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A Description of the Hot Springs, near the river Washitaw, and of the Physical Geography of the adjacent country; in a Communication from Major S. H. Long, of the U. S. corps of Engineers, to the hon. Samuel L. Mitchill, dated St. Louis, Missouri, February 23, 1818. (Read before the Lyceum of Natural History at New-York, 20th April,1818.)

MY DEAR SIR,

I take the liberty of communicating upon a subject which you will no doubt consider somewhat interesting, not only

HOT SPRINGS OF

because it relates to a curiosity of the first magnitude, but because it is connected also with a profession which is greatly indebted to yourself, for its respectability and advancement in this country. The subject alluded to, is the Hot Springs of the Washitaw, which I visited on the first day of January last, on my return from Red river. Together with an unvarnished description of the springs, I herewith present you a rude sketch of the adjacent country, which will enable you to form some idea of their locality. THE WASHITAW.

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N. B. The Numbers 550, 575, and 600, represent the probable beight of the hills.

These remarkable springs are situated in N. lat. 34° 14' 7", upon a small creek of the Washitaw, bearing their name, and uniting with that river at the distance of 12 or 14 miles from the springs. The country in which they are situated is extremely hilly and broken, the highlands being divided into numerous ridges and knobs by creeks, runs, &c. The rocky formations, in this neighbourhood, are both various and interesting, exhibiting various orders of concretion, from the softest state to the hardest flint. On the Washitaw, slate of an excellent quality for tiling is found in abundance. Near the springs I observed several varieties of this formation, one of which appeared well adapted for writing slates, and a second, sufficiently hard and fissile for tiles. On Hot Spring creek, and several other water courses in its vicinity, are extensive quarries of stone, resembling, in colour and texture, the Turkey oil stone, which, by numerous experiments, has been proved equally as useful in sharpening tools, &c. On the bills, tiff and other mineral sines abound. The stones in many places are strongly impregnated with iron, and rich ore of this metal is frequently to be met with. Upon the hill from which the Hot Springs issue, the rocky formations are different in many respects, from any I have observed upon the other hills. By the operation of heat, as also of the water which holds in solution a large portion of the carbonate of lime, no where else to be seen upon the surface of the ground, various changes have been wrought upon them. In some instances the works are so incrusted with calcarious concretions, that it is difficult to ascertain their original character without a minute examination, In others, pebbles and stones of various forms and complexions, are so strongly cemented together with iron and calx combined, as to constitute large masses of compact and solid stone. The rocks and stones generally upon the hills, are extremely ragged and favillous, vast bodies of them, in many instances, having the appearance of being composed entirely of the calcarious matter once held in solution by the hot water of the springs. In regard to the natural growth, 1 observed nothing peculiar to the hill whence the springs flow, that was not common also to the other neighbouring heights. The high lands generally, in this quarter, are covered with forests of yellow or pitch pine, and support an exuberant growth of vines, furze, bramble, &c.

The course of the creek in passing the springs, is nearly south. The quantity of

water running in it, is, at this time, (Jan. 1,) about one thousand gallons per minute. Hot Spring hill, or mountain, (as it is more frequently called,) is situated on the east side of the creek, and is about 550 feet high. The extent of its base along the creek is about six hundred yards. The hill is of a conical form, and has a base not exceeding 1 1-2 miles in diameter. It is completely insulated from the other hills by which it is environed, by creeks, brooks, and ravines. Directly north of it, on the same side of the creek, is another hill somewhat higher, separated from the former by a small brook. On the west side of the creek, directly opposite to Spring hill, is a third, considerably higher than either of the last mentioned, and situated a little distance from the creek, leaving an area of considerable extent between its base and the creek, upon which cabins are built for the accommodation of those who visit the springs.

There are said to be sixty different springs or fountains of hot water, occupying a distance of about four hundred yards along the east side of the creek. On the west side there is but one, situated immediately upon the shore, and discharging but a moderate quantity of water; while on the other side, they are variously situated, some of them near the edge of the creek, upon the same level, and others on different parts of the declivity, elevated from 10 to 150 feet above the water level, and discharging from one to fifteen or twenty gallons each, per minute. Immediately in the vicinity of some of the hot springs, are fountains of cold water, in some instances, gushing out of the ground within a very few feet of the Hot Spring

There have been 14 or 15 rude cabins constructed along the creek, by persons who resort hither, occasionally, for the benefit of the springs. They are situated mostly on the west side, and are calculated merely for a summer residence, very few of them having chimneys. At present none of them are occupied, except one, in which a family took a temporary residence a few days since. There are no settlements yet made nearer than the Washitaw, where there are three at the distance of about eight miles from the springs. From these settlements, residents at the springs obtain provisions by paying a high price; but, to the credit and generosity of the settlers, it may be said, that they are equally as ready to supply the poor, as the rich, although they run the risk of never receiving payment for their produce. There have been

instances where they have refused to take double their selling price for their corn, but have chosen rather to divide it between the poor and rich, not according to their ability to pay, but in proportion to the necessities of the purchasers, and the quantity of provisions absolutely required for their subsistence.

During my delay at the springs, I made the following observations relative to their respective temperatures, &c. commencing in the creek immediately below the springs, and passing up along its eastern shore as far as they extend. The numbers annexed to the springs are merely accidental, indicating the order in which

I examined them.

Temperature of the creek below the springs, 64 deg. Fahrenheit, probable discharge 1100 gallons.

Temperature of spring No. 1, being the lowermost on the creek, 122 deg. probable discharge per minute, 4 gallons. Temperature of spring No. 2, a few feet from No. 1, 104 deg. probable discharge per minute, 1 gallon.

Temperature of spring No. 3, about 25 yards above the last, 126 deg. probable discharge per minute, 2 gallons.

Temperature of spring No. 4, after aniting with aspring of cold water, 124 deg. probable discharge per minute, 2 gallons. Temperature of springs Nos. 5, 6, and 7, rising very near each other, the hottest, most elevated, 126, 94, and 92 deg, probable discharge per minute, 8 gallons.

Temperature of spring No. 8, elevation 50 feet, after mingling with a cold spring, 128 deg. probable discharge per minute, 10 gallons.

Temperature of spring No. 9, elevated 60 feet above the water level, 132 deg. probable discharge per minute, 2 gallons. Temperature of spring No. 10, elevated 40 feet, bushes growing in the waters edge, 151 deg. probable discharge per minute, 5 gallons.

Temperature of spring No. 11, issuing near the margin of the creek, elevated 3 feet, 148 deg. probable discharge per minute, 14 gallons.

Temperature of spring No. 12, 20 yards from the last, having a sweat house upon it, 132 deg. probable discharge per minute, 20 gallons.

Temperature of springs Nos. 13, 14, and 15, all excavations for baths, situated just above No. 12; 124, 119, 108 deg. probable discharge per minute, 6 gallons.

Temperture of spring No. 16, an exopvates also, near the last, 122 deg. prohatic discuarge per minute, 2 gallons.

Temperature of spring No. 17, uppermost on the creek, and has a sweat house and bath, 126 deg. probable discharge per minute, 5 gallons.

Temperature of springs Nos. 18, 19, 20, 21, and 22, all rising near together on a level area, 126, 128, 130, 136, and 140, deg. probable discharge per minute, 9 gallons.

The last mentioned cluster is situated upon a prominent part of the hill, elevated at least one hundred feet above the level of the creek. In the same area are several others,-and what is particularly remarkable, several springs of cold water rise in the same plat, one of them within a very few feet of the hottest spring. In some of these springs, I observed bubbles rising in rapid succession, but could not discover any remarkable scent emitted from them.

Temperature of the creek immediately above the springs, 46 deg. probable discharge per minute, 1000 gallons.

Besides the springs enumerated above, there are many others situated on the same side of the hill, at different elevai tions above the water level.

The heat of the water in the summer season, is said to be much greater than at present, and the discharge somewhat less. The water is then hot enough to draw tea or coffee, cook eggs, and even meat. In the hottest of the springs, I observed bushes growing, as also an abundance of beautiful moss of a deep green colour, and of a vegetating appearance;-and what is still more wonderful, a kind of water insect, something longer than the wood louse, but resembling it in shape, lives and sports in the heated element.

There is a spring of cold water about 3 miles from the hot springs, in a northeasterly direction, which has obtained some notoriety from the circumstance of its having occasioned the death of a man who had heated himself in pursuing a bear, and drank too freely of its water, and has, therefore, obtained the name of the Poison Spring. From the description given me of this spring, I am inclined to think it a chalybeate, pretty strongly impregnated,—and containing, possibly, some arsenic. Its waters deposit an abundance of ocreous earth, adhering to the stones in the bottom and sides of the channel through which they flow.

Believe me, dear Sir, with sincere regard, your most obliged, humble servant, S. H. LONG.

Hon. S. L. Mitchill.

ART. 2.

The Corsair. A Melo-Drama, in four Acts, collected and arranged for the Stage, from Lord Byron's Poem. By EDWIN C. HOLLAND, Esq. of Charleston, South-Carolina. 18mo. pp. 54. Charleston, A. E. Miller.

THE

HE character of this production is truly set forth in the title page. It is nothing more than an attempt to dramatize lord Byron's poem of the Corsair, preserving almost literally the language of his lordship, and strictly adhering to his plot. The poetry of the original has, however, suffered much, in the soldering of it into a new frame,-and though it was little indebted to its rhymes for its effect, it loses much of its force and dignity, in its present denudation into blank verse. Mr. Holland, in a very pretty preface, has avowed his unbounded admiration of lord Byron's genius, and particularly as it is displayed in the poem which he has endeavoured to adapt to the stage. We hardly know how to reconcile the kindred glow of enthusiasm, which seems to have animated Mr. H. in his undertaking, with the humble and servile transcriptions which constitute his greatest merit.

The story of the Corsair is familiar to most of our readers-still it may not be superfluous succinctly to recount it. Conrad, the Corsair, was the chief of a band of pirates, in possession of one of the Egean Isles. He had been driven, by the unrelenting persecution of the world, to the desperate resort of waging indiscriminate warfare with his species. But still, his heart was not wholly dipped in the Stygian flood; he had one vulnerable point,-and there, love had infixed his shaft. He loved Medora-she was almost the only being that he did not hate. Medora was his wife, and loved him, in return, with a tenderness of which our sex is incapable. The poem opens with the arrival of a bark, which brings secret information to Conrad. On the instant, he orders his fleet to be equipped, and sets sail for the neighbouring continent. He enters the bay of Coron unobserved. It was a night of revelling among the Turks, preludatory to their meditated attack on the strong hold of the pirates. Conrad disguises himself-lands-and is introduced, as a dervise, escaped from the enemy, into the banqueting room of the Pacha Seyd. Whilst in conference with the Pacha, his comrades fire the Turkish gallies. The flash of the sudden conflagration arouses the suspicions of the Turk, who proclaims the dervise a traitor and a spy. At this critical moment, Conrad throws off his disguise, unsheaths his sabre, and gives a blast upon his bugle.

His followers rush in on the signal-a combat ensues-the Turks are routed, and Seyd betakes himself to flight. The Corsairs now proceed to fire tl town. Conrad perceives that the flames have envel oped the Haram. He rushes to the rescue of its inhabitants, and bears out, in his arms, the favourite queen Gulnare. In the mean time Seyd has rallied his troops, and returns to the attack. The crews of Conrad are overpowered by numbers; and he remains wounded in the hands of the conquerors. Seyd dooms him to impalement, but spares him till he is sufficiently recovered to feel the punishment to which he is sentenced. Gulnare, influenced by sentiments of gratitude, which had ripened into love, visits Conrad in his prison, and soothes him with hope. She essays to persuade Seyd to ransom him, by appealing to his avarice. He peremptorily refuses to listen to the proposition, and intimates his suspicions of the motives which prompted her suggestion,—he even utters a menace against her life. The result of this fruitless endeavour to save the life of Conrad by her powers of persuasion, decides Gulnare as to the course she is to pursue. At midnight, by virtue of the signet ring of the Pacha, she again enters the dungeon of Conrad. She holds in one hand a lamp→ in the other a poinard. She prompts him to his revenge and to her vindication. Conrad refuses to murder his enemy in his sleep-but no consideration can withhold Gulnare from the execution of her purpose. She perpetrates the deed herself. The guard is bribed. Conrad is hurried from his cell, and embarks with Gulnare on board a xebec. In a little while a vessel of Conrad's encounters them. It contains his faithful followers hastening to avenge him. They hail their chief with joyful acclamations; and when they learn the mode of his deliverance, are ready to prostrate themselves before Gulnare. Towards her, Conrad had hitherto observed a sullen silence. He felt a horror at the recollection of her crime. But when he saw her relapsed again into the woman-when he saw, that in having achieved his deliverance, all her wishes were accomplished, and that she had again resigned herself to that gentle and suffering mood, from which nothing but the implacability of a tyrant had excited her--he saw the proper light in which to estimate her conduct, and folded her to his bosom with all the fervor

of grateful sentiment. Conrad and his friends now approached their own fastness. The hopes of all were alive to the reception which awaited them. There were some destined to severe disappointment. After the departure of Conrad on his expedition, Medora had impatiently awaited his return. As the allotted time expired, her solicitude increased. Unable to restrain herself in her apartments, she wandered anxiously on the beach. A boat at last drew nigh. She learnednot indeed her Conrad's death-but that be was left, bound and bleeding, in the hands of the foe. Her fortitude was overcome, and she sunk upon the strand. She was delivered into the care of her female attendants-but she could not survive the shock. When Conrad, with all the ardour which absence can add to affection, hurried to the abode of Medora-he found it dark and silent. A fatal forboding which he would not recognize, struck upon his soul. He knocked-and no one appeared. He knocked again, more faintly-a slave bearing a light presented herself. He rushed past her-he entered the saloon-he saw Medora stretched upon her bier!-and the hand-maids strowing flowérs over her. He cast one long, enduring look upon the corpse-he tore himself suddenly away. In the morning it was discovered that a boat had been broken from her fastenings-and Conrad was never heard of more.

How far Mr. Holland has succeeded in transfusing the spirit of lord Byron into his dialogue, will be best made to appear by the comparison of parallel passages.

The poem opens with an ejaculatory burst, from the lips of the Corsair.

"O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway-
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave;
Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease!
Whom slumber soothes not-pleasure cannot
please-

Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
The exulting sense the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
That for itself can woo the approaching fight,
And turn what some deem danger to delight;
That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,
And where the feebler faint-can only feel-
Feel-to the rising bosom's inmost core,
Its hope awaken and its spirit soar?
No dread of death-if with us die our foes-
Save that it seems even duller dran repose:
VOL. IH.-No, 14.

12

Come when it will-we snatch the life of life-
When lost-what recks it-by disease or strife?
Let him who crawls enamoured of decay,
Heave his thick breath; and shake his palsied
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away;

head;

Ours the fresh turf and not the feverish bed!
While gasp by gasp he faulters forth his soul,
Ours with one pang-one bound-escapes control.
His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,
And they who loath'd his life may gild his grave:
Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,
When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.
For us, even banquets fond regret supply
In the red cup that crowns our memory;
And the brief epitaph in danger's day,
When those who win at length divide the prey,
And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each
brow,
How had the brave who fell exulted now!'"

The play commences with a "Chorus
of Pirates."

"Far o'er the Ocean, and free as the breeze
That glides o'er its billows of brightness and foam,
Our Flag is the sceptre that governs the seas,
And fixes the limits that circle our home.
Wide o'er its waters we fearlessly range,
We sweep with the tempest, we rest with its close,
The wave is our empire-we joy in its change,
And triumph tho' dead, if we die with our foes."
Juan pursues—

"Hail to the Ocean! nurse of noble deeds!
Hail to thy waters, tempest-tost or still!
What spirit wakes not with exulting sense;
That pauses in its gaze upon thy wild
And solitary waste!-Thine is the realm,
The charter'd empire of the brave and free!
The barrier, by the God of nature thrown
Between the oppressor and his victim."

A sail is descried, and is hailed with
shouts. It is "a home returning bark."
Her approach to the shore is thus de-
scribed in the poem:

"How gloriously her gallant course she goes!
Her white wings flying-never from her foes--
She walks the waters like a thing of life,
And seems to dare the elements to strife.
Who would not brave the battle-fire-the wreck--
To move the monarch of her peopled deck?"
In the play, Lillo exclaims-
"How gloriously her gallant course she bears!
She walks the waters like a thing of life,
Braving the warfare of the sternest storm,
Of battle-fire and of wreck."

We will adduce the parting scene be
tween Conrad and Medora, as related by
the poet, and by the dramatist.

of Medora, when his attention is arrested
Conrad is approaching the apartment
by a song.

"Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells,
Lonely and lost to light for evermore,
Save when to thine my heart responsive swells,
Then trembles into silence as before,

'There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp

Burns the slow flame, eternal-but unseen;
Which not the darkness of despair can damp,
Though vain its ray as it bad never begn.

T

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