth.360       Spanish Ballads.      [November,

"Rail not on me -- thy charge is vain -- Rodrigo de Bivar! 
"Tis true, my foemen have I slain, but in the ranks of war;
By all the mailed forms I swear, that round the altar kneel, 
To prove this dastard charge, I dare the bravest in Castille!"

Pale was his brow, but flash'd with fire his dark and kindling eye:
Trembled his livid lips with ire, as thunders shake the sky. 
"I give thee pardon, knight," he said, "though thy speech doth wound me sore."
And as he spake his hand he laid upon El Campeador.

"Nay, offer not thy hand to me," exclaim'd the Cid aloud;
"Once thou didst claim my fealty, but my knee I never bow'd.
No King I know, no worship owe,* save my good sword and war;
Kings never made before them kneel Rodrigo de Bivar!"

Alfonso then with passion shook; his brow and cheek were pale.
"Think'st thou such language I will brook from one in casque and mail?
Had another spoken thus, my spear had pierc'd him where he stood.
Thee, Cid, I banished for a year -- I covet not thy blood!"

"By Heav'n! good King, it likes me well," replied El Campeador;
"I bid your banners long farewell; your bidding wounds me sore;
A single year thou'st banished me; -- the crime deserveth more:
Bivar demands not liberty till years expire four!"

With that he turned upon his heel, and left the King alone -- 
No champion now in all Castille so brave to guard its throne.
Each brave Hidalgo follow'd him -- the bravest in the land;
The sword was brac'd on ev'ry limb, and gauntletted each hand!

(To be continued in our December Number.)

_____________________________________________________________________________________

A DIALOGUE.
BY WALTER WHITMAN.

   What would be thought of a man who, having an ill humor in his blood, should strive to cure himself by only cutting off the festers, the outward signs of it, as they appeared upon the surface? Put criminals for festers and society for the diseased man, and you may get the spirit of that part of our laws which expects to abolish wrongdoing by sheer terror -- by cutting off the wicked, and taking no heed of the causes of wickedness. I have lived long enough to know that national folly never deserves contempt; else should I laught to scorn such an instance of exquisite nonsense!
   Out statues are supposed to speak the settled with and voice of the community. We may imagine, then, a conversation of the following sort to take place -- the imposing majesty of the people speaking on the one side, a pallid, shivering convict on the other. 
   "I have don't wrong," says the convict; "in an evil hour a king of frenzy came over me, and I struck my neighbor a heavy blow, which killed him. Dreading punishment, and the disgrace
_____________________________________________________________________________________
*The older writers transfer to "owe" the sense of "own":
                  "You make me strange,
           Ev'n to the disposition that I owe."
                                                  Ibid. -- Et passim.

1845.]            A Dialogue.             361

of my family, I strove to conceal the deed, but it was discovered."
   "Then," says society, "you must be killed in return."
   "But," rejoins the criminal, "I feel that I am not fit to die. I have not enjoyed life -- I have not been happy or good. It is so horrid to look back upon one's evil deeds only. Is there no play by which I can benefit my fellow-creatures, even at the risk of my own life?"
   "None," answers society; "you must be strangled -- choked to death. If your passions are so ungovernable that people are in danger from them, we shall hang you."
   "Why that?" asks the criminal, his wits sharpen perhaps by his situation. "Can you not put me in some strong prison, where no one will be harmed by me? And if the expense is anything against this, let me work there, and support myself."
   "No," responds society, "we shall strangle you; your crime deserves it"
   "Have you, then, committed no crimes?" asks the murderer. 
   "None which the law can touch," answers society. "True, one of us had a mother, a weak-souled creature, that pined month after month, and at last died, because her dear son was intemperated, and treated her ill. Another who is the owner of many houses, thrust a sick family into the street because they did not pay their rent, whereof came the deaths of two little children. And another -- that particularly well-dressed man -- effected the ruin of a young girl, a silly thing who afterward became demented, and drowned herself in the river. One has gained much wealth by cheating his neighbors -- cut cheating so as not to come within the clutches of any statute. And hundreds are now from day to day practising deliberately the most unmanly and wicked meannesses. We are all frail!" 
   "An these are they who so sternly clamor for my blood!" exclaims the convict in amazement. "Why is it that I alone am to be condemned?" 
   "That they are bad,"  rejoins society, "is no defense for you."
   "That the multitude have so many faults -- that none are perfect," says the criminal, "might at least make them more lenient to me. If my physical temperament subjects me to great passions, which lead me into crime, when wronged too -- as I was when I struck that fatal blow -- is there not charity enough among you to sympathize with me -- to let me not be hung, but safely seperated from all that I might harm?"
   "There is some reason in what you say," answers society; "but the clergy, who hate the wicked, say that God's own voice has spoken against you. We might, perhaps, be willing to let you off with imprisonment; but Heaven imperatively forbids it, and demands your blood. Besides, that you were wronged, gave you no right to revenge yourself by taking life."
   "Do you mean me to understand, then," asks the convict, "that Heaven is more blood-thirsty than you? And if wrong gives no right to revenge, why am I arraigned thus?"
   "The case is different," rejoins society. "We are a community -- you are but a single individual. You should forgive your enemies." 
   "And are you not ashamed," asks the culprit, "to forget that as a community which you expect to remember as a man? While the town clock goes wrong, shall each little private watch be abused for failing to keep the true time? What are communities but congregated individuals? And if you, in the potential force of your high position, deliberately set examples of retribution, how dare you look to me for self-denial, forgiveness, and the meekest and most difficult virtues?"
   "I cannot answer such questions," responds society; "but if you propose no punishment for the bad, what safety is there for our citizens' rights and peace, which would then be in continual jeopardy?" 
   "You cannot," says the other, "call a perpetual jail no punishment. It is a terrible one,. And as to your safety, it will be outraged less by mild and benevolent criminal laws than by sanguinary and revengeful ones. They govern the insane better with gentleness than severity. Are not men possessing reason more easily acted on through moral force than men without?"
   "But, I repeat it, crimes will then multiply," says society (not having much else to say); "the punishment must be severe, to avoid that. Release the bad from the fear of hanging, and they will murder every day. We362                            A Dialogue.                           [November, 1845].
must preserve that penalty to prevent this taking of life.”
“I was never ignorant of the 
personality,” answers the criminal; “and yet I murdered, for my blood was up. Of all the homicides committed, not one in a hundred is done by persons unaware of the law. So that you see the terror of death does not deter. The
hardened and worst criminals, too, frequently have no such terror, while the more 
repentant and humanized suffer in it the most vivid agony. At least you could try the experiment of no hanging.”
“It might cost too much. Murder would increase,” reiterates society.
“Formerly,” replies the criminal, “many crimes were punished by death that now are not; and yet those crimes have not increased. Not long since the whipping-post and branding-iron stood by the bar of courts of justice, and were often used, too. Yet their 
abolition has not multiplied the evils for which they were meted out. This, and much more, fully proves that it is by no means the dread of terrible
punishment which prevents crime. And now allow me to ask you a few
questions. Why are most modern 
executions private, so called, instead of 
public?”
“Because,” answers society, “the influence of the spectacle is degrading and anti-humanizing. As far as it goes, it begets a morbid and unhealthy feeling in the masses.”
“Suppose all the convicts,” goes on the prisoner, “adjudged to die in one of your largest States, were kept 
together for two whole years, and then in the most public part of the land were hung up in a row - say twenty of them together - how would this do?”
“God forbid!” answers society with a start. “The public mind would 
revolt at so bloody and monstrous a deed. It could not be allowed!”
“Is it anything less horrible,” 
resumes the questioner, “in the deaths being singly and at intervals?”
“I cannot say it is,” answers 
society.
“Allow me to suppose a little more,” continues the criminal, “that all the convicts to be hung in the whole 
republic for two years - say two hundred, and that is a small estimate - were 
strangled at the same time, in full sight of every man, woman, and child - all the remaining population. And suppose this were done periodically every two years. What say you to that?”
“The very thought sickens me,”
answers society, “and the effect would be more terrible and blighting upon the national morals and the health of the popular heart, than it is any way 
possible to describe. No unnatural rites of the most barbarous and brutal nations of antiquity ever equal led this; and our name would always deserve to be 
written literally in characters of blood. The feeling of the sacredness of life would be utterly destroyed among us. Every fine and Christian faculty of our souls would be rooted away. In a few years, this hellish oblation becoming common, the idea of violent death would be the theme of laughter and ribald jesting. In all the conduct and opinions of men, in their every-day business, and in their private meditations, so terrible an institution would some way, in some method of its influence, be seen
operating. What! Two hundred miserable wretches at once! The tottering old, and the youth not yet arrived at 
manhood; women, too, and perhaps girls who are hardly more than children! The spot where such a deed should be periodically consummated would surely be cursed forever by God and all 
goodness.
Some awful and poisonous 
desert it ought to be; though, however awful, it could but faintly image the desert such horrors must make of the heart of man, and the poison it would diffuse on his better nature.”
“And if all this appalling influence,” says the murderer, “were not really 
operating over you - not concentrated, but cut up in fractions and frittered here and there - just as strong in its general effect, but not brought to a point, as in the case I have imagined - what would you then say?”
“Nay,” replies society, with 
feverish haste, “but the executions are now required to be private.”
“Many are not,” rejoins the other; “and as to those that are nominally so, where everybody reads newspapers, and every newspaper seeks for graphic accounts of these executions, such things can never be private. What a small proportion of your citizens are 
eye-witnesses of things done in Congress; yet they are surely not private, for not a word officially spoken in the Halls of the Capitol, but is through the press made as public as if every American’s 

                                          A Dialogue.                                             363.
ear were within hearing distance of the speaker’s mouth. The whole
spectacle of these two hundred executions is more faithfully seen, and much more deliberately dwelt upon, through the printed narratives, than if people beheld it with their bodily eyes, and then no more. Print preserves it. It passes from hand to hand, and even boys and girls are imbued with its spirit and horrid essence. Your legislators have forbidden public executions; they must go farther. They must forbid the 
relation of them by tongue, letter, or 
picture; for your physical sight is not the only avenue through which the subtle virus will reach you. Nor is the effect lessened because it is more 
covert and more widely diffused. 
Rather, indeed, the reverse. As things are, the masses take it for granted that the system and its results are right. As I have supposed them to be, though the nature would remain the same, the difference of the form would present the monstrous evil in a vivid and utterly new light before men’s eyes.”
“To all this,” says soceity, “I 
answer -“ what? What shall it be, thou particular reader, whose eyes now dwell on my fanciful dialogue? Give it for thyself - and if it be indeed an answer, thou hast a logic of most 
surpassing art.
O, how specious is the shield thrown over wicked actions, by invoking the Great Shape of Society in their 
defence! How that which is barbarous, false, or selfish for an individual becomes singularly proper when sanctioned by the legislature, or a supposed national 
policy! How deeds wicked in a man are thus applauded in a number of men!
What makes a murder the awful crime all ages have considered it? The friend and foe of hanging will unite in the reply - Because it destroys that cunning principle of vitality which no human agency can replace - invades the prerogative of God, for God’s is the only power that can give life - and offers a horrid copy for the rest of mankind. Lo! thou lover of 
strangling! with what a keen razor’s 
sharpness does every word of this reply cut asunder the threads of that argument which defends thy cause! The very facts which render murder a 
frightful crime, render hangin a frightful punishment. To carry out the spirit of such a system, when a man maims another, the law should maim him in return. In the unsettled districts of our western states, it is said that in brutal fights the eyes of the defeated are sometimes torn bleeding from their sockets. The rule which justifies the taking of a life, demands gouging out of eyes as a legal penalty too.
I have one point else to touch upon, and then no more. There has, about this point, on the part of those who 
favor hanging, been such a bold, impudent effrontery - such a cool sneering defiance of all those greater lights which make the glory of this age over the shame of the dark ages - a prostitution so foul of names and influences so awfully 
sacred - that I tremble this moment with passion, while I treat upon it. I speak of founding the whole breadth and strength of the hanging system, as many do, on the Holy Scriptures. The matter is too extensive to be argued fully, in the skirts of an essay; and I have therefore but one suggestion to 
offer upon it, though words and ideas rush and swell upon my utterance. When I read in the records of the past how Calvin burned Servetus at Geneva, and found his defence in the Bible - when I peruse the reign of English Henry 8th, that great champion of 
Protestantism, who, after the Reformation, tortured people to death, for refusing to acknowledge his spiritual supremacy, and pointed to the Scriptures as his 
authority - when, through the short reign of Edward 6th, another Protestant, 
sovereign, and one of the Bloody Mary, a Catholic one, I find the most barbarous cruelties and martyrdoms inflicted in the name of God and his Sacred Word - I shudder and grow sick with pity. Still I remember the gloomy 
ignorance of the law of love that prevailed then, and the greater palliations for bigotry and religious folly. I bethink me how good it is that the spirit of such horrors, the blasphemy which 
prostitutes God’s law to be their excuse, and the darkness of superstition which applauded them, have all passed away. But in these days of greater clearness, when clergymen call for 
sanguinary punishments in the name of the Gospel - when, chased from point to point of human policy, they throw themselves on the supposed necessity of hanging in order to gratify and satisfy Heaven - when, instead of Christian mildness and love, they demand that 364     La Vendetta, or the Feud.     [November, 
our laws shall be pervaded by vindictiveness 
and violence-when the sacrifice 
of human life is inculcated as in 
many cases acceptable to Him who 
they say has even revoked his consent 
to brute sacrifices-my soul is filled 
with amazement, indignation and horror, 
utterly uncontrollable. When I go 
by a church, I cannot help thinking 
whether its walls do not sometimes 
echo, "Strangle and kill in the name 

of God!" The grasp of a minister's 
hand, produces a kind of choking sensation ; 
and by some optical fascination, 
the pulpit is often intercepted from my 
view by a ghastly gallows frame. "O, 
Liberty!" said Madame Roland, 
"what crimes have been committed in 
thy name!" "O, Bible!" say I, 
"what follies and monstrous barbarities 
are defended in thy name!"

------------
LA VENDETTA; OR, THE FEUD.
BY MRS. F. A. BUTLER.
(FROM THE FRENCH OF BALZAC.)
(Concluded.)

LUIGI PORTA perfectly stupified, 
looked at Ginerva ; she had become as 
white as a marble statue, and remained 
standing with her eyes riveted on the 
door through which her father and mother 
had disappeared. There was something 
so awful in their silent departure, that 
she felt seized with terror, and probably 
for the first time in her life experienced 
the sentiment of fear. She clasped 
her hands, and pressing them convulsively 
together, exclaimed in a voice 
so low and broken that one but a
lover's ear would have distinguished the
words-"Oh, God ! what misery in one
single word !"
"I am only surprised, Ginevra, because 
you appear terrified.  But in the 
name of our love, what have I said ?"
asked Luigi Porta.
"My father," replied she, " has never
spoken to me of our deplorable history,
and I was too young when I left
Corsica to know it."
"Is it possible that our families were
enemies ?" asked Luigi, trembling.
"Yes ; I have learnt by questioning
my mother, that the Portas had murdered
my brothers and burnt our house,
and my father massacred their whole
family.  How did you survive ?-you,
whom he thought he had tied to a bedpost
before setting fire to the house ?"
"I do not know," replied Luigi ;

"at six years old I was taken to Genoa,
to the house of an old man named
Colonna.  No account of my family
was ever given me.  I only knew that 
I was an orphan, without fortune, and 
that Colonna was my guardian.  I
bore his name until I entered the service,
when it became necessary to prove 
who I was, and only then the old Colonna
informed me that insignificant as I was,
and hardly emerging from childhood, I
yet had enemies.  He advised me never
to bear any name but that of Luigi
in order to escape them, and I have always 
done so."
"Go, go, Luigi !" exclaimed Ginevra.
"I will go with you.  As long
as you are under my father's roof you 
are safe ; but take good heed to yourself, 
for as soon as you leave its shelter
you will be surrounded with peril.  My
father has two Corsicans in his service,
and if he does not himself attempt your
life, the will."
"Ginevra," said he, "is this hereditary
hatred to come between us ?"
The young girl smiled sadly, and
drooped her head.  She presently raised 
it proudly and said, "Oh, Louis, I
must feel very strong in the purity and 
truth of our sentiments to walk without
faltering in the path that lies before 
me ; but life and life-long happiness depends
upon it.  Does it not ?"

1845.]    La Vendetta, or the Feud.      365

Luigi answered only with a smile
and a pressure of her hand.  The young
girl understood that none but a deep and
sincere affection would thus disdain the 
vulgarity of mere protestation at such a
moment.  The calm, conscientious expression
in Louis's countenance spoke
eloquently of the strength and constancy
of his feelings.  The destiny of the
young couple was sealed in that instant.
Ginevra foresaw that she would 
be called upon to encounter immense
difficulties ; but the idea of adandoning
her lover, which might, perhaps, for an
instant have crossed her mind, vanished
from it for ever-she was his henceforeward 
in life and in death.  She suddenly 
and with rapid energy hurried
him from the house, and only left him
when they reached that where Monsieur
Servin had taken a small lodging
for him.  When Ginevra returned
home, she had acquired that species of
serenity which a determined resolution 
almost always imparts.  No alteration
in her manner betrayed her anxiety ;
she directed towards her father and mother,
whom she found ready to sit down
to table, looks free from all defiance,
and full only of love and gentleness.
She saw that her old mother had been 
weeping, and the redness of her poor withered
eyelids struck upon her heart,
though she mastered her emotions.
Piombo, silent and gloomy, seemed a
prey to grief too violent and too concentrated
to admit of expression in ordinary 
words or signs.  The servants
placed the dinner on the table, but nobody 
touched it.  The loathing for food
is one of the symptoms which betray
the great crises of the heart.  They
all rose without having addressed a single
word to each other-everything had
passed in dumb show.  When Ginevra
was seated between her father and mother
in their great gloomy, solemn drawing 
room, Piombo endeavored to speak,
but found no voice.  He rose to walk,
but his strength failed him, and he was 
obliged to sit down.  He rung the bell.
"John," said he to the servant,
"light the fire ; I am cold."
Ginevra shuddered ; she looked at her
father with anxiety.  His internal struggles
must have been frightful, for his face
was convulsed.  Ginevra knew the full 
extent of the danger which threatened
her, but she did not tremble, while the
occasional glances which Bartholomeo

cast upon his daughter seemed to indicate
that at this instant he dreaded 
the violence of character which he
had himself so madly fostered.  Between
them everything was sure to come
to extremes ; and the apprehension of
the change which might take place in 
the sentiments of the father and child
gave an expression of terror to the
countenance of the Baroness.
"Ginevra," at length said Piombo,
without daring to look at her, "you
love the enemy of your family."
"It is true," she replied.
"You must choose between him 
and us ; our vendetta is part of ourselves-
who does not espouse my
quarrel is non of mine."
"My choice is made," said she,
with a tone of perfect composure.
The apparent calmness of the young
girl decided Bartholomeo.
"Oh, my beloved child !" he exclimed,
while the first and only tears that he
shed in all his life rushed into his eyes.
"I shall be his wife," abruptly interrupted
Ginevra.
Bartholomeo became dizzy for a moment ;
but recovering his self-possession
replied, "Not during my life-time, for
I shall never consent to it."
Ginevra remained silent.
The Baron continued, "Do you reflect,
do you remember that Luigi is
the son of your brother' murderer ?"
"He was but six years old when 
the crime was committed-he is innocent
of it," replied she.
"A Porta !" exclaimed Bartholomeo.
"Well, even so ; how is it possible
that I should sympathise in this hatred ?"
vehemently retorted the young
girl. "Did you bring me up in the belief 
that a Porta must inevitably be a 
monster ?  How was I to know that he
alone remained of all whom you massacred ?
Is it not more natural and fitting
that you should give up your vendettas
than I my love ?"
"A Porta !" reiterated Piombo ;
"why, if his father had found thee in
thy bed thou wouldst not be now alive-
he would have slaughtered thee a hundred
times over, ere spared thee once"
"Possibly so," replied she, "but
his son has given me more than life ;
the sight of his is a happiness without 
which life itself has now become nothing 
to me.  He has taught me to feel.
I may have seen finer faces than his.366	La Vendetta, or, the Feud.	[November,

but none that ever had such a charm 
for me ; I may have heard voices—no, 
no, never any half so enchanting. He 
loves me—I shall be his wife.”

“Never!” shouted Piombo with the 
most furious violence, and springing from 
his seat—“I would rather see thee dead, 
Ginevra.”

He strode to and fro through the 
room, uttering at intervals broken sentences, 
which expressed the tempestuous 
agitation of his feelings.

“Perhaps you flatter yourself that 
you will get the better of me. You 
are mistaken. No Porta shall ever be 
my son-in-law. Such is my decree. 
Let there be an end of this henceforward. 
I am Bartholomeo di Piombo. 
Do you hear me, Ginevra?”

“Do you attach any mysterious significance 
to those words ?” asked she 
coldly.

“Yes ; they signify that I carry a 
dagger, and that I fear no man.”

“Very well,” said she, “I am Ginevra 
di Piombo, and I declare to you 
that in six months I shall be the wife of 
Luigi Porta.” Then, after a frightful 
pause, she deliberately added—“You 
are a tyrant father !”

Bartholomeo clenched his fists, and 
striking the marble chimney piece, muttered 
in a voice almost choked with 
rage, “Ah ! we are in Paris !”

He then became silent, folded his 
arms, bowed his head upon his breast, 
and did not utter another word during 
the whole evening. The young girl 
assumed the most perfect indifference of 
manner. After having declared her intentions, 
she went to the piano and sung 
and played some exquisite pieces of 
music with an ease and expression 
which showed the most complete sang 
froid, and seemed like a triumph over 
her father, whose countenance remained 
dark and threatening. The old man felt 
this insult severely ; but he was at this 
moment reaping the bitter fruit of the 
education he had given his daughter. 
Respect is a protection both to the parent 
and child. It saves the one from 
sorrow, the other from remorse. The 
next day, when Ginevra was going at 
the usual hour to the drawing gallery, 
she found the door of the house fastened. 
The porter had received orders 
from Bartholomeo not to let his daughter 
out. Ginevra soon invented means 
of letting Luigi Porta know the harshness 
to which she was subjected. A

chambermaid who could not read, contrived 
to carry to the young officer a 
letter Ginevra wrote him. During five 
days the lovers corresponded by means 
of that ingenuity which at twenty is always 
fertile in resources. The father 
and daughter seldom spoke to each 
other ; an element of hatred rankled at 
the bottom of their hearts. They were 
both miserable ; but their pride induced 
them to suffer without complaint. It 
seemed as though they had tested the 
strength of the bonds that united them, 
and endeavored in vain to break them 
asunder. No tender feeling softened or 
brightened the countenance of Piombo 
now when he gazed at his Ginevra, 
and the young girl’s eyes had something 
wild and almost fierce when they 
turned upon her father. Her innocent 
brow was overclouded with care, and 
though anticipations of happiness did 
sometimes visit her imagination, the 
cold shadow of remorse was already 
falling upon her, and it was no difficult 
matter to see that she never would enjoy 
a moment’s peace, even in the possession 
of a happiness which was to 
destroy that of her parents. But with 
Bartholomeo, as with his daughter, the 
native kindness of the natural disposition 
was destined to be overcome by 
pride, and that species of rancorous enmity 
peculiar to the Corsican race. In 
fact, they naturally encouraged each 
other in their ill feelings, and obstinately 
closed their eyes to the consequences of 
their conduct—perhaps, too, each flattered 
themselves that the other would 
sooner or later yield.

On Ginevra’s birth-day, her mother, 
in despair at this prolonged discussion, 
which was every day assuming a more 
disastrous character, determined to 
make some effort at a reconciliation 
between the father and the daughter by 
means of the affectionate associations of 
the day. They were all three together 
in Bartholomeo’s room, but Ginevra, 
guessing her mother’s intention by the 
anxiety and uncertainty expressed in 
her countenance, smiled sadly, and sat 
in ominous silence. At this moment a 
servant announced two lawyers, who 
entered. Bartholomeo looked steadfastly 
at these two legal gentlemen, whose 
very faces, stamped with a sort of technical 
formality, must have been highly 
displeasing at first sight to persons of 
such passionate temperament as the 
three principal actors in this scene.


1845.]	La Vendetta, or the Feud.	367

The old man turned with anxiety towards 
his daughter, upon whose countenance 
an expression of satisfaction 
and a triumphant smile made him anticipate 
some catastrophe. He immediately 
retrenched himself, like a savage, 
behind an affected indifference. 
His face became perfectly rigid and 
immoveable [immovable], and he looked at the two 
lawyers with a species of quiet curiosity.
 The strangers seated themselves 
upon a sign from the old man inviting 
them to do so.

“I have the honor of addressing M. 
le Baron di Piombo ?” said the elder.

Bartholomeo bowed. The lawyer 
slightly nodded his head, and looked at 
Ginevra with an expression of professional 
cunning. He then drew out his 
snuff-box, opened it, took a small pinch 
of snuff, and began applying it at intervals 
to his nose, first, while meditating 
the opening sentences of his address, 
and then while uttering them—a species 
of rhetorical manoeuvre which it is impossible 
adequately to describe.

“Sir,” said he, “we have done ourselves 
the honor of waiting upon you, 
my colleague and myself, in order to accomplish 
a legal formality, by which an 
end may be put to the differences which 
appear to exist between yourself and 
your daughter, on the subject of her 
marriage with Monsieur Luigi Porta, 
my client.”

This sentence, uttered with the most 
pedantic affectation, appeared probably 
too eloquent to the lawyer to be understood 
in a hurry. He therefore made a 
pause while he fastened upon Bartholomeo 
a look which is peculiar to men of 
business, and which is an equal compound 
of servility and familiarity. Accustomed 
to pretend an extreme interest 
in the persons to whom they speak, 
lawyers generally end by acquiring a 
species of sympathetic grimace, which 
they take off and put on like the 
livery of their trade. This benevolent 
mask, of which the false and mechanical 
nature is so apparent, irritated 
Bartholomeo to such a degree that it required 
the utmost effort of his reason to 
prevent him from throwing the lawyer 
out of the window. An intense expression 
of displeasure manifested itself in 
every wrinkle of his marked countenance, 
on seeing which the lawyer congratulated 
himself upon having at least 
produced an effect.

“But,” continued he, in a tender

tone of bland persuasion, “on these 
occasions our ministry invariably begins 
with every possible endeavor at 
conciliation. Do me, therefore, the 
favor to listen to me. It appears that 
Mademoiselle Ginevra Piombo has attained 
to-day the age at which it is 
sufficient to go through the present 
formality, in order to legitimate her 
marriage in the eyes of the law, even
failing the consent of parents ; but it is
 usual in families of a certain standing 
—a certain social position—who wish 
to preserve a dignified privacy — to 
whom, in short, it is important not to 
divulge their internal dissensions to the 
world, and who, besides, would shrink 
from the self-injury of destroying the 
future happiness of a young couple— 
for it is, in point of fact, injuring their 
own—it is customary, I say, in families 
of this respectable standing not to allow 
the existence of such a legal document 
as this, which remains the record of differences 
which probably eventuate in 
a reconciliation. From the moment, 
therefore, sir, that a young lady has recourse 
to legal measures, she exhibits 
too determined a resolution for either 
father, or mother,” he added, turning 
towards the Baroness, “to entertain a 
hope of altering it by their advice. 
The parental dissent is, therefore, by 
this very fact of none effect ; moreover, 
not being acknowledged of any 
force by the law, it stands to reason 
that, under such circumstances, every 
judicious man, after having addressed a 
last remonstrance to his child would naturally 
and unavoidably—consent—to—” 

The lawyer stopped suddenly, for he 
perceived that he might have gone on 
for two hours without obtaining any 
answer ; and he experienced a very peculiar 
sensation from the singular appearance 
of the person he was laboring 
to convince. A most extraordinary 
change had indeed taken place in Bartholomeo’s 
countenance. The contracted 
and innumerable wrinkles of his 
face gave to it an indescribable ferocity, 
and he fastened upon the lawyer the 
savage look of a tiger about to pounce 
on its prey. The Baroness remained 
silent and passive. Ginevra was calm 
and determined, for she knew that the 
lawyer’s voice was more potent than 
her own, and had, therefore, resolved 
not to utter a word. At the instant 
when the gentleman of the law interrupted 
himself, the whole scene was368
La Vendetta, or the Feud.
[November,
frightful, and the two strangers them-
selves were affected by it, for they had
probably never been received or an-
swered with so strange a silence. They 
looked at each other as if for advice, 
and then rose and went together to the 
window. 
"Did you ever have to do with such 
queer people?" asked the elder of his 
colleague. 
"There's nothing to be done with 
them," replied the latter. "If I were 
you, I would just proceed with the 
usual formality. The old gentleman 
does not appear altogether charmed. 
I think he is rather an awkward custo-
mer, and you will gain nothing by dis-
cussing the matter with him." 
The old lawyer, accordingly, who 
had undertaken the management of 
this business for Luigi, drew forth a 
legal document, drawn up in the man-
ner usual on such occasions, and having 
read its contents aloud, coolly asked 
Bartholomeo for his answer. 
"So there are laws in France which 
destroy paternal authority?" en-
quired the Corsican.
"Sir!" replied the lawyer, in his 
most mellifluous voice.
"Which tear a daughter from her 
father!"
"Oh, sir--"
"Which snatch from an old man his
last earthly consolation!"
"Dear, sire, your daughter only be-
longs to you--"
"Sir, permit me, pray--"
There is, perhaps, nothing more hor-
rible than the professional coolness and 
logical precision of lawyers in the 
midst of the scenes of passionate ex-
citement of which their calling makes 
them frequent witnesses. The two 
faces before Piombo seemed to him as 
though they had escaped out of Hell. 
His cold and concentrated fury sudden-
ly burst all bounds, on hearing the 
calm and decorous voice of his little
adversary ejaculate that fatal "permit 
me, pray." He sprang upon a long 
dagger which was hanging to a nail 
above the chimney, and rushed towards 
his daughter. The two lawyers threw 
themselves between hi and Ginevra; 
but he brutally overturned the luckless 
conciliators, while his flaming face and 
flashing eyes seemed to them more ter-
rible than his weapon. When Ginevra 
found herself immediately opposite her 
father, she looked steadfastly at 
him with a triumphant expession, advanced 
slowly towards him, and fell on her knees. 
"No--no!" exclaimed Piombo; "I 
cannot!" and he flung the dagger from 
him with such violence that it stuck 
deep in the wainscoting. 
"Well then--mercy, mercy!" cried 
she; "you cannot kill me, yet you will 
not bid me live. Oh, father! I love 
you more dearly than ever! Grant me 
Luigi!--on my knees I implore your 
consent. Father--oh, father!--your 
child lies prostrate at your feet! Give 
me my Luigi or death!"
The horrible excitement, which al-
most choked her, prevented her from 
uttering another word. Her voice be-
came inaudible, and her frantic and 
convulsed gestures showed that she 
really lay between life and death. Bar-
tholomeo flung her violently off. 
"Hence!" he cried. "I have no 
more a child! I have not strength 
enough to curse thee; but I disown 
thee for ever! I am not more thy 
father! My Ginevra is buried here--
here!" exclaimed he, in a broken voice 
of the deepest anguish, striking his 
hand upon his heart. "Hence! wretch-
ed girl!" he added, after a moment's 
silence' "hence! and let me never be-
hold thee again!" Then seizing Gi-
nevra by the arm, which he grasped 
with almost supernatural strength, he 
dragged her in silence from the room 
and out into the street, where he left 
her. 
"Luigi!" cried Ginevra, as she en-
tered the humble lodging where sat the 
officer; "oh, my Luigi!--we have 
nothing left us in this world but our 
love."
"With that, we are richer than all 
the kings of the earth," replied he. 
"My father and mother have cast 
me off," said she, with the deepest me-
lancholy.
"I will love thee for both of them."
"Then we shall still be happy!" 
exclaimed she, with a burst of hysteri-
cal laughter; "oh, yes, most happy."
THE MARRIAGE.
On the same day that Ginevra left 
her father's house, she went to beg 
Madame Servin to grant her an asy-
lum and her protection until the day 
appointed by law for her marriage
1845.]
La Vendetta, or the Feud. 
369
with Luigi Porta; but with this in-
stance began her experience of the bit-
terness with which the world requites 
those who depart from its usages. Ma-
dame Servin was extremely annoyed 
at the injury which Ginevra's adventure 
had done her husband's drawing class, 
and receiving the fugitive very coldly, 
gave her to understand, with due po-
liteness and circumspection, that she 
need expect no countenance from her. 
Too proud to press the matter, Ginevra, 
amazed at the degree of selfishness which 
was yet new to her, hired a room in a 
lodging-house near Luigi's residence, 
and impatiently awaited the day of her 
marriage. Luigi Porta used to come 
and spend his days with his betrothed. 
His devoted love, the purity and hope-
fulness of his mind, dispelled by de-
grees the cloud which parental reproba-
tion had cast upon Ginevra's forehead. 
The future, as he pictured it to her, 
was so bright that she could not but 
smile at length at the sweet images he 
conjured up before her; and thus she 
gradually forgot the harshness of her 
parents. 
One morning the servant girl of the 
lodging house brought her several large 
packages and bundles, which has been 
left by a stranger for her. They con-
tained stuffs for dresses, linen, and a 
whole world of those things most ne-
cessary to a young woman about to 
begin house-keeping. She recognized 
in this present the affectionate fore-
thought of a mother. In looking over 
these effects, she found among them 
a purse containing the money which 
belonged to her, to which the Baroness 
had added all her own savings. A let-
ter accompanied the money, in which 
Maria Piombo conjured her daughter, 
if it were yet time, to give up her fatal 
marriage. She confessed that she had 
been compelled to have recourse to the 
most unheard-of precautions, in order 
to get these few tokens of affection 
conveyed to her, and implored her not 
henceforward to accuse her of cruelty 
if she heard no more from her, as she 
found it would be impossible for her to 
assist her in any way, so severe were 
the measures which Bartholomeo had 
taken to prevent all intercourse be-
tween them. She blessed her, and 
prayed that, if she persisted in this 
fatal marriage, she might find happiness 
and joy in it; and ended by assuring 
her that shout thought of nothing but her
VOL. XVII.--NO. LXXXIX.
beloved child. Here several words 
were effaced by tears. 
"Oh, my mother--my mother!" 
cried Ginevra aloud, in agony; and 
she was seized with the most violent 
desire to throw herself at her feet--to 
see her-- to breathe once more the air 
of her home. She had sprung up, as 
though to go, when Luigi at that mo-
ment entered. She looked at him, and 
this gush of filial tenderness subsided, 
her tears ebbed back to their springs, 
and she felt that to forsake him was 
impossible. He was so unfortunate; 
he loved her so dearly; to know one-
self the only earthly hope of a noble 
being; to love, and yet to leave him, 
was a sacrifice that almost resembled 
treason. Ginevra had the generosity to 
bury her anguish in her heart; and it 
is also true that love gives to the breast 
of which it takes full possession a spe-
cies of indifference to everything else, 
which endows it sometimes with a cal-
lousness perfectly monstrous.
The wedding-day at length arrived. 
Ginevra was alone; for Luigi had 
taken advantage of the time when she 
was dressing to go in quest of the two 
witnesses which the law required to be 
present at the signing of the marriage 
contract. These witnesses were worthy 
people. One, formerly a subaltern in a 
cavalry regiment, had contracted obli-
gations to Luigi while in the army of a 
nature which no upright man ever for-
gets. He had become a species of 
livery-stable keeper, and owned a few 
hackney coaches; and the second was 
a master bricklayer, and owned the 
nouse in which the young couple had 
taken lodgings. They came with Luigi 
to fetch the bride. These people, lit-
tle accustomed to the conventional gri-
maces of society, and considering the 
service they were rendering Luigi a 
very simple and unimportant one, were 
decently dressed; but nothing about 
their appearance indicated that they 
were about to form part of a wedding 
company. Ginevra had dressed her-
self with the most perfect simplicity, in 
order to conform herself to her new 
fortunes; but there was something so 
noble and striking in her appearance, 
that when they entered, the formal 
compliment for the occasion which the 
witnesses considered themselves bound 
to address to her, died away on their 
lips, and they merely bowed in respect-
ful silence, in acknowledgment of her  
24370   La Vendetta, or the Feud.   [November,

salutation.  The admiration with which
they gazed at her, and, at the same
time, the awkward reserve of their deportment, 
threw a chill over the whole 
party; for joy can only testify itself
freely among people who feel that they
are equals.  Thus it seemed fated that
everything should wear a constrained 
and sad aspect about the lovers, and 
that nothing around them should reflect 
their happiness.  As the church and 
mayor's office were not far from Ginevra's 
lodging, Luigi offered his arm to 
his betrothed, and followed by their two 
legal witnesses, they walked thither, 
without pomp or parade, or any of that 
splendor and formality which add so 
much solemnity to this great scene in 
the drama of social life.  They found 
the court-yard of the mayoralty filled 
with splendid carriages, an indication 
that a large company was gathered 
within.  They ascended the staircase, 
and entered the large public room, 
where the couples whose happiness had 
been appointed for that day, were impatiently 
expecting the arrival of the
mayor.  Ginevra and Luigi seated 
themselves at the extremity of a long 
bench.  Their witnesses remained standing 
for the want of seats.
    There were present two brides, magnificently 
attired in white, loaded with 
ribands, lace and peals, and crowned 
with orange flowers, whose fresh and 
delicate buds trembled beneath the light 
transparent veils with which they were 
adorned.  Their mothers accompanied 
them, gazing on them with a mingled 
expression of joy and anxiety.  They 
were surrounded by their joyful families 
and kindred.  All the young bridesmaids 
congratulated the heroines of the 
hour with their words, their gestures 
and their looks; and the brides looked 
on nothing that did not smile back to 
them their own happiness.  Every 
countenance turned towards them radiant 
with good will, kind wishes and 
heart-felt benedictions.  They were the 
pride, the delight of all around them;
 fathers, friends, brothers, sisters, surrounded 
them on all sides.  The whole 
scene reminded one of a company of 
brilliant butterflies sporting in a sunbeam
about to disappear.  It was a 
charming spectacle; and no one could
behold it without being struck with the 
peculiar significance of that single moment 
in life when the heart pauses between 
the wishes of the past and the 
promises of the future.  At this sight 
Ginevra felt her heart swell.  She 
pressed Luigi's arm, who threw upon 
her a look that was worth a world of 
mere outward rejoicing.  Tears glittered 
in the eyes of the young Corsican, 
for he felt then more deeply than ever 
all that Ginevra was giving up for him.  
Those tearful and tender eyes made the 
young girl forget the utter loneliness of 
her position.  Love poured out his treasures 
of light upon them, and they soon 
ceased to remember in the simultaneous 
emotion of their own hearts the brilliant 
tumult by which they were surrounded.  
They were in fact alone and 
united there, as they were destined to 
be throughout their lives.  Their worthy 
witnesses, perfectly indifferent to all 
that was going on, and of which they 
so little perceived the real interest, were 
quietly talking over their own concerns.
   "Oats are dreadfully dear," said the 
livery-stable keeper to the bricklayer.
   "They haven't risen so much as 
plaister has lately," replied the builder; 
and they walked slowly around the 
room.
    "What a waste of time all this is," 
exclaimed the bricklayer, thrusting 
back into his fob a huge silver watch.
    Luigi and Ginevra, sitting close to 
each other, seemed almost like one person. 
A stronger contrast could hardly 
be imagined that that presented by 
these two exquisite countenances; alike 
in the same expression of the same feelings, 
in their beautiful coloring, in the 
still melancholy of their look; stamped, 
as it were, with one mind; and the 
buzzing, humming, fluttering, sparkling 
company of the other two bridal parties, 
whose four numerous families, 
shining with jewelry, and dress, and 
flowers, seemed almost insolent in their 
display of splendor and gaiety.  All 
these magnificent groups expressed 
their joy in exuberant outward demonstrations; 
Luigi and Ginevra buried 
theirs in the inmost recesses of their 
souls; the one represented the material, 
the other a spiritual happiness -
the joy of Heaven and the rejoicing of 
Earth.  But poor Ginevra could not 
entirely throw off her womanly susceptibility 
and her Italian superstition; and 
the contrast seemed to her like a dark 
omen at the bottom of her heart.  A 
feeling of terror and apprehension, as 
strong almost as her love, mixed with 
and embittered it; perhaps the mere

1845]  La Vendetta, or the Feud.     371

result of that universal law by which
all our brightest joys are darkened by
some deep shadows.  Suddenly a servant
threw open the folding doors; a
universal silence prevailed, and his
voice rang through the vast room with
the most dissonant distinctness.  He
called Monsieur Luigi Porta and Mademoiselle
Ginevra di Piombo.  This moment
was one of bitter mortification to 
the young couple.  The celebrity of 
the name of Piombo drew all eyes upon
them, and the spectators looked around
for the bridal party, which might have
been expected to have been unusually
numerous and splendid.  Ginevra rose,
and her eyes flashing with pride, and
her regal deportment, awed the impertinent
curiosity of the well-bred mob.
Taking Luigi's arm, she walked with
a firm step, followed by the witness,
across the room. A whisper of surprise,
which went on increasing to a 
universal murmur of astonishment and
blame, reminded Ginevra that the 
world was calling her to account for the
absence of her parents. The parental
malediction seemed to hover over her 
everywhere.
"Wait for the families," said 
the mayor to the clerk, who was rapidly
reading the marriage act.
"The father and mother protest,"
phlegmatically replied the latter.
     "On both sides?" enquired the mayor.
     "The bridegroom is an orphan"
     "Where are the friends-the witness?"
      "Here," replied the clerk, pointing
out the two men, who, with folded arms,
stood as silent as a couple of statues.
    "But if the the parents protest against
it?" said the mayor.
         "The proper legal form has been
gone through," returned the clerk, rising
to hand to the civil functionary all
the papers connected with the transaction.
     There was something disgraceful and 
shocking in this public discussion of the
most private in this public discussion
of the most private interests-( it was a whole
history in a few worlds)- the hatred of
the Potra and the Piombo. The record 
of the most fatal and terrible passions
was there stamped upon a page of the 
public civil archives, as on a tombstone
are engraved in a few words,
sometimes in a single name, the annals
of an age and people, as on the those of 
Robespierre or Napoleon.

   Ginevra shook from head to foot.
Like the dove, which found on the
bosom of the huge deluge no resting-
place but the ark, Luigi's eyes were
her only refuge. Everything was cold
and gloomy around her. The mayor
had an air of severity and disapprobation
His clerk started at the young
people with the most impertinent and
vulgar curiosity. Nothing was ever
less like all things in human life. When
stripped of its conventional accessories,
a mere and single fact, immensely important
and solemn only in its spiritual
signification. At length, after sundry
questions, to which they briefly replied;
after some inaudible words, carelessly
mumbled over by the Mayor,
and after having signed their names,
Luigi and Ginevra were united. They
traversed with their heads bowed, and
their eyes fixed on the earth like criminals,
the joyful throng of wedding
guests to whom they did not belong,
and who were becoming more and more
impatient at the delay occasioned by
the sad ceremony of their marriage.
When the young girl found herself out
of the house, and once more beneath
the kindly blue vault of Heaven, a 
deep sigh broke from her bosom;-she
seemed like a liberated captive.
 "Oh, can a whole life of love and
devotion sufficiently acknowledge the
courage and the truth of my Ginerva?"
   These words, uttered with tears of joy,
effaced the suffering expression of the
sad young bride: for the effort of thus
presenting herself before the world,
claiming a happiness which her family
did not sanction, had been dreadful to
her.
 "Oh, why do men come between
us?" said she to Luigi with a depth of
feeling that enchanted him.
 Love lent wings to their feet, and 
they saw neither heaven nor earth, nor
street nor houses as they hastened to
neighboring church. They stopped
before one of the smallest chapels,
where, opposite a bare, unornamented
altar, an old sour-looking priest united
them. There, too, as before at the
mayoralty, they were surrounded by
the two bridal parties, which seemed to
pursue them. The church, full of this
host of kindred and friends outside
--the beadle, the clerks, the priests




372        La Vendetta, or the Feud.         [November,

were all in festive attire -- the altars shone with their gala splendor -- nothing was to be seen but flowers and tapers and velvet hassocks embroidered with gold. The garlands of orange flowers on the images of the Virgin had been renewed, and it seemed as though God himself was a partaker in this joy that so often lasts but one day. When the ceremony of the Church required that the white satin scarf, symbol of that eternal union which to some is a light and happy yoke, but to more a leaden fetter of despair, should be held over the heads of Luigi and Ginevra, the priest looked in vain for the gay bridesmen who generally joyful fulfil that office. It was held over them by the livery-stable keeper and a singing boy of the choir. The priest addressed a hearty admonition to the young couple upon the perils of life, the duties they would have to instruct their children in, touching indirectly and reproachfully on the absence of Ginevra's parents; then having united them before God, as the mayor had done before the law, he hurried over a mass and left them." 
   "God Almighty bless them!" exclaimed the ci-devant soldier to the bricklayer on the threshold of the church; "never were two beings more formed for one another! The parents of that girl must be poor creatures! I never knew a braver officer that Major Louis, and if every one had only done their duty as he did, matters might have turned out very differently with us all!" 
   The worthy man's blessing, the only hearty blessing they received that day, was a balm to poor Ginevra's heart. 
   "Farewell my good fellow!" said Luigi to him, "and thank you heartily!" 
   "Always at your command, major; soul, body, horses and coaches, all that your service!" and they parted shaking hands. Luigi cordially thanked his landlord for his kindness. 
   "How that worthy fellow loves you," said Ginevra.
   But Luigi drew her hastily towards his residence, and they soon reached their humble lodging. There, when the door was closed, Luigi folded his wife in his arms, and straining her to his heart, exclaimed "Oh, my Ginevra! -- for thou art indeed now mine-- here we will hold our rejoicing; here everything will smile upon us!" 
   They went hand in hand through the three apartments which formed their whole establishment. The first room was their drawing and dining room, on the right hand was a bed room, and on the left a smaller apartment, which Luigi had had arranged expressly for his beloved wife. There stood the easel, the color-boxes, the casts, the models, the figures, the pictures, the frames, the portfolios -- all the humble but precious furniture of the artist. 
   "I shall work here," said she, with the most child-like expression of delight. 
   She looked at the hangings, at the furniture, with the most careful attention, and turned occasionally with an exquisite smile of gratitude to Luigi, as if to thank him. There was a tasteful elegance to this room that was charming. A pretty book-case contained Ginevra's favorite books, and a piano completed the fitting up. 
   "This is where we shall live," said she at length. 
   She sat down on a divan, drew Luigi to her side, and said to him in a most caressing voice, while she pressed his hand -- "What good taste you have, dearest!" 
   "Oh!" exclaimed he, "I am too happy!" 
   "But come, let me see all," said Ginevra, from whom Luigi had kept all these arrangements secret, wishing to surprise her with them when they were all complete. 
   They went into the sleeping apartment, which was all light, and white, and fresh, and sunny, and pure-looking -- a cheerful, still retreat, such as became a nuptial chamber of two such lovers. 
   "Come," said Luigi, laughing, "come away."
   "No, I will see everything," and the despotic Ginevra examined everything with the inquisitive are and delight of an antiquary looking at the inscription on a medal. 
   She felt the material of the curtains -- she passed everything in review with the simple, perfect delight of a young bride in the midst of her wedding gifts. "We are beginning by ruining ourselves," said she, half sadly, but with smiling lips.

1845.]         La Vendetta, or the Feud.        373

   "That's true enough -- all my arrears of pay are here," said Luigi; "I sold them all to a Jew. "
   "Ah, why," said she in a reproachful tone, which nevertheless betrayed a secret satisfaction; "do you not think I could have been just as happy in a garret? -- but, however," added she gaily, "all this is very pretty, and it is all our own!" 
   Luigi was gazing at her with such passionate admiration, that she cast down her eyes and added, "Come, and let us go and see the rest." 
   Above these three rooms were three attics -- one was Luigi's dressing-room, another a kitchen, and the third a servant's bed-room. The only prospect indeed was the high brick wall of the neighboring houses, and the court yard from which they derived their daylight was gloomy and narrowing, but the young lovers had hearts so fully of joy, and hope shone so fairly on their future life, that their small and humble residence seemed to them filled with images of bliss, and Ginevra especially was enchanted with her small dominions. They lived in the midst of this enormous house, and hidden in the immensity of Paris, like two pearls in their shell in the dark depths of the sea. To some such an abode might have seemed little better than a prison -- to them it was a paradise. The first days of their union were given to love alone; they found it too difficult to begin at once to work assiduously, and they could not resist the engrossing charms of their mutual passions. Luigi would remain for hours lying at the feet of his Ginevra, admiring the color of her hair, her beautiful and noble forehead, the exquisite setting of her eyes, and the purity and transparent whiteness of the lids beneath which they seemed to swim in a luminous fluid, while Ginevra stroked the rich curls of her husband's hair, and gazed unweariedly upon what she called his belter flolgorante, his fine and chiselled features, while the noble frankness of his deportment won upon her more and more, as the irresistible and impulsive grace of hers did upon him. They played like a couple of children with the merest nonsense, and these trifles always led them back again to their love, and to the indolent sympathy of silent passionate reveries; thus, an air sung by Ginevra would revive for them the consciousness of their ineffable delight and happiness in each other. Sometimes they went together hand in hand -- their feet treading, like their souls, one path -- through the flowery country, where their love seemed to be reflected from every natural object that surrounded them -- the blossoms, the skies, the rich and lovely colors ef the sunset, the light fantastic clouds that wandered through the air. No day seemed like the past, for their love being true, went on increasing. They had appreciated each other quickly and thoroughly. and had felt by instinct almost, that theirs were among the rare and richly endowed natures whose inexhaustible power and variety of sentiment promise a future of ever-new delight. Lone, full of the most child-like simplicity and tenderness, of the gossiping, frolicking, spirit of fun, of interminable reminiscences, of broken sentences, of deep and long silence, of profound peace and profound passion, was now the whole existence of these two beings; and love is like the ocean, which even in its vast expanse appears to vulgar souls monotonous, while here and there privileged comprehenders of nature can pass their lives in admiring it, finding for ever in its aspect the most sublime and inexhaustible variety. 
   The day came, however, when prudence called the young lovers out of their Eden; it became necessary to work in order to live. Ginevra, who had a remarkable talent for imitating their old masters, became diligently copying from them, and soon obtained a large customer from picture-dealers. On his side, Luigi sought employment with the utmost assiduity; but it was not an easy matter for a young officer, whose talents consisted chiefly in the most thorough knowledge of his profession to find a lucrative occupation in Paris. At length, one day wearied out with the fruitless exertions he had made, and sick at heart to think of Ginevra's bearing alone the burthen of their support, it recurred to him to have recourse to a very slight accomplishment, of which he had not before thought of availing himself. His hand-writing was remarkably good, and he wrote with the utmost rapidly as well as clearness. With a courage and cheerfulness of which his wife gave him the example, he solicited employment from the lawyers and attorneys of Paris. The frankness of his manners and his situation interested every body in his fa-374           La Vendetta, or the Feud.         [Novembr,

vor, and he soon obtained employment enough of this description to oblige him to take one or two young clerks to assist him. By degrees he established a sort of copying office, which obtained quite a successful notoriety. The result of this work, and the price of Ginevra's pictures at length placed the young people in a state of comparative ease and independence, of which, as the consequence of their own exertions, they had every right to be proud This was the happiest period fo their life; the days flew swiftly by being industry and love; and at evening, after having worked assiduously, their rest in Ginevra's little drawing-room was a season of pure delight. Music refreshed them after all their labor. Never at such hours did any expression of melancholy darken the features of the young wife -- never did she breath a single complaint. To Luigi she always showed herself with smiling lips and eyes radiant with joy. Both of them were cheered and supported by the idea of working for each other, which would have made the hardest labor dear to them. But sometimes in her husband's absence Ginevra thought how perfect their happiness would have been, if his life of love had passed beneath the approving eyes of her father and mother, and then she would sink into the profoundest melancholy. She endured thus all the agonies of remorse; dismal pictures passed like phantoms before her imagination; sometimes she seemed to see her father sitting in solitude; sometimes she beheld her mother weeping at night in secret, and concealing her misery from the implacable Piombo; sometimes suddenly these sad and hoary heads seemed to rise up before her, and she felt as though she was destined never again to behold them, but by the fantastie light of bitter memory; and that idea haunted her with a horrible presentiment. She celebrated the anniversary of her marriage by presenting her husband with a portrait he had often earnestly desired to possess -- her own. The young artist had never executed anything so remarkable. Besides being an admirable likeness, the picture represented not only her exquisite beauty and the utmost truth, but it seemed inspired with her pure and noble sentiments, and the blessedness of a happy love seemed to rest upon it with a magical charm.-- Another year passed, and they were still enjoying a respectable and comfortable competency. The history of their life at this time might be told in three words -- they were happy; and no event befell them with deserves to be recorded. 
  At the beginning of winter 1817, the picture-ealers advised Ginevra to furnish them with something original instead of copies, as there was no longer the same demand for these. Madame Luigi then discovered the mistake she had made in not exercising herself earlier in original composition. She could by thing time have acquired a reputation in that time that would have been all important to her. She made some attempts, but unsuccessfully. She then turned her attention to portrait painting, but found herself in competition with a whole host of artists, who were worse off than herself. As Luigi and Ginevra, however, had laid up some little means, they were not in any extreme anxiety about the future. At the end of winter, in the month of April, 1818, Luigi worked without rest of respite, but unfortunately so many offices of the same sort had suddenly arisen, and the payment for that species of employment had consequently diminished so much, that he was no longer able to retain his assistants, and was therefore under the necessity of devoting his own time still more unremittingly to business, in order to obtain anything like the same return from it. His wife had completed several pictures of considerable merit, but those of the most celebrated artists could not just then obtain their prices, and Ginevra offered hers for almost nothing, without being able to dispose of them. There was something frightful in their situation: their souls expatiated in the most perfect happiness; love poured out his treasures of joy upon them, and poverty was rearing its squalid head, like a hideous skeleton in the midst of this harvest of blist. THey concealed from each other their fearful anxiety. At the very moment when Ginevra felt herself about to week over Luigi's wearing labor, she overwhelmed him with the tenderest demonstrations of affection, and it was with a heart swelling with the bitterest forbodings that Luigi uttered to her "his passionate vows of still increasing love." 

1845.]          La Vendetta, or the Feud.          375

It seemed as thought they found in the intensity of their feeling for each other a compensation for all their privations, and their privations, and their expressions of it seemed to partake almost of frenzy. The future was becoming appalling to them; and what feeling can be compared in power to that which death or necessity may annihilate in a day? When they spoke together of their indigence, it was always jestingly. They sought mutually to deceive each other, by seizing blindly upon every hope, even the most fallacious. 
   One night Ginevra missed her husband from her side. Terrified she sprang up; a faint light, reflected upon the opposite wall of the court-yard, showed her that Luigi was working during the night. He waited till his wife was asleep and then went up to his dressing-room. Four o'clock struck, the day began to dawn, Ginevra returned to bed, and Luigi presently came down. He was worn out with fatigue and want of sleep. She gazed at the beautiful countenance upon which care and labor was beginning to print their sad lines, and tears blinded the sorrowing young wife. 
   "It is for me that he passes the whole night in writing."
   A rapid thought dried her tears: sheresolved to follow his example. That same day she went to a wealthy print-seller, and by favor of a letter of recommendation given to her by a well-known picture dealer, she obtained from him the employment of coloring such of his engravings as were intended to be so finished. By day she painted in oils, and attended to the details of her housekeeping; at night she colored those prints with the most unremitting assiduity. Thus these poor young people sought their bed at the end of a day of incessant toil, merely to rise from it again, and out of the most heartfelt devotion stole from each other as soon as they thought themselves unobserved. One night Luigi overcome by feverish sensations, occasioned by the incessant labor under which his strength was beginning to fail, rose to open the little window of the garret where he was working. He inhailed the morning air, and was forgetting his cares in the splendid spectacle of the dawning day, when suddenly casting down his eyes he perceived an vivid stream of light thrown upon the opposite wall from Ginevra's room. He immediately guessed all, he ran down, and entering without noise, he found his wife in the midst of her painting-room, busily employed in coloring engravings.
   "Oh, Ginevra! Ginevra!" exclaimed he. 
   She started convulsively, and blushed deeply. 
   "Could I sleep," said she, "while you were wearing yourself out with fatigue?"
   "But I alone have a right to work thus."
   "Can I remain idle," replied the young wife, whose eyes filled with tears, "when I know that every mouthful of bread we eat costs almost a drop of your blood? I should die if I do not labor with thee! Is not all in common between us, joy and sorrow?" 
   "How cold she is!" muttered Luigi in despair. 
   "O, close your shawl better over your bosom, my Ginevra, the light is damp and cold."
   They came together to the window; the young woman stood clasped in her husband's arms; she dooped her head upon the breast of her beloved, and both of them buried in profound silence watched the gradual dawning of the day. Pale clouds of pearly grey passed in rapid succession across the sky, and the light increasing in the east became every minute more and more vivid. 
   "See," said Ginevra, "'tis an omen; we shall yet be happy!"
   "Yes, in heaven," replied Luigi with a bitter smile. "Oh Ginevra! thou who deservest all the treasures of the earth!" 
   "I have thy heart!" replied she with an accent of ineffable contentment and love. 
   "Ah! I lament not for myself," he exclaimed, folding her closely to him, and covering with kisses that exquisite face, from which the early freshness of youth was already fast fading away, but whose divine expression of tenderness and gentleness consoled him as often as often as his eyes rested on it. 
   "How still everything," said Ginevra; "dear love! I think it is pleasant to be up thus in the night; there is something majestic in this profound repose, and a solemn sublimity in the thought, that while we watch all rests and slumber round us!" 
   "Oh, my Ginevra! I have not yet

376          La Vendetta, or the Feud.         [November,

to learn the ingenious and graceful considerateness of thy heart! But see, it is daylight! -- come, come and sleep." "Yes," replied she, but not alone. Oh, how I suffered that first terrible night, when I discovered that while I slept my husband watched and labored."
   The courage and fortitude with which this young couple withstood their evil fortune was not at first without its reward; but the event which generally crowns the happiness of a fortunate marriage, was fatal to them. Ginevra had a son. He was, to use the fairybook phrase, as beautiful as the light. The maternal sentiment doubled the young woman's strength and energy. Luigi borrowed money to meet the expenses of her confinement, and thus at first saved her from feeling all the wretchedness of her situation. They both gave themselves up to the delightful anticipation of rearing their child, and this was the last gleam of hope or of happiness that ever visited them. They struggled long and desperately against misery, like two courageous swimmers upholding each other against an adverse current. But at times they gave themselves up to the apathy of despair, which resembles the fatal lethargy that sometimes precedes death. Before long, they were under the necessity of selling whatever articles of value they possessed. Poverty showed herself suddenly -- not squalid, haggard and hideous -- but decent and humble. There was nothing terrible, nothing revolting in her first approach, which was sad and gentle. NO rags, no starvation presented themselves at first with her entrance into their dwelling; but a gradual forgetfulness of the habits of comfort and ease. Pride, and the sensitive respect for appearance, gave way by degrees, till at length utter destitution, in all its horrible recklessness of decency, began to assert its empire. Seven or eight months after the birth of the little Paolo, it would have been difficult to recognize in the haggard mother suckling a sickly child, the original of the exquisite portrait which remained the sole ornament of a bare, unfurnished room. Ginevra was without fire in the depth of winter. The perfect oval of her face was hollowed and sharpened by want and care; her cheeks were as white as marble; and her eyes even seemed to have grown pale. She gazed weeping at her colorless, emaciated baby, and seemed to have no feeling but for that untimely misery. Luigi stood silently before her, without being able to smile upon his boy. 
   "I have ran all over Paris," said he in a hollow voice, "but I know no one; and how can I venture to beg of strangers? Hardy -- my poor friend Hardy, the worthy old soldier -- is implicated in a conspiracy, and they have thrown him into prison. Besides, he had already lent me everything he could command. As for our landlord, it is now a whole year since we have paid him a farthing." 
   "But we are in want of nothing, dearest," gently replied Ginevra, assuming an air of composure. 
   "Every new day," continued Luigi, with terror, "brings some new difficulty."
   Hunger stared them in the face. Luigi took all Ginevra's pictures -- even the precious portrait -- all the remaining furniture that could be dispensed with, and sold the whole for a mere nothing; thus protracting for a few days longer the terrible catastrophe that seemed impending over them. it was in these days of misery that Ginevra displayed the sublime fortitude and resignation of her character. She supported heroically her load of sorrow: her energetic spirit never for a moment failed her. She worked with feeble, failing hands beside her dying baby; she performed with miraculous rapidly and efficiency every menial office of daily necessity; and in the midst of the bitterness that was bowing her to her grave, was yet happy when she saw on her husband's face a smile of astonishment and gratitude at the neatness and order that still prevailed in the one room to which they were now obliged to confine themselves entirely. 
   "Dear love," said she to him one evening, when he returned home exhausted with fatigue, "I have kept this piece of bread for you." 
   "And you, dearest?"
   "I? -- oh, I have dined. Dear Luiji, I want nothing; take it;" and the look of ineffable tenderness she fastened on him, urged him even more than her gentle and affectionate words, to take the nourishment of which she was depriving herself. Luiji kissed his wife: it was like one of those kisses

,845.]           La Vendetta,  or the Feud.            377

which friends and lovers exchanged in 1793,  at the foot of the scaffold. In such fearful moments it is impossible for one human being to deceive another. The wretched Luiji, immediately perceiving that his wife was still fasting, was seized with the fever which was burning in his veins. He shuddered; and suddenly appearing to remember some pressing business, rushed from the room. He would have swallowed the most subtle poison sooner than attempt to ward off death by eating the last piece of bread in his house. He went out without breaking even a morsel of it to assuage his hunger; and wandered all over Paris, in the midst of those brilliant equipages, and all the indolent splendor of wealth and luxury that glittered on every side. He passed rapidly before the exchange offices, where gold lay piled in sparkling heaps, At the length he came to the determination to sell himself -- to go and offer himself as a substitute for some recruit -- hoping by this sacrifice to save Ginevra, who, during his absence, might perhaps obtain her father's pardon. He immediately sought out one of the men appointed to carry on this slave-trade among the whites, and experienced a sensation of satisfaction in recognizing in him an old fellow-officer. 
   "For two days," said he to him in a  slow and feeble voice, "I have not tasted food. My wife is dying of starvation. She utters no complaint. I believe she will expire with a smile upon her lips. For God's sake, comrade," added he with a bitter smile, "buy me before hand. I am young and strong, and no longer in the service."
   The officer gave Luigi a sum of money in advance upon a larger amount which he promised him. The wretched man burst into a convulsive shout of laughter when he clutched a handful of gold pieces .He ran with all his remaining strength towards his lodging, panting and crying aloud, "Oh, my Ginevra! -- Ginevra!" 
   Night had fallen when he reached his home. He entered the room gently, fearing to startle his wife, whom he had left in a state of great exhaustion. The last rays of the sun, sloping through the upper part of the windows, touched with a dying splendor the face of Ginevra, who was sitting asleep in her chair. She held her child clasped tightly to her breast.
   "Wake, dearest Ginevra!" said he, without remarking the strange position of the child, whose complexion retained an almost unnaturally brilliancy. 
   At that voice, the poor mother opened her eyes, and on meeting Luigi's glance, she smiled; but he uttered a cry of horror, for Ginevra was so changed that he could hardly recognize her. He showed her, with a gesture of savage intensity, the gold he held in his hand. The young woman began to laugh hysterically, but suddenly exclaimed, in a voice of terror, "Louis, my child is cold!" 
   Luigi took his wife in his arms without removing her baby, which she still grasped with the most desperate strength; and having laid her on the bed, rushed out to seek for help. 
   "Oh, God!" he exclaimed to his landlord, whom he met on the stairs, "I have gold -- I have money -- and my child has died of hunger! -- and my wife is dying! Help us! -- Help us!"
   He ran back in a state of frenzy to Ginevra, and left the worthy bricklayer busy with several of their neighbors in getting together all that could relieve a destitution which ha not ever been suspected. so carefully had the pride of these unfortunate young people concealed it. Luigi had thrown down his gold upon the floor, and was kneeling by the pillow of the bed where lay his wife. 
   "Father," exclaimed she in her delirium, "be kind to my baby and Luigi!"
   "Oh, my angel, be calm," replied Luigi, embracing her with ineffable tenderness; "we shall yet see happy days."
   That beloved voice restored some tranquility to her. 
   "Oh, my beloved Louis," she said, gazing at him with the most intense expression of devoted love, "listen to me well. I feel that I am dying. That is not strange -- I have suffered so much. And then, too, such happiness as I have known could perhaps only be atoned for by death. Yes, dear, dear Louis; let this console thee: I have been so blessed in our love, that were I to begin my life again, I would accept the same fate too thankfully. Ah! I am a bad mother: 378             La Vendella, or the Feud.           [November,

it grieves me more to leave thee than my child. My child. My child!" she repeated, in a voice of piercing anguish. Two large and heavy tears rolled slowly from her half-closed eyes, and she strained to her breast the poor little corpse, to which she had vainly sought to impart some vital warmth. "Give my hair to my father, as a remembrance of his Ginevra," she added. "Tell him--be sure--that I have never reproached him." Her head sank upon her husband's arm.
   "No, no--thou shalt not die!" exclaimed Luigi in a voice of despair. "The physician is coming -- we have food -- thy father will take thee back -- prosperity has downed upon us! Stay, oh, stay with me, dear angel of consolation!"
   But that faithful and loving heart was gradually growing cold. Ginevra instinctively turned her eyes towards her adored husband, but she retained hardly any consciousness. Confused images hovered round her, and gradually seemed to shut out the remembrances of earth. She still felt, however, that Luigi was by her; for she strained more tightly his cold, motionless hand, by which she seemed as though she strove to support herself over by some abyss into which she was falling. 
   "Dearest," she said at least, "you are cold. I will warm you here."
   She tried to place her husband's hand upon her heart, and in the effort died. Two physicians, priests, neighbors, at this moment crowded in, bringing everything necessary to save the young couple, and relieve their destitution. At first there was a general confusion in the room; but presently a profound silence fell upon the woful scene. 

RETRIUTION. 

Bartholomeo and his wife were seated in their antique arm-chairs, each at the corner of the vast hearth, whence a huge wood fire hardly sent forth heat enough to warm their immense dreary sitting-room. It was midnight. The old people had long lost the power of sleeping. They sat in silence, and as though they had fallen into their dotage, gazing fixedly, without really seeing anything that surrounded them. Their lonely apartment, peopled, nevertheless, with recollections of the past, was dimly lighted by a lamp which they were allowing to burn out; and but for the sparkling flames of the fire, they would have been in total darkness. A friend had just left them; the chair on which he had been sitting remained empty between them. Piombo had cast more than one look upon it; those looks were thoughts, and followed each other like the pangs of remorse. It was Ginevra's chair. Maria Piombo watched the expression flitting over her husband's pale face; but accustomed as she was to guess the feelings of he Corsiean by the rapid changes of his countenance, they were by turns so sad and so stern, that she failed to penetrate the feelings of that incomprehensible spirit. Was Barholomeo yielding to the tide of associations suggested by that empty chair? Was he shoked at a stranger having, for the first time, occupied the seat of his lost daughter" The hour of his remose -- that hour so long in vain expected -- had it at length arrived? Such were the thoughts that agitated Maria Piombo's heart. For one moment her husband's countenance assumed so fearful an expression that she trembled at having had recourse to so innocent an expedient to suggest the idea of Ginevra. At this moment the wintry gale drove the sleet and slow with such violence against the windows that the sound startled the old people. Ginevra's mother shuddered, and bent her head to hide her tears from the inflexible Piombo. She suddenly a heavy sigh broke from the depths of the old man's heart. His wife looked at him -- he was bowed with misery. Then, for the second time in three years, she ventured to utter her child's name. 
   "If Ginevra should be exposed to this cold," she faltered. 
   Piombo shuddered. 
   "Perhaps she is suffering from hunger, too," she continued. 
   A tear suddenly shone on the wan cheek of the Corsican. 
   "I know -- alas! I know," now broke forth the wretched mother, in accents of despair, "that she has a child whom she cannot nurse; for misery has deprived her of its natural sustenance."
   "Oh! let her come -- let her come."

1845.]        The Malthusian Theory.       379

sobbed forth the obdurate father. Oh! my beloved child! My child, thou hast conquered! Ginevra!"
   The mother rose, as though to fetch her child. At this moment the door burst violently open, and a man, whose distorted countenance looked hardly human, appeared before them.
   "It was decreed that our families should exterminate each other!" he cried. "Here -- this is all. Dead -- gone -- for ever gone!" Then throwing on the table Ginevra's long black tresses, "Take them -- 'tis all that now remains of it!" 
   The wretched parents stood as though the lightning had fallen upon them. Luigi was gone. The whole scene was like some horrible vision. 
   "Is she dead?" said Bartholomeo, slowly turning his eyes upon the ground.
   "Our child is dead!" shrieked the mother, tottering towards him. 
   Piombo remained stiff -- immovable -- his dry eyes fixed upon those lovely shining tresses, muttering, with parched lips and in a hollow voice, "Gone -- gone -- for ever lonely!"

__________________________________________________________________________________

THE MALTHUSIAN THEORY. 

DISCUSSED IN A CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN ALEX. H. EVERETT AND PROF- GEO. TUCKER, OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA.

(CONTINUED FROM OUR LAST.)

NO.V.
Professor Tucker to Mr. Everett. 
        University of Virginia, Feb. 22d, 1845
   MY DEAR SIR. -- Your letter of the 29th of last month, in reply to mine written some eight or nine months since, has received my most attentive consideration; and although you have dispelled whatever of hope I had indulged of vindicating in your eyes the soundness of my views on the subject of wages, I cannot but think that our opinions are not so wide apart as they at first seemed to be. It is true that we are distinctly opposed as to the effect produced by the progress of population upon the wages of labor, but since each admits several qualifications and exceptions to his general principle, the difference between us mainly amounts to this -- what one regards as a general rule, the other regards as exceptions. 
   Still we differ on many incidental points both of fact and arguments, as well as on their relative importance; and I avail myself of their liberal and polite invitation to animadvert on these in defence of what appears to me to the true theory of wages. In doing so I am not conscious of being actuated by another motive than a desire to ascertain the truth upon a subject at once intricate and important, though it is very possible that I am not exempt from that very common bias of wishing others to see with our eyes. 
   When, in my address to the National Institute, last Spring, i assumed the future decline of the wages of labor in the United States with their increasing density of population, according to a known law in political economy, I referred to the period when the whole of the best land should have been taken into cultivation, and consequently did not consider the principle as yet applicable to countries like this or New Holland, which possess a power of production far exceeding the wants of their present numbers. This exception was made in my letter to you, as I think (for retaining no copy of it, I am not certain); but I know  that it was expressingly made in the address, in which I stated, that while in other countries population was determined by the means of subsistence, here those means were determined by population. The380         Discussed in a Correspondence.           [November, 

liberal wages, therefore, which labor continues to obtain in the United States, do not at all conflict with the theory in question. Yet even here we already find some difference between the wages given in those portions of the country in which population is most dense, and where it is at least so. According to a scale framed on evidence derived from members of the U. S. Senate, the daily wages of ordinary labor in 1836 were less in New England than in the Western country, not only when estimated in bread and meat, but also in money. In New England the average price was 71 3/4 cents; in Massachusetts 67 cents; and in the Western free States 83 1/3 cents. 
   In maintaining that wages decline with the increasing density of population, it seems to me that I merely asserted a corollary from the limited extent of the earth's productiveness and the physical and moral laws of man's nature. He is impelled by one of the strongest impulses to multiply his species, and as his number increases, so must also his means of subsistence. Now, after the best lands of a country are taken into cultivation, an addition of food to meet the wants of a farther accession of numbers, can be met only in the following ways: 
   1. By improvement in husbandry, whereby the same expenditure of labor and capital is made to yield a greater return.
   2. By a resort to inferior soils. 
   3.By a further expenditure of capital producing a smaller proportionate return.
   4. By importing raw produce from other countries. 
   I know of no mode in which the amount of human aliment in a country can be increased which will not fall under one of the foregoing heads. Now, of these, it is only the first that increases the quantity without increasing the price. Indeed, if the farther supply they produce exceed the demand from the supposed accession of numbers, then the price of raw produce will be reduced, and consequently the laborer receive a larger amount. Such excess of raw produce, however, is, according to experience, but shortlived, since mouths soon come into existence sufficient to consume it. 
   It the multiplying propensity still continue to act as we find that it has everywhere done, after the best lands are taken into cultivation, and after the additional supply from improved husbandry is exhausted, the other three expedients must, in whole or in part, be resorted to, and every one of them supplies a diminished return to the same expense of labor, or, in other words, a fall of wages. And each of the three has been referred to by three different political economists of distinction to explain the gradual rise of rents from the gradual rise of raw produce -- Richardo making use of the resort to inferior soils in succession; Mill to excessive expenditures of additional capital, and Senior to the necessity of drawing food from a greater distance. If these views are correct, it would follow that every increase of population, which derived its subsistence from either of the three last expedients, must be attended with a rise in the price of raw produce, and correspondent fall in the wages of labor. 
   But to this inference you make two objections. One is, that in estimating the laborer's wages we ought not to regard raw produce exclusively; the other, that the rise in the price of raw produce, consequent on an increase of population, is more than balanced by a fall in the price of manufactures; and that by exchanging these for food in countries in which raw produce has not so risen, and manufactures not so fallen, a densely peopled country may obtain the supplies it requires at a less and less expense of labor. 
   As to the first objection, I would remark that there is probably no country in the world which the value of the whole raw produce annually consumed does not exceed that of the manufacturers. Such is certainly the fact in Great Britain and this country, as is shewn by authentic documents. But as the wealthy class consume a larger portion of manufactures, the laboring class consume less. It further appears, from an estimate made by Sir Frederic M. Edein, in 1796, that of the annual expenses of the family of a laborer (formed from a comparison of the expences of sixty-five families), the cost of provisions was £27 1s. 8d., out of an annual earning of £36 14s. 4d., or 73 per ct. And in 1823, according to Lowe's estimate, it was £27 1s. 8d. out of £39 2s. 7d., or 69 per ct. Now, when it is recollected that several ar

1845.]            Discussed in a Correspondence, &c.            381

ticles of consumption besides provisions, as leather, candles, &e., being the produce of the soil, must rise in price with food, we may ascribe three-fourths, or 75 per cent., to be a moderate estimate of the proportion of raw produce consumed by the laborer in England; and in those countries (comprehending all the rest of Europe, and all Asia and Africa). in which the condition of the laboring class is yet lower, the proportion is yet greater. 
   Nor is this all. The raw produce consumed by the laborer exceeds the manufactures yet more in importance than in amount. No improvement in the quality, or cheapness of the last can compensate him for a moderate privation in the article of food, or in an increased difficulty in obtaining it. What solace would be find for coarser or scantier fare in having a shirt or two more, or of better quality, more or prettier cups of saucers, and better knives and forks? Little or none, I conceive; and it was both from its relative quantity and its importance to human happiness, that I made raw produce the measure of his real wages. 
   Your second objection rests upon an hypothesis, which I admit to be ingenious, and to afford your law of wages its most plausible support, yet it will not stand the test of close scrutiny. It seems to me to be equally repugnant to the principles of sound theory and to well-authenticated facts. 
   In the first place, your hypothesis greatly overrated the effect of the supposed exchange in reducing the cost of raw produce. It is manifest that in an isolated community no improvement in machinery or manufacturing skill can check the rise of such produce occasioned by increase of numbers. If two yards of cloth, or two pairs of stockings can be produced at the same expense of labor as was formerly required to produce one yard or one pair, the two will exchange for no more in the market than the one had done. And so for any further difference. It is immaterial what saving of labor or capital is effected. As soon as the improvement has lost its temporary character of monopoly, and becomes diffused, the article produced falls in price according to the amount of that saving, and it will take a proportionally greater amount of it to purchase the same quantity of raw produce. 
   Let us, however, suppose that the same community has unrestricted intercourse with other countries; what, then, will be the effect on the price of raw produee?
   In those countries with which the manufacturing nation has always had commerce, her manufactures will continue to fall, as they have fallen at home, they yielding always the same average profit. But by reason of the greater cheapness of her manufactures, she may be able to open a traffic with other nations, which had not been previously profitable and both sell her manufactures higher, and buy raw produce chapter than she could at home. But in the same way that the profits of her labor-saving machines are soon equalized among merchants; and in no long time these channels of trade yield only the average profits of capital. So that the effect of these cheap manufactures is extended to other countries, and while they enable the nation possessing them to provide a farther supply of raw produce for its increasing numbers, they tend rather to check or retard the rise of that produce than to make it cheaper. 
   In accordance with these views, we find that in every part of the world the products of the Manchester looms have fallen in the same proportion as they have fallen in England, and that the price of grain in that country, notwithstanding its increase means of produce in more distant countries, and its improved means of trausportation, has risen probably 100 per cent in a century. It rose from £1 15s. 4 3/4d. in1725 (the average of ten years); and although the average for the last ten years is probably less than it was in 1825, I have no doubt it is double the average price a century since. 
   A farther objection to your hypothesis is that the supply of food, which can be obtained by importation, is inadequate to the wants of an increasing population. 
   Of course I speak here not of small communities, but of such countries as England, France and the other European monarchies. The supplies thus to be drawn from abroad imply that the countries furnishing them have the382         The Multhusian Theory,           [November,

means of subsistence beyond the wants of their own population, which is rarely the case, excepting when it has more than an average crop.
   In the natural progress of society population and food seems everywhere to have gone on increasing pair passu, so that the numbers of every community have generally been up to their means of subsistence. And this has been quite as true in the earlier stages of society as in the more advanced. -- The United States (with some other parts of the continent), and New Holland are exceptions to this general rule, because in them alone the means of producing food is in advance of the population. But in Europe, in Asia, and in Africa, comprehending probably nineteen-twentieths of the human race, the annual consumption of every community is very rarely short of its annual production; and the means of subsistence of a large majority of its members, whether they be nomadic or agricultural, or whether their agriculture be rude or highly improved, is obtained only by great efforts and unremitting labor. Nor is there any part of Europe in which there is a regularly an annual surplus of grain, excepting Poland and Russia. But we can see a cause why the population of these countries has not kept pace with their means of subsistence. Their laboring classes are still serfs, who are made to raise wheat for their masters to exchange for foreign luxuries. Were they emancipated, it seems reasonable to suppose that towns and manufacturers would grow up there as they have done in other parts of Europe, by means of which a demand would be afforded at home for all the food they could raise. 
   In the mean time, the quantity of grain afforded by them contributes little to support the growing population of Great Britain, their best customer. The average annual export of both wheat and rye from Poland to all parts of the world has been in 150 years but 279,000 quarters; and Jacob, sent by the British Government to ascertain the capacity of that country to furnish foreign supplies, states, that if the British ports were opened to Polish grain, the annual amount it would export would not exceed 350,000 to 450,000 quarters. Supposing this all to go to Great Britain, it would, at the usual allowance of one quarter to each person, annually contributes less than one-fortieth of the bread consumed by its whole population, and less than one-eighteenth of (that consumed by) the addition it has received to its population in 40 years (7,593,140). The quantity of grain imported from Russia (principally, I presume, from Odessa), is that imported from Poland through Dantzic. The average annual import from the latter for 25 years (from 1801 to 1825) was 228,584 quarters, while that from Russia was only 117,902 quarters (McCulloch's Dict. Act. Corn Laws.)
   The reason of this difference is to be found, not in the greater quantity exported from Dantzic, for there is commonly more than twice as much grain imported from Odessa, but the latter must be sent in the winter months, or it is liable to heat in the long voyage to Great Britain. 
   England receives grain from many other parts of Europe almost every year, through most of these very countries import, on an average, more than they export. But the excess of her imports from all countries above her total exports averaged 604,285 quarters in the ten years to 1819. In the succeeding years it averaged 368,231 quarters; and in the six years succeeding, 615,738 quarters. The highest amount is equal, according to McCulloch, only to about four days' consumption of the United Kingdom for all purposes. (See Com. Dict., p. 417). The greatest amount with Great Britain ever received in one year was 3,541,809 quarters (in 1831), less than one-fourteenth of her annual consumption. 
   If, then, the richest and most commercial and maritime nation in the world has never been able, when under the pressure of unwanted scarcity, to obtain but a small proportion of her subsistence from abroad, how could she be able to procure an adequate supply if her population were doubled or trebbled? It could not be procured in Europe, unless we suppose that its governments would consent to starve a part of her people for her calicoes and cutlery.
   It is true that under the relative circumstances between Great Britain and the United States, the one producing grain at a low expense of her labor and capital, and the other affording the best market for it in the world, a trade in

1845.]            Discussed in a Correspondence, &c.           383

that article often takes place; and, were the British Corn Laws repealed, it would be greatly extended. Yet no large addition would be made to the demand here without considerably raising the price; and the peculiar circumstances of this country, which render raw produce cheap, are gradually passing away; and, at the rate at which we are increasing, after allowing for a gradual diminution of that rate, in less than a century all the best land will be taken into cultivation. The price of raw produce will then necessarily rise, and gradually approximate to that in Europe. 
   It must farther be recollected that even the moderate supplies now obtained in European countries, are not likely to continue unabated. The same wants will, by quickening invention and skill, hasten the progress of manufactures, and the same tending to multiply will enlarge the domestic demand foor food; so that the exchange of manufactured for agricultural products will be more and more circumscribed, and less profitable. It is from these changes in civil society, every slowly but steadily going on, that have arisen many of the great revolutions in commerce, of which history informs us. And the progressive increase of art, of capital, and consequently of population, is hastened by nothing more than this very commerce. 
   We have evidence of this progress and the consequent rise in the price of raw produce in the returns made by the English Consuls, as reported by Porter's Tablet (Part 5, p. 448). According to those returns of the prices of wheat in some twenty places, scattered over the North, the South, the East, the West and the Middle of Continental Europe, it appears that in all of them that species of grain had risen in price in the course of a century, and in several instances within half that time. It further appears from reference to other parts of the same authentic work, that the importation of Great Britain from some of these places had not only not increased, but had actually ceased, except when an unusually short crop at home made her willing to pay an extra price abroad. Even at Dantzic, where the increase of population and wealth until lately has been less than in most parts of Europe, for the reason already mentioned the price of wheat has risen as follows:

From 1770 to 1779 the price was 33s. 9d. the qua'r
           1780  "  1789          "              33    10       "
           1790  "  1799          "              43     8        "
           1800  "  1809          "              60     0        "
           1810  "  1819          "              55     4        "

Thus showing a rise of 64 per cent in 40 years.
   Another objection to your expedient of importing food for an increasing population is, that it overlooks the practical difficulties from distance and cost of transport. 
   Aware that the supply from any one country may be exhausted, you say that in that event Great Britain may resort to another, and so on in succession, until she had put in requisition the productive power of the whole globe. But her power of obtaining supplies lies within far narrower limits. It must be recollected that provisions are consumed in making provisions and in transporting them from place to place, and that, therefore, they cannot be transported to a greater distance than will absorb their value after paying for the labor and capital expended in making them. Now,  where grain has to be subjected to ordinary land carriage, the limit is soon reached. In our rough woods in Virginia, the expense of wagonage is about one cent. a mile per bushel; so that, at the present price, after allowing a very moderate return to the producer, it could not be wagoned thirty miles to the market, and seventy-five or eighty miles would absorb its whole value, and leave nothing to reward the labor of producing it.
   But by far the larger part of the productive lands of the world are unapproachable by water, and, of course, suppose the necessity of land carriage. Virginia is, for example, as well provided with navigable rivers as most countries, yet three-fourths, and perhaps nine-tenths of her soil is accessible only by land carriage. This circumstance makes wheat in a large part of the State an unprofitable article of culture. The effect of land carriage is, of course, variable. depending partly on the distance and partly on the price of wheat. 
   But by the new improvements of railroads, these impediments to transportation are continually growing less. That is true; but even by these the384 The Malthusian Theory, [November, 1845.]

carriage is not gratuitous; and I apprehend that the value of a barrel of flour, after allowing the lowest return to its producers, would be commonly absorbed by the cost or transporting it by railroad two or three hundred miles. Even these railroads only lessen the necessity of wagonage — they do not dispense with it altogether; and much of the produce they convey has been previously subjected to a heavy charge of land carriage. It is the same with the produce conveyed to market by canals.
Even where the transportation is by water, and in the cheapest mode of shipping, distance considerably enhances the price. Thus, when wheat is on 39s. 4d. at Dantzic, it costs 66s. 4d. at London, according to the report of the Inspector General in 1841; 24s. 9d. at Odessa, and 49s. 11d. at Rotterdam. As it was all subjected to the same duty, the difference of price is to be referred solely to the difference of distance. This, then, is 10s. 7d. per quarter more from Dantzic than from Rotterdam, and 14s 5d. from Odessa than from Dantzic. When we recollect that wheat is brought to Odessa in wagons, it is clear that the price of 24s. 9d. per quarter yields a very small pittance to the cultivator, and that it would require no great addition to the distance to leave him, at this price, nothing at all. Nor is there any part of the world from which Great Britain can now derive grain at the distance of 3,000 miles, except the United States, which supply, as we have seen, cannot be permanent.
The transportation alone would present an insuperable obstacle in the way of the large and constantly increasing supply that you consider practicable. Mr. G. R. Porter, who is an advocate for the repeal of the British Corn Laws, and, consequently, not inclined to underrate the benefit of importing foreign corn, affirms, that to supply the United Kingdom with wheat alone (the additional quantity wanted, if the population were merely doubled), would require more than twice the shipping that now enters their ports; and to bring to their shores every article of agricultural produce in the same abundance as at present, would probably give constant occupation to the mercantile navy of the whole world. He thinks that though an inconsiderable state or colony may be habitually dependant on the soil of other countries for its food, this can never be the case with a numerous people; and that it is impossible that any great accessions to its numbers can be supported by importations from abroad. These considerations suggested the remark that every country (meaning of the ordinary extent) must draw the chief part of its food from its own soil; no do I know on the globe a single exception.
It thus appears that no improvements in manufacturing industry can prevent the rise in the price of raw produce at home, nor long or materially affect its price abroad; that the supplies by importation mus be insufficient for the wants of any large accessions to the population; and that even these must be obtained at a continually advancing price; from which it would follow, that the general law of the gradual rise of raw produce and fall of wages, with the progress of society, can no more be controlled by importations of food than by any other human means, except that of arresting the father increase of numbers.
By way of testing the correctness of these views, let us refer to the real wages received by the laborer in Great Britain at different stages of her increase, according to Porter's Progress of the Nation:
From 1742 to 1752 the wages of common labor were 102 pints of wheat per week.
    "    1761 to 1770,                                                        90     "            "           "
    "    1788 to 1790,                                                        80     "            "           "
    "    1795 to 1799,                                                        65     "            "           "
    "    1800 to 1808,                                                        60     "            "           "
Since 1808, they have undoubtedly risen, and in 1823 they had, according to Lowe, again reached to 80 pints. But they have since falled below that, and seem to be still declining. If, then, in Great Britain, the country, which, of all others, most requires food from abroad, and which has the most ample means of paying for it, and transporting it, we find the real wages of labor declining while population is increasing, we may consider the fact as an experimentum crucis that importation can have no effect in arresting the decline of wages, whatever it may have in retarding it.
But even if adequate and increasing supplies of food by importation were practicable, there would be this fatal objection to the principle that the wages of labor increase with the den
Discussed in a Correspondence, &c. 385
[den]sity of population — that it could be true in some countries only, because it was not true in others.
It is obvious that to the same extent to which some countries import food, others export it. All cannot be importers. Now, if importations are necessary for wages to increase with our increasing population, it follows that in those countries which do not import, if the population continued to increase (as it may and probably will do where the laboring class has not yet reached the cheapest aliment), wages must fall. Supposing the people of the world to increase with its food, as they ever have done, if some receive more than an average share, others must receive less; as at a gaming table, the sum lost must equal the sum won.
Having this given you my views on the subject of wages uninterruptedly and more fully than I had permitted myself to do before, I propose to take a special notice of particular passages in your letter in which we all chance to disagree.
You say that the facts on which I rely, that wages are higher in the United States than in England, and higher in England than in India, "are not easily reconciled with the supposition that an increase of population regularly occasions a comparative scarcity." I have puzzled myself not a little to discover on what ground you could have seen or supposed any incompatibility between the facts I cited and the principle I maintained, but have not been able to find any, unless it is in confounding the rate of present increase with the amount of past increase.
The proposition that I assert and you deny is, that wages decline with increasing density. For the purpose of resting the principle by facts, we may compare the wages of labor in the same country at different periods, and see whether they have falled as a population has increased, or otherwise. This I have done, so fas as I had materials; and in support of my views I reled upon the example of Great Britain. I next, by way of farther illustration, compared one country with anoter, to see wheter here also wages are highest where population is least dense, and lowest where it is most dense; and find
Vol. XII. — No. IXXXIX.
[find]ing that to be the case on comparing the United States, England, and India, I naturally regard the fact as confirming my principle. If, however, toe opposite theory were true, wages ought to be higher in Bengal than in England, because population is there relatively more dense, and, for the same reason, ought to be higher in England than in the United States. Though wages are higher in England than they are in India, it does not follow that they are not falling in the former; and though wages are at the lowest point of depression in India, it does not follow that they have not been higher; yet unless these strange inferences could be drawn, there is no repugnance between my facts and my doctrine. In like manner, I referred to different parts of the United States, as affording farther, though not such striking evidence, of the same principle. This in New England, where population is most dense, real wages are lowest; and in the Western States, where population is least dense, wages are highest. The rate of increase, which a very different thing from the amount of previous increase, being mainly dependant on real wages, ought, like them, to be universally as density of population; though to this rule there are many exceptions, according as the laboring class more or less subsists on animal food — on the dearer or cheaper kinds of grain or on potatoes. On this subject it is relative and not absolute density that is referred to. One country that is barren or rudely cultivated, may be as densely peopled for its productiveness with 50 to the square mile as another with 200.
Notwithstanding this misconception of my reasoning of the doctrine as to the difference between the wages of labor in England and India — a country abounding in unreclaimed jungle, and most wretchedly cultivated, yet teeming with people — you distinctly admit that the difference between wages in this country and England is a contradiction to your theory, and you refer the discrepancy to political causes.
I am not disposed to underrate the influence of these on the prosperity of nations, and readily admit that an unrestrained trade in corn in England, and radical change in its system of poor laws, and a lighter taxation, would directly benefit the condition of its labor-
25 








386
The Malthusian Theory, 
[November, 
ing class. Yet as to wages of labor, 
I cannot see that such changes
would have more than a temporary effect. 
The tendency of the amelioration 
would be, to give a new spring to 
population; and though its increase
should not be accelerated, yet, at its recent
rate of increase, the laborer's earnings
would soon be reduced to their 
present amount. The only remedies
for the evil are of a moral character--
greater pride of personal independence, 
a higher standard of domestic comfort, 
and a consequent forbearance to marry 
until the means of supporting a family 
are obtained. 
While the experience of England is
opposed to your theory of wages--
they having fallen there though population 
has increased--yet it may also
appear not conformable to mine, considering
that the fall in the rate of wages
has been far less than the increase of
population, and that the two have not 
been strictly concurrent. Yet it must 
be remembered that the quantity of
arable land has there received an increase 
of 6,000,000 acres of inclosure 
acts passed within the last 50 or 60
years; that the husbandry of the country 
has experienced prodigious improvement, 
and now approaches its maximum
of productiveness; that taxation, 
since the long wars with France, bears
more (less?) heavily on the laborer
than it did, and a part of it goes to 
swell the amount of wages he receives. 
The great increase of capital, and , consequently, 
the fall of profits and the
improved means of transport, have also 
contributed to increase the population
without proportionally reducing the
wages of labor. Nor ought I to omit
in this enumeration the increased facility
of buying from abroad that has 
been bestowed by the great inventions
of Watt, Hargrave and Arkwright. 
The meliorating effect of these improvements
on the comfort of the poorest
cottages is very great, and can never 
be diminished; but as to the mitigating
influences on the price of food, they
are passing away; and if her people 
continue to increase, so much increase
their penury and wretchedness. 
But you refer with confidence to 
Massachusetts, to show that an increase
of population is accompanied by an increase
of wages. In answer to this, I 
have already shown that they were not
so high as in the Middle States, or the 
Western in 1836, when reckoned either
in bread, meat, or money. They have
probably since risen, and, I presume, 
are at this time as high as in most of the
States. Yet it must not be forgotten
that she is now enjoying advantages
that she does not owe altogether to the
density of her population. She has at
this time all the benefits both of the restrictive
system and that of free trade. 
She derives from the Constitution of
the United States an unrestricted trade 
to every part of the Union, most por 
tions of which are far inferior to her in
ability to manufacture, but superior to 
her in cheapness of raw material. She
can thus procure food from them cheaper
than she can raise it, and have a 
large and growing market for her manufactures;
and faster, by means of legal restrictions, foreign rivals, who
might, by their cheaper labor and 
cheaper capital, undersell her, are
etierh excluded fro the same domestic
market or subjected to burdens 
from which she is exempt. It is on
these accounts that she is now experiencing
unexampled prosperity. This I
am far from envying. On the contrary, 
I look at these consequences of her enterprise, 
skill, industry, and political
good fortune, with pleasure and prise, 
for my feeling are truly national. But
were the tariff repealed or the confederacy
dissolved, it cannot be doubted
that many of her factories, which now
yield to their proprietors a profit of 12
or 15 per cent. on their capital, must
then stop, or put up with reduced profits. 
Thousands of her citizens, now
earning liberal wages, would then emigrate
to the fertile lands of the west. 
Nor need we require political changes 
to bring about a fall in the wages of
her labor. Domestic rivals in manufacturing 
industry will naturally rise up 
at home, and bring down her profits to 
the common level; and the raw produce
which now finds its way from the
fertile valley of the Ohio, will, in less
than a century, be consumed there. 
That favored spot will become the
Flanders of the United States, and its
redundant population will furnish the
rest of the United States with its laces
and its cambrics, its cutlery--perhaps
its porcelain and its silks. In estimating
the rate of wages, you think we 
ought to take into account the condition 
of the "community at large," not only
as to the necessaries of life, but also as

1845.]
Discussed in a Correspondence, &c. 
387
to its "comforts and luxuries--lodging, 
clothing, fire, food, machinery of all 
kinds, professional aid, education, religious
instruction, and amusements of
all description." On this question we
must not confound the laboring class
with the wealthy class, not the earnings
of labor with the benefits of civilization. 
A part of the sources of enjoyment
of which you speak, belong, in 
every community, exclusively to the 
richer portion. Of this character are
the luxuries of life, a large proportion 
of its comforts, and its most refined
amusements. From these the laboring 
class are almost as completely shut out
in London or Paris as they would be
in the frontier of Iowa or Missouri. It 
can ass but little to their happiness to 
see another going to the opera, the concert, 
or the exhibition room, from which
poverty and rags exclude them. And
though even the common laborer may 
greet his eyes with a sight of the Tuileries 
of the Arc de Triomphe, yet, I 
imagine, there are thousands in Paris
who would agree never to see these
magnificent objects in consideration of 
a single substantial meal. And to consider
the laborer's charge of the benefits 
arising from art, science, and civilization--
even were it larger than unfortunately 
it is (as wages?)--would be to 
confound terms, and to use diet of 
"wages" in a sense that we never allude 
to it. By the word, I understand
that reward the laborer receives from 
the employer for the work done, and, 
consequently, it is not meant to comprehend
those casual benefits that are
gratuitous--are derived from the civilization 
and improvement of the community
in which he lives, which he 
shares with the common beggar, and 
which are but as dust in the balance
when weighed against the necessaries
of life. I do not refer to the cheaper 
and better clothing, utensils, furniture, 
which the laborer can obtain in exchange
for a part of his wages. This
class of articles is, so far as it goes, a 
real addition to his wages, for it gives
him more enjoyment in return for less
labor. But I think, for the reason
already stated, that what he gains does
not compensate him for what he loses
by reason of great density of population:
in a word, that the amount of 
his compensation can be better measured
by the amount of the article of
common food he receives than by anything 
else; and whenever men can subsist
on wine, or tea, or ice, or granite, 
then these articles will be as good a
measure of wages as wheat, and not
until then. 
You seem to dissent from my proposition
that mean everywhere increase
more or less rapidly according to the
greater or less facility of procuring subsistence;
yet, in support of my opinion, 
we find that in the United States, 
where food is most easily procured, the
increase is most rapid; that in England, 
since they have added so largely 
to the arable land, and fertilized it by 
sending to the Pampas of South America
for the bones of slaughtered animals, 
and whole fleets for guano, &c., 
her population has increased more in 
50 years than it had done in two centuries 
before that in every part of 
Northern and Middle Europe, and a 
part of the South, population has, of
late years, been steadily increasing 
with the improvements in husbandry;
that even in Benga; its population is
visibly increasing with an improving 
husbandry. All these facts seem to assure 
us that population and food go
hand in hand. It is a farther confirmation 
of the same fact, that in England 
and France the number of marriages
regularly increased or declined with the
rise or fall in the price of food; as is 
shown by Mr. Porter in his progress. 
(Vol. III., ch. 4.)
It is likely enough that I erred in
roundly asserting that a population of
640 to a square mile was physically 
impossible. I still believe it of every 
country in the temperate zones; but it 
is possible what within the tropics, where 
vegetation is uninterrupted, a country 
without mountains or deserts, inhabited
by a people requiring little food or
clothing, using no animal food, and
being without horses, might attain this
density, or yet greater. The island of 
Barbadoes has already reached it, or 
very nearly approached to it, though I 
believe it receives large supplies of 
grain and flour from this country. But 
I am not able to see wherein this error
was important in our inquiries. A 
country having but 10 persons to the
square mile, would, after six dupilcations, 
have a population of 640 to the 
square mile. This I considered a 
greater density that it was possible to 
attain; and I assumed this because
Mr. Gray, that opponent to Mr. Mal-388          The Malthusian Theory,           [November,

thus, whom he most respected, considered that two acres to each person (320 to the square mile) was the limit of extreme density in Great Britain. But if I underrated the capacities of the soil to sustain man, I had only to assume seven duplications instead of six, and have taken 1.280 to the square mile; the argument was the same in either case. In point of fact, however, with the exception already made, i am still inclined to think that I have assumed a limit which will never be reached. It is true that the particular portions of a country may have an inhabitant for every acre, or near it; but it is only the whole civil community to which my remark applies. And although East Flanders has near that population (for it has not yet quite reached it), though Lancaster country, in England, still larger than East Flanders, has a population of more than 900 to the square mile, yet it would be no more proper to consider these as improving my proposition than the city of London, since they, as certainly as that metropolis, could not support their present population unless they were merely parts of larger communities; nor is there a country in the world of sufficient extent for an independent state, which has a population much beyond half that which I had considered as its utmost limit. The population of Belgium, according to an official statement, in 1838, was 352 to the square English mile: that of Holland 225; of England, leaving out Wales and Scotland, 297, in 1841. 
   As to the passage which you quote from my letter relative to great cities, my meaning has been misapprehended by you, because it was carelessly expressed. Laboro esse brevis, fio obscurus. I meant to say, that most countries can finish subsistence for twice or trice as may persons as are necessary to cultivate them, and that it is an importance to the question between us whether the residue remains in the country or congregate in towns, and in many small towns or a few large ones; that the extraordinary desity in these last is compensated by the inferior density in the country, where it subsited on its domestic supplies; and that as to importations, the same progress of population, which enlarges the growth of these cities, also tends to lessen the supplies that can be imported from other countries, and, consequently, those that can be imported into the cities in question; as I had previously argued. Thus, to make the application, so far as London derived its food from English soil, its excess, beyond the average density, would be balanced by a corresponding deficiency in the country; and that the less Poland, and other parts of Europe, were able to export, the less London would import; and as, according to the wonted progress of population, these countries might be presumed to be less and less able to export, and, eventually, not to export at all, so must be the power of London to import. 
   Your doctrine that all the materials of human happiness increase with population, is, I admit, very gratifying to the philanthropist; but, like the visions of an elixir of life, of perpetual motion, of universal peace, &e., they must yield to the stubborn facts which prove them false. Looking on man with the eyes of sober truth, we find him endowed with appetites and passions that are at once the source of his purest enjoyments and occasionally the cause of suffering and evil. Urged to multiply his numbers, compelled to earn his food by the seat of his brow, or by tasking his mind, he finds the evils of life increased and its good diminished, if he admits too many partners to share with him in the fruits of the soil. Yet I mean not to say that this tendency is necessarily productive of evil; and I differ from Malthus in the force of the proper correction -- prudential restrain -- which I incline to think, in an enlightened and well regulated community, will always keep down population to the point that admits of substantial comfort. So that while you think that the happiness of mankind will be indefinitely increased by his indulging in the multiplying propensity, I think it is best promoted by the moral part of his nature, and by subjecting that propensity to the control of his reason and foresight. 
   In conclusion, I will remark that though in this discussion neither should convince the other, as is very probable, seeing that the main question involves many others, which may be seen under different and even opposite aspects, yet it cannot but be gratifying to us to find that, in carrying on the controversy, neither of us has lost his temper. 

1845.]           Discussed in a Correspondence, &c.         389

Should you be disposed to prolong it, I should like to see my first letter, that I may ascertain how far I have failed to give to some of my remarks the requisite qualifications, or to have expressed them with precision. But not wishing to impose on you the trouble of having it copied, I will ask the favor of you to send me the original. 
   I am, with great respect, dear sir, your friend and obedient servant, 
   (Signed,)       GEORGE TUCKER.
Яou. A. H. Everette.
___________
NO. VI.
Mr. Everett to Professor Tucker.
Washington, D.C., March 17, 1845

   DEAR SIR, -- I have read with attention your letter of the 22nd ult., and am greatly obliged to you for noticing with so much care my request for information in regard to the grounds of your opinions upon the question we are discussing. I have no doubt that by comparing our ideas upon it, though neither of us may, perhaps, convince the other, we may both obtain a clearer and more precise view of the subject. 
   In replying to my last letter, you do not, if I understand you rightly, contest the truth of the principle which I undertake to establish--viz., that the decline in the value of the produce of manufacturing labor, resulting from the progress of population, naturally brings with it a corresponding decline in the value of agricultural produce, excepting so far as the latter is counteracted by the increase in the cost of transportation. You rest your objections to my conclusion mainly on the ground that the cost of transporting agricultural produce is too great to admit of its being carried in large quantities to any great distance. In regard to this point, you say that the cost of transportation to any considerable distance would "absorb the value of the article," and that the trade would, of course, become impracticable.
   This remark seems to imply that the value of the article at the place where it is wanted, is determined by some cause, other than the cost of production and transportation, and that if the latter equal or exceed the value so determined, the trade ceases. On the commonly received, and, as I had supposed, undisputed theory of prices, the value of the article at the place where it is wanted is determined by the cost of production and transportation. This being an increase in the cost of transportation only increases to the price to the consumer, and leaves to the producer and carried the same profit as before. So far as wages are regulated by the value of agricultural products, a positive increase in their prices as paid by the consumer would, of course, but be attended by a fall of wages. But, in this case, the effect of the increased cost of transportation in changing prices, is counterbalanced by the diminished value of the manufactured articles given in exchange; so that the general result is a positive decline, instead of positive increase in the price of agricultural produce paid by the consumer, and consequently an actual rise instead of fall in the rate of wages. On the estimate made in my latter, where the cost of transportation both ways is taken at 50 per cent on the capital invested, the fall in the price of agricultural produce, and the consequent rise in the rate of real wages, would be also 50 per cent. 
   I have before me a statement taken from returns, made by order of the British Parliament, in 1841, of the quantity of grain which could be obtained from fifteen of the principal ports of the COntinent of Europe, if English markets were thrown open  -- the price of wheat at each, and the freight thence to London. In this statement the average price of wheat at the fifteeen ports is given at 40s., and the average freight to London at 4s. 9 3/4d., or about ten per cent on the value. The freight and charges on the outward voyage are of course, much less in proportion to the value of the cargo, which would consist generally of articles much less bulky than wheat. But assuming that they also amount to 10 per cent, the total cost of transportation both ways would be equal to 20 per cent on the capital invested. In my letter to you I estimated it at 50 per cent, which, it seems. is a good deal too high. I also estimated the decline on the value of manufactures, resulting from the doubling of the population, in a country where the land is already pretty well taken up, at 100 per cnt. On this supposition, and taking the cost of transportation both ways at 20 per cent instead of 50 per cent, the actual decline in the value of agricultural produce would be 30 per cent, and real390 The Malthusian Theory, [November 1895.]

wages, so far as they are regulated by the value of agricultural produce, would rise in the same proportion.
But this estimate is as much too low as the other was too high, at least if we can draw any conclusion from the case of Great Britain. During the last half century, while the population has been doubling itself in that country, the improvements in methods and machinery are seriously estimated at equivalent to the labor of 300,000,000 or 800,000,000 of men. The consequent increase in the productiveness of labor, and decline in the value of its products are, of course, equal, on the lowest of these estimates, to 3000 per cent, and on the highest to 8000 per cent. I take them at only one hundred per cent, which is certainly moderate enough, but still, as I have shewn, brings out an actual rise in real wages of 80 per cent. Without insisting on the minutes accuracy of these estimates, it is quite apparent that the decline in the value of the manufactured articles given in exchange for the agricultural produce imported, must be far more than sufficient to cover the cost of transporting the latter from a distance, and that the general result of the progress of population must be a rise and not a fall of real wages. 
You object, in addition, that independently of the cost of transportation, the quantity of provisions, that could be obtained from a distance, would not correspond with the wants of a populous community, But on the usually received principles of political economy, the supply of every article naturally keeps pace with the effectual demand; and there would, of course, be no deficiency in the quantity of provisions, wherever there were other articles of equal value to be given in exchange for them, until the whole productive power of the globe should have been exhausted — a contingency, which, for the present purpose, may be left entirely out of the question.
In order to simplify the discussion, and bring it more directly to a point, I confine myself in this letter, as I did in the preceding one to the main argument, omitting all considerations of a subsidiary character. I will advert for a moment in enclusion, to your comments upon my remark, that in estimating the amount of the reward of labor, we ought to take into view the state of the community in reference to the comforts and luxuries of life, as well as the sum actually paid to the laborer under the name of wages. You say that you "understand by wages the reward which the laborer receives from his employer for the work done, and that you do con comprehend in it, the casual benefits that are gratuitous, and are derived from the civilization and improvement of the society in which he lives."
On this point there would be, I apprehend, on comparison of ideas, no material difference of opinion between us. In speaking of the reward of labor, or wages we bother understand the amount of the necessaries and comforts of life, which the laborer is able to command with the money paid to him by his employers. Now, although the money price of labor is not affected by an increase in its productiveness, or by any circumstances except such as affect the state of the currency, yet if by the effect of an increase in the productiveness of laber resulting from the progress of population, and the consequent increased cheapness of the necessaries and comforts of life, the laborer is able to purchase with the same nominal wages twice or thrice as large a quantity f these as he would before, it is apparent that his real wages are augmented in the same proportion. You admit this so far as clothing, furniture, and other manufactured articles enter into his consumption; but you suppose that the advantage which he gains in this respect is more than counterbalanced by the increased difficulty resulting from the same cause, in procuring provisions. I have endeavored to show that in this article, as well as in all others, there is not only no increase, but an actual decline in value, in consequence of e progress of population, Supposing this to be proved, it follows that the real wages of the laborer are increased in direct proportion to the progress of population; and he may either employ the additional amount of the necessaries and comforts of life which he can now command in improving his mode of living, or he may live as he did before, and economise the balance of his revenue. Even the accumulations that appear to be gratuitous, and are shared by the common beggar, such as roads and free schools, must 

Discussed in a Correspondance, &c. 391

be reckoned as a part of the laborer's real wages, because they are maintained out of the public treasury, which is supplied by a deduction from the wages of labor.

The money wages of the laborer in New England are somewhat lower, on your estimate, than those of a laborer in the Western States, and the difference, estimated in wheat, is greater than in money. But the money wages received by the laborer in New England represent for him a comfortable and well-furnished house — good food and clothing — a variety of manufactured articles of use, comfort and luxury — good roads — schools for his children — religious institutions, books and public amusements. At the West, a somewhat larger amount of nominal wages represents a log cabin, with scarcely any furniture — plenty of Indian mean, mean and whiskey — a small supply of manufactured articles at high prices — no roads — no schools — few books — few churches, and no public amusements. The difference between these two modes of living, in favor of the laborer of New England, constitutes the increase in less real wages, resulting from the greater density of population; and if he choose to content himself with the comforts that are enjoyed at the West, he may realize this difference in money; and even there will enjoy many important advantages, such as free schools for his children, which he could not enjoy under other circumstances, and which constitute a part of his real wages.
It is true that the most expensive accommodations of all kinds, afforded by a highly civilized state of society, are enjoyed exclusively by the rich. This is only saying that the individuals, whose labor is most productive, or who, in other words, receive the highest real wages, are able to command the greatest amount of the necessaries and comforts of life. This is, of course, a mere trueism, or rather an identical proposition. But his that has no tendency to show that the real wages of all classes of laborers are not higher n a highly improved and populous community, than in one of a different character. Indeed the power of the pitch to surround themselves with comforts and luxuries is much less dependent upon the state of the society in which they live, than that of the less favored members of the community. A Russian or Polish nobleman lives upon his estates as luxuriously as a British peer, at his residence in London. But it is only in the midst of a dense population that the common citizen is able to afford himself accommodations of a similar, though generally less expensive kind, but which, in some cases, from the mere fact of the being shared by the multitude, are actually superior to the most expensive of an exclusive character that wealth can procure. Thus, the Queen of England finds it convenient to make use of the common railroad in preference to travelling with post horses in her own carriage; so that the common citizen in England derives from the density of the population advantages for travelling, which the Queen is glad to share with hi, from sheer inability to procure such as are equally good for her exclusive use by any application of the immense amount of means which she has at her disposal. And so of other cases of a similar kind. 
I presume that you would agree with me in most of these remarks, and that there would be no great difference of opinion between us in regard to the effect of the increased productiveness of labor in raising the rate of real wages, although the money price may remain the same — excepting so far as this effect is counterbalanced by the increased cost and difficulty of procuring provisions. The extent to which this cause would probably operate seems to be the only important question upon which we are at issue. It is obviously one of fact rather than of principle; and I venture to hope that you will think of the remarks that I have made upon it in the earlier part of this letter, not wholly underserving you your attention.
Agreeably to your desire, I return you the first of your two letters. You would oblige me by ending m the original, or a copy, of my first shot letter to you. I shall be at this place most of the time until I sail for China, and will thank you to address to me, under cover, to the Department of State.
I am, dear sir, very truly and respectfully your friend and obedient servant,
Signed, A. H. Everett.
Hon. George Tucker.
(To be continued in our next number.)392     Monthly Financial and Commercial Article.     [November,

     Monthly Financial and Commercial Article.

[left column above table]
    In our number for October, we alluded 
to the then strong probability of a failure 
in the English crops of grain, and the 
probable consequent large demand for 
food of foreign growth; and we pointed 
out the prospective influence which a 
failure of the harvest not will exert upon 
the commerce of the world, as compared 
with the terrible results that formerly attended 
such an event.  During the month 
which has since elapsed, further advices 
have been received confirming the fears, 
not only of a great damage to the wheat 
crop, but establishing the fact of a great 
deficiency in potatoes, and those coarser 
grains which enter largely into the consumption 
of the masses of the people.  
This applies also as well to the countries 
of Western Europe--Holland, Belgium 
and France--as to Hungary, Poland and 
Russia, whence large supplies were formerly 
drawn, in seasons of scarcity.  The 
effect of this state of things is to open a 
large and profitable market to those surplus 
crops of the United Stated, the abundance 
of which was pressing heavily upon 
the markets, and sinking prices far below 
a point which would pay tolls and transportation, 
and leave any remuneration to 
the producer.  The first influence of the 
news has been to cause a considerable 
rise in most articles of produce, and flour 
in the particular has advanced near $1 per 
bbl., or 22 per cent.  This advance may 
be too high to be sustained, if the winter 
should prove an open one.  To realize so 
great an advance all over the Union, a 
large quantity must be exported.  The 
enhanced value will draw out stocks that 
otherwise probably would not have reached 
market; and as is sometimes the case, 
when wheat yields a profit to sell, its consumption 
in the families of farmers is supplanted 
by a less remunerative material; 
and still greater quantities press forward 
to meet the demand. The resources of 
the United States have never been tasked 
to their greatest extent in this particular.

[right column above table]
Any considerable rise of price, in the present 
facile means of transportation, would 
draw forth very considerable supplies.  If 
the demand should prove adequate to sustain 
the price under them, the foundation 
of a very healthy and considerable business 
for the coming year would be laid.  
In our last number we gave many reasons 
why a rise of bread in England 
should not now be attended to so great an 
extent with that depression in the cotton 
market which has hitherto accompanied a 
rise in food.  That circumstance generally 
absorbed so much of the means of the 
working people as to greatly diminish that 
portion usually applied to the purchase of 
goods.  This again reduced the quantity 
made and the demand for labor, involving 
the discharge of many hands at a time 
when employ was the most necessary to 
them.  This is now in some degree counteracted 
by the extraordinary speculations 
that are taking place in railroad building.  
The enormous sums distributed by their 
means from the pockets of wealthy capitalists 
among the working classes will 
amount to several hundreds of millions of 
dollars, and cannot fail to enhance the 
means of consumption, notwithstanding 
the increased price of the articles consumed.  
Under these circumstances, it is, 
therefore, that the exports of United 
States produce are not only likely to be 
large, but profitable to all classes of producers; 
and their effort upon exchanges 
will probably be still further to promote 
the accumulation of coin in the country, 
more especially as that the advance of 
prices abroad operates adversely to large 
imports of goods into the United States. 

    The supply of foreign bills is now 
large, and all of them enjoy credit so 
good as to make them worth their full 
relative value to specie as a remittance.  
The increasing supply, therefore, depresses 
the price.  The rates of sterling at 
New York and New Orleans, as compared 
with last year are as follow:

[table below left and right columns]
                                                     New Orleans.                               New York.
                                                 1844.             1845.                   1844.          1845.
   September 1   -   -   -   -   9¼  a  9½    9¼  a  9¾          9¾  a  10   9¾  a  10¼
                     15   -   -   -   -   8½  a  9¾    8     a  8¾          9¾  a  10   9¾  a  10
   October      1   -   -   -   -   8¼  a  9        8     a  9              9¾  a  10   9¾  a  10
                     15   -   -   -   -   8½  a  9        8     a  8¾          9¾  a  10   9¼  a  9½
 
[left column below table]
    Here is a positive decline at both the 
leading points, and falling somewhat below 
the rates that were maintained 
throughout the lsat year.  The public 
have become accustomed of late to the 
par level of exchange; and because the 

[right column below table]
rates fluctuate at or about that point, it no 
longer excites alarm, as indicative of a 
large export of coin.  Hence the monied 
transactions are conducted with greater 
freedom, and lenders of money, both private 
and corporate, are losing that timidity.

[[PAGE BREAK]]

1845.]     Monthly Financial and Commercial Article.     393

[left column above table]
which so long marked their operations, 
and which was the necessary result of 
that fearful revulsion which seemed to expose 
the most rottenness in places where 
most confidence had been reposed.  Indeed, 
the history of the commercial or 
political world seldom presents so fearful 
a lesson as that inculcated in the ruin of
the late National Bank.  A powerful political 
party at times in possession of the 
federal government, had, for a quarter of 
a century, made that Bank the grand lever 
by which public sentiment was to be 
moved.  Many of the highest intellectual 
ornaments of the party, as well as the 
best minds in the country, stood committed 
to the faith, honesty and usefulness of 
that concern, when almost in the identical 
moment in which they were about again 
installing it as a part of the government, 
it burst in their hands, disclosing a degree 
of corruption, dishonesty and oppression 
never equalled by a powerful corporation.  
Such an event, even if unaccompanied by 
other astounding insolvencies, could not 
but make a deep and lasting impression 
upon the mind of the commercial public.  
That influence is now wearing away, and 
the real value of investments is beginning 
to exercise an influence over panic; and 
with an increased demand for money consequent 
both upon an increased disposition 
to operate and upon the rise in prices, 

[right column above table]
the will to loan it is becoming more free.  
For two or three years, as we noticed in 
a recent number, the prices of farm produce 
have been continually falling, under 
the restriction of its sale to the inadequate 
"home market," with a constantly increasing 
production.  The pretence that 
the operation of the tariff of protection 
for the encouragement of home industry 
would increase the "home market," by 
destroying the foreign market, has proved 
most salacious.  Its operation, as far as 
official returns have been furnished by 
the census, has been, in some degree, to 
depopulate the Atlantic States, and drive 
the small farmers to those districts of the 
Western States where their industry is rewarded 
by a more prolific yield for the 
same amount of labor; an operation which 
has tended to swell the aggregate surplus 
production, and, by so doing, to depress 
the prices below points which will remunerate 
the toil of the farmer in the Atlantic 
States.  In illustration of what we 
have here advanced respecting the tendency 
of the population, the following 
table embraces the returns of thirteen 
counties of the State of New York on the 
line of the canals, according to five enumerations--
three by the State of New 
York and two by the authority of the 
General Government:

[table below left and right columns]
                  POPULATION OF THIRTEEN NEW YORK COUNTIES.

                                                   1825.       1830.         1835.       1840.        1845.
Cayuga   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   42,743     47, 947     49,202     50,362     48,943
Chautauqua     -   -   -   -   -   20,640    34,657      44,869     47,641      46,548
Chenango        -   -   -   -   -   34,215     37,304      40,762     40,799     39,954 
Columbia          -   -   -   -   -   37,970     39,952     40,746      44,237     41,976
Genesee  -   -   -   -   -   -   -  40,905     51,992      58,588     31,149      28,845
Wyoming      -   -   -   -   -   -                                                       28,449    28,449
Montgomery and Fulton     -  39,706    43,595      46,705      53,839    47,887
Ontario     -   -   -   -   -   -   -  37,422     40,167      40,870      43,501     42,605
Schenectady    -   -   -   -   -   12,876     12,334     16,270       17,233      16,629
Alleghany      -   -   -   -   -   -  18,164     26,118      35,214       40,920    40,104
Oneida           -   -   -   -   -   -  57,847     71,326     77,518       85,327     84,766
Livingston     -   -   -   -   -   -   23,860    27,717      31,092      35,710      33,193
                                                  _______      _______     _______       _______      _______
       Total   -   -   -   -   -   -    306,348  433,309  481,796      519,161  499,899

[left column below table]
    The population of Wyoming was embraced
in that of Genessee up to 1840.  
The county of Fulton has been set off from 
that of Montgomery, but the figures show 
the whole number in both counties comparatively.  
In 1825 the canal was just 
opened for business, and the succeeding 
five years the population swelled 50 per 
cent.; and in the next two periods of five 
years each they showed a continued improvement.  
Prior to the opening of the 
canal, the farming lands watered by the 
Hudson and its tributaries, were the most 
accessible to market, and their value was 
maintained through the long wars of Europe,

[right column below table]
by an active export of bread stuffs, 
eat rates which yielded a good profit.  The 
opening of the canal made accessible the 
rich soil of the Genessee Valley; and its 
superior productiveness induced a large 
immigration, which soon poured forth 
such quantities of produce at a diminished 
outlay of labor, as to defy competition from 
the less productive soil of the river counties, 
and the New England States.  Accordingly, 
the wealth and population of 
the Western States continued rapidly to 
increase, until the improvement of intercourse 
with the distant shores of the great 
lakes brought still larger tracts of virgin 394   Monthly Financial and Commercial Article.  [November, 1845.]

soil of unparalleled fertility into competition 
with the western counties of New
York, in the same manner that those 
counties had overwhelmed with their superior  
productions the older counties
commanded by the river. The result has
been, that the poorer occupiers of the 
Genessee Valley have sold out their lands
to their more wealthy neighbors and with
the proceeds have established themselves
in the Great West, where the fertility 
of the soil amply compensates for the
lack of assistance in farming and distance
from market. In fact, Illinois, Wisconsin,
Iowa and Michigan have been to the
Genessee Valley what that region was to
the river counties—viz., a too powerful
competitor. This operation has been
greatly aided by the exclusive commercial 
policy of the government, which has
stifled the growth of the export trade in
produce by prohibiting returns. Consequently 
as each year the West has poured
forth its increased abundance, it has only
served to swell the surplus on the Atlantic 
border, and depress prices.

This progress of the West, as indicated 
by the sales of government lands, is surprisingly 
rapid, and when it is taken into account 
that State lands, and those lots held
by speculative land companies and individuals, 
under purchases in former years,
yearly find sale to an extent nearly equal
to those by the Federal Government, a 
better idea of the breadth of land annually
brought into cultivation may be arrived 
at. The resources of that country are but
now beginning to be developed. The canal 
of Illinois is now in process of completion. 
The Wabash canal, draining a 
large tract of Ohio and Indiana, is but now
in operation, as well as the Miami canal of
Ohio; while, added to the agency of
these avenues of trade, numerous railroads 
are in process of construction, which 
will make accessible to the market broad and
fertile tracts that now are comparatively
valueless. The capacity of railroads to
carry freight in competition with water-courses, 
has been fully established, and
they can be constructed on the prairies of
the West at less expense than in any other
part of the world. Hence every part of
the north-western territories can now be
brought as it were to market at an expense
of transportation scarcely perceptible in a
circle of 100 miles. The utility of these
works has in a small degree been made
manifest in Michigan, and they are in rapid 
progress of construction in Ohio. The
example of the railroad system in Belgium
affords an indication of what may be expected 
from their use in the Western country,
because the extraordinary adaptation of the
surface of that country to the construction
of railways bears a close analogy to the
prairies of the West. In Belgium the
roads have labored under the disadvantage 
of having been built by the government, 
which took up the project in 1833,
and adopted a comprehensive system, by
which one point was taken as a common
centre, from which roads radiate to every 
part of the kingdom. By these means
many lines were built without much prospect 
of any great success; but to afford to
every part of the country equal benefits
from the public expenditures. The surface 
of the country is such as greatly to
reduce the cost of construction, which
averages $40,000 per mile against $85,000
in England. This circumstance enables
low fares to be adhered to, and a rate of
2 cts. per mile is charged against 5 cts. in
England. The whole cost of the Belgium 
roads was about $28,950,000, and the annual 
receipts since their construction have 
been as follow:

 RECEIPTS BELGIUM RAILROADS.
                                         Receipts.                                                                                                        
Years.                         Francs.        Dollars.                                                                           
1835 . . . .                   268,997        50,436
1836 . . . .                   325,132        60,962   
1837 . . . .                1,416,982      265,657
1838 . . . .                3,097,333      573,343                                                                     
1839 . . . .                4,249,825      796,837
1840 . . . .                5,335,161   1,000,342

                                                    Receipts.                                                                                                        
Years.                                   Francs.           Dollars.                                                                           
1841 . . . .                         5,226,333        1,129,236
1842 . . . .                         7,237,337        1,357,000
1843 . . . .                         8,696,719        1,630,633
1844  . . . .                      10,855,675        2,035,401
1845-6 mos.                    5,482,960        1,023,055

The receipts are here regularly and immensely 
increased, affording a rare indication 
of the growing trade and prosperity
of the country on the lines of the new
roads. Last year a treaty with the Zollverein, 
by which duties were mutually reduced, 
and to be continued in force for six
years, from January 1, 1845, has added 
greatly to this activity. In the Western 
States the best estimates of the cost of
roads is $10,000 per mile, and their fare
will be proportionally cheap. Under 
such circumstances, the growing feeling 
in favor of these works cannot but give an
immense impulse to the development of
Western resources, and add new reasons
to the already powerful ones why an enlarged 
market for farm produce should
immediately engage the serious attention
of Congress. The state of affairs now in
England, pointing as it does to a return of
distress for food, affords a highly favorable
opportunity to procure a large and growing 
market for our productions. It is in
vain to talk of selling produce unless the
proceeds of that produce is permitted to

Notices  of  New  Books.   395

return to the country in a desirable shape.
Such returns can only consist of the proceeds 
of the industry  of  those  persons
who  consume  our  produce.  The  precious  
metals  cannot,  from  the  nature  of
things,  be  a  permanent   article  of  import.
They  cannot  accumulate  in  any country
beyond  the  relative  quantities  which  other
nations possess;  because, as soon as  they 
do so, like every other article, they become  
cheap  here  and  dear  abroad,  and
consequently will become   profitable  to
re-export,  in  which  case  they  cannot  be
retained  in  the  country.   When  Spain
sought  to enrich  herself  by  keeping  the
produce  of  the  mines  of  her  American
colonies  within  her  own  borders,  even  the
bloody  code  she  enacted  with  a  view to
that object  was  found  utterly  inefficient  to
effect it. In  the  last  four years specie  has
flowed  into  the  United  States until  the
quantity  here has  been sufficient  not  only
to  supply  the  vacum  created by the  withdrawal  
of  large amounts  of  bank  circulation,  
but  to  repose  in  cumbrous  masses
at  the  leading  points. At New Orleans
for ten years  near $7,000,000 has  remained  
in the bank  vaults, being  as  nearly
three  to  one  of  the  paper  currency  they
issue;  and that is the  leading  point  of  export  
for  our  produce. Having  supplied
ourselves  with  specie  and  tropical  produce, 
if  we  sell  our  surplus  produce, it
must  be  for  the  proceeds  of  European
industry. To  refuse  to  receive  it  is  to
refuse  to sell.

____________________________________________________________

NOTICES OF NEW BOOKS.

The Miscellaneous Works of Thomas Arnold, 
D.D., late Master of Rugby
School. First American Edition. New
York: D. Appleton & Co.   Philadelphia:  
George S. Appleton. 1845.  
                                                                                  
The phrase of Lord Brougham has already 
passed into a proverb, and it is                   
boasted as a characteristic of our age that
"the schoolmaster is abroad."  The late
Dr. Arnold, in the estimation of all parties, 
introduced new and exalted views of 
that office, which raised the schoolmaster
to the rank of the hero, resolutely achieving 
mental emancipation, and becoming
the conqueror of social wrongs and hoary
oppression.  He consecrated himself with
energy and great abilities to the work
of remodeling and elevating the prevalent 
system of education among the young
men of the higher classes; and it was 
the belief of those who knew him best 
that, had his life been spared, the colleges
of England would all have felt the influence 
of this single scholar.  Of profound 
and exact scholarship, a clear and strong 
intellect, great ardor of feeling, and all
these under a controlling sense of religion, 
he sets himself to the work of social
reform with a fearless, out-spoken and
downright energy, that extorted the respect 
even of those who most disliked his
principles. And it was a most remarkable 
fact how,  in a country where the
walls of prejudice between opposing parties 
in the Church and the State are so
high and inseparable, the sudden death of
this man, of the most decided partizan
predilections and partizan utterances, was
yet bewailed by the men of all schools in
religion and in politics as a common calamity.

The volume before us, beautifully
printed, as, indeed, the publications of the
Appletons nearly always are, contains
nine additional essays, not included in
the English collection of "Arnold's Miscellaneous 
Works." One of these, the
article on the Tracts for the Times (p. p.
236-264), is to be procured in England only
in the two volumes of sermons, as a preface 
to which its author first issued it.
The school of theologians, to whom the
name of Oxford has been generally given,
are here the subject of an attack, to which
all must allow great clearness and force;
and which from the attention and space
given to it in the reply of the British Critic, 
then the organ of this school, would
seem to have been more felt than any
other of the many onsets they have been
called to encounter. Personally the
friend of Keble and Newman, he sympathised 
neither with them nor other sections 
of the High Churchmen. Yet he had
as little sympathy on the other hand with
the Evangelical party in the English Establishment. 
His doctrinal affinities were
rather with his friends, Whately and
Hampden, the latter of whom he defended
in the Edinburgh Review. This article,
excluded from the English edition, is another 
of the additions which enhance the
the value of the American copy. The
Fragment on the Church, left by Arnold
unfinished, and published by his widow in 
a separate volume; and though but a fragment, 
a Torso of great symmetry and396 Notices of New Books. [November, 1845.]

power, is also incorporated in this volume. There is much, with regard to which American readers will, of course, form different opinions, according to the various aspect which their own national or ecclesiastical position gives of Arnold's religious and political opinions. Bu the writings of such a mind, so massive, so simple, so honest in its convictions, and so ardent in their utterance, cannot be without interest, to a dispassionate and enlightened student, whatever the themes of that writer, and however opposed the views of that reader. 
We receive thankfully the addition thus made to the literature of the land, and trust that its reception by the readers of our country will be such as to encourage the issue of the remaining works of a man, truly good and truly great; from whom, though differing in much, we cannot withhold, in et much more of his labors, admiration, sympathy and reverence. 
The erudition of men like Parr, and the genius and fame of Johnson and Milton, have given dignity to the post of the instructor of youth but by none even of these men was the high moral grandeur of which the scholmaster's chair was capable, so understood, and so exemplified as by Thomas Arnold. In history, too, though the fervent admirer of Niebuhr, he was without his occasional extravagance of conjecture. Capable of large and yet practical views, he was a statesman in the best sense of that much abused term, hopeful for the Future, but not irreverent to the Past, aiming at reform, but not considering all innovation such, and reading and defying a blind, indiscriminate idolatry of existing institutions, even when it called itself conservatism.
_____
Appleton's Literary Miscellany. Nos. 1, 2 and 3.
This is a series of books resembling in its general design the "Library of Choice Literature," the claims of which we discussed at some length in our last number. The volumes before us contain more than those issued by Wiley and Putnam.. The first number is a well-written tale, somewhat of the Edgworth school, by the popular author of "Amy Herbert." Of its merits, perhaps it is enough to say that it has come through several editions in London; and the present near re-print is the second published in this country within a few weeks. 
The second and third volumes of the Literary Miscellany, comprise the beautiful Italian romance "I Promessi Sposi," by Manzoni. This classic novel — the standard fiction of Italy — has been newly translated with rare ability in England; and it is from this edition that the Messrs. Appleton have re-published. We believe the only previous translation which has ever been offered to American readers, has been long out of print. The original is regarded as the best picture of the times, and the sweetest and most correct daguereotype of Italian life that has appeared in modern times. It at once gave its author fame, The scenes of this enchanting story lie amid the fairy shores of Lake Como. Among its characters is Carlo Boromeo, not the patron saint of Milan; and the sufferings of that city from famine and plague are vividly depicted. The sentiment of the tale is as unexceptionable as it is attractive and natural — the characters ably developed, the language elegant — and all the broods the soft light of the pleasant south. If the publishers are as judicious in future selections, their Literary Miscellany cannot fail of eminent success. 
____
Travels of Marco Polo.
The one hundred and seventy-third volume of Harpers' Family Library consists of the Travels of Marco Polo. The long period which has elapsed since their date has not diminished their value, as among the earliest authentic narratives from the East. The Editor has wisely collated other authorities, so that we have a better arranged and more complete edition than has yet appeared, The book forms an interesting addition to the popular series of which it is a part. It is illustrated by maps and copious notes.
____
Journal of the Texian Expedition against Mier. 1. vol. 8 vo.  $2.
The same house have just issued a handsome volume with this title. In view of our present relations with Texas, anything in regard to that part of the country is interesting. The work before us is a narrative of personal adventure, by General Thomas J. Green. It gives an account of the Expedition against Mier, the imprisonment of the author, and his escape from the Castle of Perote, and closes with observations on the present and probable future relations of Texas, Mexico, and the United States. The volume is very neatly executed, and contains several graphic engravings. We have given it but a cursory examination, and without subscribing to the author's opinions, commend his journal as a source of information to those desirous of acquainting themselves with the events and countries to which it refers. General Green was a captain in this expedition. Perote has been the scene of human suffering to an extent which renders the descriptive sketches of an eye-witness very interresting. The course of the Texan army, the mode in which their movements were directed, 
Notices of New Books. 397
their various attacks and defeats, are depicted in this journal. Soe of the details of Mexican cruelty are memorable from their atrocity. The work is not destitute of occasional humor notwithstanding the painful incidents with which it abounds. The design which illustrate many of the scenes and circumstances recorded are from the pencil of Charles McLaughlin, the author's fellow-prisoner.
____
The Poem of Dante; or, Hell, Purgatory and Paradise of Dante Alighieri. Translated by the Rev. Henry Francis Cary, A.M. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1845. 1 vol. 16 mo., pp. 537. $1 50.
We have seen no recent specimen of American book-making which, on every account, deserves cordial praise more than the new edition of Cary's Translation of Dante, just published by the Messrs. Appleton of this city. A knowledge of la Divina Commedia is essential to a correct appreciation of modern European literature. Indeed this immortal poem has been justly styled the connecting link between the past and present — the bridge, as it were, whereby the student passes from the classical era to Christian epochs. Dante is the grand poetical representative of the middle ages — the predecessor of Milton, in the illustrious line of the epic bards. We need not dwell upon his style, the terrible realty of his imagery — the graphic picturesqueness of his allegory, and the touching episodes of Francesca and Ugolino. Considering the acknowledged beauty and interest of Italian literature, and its connection with that of England —having been the great treasure-house of the Elizabethan writers — we are surprised that no complete translation of Dante has before appeared. The one now published is, by general consent, deemed the most literal. Mr. Cary has sacrificed metre and rhythm to ideas. His aim is to re-produce Dante's thoughts and pictures as far as possible. The American reprint is from a late revised English edition. It contains an excellent life of the poet, a valuable chronological table of the age of Dante, and numerous valuable notes. The typography is very neat, and the size of the volume is very neat, and the size of the volume remarkable convenient. The illustrations cannot be too highly praised. They consist of a finely-engraved head of the poet, from the portrait discovered fire years ago at Florence and twelve linedrawings after Flaxman. The work is exceedingly creditable to the tasteful enterprise of the publishers, and will be universally welcome to the literary public. 

Oneota; or. Characteristics of the Red Race of America. From original notes and manuscripts; by Jenry R. Schoolcraft. New York and London: Wiley and Putnam. 1845.
In a recent number of our Review, we gave a detailed account of the life and labors of Mr. Schoolcraft. His opportunities for acquiring valuable and authentic information in regard to the North American Indians, have been superior to those of any writer on the subject. For many years an agent of the U.S. Government on the frontier, his intercourse with the various tribes was long-continued and intimate. His researches into the history, language, customs, legends and antiquities of the Red Race, have accordingly a peculiar value. We are happy to perceive by the list on the title-page of the volume before us, of literary and scientific societies of which Mr. S. is a member, that his efforts have afforded a harvest of fame, if not of profit. The present volume is a collection of sketches journals, poems and essays, all illustrative of Indian character and superstitions. It is a store-house both of fact and fancy, and will afford rich materials hereafter for the antiquarian, the moralist and the bard.
____
The Elements of Morality, including Polity. By William Whewell, D.D., Author of the History and Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences. 2 vols., 18 mo. 50 cts. vol. Harper & Brothers, New York. 
Dr. Whewell is one of the few men in a generation who fix and leave their mark upon the character and records of their age. His is a scholar of ripe character and of the most valuable and varied acquirements; and whatever shall be given to the world as the product of his profound and discriminating mind, will be found to command attention and respect. He is one of the many instances of talent and merit unconnected with family ower, which are the glory of the country of his birth rewarded with the highest stations and obtaining controlling influence in the most elevated ranks of life. The whole of his literary life, we believe has been passed in the college over which he now presides. As a Fellow and Professor of Moral Philosophy, he was there occupied for many years in the duty of actual instruction. As he was retiring, about four years since, from the limits of celibate life required by his Fellowship, having formed a matrimonial connection in one of the wealthiest families of the north, Sir Robert Peel unexpectedly conferred upon him the Mastership of this own college (Trinity College, Cambridge), which just at that time had become vacant. This


398   Notices of New Books.  [November, 1845.]

has placed him in one of the most eminent 
positions in English literary life. The 
splendid lodge of the Master of Trinity is
the place for royal residence whenever the
monarch visits the University, and the
Master is required to be one competent to
maintain the honor of such a post and 
dwelling, and is endowed with an income 
adequate for the purpose. Though in 
personal manners Dr. Whewell is not remarkable 
for polish, his conversation is
filled with continued evidences of a mind 
of unusual compass, and distinguished by 
an affability and frankness which give
great interest to his manners and turn 
away attention from the occasional bluntness, 
we might almost say severity, of remark 
which sometimes startles one when 
he is earnestly giving utterance to his noblest 
thoughts. He is in the meridian of 
life, in a condition of independence, and
we may hope much from the future occupations 
of his scholastic hours, now freed
from all the toil of instruction, in the 
great and important walks of moral science, 
which he has particularly selected
for himself.
  
His present work is one of novel construction 
and of great value. The author 
goes over the whole field of morals in all 
the principles and departments of the extensive
subject, laying down the proper 
points of distinction in the clearest manner, 
and giving a knowledge of the subject 
which is to be derived with equal accuracy
and ease from no other source. 
There is a general soundness and purity
in the system, which he inculcates and
defends, that affix to it peculiar value, and
render it of permanent influence and control. 
In regard to all his fundamental 
principles of moral truth and duty, there
will be found no exception to this remark;
though in reference to some of his deductions,
and some collateral points, we 
should feel compelled to question the justice
of his assertions, or their susceptibility 
of proof. This observation would be
particularly applicable to his delineation
of the source of human government, to
his statements of a necessary or desirable
connexion between the Government and
the Church or Churches of a land, and
some other points, which will be readily
discovered by those who have intelligence
of the subject sufficient to lead them to 
read the book. But the exceptions
which we are disposed to make are incidental. 
The work itself will be a permanent
and standard one. It will undoubtedly 
be introduced into most of our
more elevated seminaries of learning as a
fixed book of instruction; and its influence
cannot but operate to purify and ennoble
the minds of youth. We congratulate 
the enterprising publishers, who have
made this work so accessible to American
readers, upon the choice with which they
have commenced their new miscellany.
If they shall follow up this work with
others of a similar stamp, they will
well deserve the most liberal encouragement.

-

Library of Choice Reading. No. XXVI.

Selections from Taylor, Barrow, South, 
Fuller, &c. 1 vol., pp. 250.,

In this new volume of Wiley & Putnam's
Library we have the selections of a
ripe scholar from a wide range of wholesome
reading. Basil Montagu, the friend
of Romilly and Brougham and Charles
Lamb, early an advocate for reform in the 
criminal laws of England, but best known 
here as the editor of the latest and best 
collection of the works of Lord Bacon,
has selected from the writings of English
divines a mass of valuable extracts. The
masculine sense and radiant wit of South
and the quaintness and pungency of
Thomas Fuller; the imagination of Jeremy
Taylor, with its imperial opulence
and splendor, and the clear and exhaustive
intellect of Barrow, of whom Charles
II. complained that he left nothing to be
said by those who came after him, and 
whose sermons, as models of a vigorous 
and manly eloquence, were so admired 
and studied by Lord Chatham that he had 
learned many of them by heart; all are 
here laid under tribute. In the notes we 
have also extracts from the brilliant sermons, 
some of them, we believe, manuscripts, 
elsewhere unpublished, of the
wayward but devoted Edward Irving, of 
whom Basil Montagu was a friend.
   
The work is no mere heedless and heterogenous
combination.  It is a Mosaic of
well-selected and well-set gems, valuable
each apart, and not less valuable from the
taste that chose and the skill that has arranged
them.  It is a compend of striking
thoughts in sinewy English, of the
purest moral tendency.
______

The Poetical Writings of ELIZABETH
OAKES SMITH.  First complete edition.
New York:  J. S. Redfield,
1845

WE are pleased to see a neat and popular
edition of Mrs. Smith's Poems. The
longest in this collection is The Sinless
Child, a composition which has long
since received a high degree of praise.
It unfolds, in graceful and sustained
verse, the spiritual theory of life, recognizing
in childhood beautiful and immortal
attributes, and illustrating the purifying 
and exalting agency of love in calling
forth and redeeming character. The
story is quite simple, the language choice,
and the imagery full of nature and sweetness.

Notices of New Books.  399

We perceive that the poem has
been carefully revised, and in many respects
improved. "The Acorn" is a
very felicitous production, describing the
history of an acorn from the moment it
falls from its parent tree until it crashes
over the bulwarks of a man-of-war in 
the shape of a lofty mast. This production
is very ingenious: it indicates a nice
perception of nature, ready invention, 
and rare command of language. The
latter quality is no less eloquently manifested 
in Mrs. Smith's Sonnets. Many
of them are of high merit, and betray no
ordinary insight. They are chiefly expressive
of moral truth or conflict. No
American poetess has manifested a more
purely spiritual tone of sentiment, and
in many instances more happily caught
those national features so essential to the
popularity of imaginative works.

The True Grandeur of Nations.

THIS is the title of an oration delivered 
on the fourth of July last, at Boston, by 
Charles Sumner, Esq. It created unusual 
interest, from the bold and rare position 
assumed on an occasion usually 
devoted to glorifying the men of the Revolution 
and the institutions of the land. 
It is creditable to the moral courage of 
Mr. Summer, that he advanced the 
Christian doctrine of Peace on a day 
heretofore dedicated to military reminiscences,
and in the very face of their present 
representatives, themselves. We 
believe there is more to be said on the 
other side of the question than the orator 
has noted. His address is a piece of 
special pleading; but one eminently 
worthy of an able lawyer and sound philanthropist
—though rather too profuse 
in ornament, and classical almost to pedantry. 
As an abstract moral argument 
it is quite incontrovertible. Mr. Summer 
cites numerous and renowned authorities, 
ancient and modern; he occasionally 
rises to a strain of thrilling eloquence, 
and many of his illustrations are very 
striking. We apprehend that no small 
portion of the facts cited in this pamphlet 
will be new to our readers, particularly 
those having reference to the expenses 
of our army and navy — bating 
their exaggeration. We are not by any 
means prepared to accept all the inferences 
drawn by Mr. Summer from the 
premises he lays down; but we commend
his oration to the attentive perusal of 
every lover of his county and of truth, 
deeming, as we do, many of its suggestions
important, and cordially recognizing 
its earnest and logical eloquence.

-

Autobiography of Alfieri. Translated by 
C. EDWARDS LESTER. New York: 
Paine & Burgess. 50 cts.

This volume is the fifth number of the 
Medici Series of Italian Prose. We have 
discussed the general merits of these 
books in previous numbers. Of the present, 
perhaps, it is enough to say that the 
original is deemed in Italy one of the 
most frank and interesting memoirs ever 
published. The name of Alfieri has become 
classical through his vigorous and 
picturesque tragedies, which, without the 
light and shade of Shakspeare, have the 
terse and sculptured form of the Grecian
drama with the intense energy of Italian 
genius, tranquillized and concentrated by 
an earnest will. Alfieri is the great 
apostle of modern liberty in his own 
country. He was a man of singular energy 
and strong passions; in youth reckless 
and idle, but in after years industrious 
and devoted to self-culture and literary 
fame. In many respects he resembled 
Byron. His autobiography is a 
valuable contribution to that important 
class of works, which justly illustrate human 
character. Mr. Lester has translated 
it con amore.

MONTHLY LITERARY BULLETIN.

NOTICES of the Annuals for the ensuing year
are necessarily postponed, together with several 
other interesting items of literary intelligence, 
for which we hope to find room in our next number. 
The Messrs. Appleton announce a new edition 
of "Nature's Gems, or American Wild 
Flowers;" "A Book of Christmas Carols, printed 
in the illuminated style, with twenty-four beautiful 
borders in colors and gold; copied from the 
choicest manuscripts of the sixteenth century, 
preserved in the British Museum, and with four 
beautiful missal pictures of appropriate designs, 
viz: The Angels Appearing to the Shepherds, The 
Adoration of Magi, The Nativity, The Annunciation. 
Also a list of valuable and attractive works 
for the Mirror "Literary Miscellany"—among 
others, the delightful "Memoirs of an American
Lady," Mrs. Grant, the Roman story of "Valerius," 
by Lockheart, and the "Memoirs of 
Carlo Goldoni," the Italian comic writer.

Michelet's History of France gains rapidly 
in popularity with each successive number. 
The "History of New Netherlands, or
New York under the Dutch," by E. B. C. Callaghan,
will soon appear, and doubtless will 
win the attention of every genuine Knickerbocker; 
also "A Manuel of Astronomy," by John 
Drew. 1 vol. 12mo. "History of Rome," by D400  Books Just Published.  [November.

Arnold, 2 vols.  8vo.  Four Hundred Sketches 
of Sermons, by the author of "Pulpit Cyclopædia."  
1 vol.  8vo.  "Philidor's Treatise on Chess," 
with additions. 1 vol. 12mo. They have issued 
a very elegant edition of Dante's great Epic, translated 
by Carey, embellished by a newly-discovered 
and authentic portrait, and twelve splendid 
ideal outlines after Flaxman, a notice of which 
will be found in our Table of New Books.  Mr. 
E. Walker has just completed his new Religious 
Gift Book, entitled "The Missionary Memorial," 
gorgeously enclosed in morocco gilt, and embellished 
by a beautiful oil painting, &c.

The Harpers have just ready for publication 
the following: Dendy's "Philosophy of Mystery," 
forming No. 3 of their New Library Miscellany, 
a work of unique and striking character.  
They also are about to issue in the same series, 
"Parrott's Ascent of Ararat," "Wakefield's New 
Zealand," "McKenzie's Life of Paul Jones," "The 
Genius and Wisdom of Burke," "Pritchard's Natural 
History of Man," "Holmes's Life of Mozart," 
"Southey's Colloquies on Society," 
“Whewell’s Inductive Sciences.”  Of new 
works of fiction the following are just ready: 
“Amaury, a Tale,” from the French of Dumas; 
“Ascanio,” by the same writer, both illustrative 
of French History; Horace Smith’s last novel, 
and he says the last he will write, entitled “Love 
and Mesmerism;” “Foster Brothers,” by Leigh 
Hunt, who inherits no small quota of his father's 
genius; and two novels from Mary Howitt—
“Only a Fiddler, and O. T.;” and “The Author's 
Daughter,” together with Mrs. Gore’s “Story of a 
Royal Favorite,’’ and “The “Lady of Milan,” a 
powerfully written story of the feuds of the 
Guelfs and Ghibberlines.  The Harpers have also 
a number of important works in the various departments 
of literature in preparation: some of 
which we announced in our former number.  
Dr. Durbin’s new book of “Travels in the East,” 
in two beautifully embellished volumes, is just 
published.

Messrs. Wiley and Putnam’s Series of American 
Books will shortly include “Western Clearings,” 
by Mrs. Kirkland, No. VII. of the Lirbrary: Mr. 
Poe’s volume, “The Raven and other Poems,” 
including “Poems of Youth,” No. VIII.; Mr. 
Headley’s new book, “The Alps and Rhine;” 
Mr. Simm’s “ Views and Reviews in American 
History, Literature and Fiction,” including a 
sketch of the Conquest of Mexico, by Cortez, a 
paper on the genius of J. Fenimore Cooper, and 
the Life of Boone, Indian Literature, &c., &c.  
Messrs. Wiley and Putnam have also in immediate
preparation for their Literary and Choice 
Reading, “The Life of the Great Conde,” by 
Lord Mahon, printed from the adrance proof 
sheets, purchased in England, where the work 
will not be published till December; a new volume 
of Zschokke’s Tales, translated by Parke 
Godwin; "The Book of Christmas,” by T. K. Hervey, 
the poet ; Mrs. Caroline Southey’s Poetical 
Works ; Wit and Humor, the continuation of 
Leigh Hunt’s series of Critical Commentaries uniform 
with Imagination and Fancy ; Izaak Walton's 
Lives ; Goldsmith's works, the first complete 
American edition.  From proof sheets from 
the author, the Life and Poems of Keats, by 
Milnes, the poet; Campbell’s (the poet) Life and 
Letters by Dr. Beattie.

The Foreign Library, commenced by the same-
publishers, already numbers I. and II., the Memoirs 
of Benveneuto Cellini. No. III. will be 
Victor Hugo’s Rhine.

Paine and Burgess have in press a work on 
Greece, by Mr. Perdicaris, our late Consul at 
Athens, whose lectures, delivered in this country 
several years ago, gained him a high literary reputation.  
Able judges who have seen the manuscripts 
pronounce these volumes a master-piece 
of beautiful and philosophic writing.  The same 
firm will soon issue "Montezuma,” a historical 
romance, by the son of the celebrated Maturin, 
author of “Bertram," "Montorio,” “Melmoth, 
the Wanderer,” &c., said to be written in a 
nervous and vigorous style, rich in imagery, and 
to possess great dramatic power; Melodies by G. 
P. Morris—first complete edition ; “Man in the 
Republic,” by Cornelius Mathews ; “Prairedom,”  
Fanny Forrester’s First Book of Sketches.

Norman has in the same press a new book of 
his recent visit to the Ruins in the Southern Peninsula, 
entitled “Rambles by Land and Water," 
in Cuba and Mexico, including a canoe voyage up 
the River Panco, and researches among the ruins 
of Tamanlipas. A dozen plates in tints are to 
accompany the volume, comprising among other 
subjects of interest, “The Peak of Orizaba, a 
mountain 17,000 feet high, snow-capped and of 
course seldom visited, a sepulchral monumental 
effigy, which he discovered, a perfect novelty in 
this terra incognita, resembling those of the 
Knight Templars, and the "American Sphinx,” a 
problem which the author leaves to the cognoscenti 
of the land to solve.

J. S. Redfield has in press Willis' complete 
works, in 1 vol. 8vo; the poems of Shelley,
complete, in 1 vol. 16mo, edited by G. G. Foster.


BOOKS JUST PUBLISHED

Library of American Books.—No. 1.—Journal 
of an African Cruiser, edited by Nathaniel Hawthorne, 
50 cents ; 2, Tales by Edgar A. Poe, 50 
cts ; Letters from Italy, by J. T. Headly, 50 cents; 
4, Wigwam and Cabin, by W. Gilmore Simms, 50 
cents; 5, Big Abel and Little Manhattan, by Cornelius 
Matthews; 25 cts.; 6, Wanderings of a Pilgrim 
under the Shadow of Mont Blanc, by Geo. B. 
Cheever, D. D. 37½ cts.——Of Choice Reading, 
No. 33, Vicar of Wakefield, 37½ cents.  
——Foreign Library, Nos. 1, 2, Memoirs of Benvenuto 
Cellini, a Florentine Artist, edited by T. 
Rascoe, 50 cts.——The Mysteries of Tobacco, by 
Rev. B. J. Lane with an introductory letter to Hon. 
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PHILIP RANDOLPH. A Tale of Virginia. By Mary Gertrude
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DAWNINGS of Genius. By Anne Pratt. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38

TALES FOR THE PEOPLE AND THEIR
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Any volume of this popular series can be had separately.

MY OWN STORY.        By Mary Howitt. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
THE TWO APPRENTICES.            By do . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
LOVE and Money.                            Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
WORK and Wages.                          Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
LITTLE Coin Much Care.                   Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
WHICH is the Wiser?                       Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
WHO shall be Greatest?                  Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
HOPE on, Hope Ever.                       Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
STRIVE and Thrive.                           Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
SOWING and Reaping.                    Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
NO SENSE like Common Sense.      Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
ALICE Franklin.                                 Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
MY UNCLE, The Clockmaker.           Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
FIRST Impressions.                By Mrs. Ellis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
DANGERS of Dining Out.                    Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
SOMMERVILLE Hall.                            Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
MINISTER'S Family.                             Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
TWIN Sisters, The.                By Mrs. Sandham. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
EARLY Friendship.                 By Mrs. Copley. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
POPLAR Grove. The.                                Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
MASTEMAN READY.              By Capt. Marryatt.        3 vols. . . . . . . . . . .1 12
SETTLERS in Canada. 2 vols.                     Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
CROFTON Boys, The.            By Harriet Martineau. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
PEASANT and the Prince.                       Do. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
LOOKING-GLASS for the Mind. Many plates. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
TIRED of Housekeeping.        By T. S. Arthur. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
FARMER'S Daughter, The.       By Mrs. Cameron. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
YOUNG Student.                     By Madame Guizot. 3 vols. . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 12
DOMESTIC Tales.                     By Hannah More  2 vols. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .75


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“I have devoted as much time as I have been able, to 
an examination of ‘Taylor’s Manual of Ancient and Modern 
History;’ and I feel prepared to say, that I look upon it as 
the most valuable work which I have seen, for the purposes 
for which such a Manual is likely to be used. . . . .  Wherever 
a general text-book of history is needed, the work of Taylor, 
as published by you, seems to me well fitted for the purpose.”

The following is from President Eastbrooke, of East 
Tennessee University.  Speaking of the Manual, he says:  
“It is an invaluable work.  As a Text-Book or Manual of 
general history, it is, in my opinion, unsurpassed.  The additional 
chapter on the history of the United States will 
make it still more acceptable to American readers”


LECTURES ON MODERN HISTORY :

By THOMAS ARNOLD, D. D., Author of “The History of Rome,” etc., etc.
With an Introduction and Notes, by HENRY REED, Prof. of English Literature in the University of Pennsylvania.
One handsome volume, 12mo. $1.25.

These Lectures were considered by their author as purely introductory, and were intended to excite a more vivid interest in the study of Modern History; and there is no book better calculated for that purpose than this; nor has there ever been issued one so intensely interesting to Teacher as well as Pupil.

*** This volume forms a portion of the third series of the above LibraryEMPORIUM FOR STANDARD LITERATURE,
ENGLISH AND AMERICAN.
D. APPLETON & CO.,
200 BROADWAY, NEW YORK,

Beg to invite the attention of their Friends and the Public generally, to
their Choice and Unique Assortment of the most Important Works that
emanate from the English and American Press.

Their Establishment is distinguished by its large collection of STANDARD
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Donne, South, Hume and Smollett, Gibbon, Robertson, Locke, Lardner,
Leslie, Hurd, Porteus, John Scott, Skelton, Sherlocke, Warburton,
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Clarke, Wraxhall, Alison, Mitford, Byron, Stackhouse, Bentley, Sharon
Turner, Spencer, Warton, Fuller, Lamb, Hazlitt, Coleridge, Shelley,
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Swift, Heeren, Collier, Patrick, Lowth, Whitby, Arnold, and
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American Books.

Their assortment of "Modern American Publications" is now very complete,
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WORKS IN THEOLOGICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE,

TO WHICH ADDITIONS ARE CONSTANTLY BEING MADE.

SCHOOL BOOKS IN EVERY VARIETY

Country Merchants supplied on the most favorable terms



PAINE & BURGESS, 62 JOHN STREET,
PUBLISHERS,

Propose to issue a succession of Books from AMERICAN WRITERS exclusively, of an original
and independent cast, bearing the stamp of the author's genius and the genius of the country.
The range will embrace works in every department of Literature—History, Biography,
Travels, Poems, Essays, Sketches, &c. Such works only will be chosen as are true to the
country and its institutions, in subject and execution.

Believing that the rights of authors are as sacred as the rights of other men, we shall re-print
no English Books, except by arrangement with the English author, till an International Copyright
Law be passed.

Just Published, and is receiving the highest commendations of the Press,

"THE MEDICI SERIES OF ITALIAN PROSE."

ETTORE FIERAMOSCA, OR THE CHALLENGE
OF BARLETTA, by Massimo d'Azeglio,
(second edition,)—paper. . . . . . . .    $ 0 50
Do.,—cloth or sheep. . . . . . . . . . . .       " 75

"Challenge of Barletta.—This work is deliciously
written, and admirably translated."—N. Y.
Mirror.

The author has ingeniously interwoven the web
of fiction in the wool of history, and has composed a
romance replete with character, stirring adventure,
and graphic power of description. Mr. Lester's
translation is vivid, faithful, easy and elegant.—
New-Orleans Bee.

"The Challenge of Barletta, one of the choicest
gems of Italian romance.—Tribune.

THE FLORENTINE HISTORIES, by Niccolo
Machiavelli, 2 vols.,—paper,. . . . . . . .1 00
Do.,—cloth or sheep,. . . . . . . . . . . . .  1 50

Meeting with Machiavelli so well translated into
our bold, vigorous tongue, is like encountering a
colossal statue famed in antiquity, but just now
excavated from the earth.—N. Y. Observer.

"The Florentine Histories we welcome as an
invaluable accession to the literature of our country.
They are the original and authentic history of
that period when Central Italy contained nearly all
of refinement, literature, and art, that survived the
wreck of the ancient world.—Tribune.

Of the great merits of the original work—the
Florentine Histories of Machiavelli—it would be
useless to speak, unless we could speak at length.
They have been held in the highest regard, for three
centuries and a half, by the best minds in Europe,
as a rapid, clear, and philosophical narrative of the
growth, changes, misfortunes and triumphs of the
most brilliant of the Republics of Italy.—Democratic
Review.

THE CITIZEN OF A REPUBLIC, by Ansaldo
Ceba   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .paper. . .0 50
           "                      "      cloth of sheep.   0 75

"It is the production of a republican, a philosopher,
a patriot, a philanthropist, and should be made
a class book in our schools and colleges.—N. Y. Sun.

"This volume, take it all in all, is unique in its
character, and will be read with delight by all persons
of correct taste.—Tribune.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF VITTORIO ALFIERI
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .paper, 0 50
         "                    "    cloth or sheep. 0 75

This work itself can scarcely need commendation:
the great name of Alfieri, one of the proudest in
Italian History, will be sufficient to enlist universal
attention.—Courier & Enquirer.

He was not merely a Tragic Poet of the highest
grade next to the unapproachable Shakspeare—he
was an ardent and single-minded patriot—the Autobiography
of such a man is invaluable in every
respect.—Albany Argus.

THE MUSICAL A. B. C., A method of teaching
music to children, with songs to sweeten
their studies. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .0.25

IVES'S MUSICAL SPELLING BOOK, a New Method
of Musical Instruction and Recreations, 8vo     .50

THE MUSICAL READING BOOK, a New Method
of Instruction; and Music, Sacred and Secular,
designed for Schools and Musical
Academies, by E. Ives, Jr. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  1.00

THE BEETHOVEN COLLECTION OF SACRED MUSIC,

comprising Themes, now first arranged from
the Instrumental Compositions of Beethoven,
Haydn, Mozart, and other eminent Composers,
and original Tunes, Chants, and
Anthems; the whole harmonized in four
parts, with an Accompaniment for the Organ.
To which is prefixed, a New Method of
Instruction in the Rudiments of Music, and
the Art of Reading, with Annotations, by
Messrs. Ives, Alpers, and Timm. . . . . . . . . . . . 1.00.

This series of music Books, is upon an entirely
different system from those in use in this Country,
and are arranged after the method in universal use
in England and on the Continent of Europe;
which, while it simplifies the science to the beginner,
soon renders the pupil capable of mastering
the most complicated compositions, and difficult
vocal performances. The selections for exercise,
are the choicest gems of the Great Composers.
The Beethoven Collection forms the most complete
Books for Choirs in use: the pieces are mostly
chosen from the Great Beethoven, and are pronounced
by musical artists as unexcelled.


In Press.

PRAIRIEDOM: Rambles and Scrambles in Texas
and New Estremadura, by a Southron. With
a map.  1 vol., 12mo.

THE ARTIST, MERCHANT, AND STATESMAN, by
E. Edwards Lester, 2 vols., 12mo.—paper.

MELODIES, by Gen. G. P. Morris, 32mo., gilt.

TRIPPINGS IN AUTHORLAND, by Fanny Forester,
12mo.

RAMBLES BY LAND AND WATER, OR NOTES OF
TRAVEL IN CUBA AND MEXICO; including a
canoe voyage up the River Panuch, and
Researches among the Antiquities in Taumalipas,
by B. M. Norman, 1 vol., 12mo. cl. 1.00

A NEW WORK ON GREECE, by G. A. Perdicaris,
U. S. Consul at Athens, 2 vols., 12mo.

MONTEZUMA, The Last of the Aztecs, an Historical
Romance of the Conquest of Mexico,
by Edward Maturin, 2 vols., 12mo.

THE OLD CONTINENTAL, or the Price of Liberty,
by the author of "The Dutchman's Fireside,"
2 vols., 12mo.

THE PRINCE, by Machiavelli, 1 vol., 12mo.

MAN IN THE REPUBLIC, by Cornelius Matthews,
32mo., gilt—a new and carefully revised ed.DEMOCRATIC REVIEW.
GREATLY REDUCED PRICE—FROM $5 TO $3 PER ANNUM.
SINGLE COPY, 25 CENTS.

PROSPECTUS OF THE NEXT (OR 17TH) VOLUME.

THE price of the DEMOCRATIC REVIEW has heretofore been too high—not for its size, cost, and character, but for the means of tens of thousands of readers who would be glad to receive it, and among whom it is highly desirable that it should circulate. For the purpose, therefore, of largely multiplying the numbers of those to whom it may be accessible, it has been determined, simultaneously with the great reduction in the expense of the postage, to reduce its subscription price also, from Five to only Three dollars; and when several unite in subscription, to as low as $2 50 or even $2 30 per annum.

This very large reduction in the receipts (accompanied with but a comparatively small diminution of its expense) involves, of course, an entire sacrifice of profit upon it, unless compensated by a vast multiplication of its subscribers. There will be at the outset only a small reduction in its number of pages; soon to be restored to its old number, without increase of price, when the anticipated success of the experiment shall justify it.

The PORTRAITS OF DISTINGUISHED DEMOCRATS will be continued—engraved in better and more costly style than heretofore.

The POSTAGE will hereafter, for any distance, be only five and a half cents; it has heretofore been, for over 100 miles, eighteen cents.

We look for an extension of circulation to be reckoned by tens of thousands, as the result and compensation of this great reduction of price. Every friend of the work, and of the Democratic principles and cause, is confidently appealed to to exert himself with an active interest to procure it subscribers; both to extend its usefulness, and to carry it successfully through the crisis of this great reduction of its receipts.

Those who have paid in advance for the coming year, will receive it, at the reduced rate, for a year and a half. 


TERMS HENCEFORWARD.
(INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.)

Single copy, . $3 00 | Eight copies, $20 00
Four copies, . . 11 00 | Thirteen " 30 00

It will thus be seen that when thirteen copies are ordered at once, the price is brought down to about $2 30 each. For six months, half these rates.

These rates afford high inducements to agents and others to interest themselves to procure subscribers.

The cash system and payment in advance must be uncompromisingly adhered to. The past relaxation of it has caused an accumulation of not far from $40,000 of debts due to the work. Hereafter, this must be wholly reformed; nor must either the most eminent political friend, or the most intimate personal one, be displeased on experiencing its application, in the stoppage of their numbers, if they neglect this rule; the vital necessity of which, at the present reduced rates, must be obvious to all.

No communications will be taken from the Post Office unless free of postage.

All communications on editorial business will be addressed as heretofore to J. L. O'SULLIVAN; those on publication business must be addressed henceforward to the undersigned. Those relating to the settlement of past debts due the work will still be addressed to Mr. H. G. LANGLEY, 8 Astor House, the past arrangements with whom, as publisher, have reached their termination.

O. C. GARDINER,
SEPT., 1845.   136 Nassau-street, New York.
----

Last Likeness of General Jackson. 

The admirable Daguerreotype of General Jackson, taken by Anthony, Edwards & Co. a few weeks before his death, has been purchased for the use of the Democratic Review. It is in the hands of the artist, and will be engraved in the finest style of mezzotint, of extra size. It is a most beautiful and interesting work, declared by Mr. Van Buren and others to give a more perfect idea of the good and great old man than any other likeness; and ought to be possessed and framed by every friend who loves or reveres his memory. Those who subscribe early will receive it as one of the regular series of Portraits.
----

To the Democratic Press.

Our friends of the Democratic Press are requested to interest themselves in aiding to carry the work safely and successfully through the crisis of this great reduction of price. Every Editor inserting this prospectus, with an editorial notice, (and sending a copy of the paper marked,) shall receive the Review for a year.