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Whom life hath wearied in its race of hours
Repose for ever in unfading bowers!
That very orb, whose solitary light

So often guides thee to my arms at night,
Is no chill planet, but an isle of love,

Floating, in splendour, through those seas above!
Thither, I thought, we wing'd our airy way,
Mild o'er its valleys stream'd a silvery day,
While, all around, on lily beds of rest,
Reclin'd the spirits of the immortal Blest!'
Oh! there I met those few congenial maids,
Whom love hath warm'd, in philosophic shades;
There still Leontium on her sage's breast,
Found lore and love, was tutor'd and caress'd;
And there the twine of Pythias'' gentle arms
Repaid the zeal which deified her charms!
The Attic Master,+ in Aspasia's eyes
Forgot the toil of less endearing ties;
While fair Theano, innocently fair,

Play'd with the ringlets of her Samian's hair."

already quoted) adduces the obstinacy of the fathers in this whimsical opinion, as a proof of their repugnance to even truth from the hands of the philosophers. Tins is a strange way of defending the fathers, and attributes much more than they deserve to the philosophers. For an abstract of this work of Baltus, (the opposer of Fontenelle, Van Dale, etc. in the famous oracle controversy) see "Bibliotheque des Auteurs Ecclesiast. du 18. siecle," 1 Part. Tom. ii.

1 There were various opinions among the ancients with

respect to their lunar establishment; some make it an elysium, and others a purgatory; while some suppose it to be a kind of entrepot between heaven and earth, where souls which had left their bodies, and those which were on their

way to join them, were deposited in the valleys of Hecate,

and remained till further orders. Τοις περι σιληνην περι

Who, fix'd by love, at length was all her own,
And pass'd his spirit through her lips alone!

Oh Samian sage! whate'er thy glowing thought
Of mystic Numbers hath divinely wrought;
The One that 's form'd of Two who dearly love,
Is the best number heaven can boast above!
But think, my Theon, how this soul was thrill'd,
When near a fount, which o'er the vale distill'd,
My fancy's eye beheld a form recline,
Of lunar race,
but so resembling thine,
That, oh!-'twas but fidelity in me,
To fly, to clasp, and worship it for thee!
No aid of words the unbodied soul requires,
To waft a wish, or embassy desires;
But, by a throb to spirits only given,
By a mute impulse, only felt in heaven,
Swifter than meteor shaft through summer skies,
From soul to soul the glanc'd idea flies!

We met-like thee the youthful vision smil'd;
But not like thee, when passionately wild,
Thou wak'st the slumbering blushes of my cheek,
By looking things thyself would blush to speak!
No! 'twas the tender, intellectual smile,
Flush'd with the past and yet serene the while,
Of that delicious hour when, glowing yet,
Thou yield'st to nature with a fond regret,
And thy soul, waking from its wilder'd dream,
Lights in thine eye a mellower, chaster beam!

Oh my beloved! how divinely sweet
Is the pure joy, when kindred spirits meet!
The Elean god, whose faithful waters flow,
With love their only light, through caves below,
Wafting in triumph all the flowery braids,
And festal rings, with which Olympic maids
Have deck'd their billow, as an offering meet

λέγειν αυτάς κατοικείν, και απ' αυτής κάτω χωρειν εἰς THE TENSION very. Stob. lib. 1. Eclog. Physic. 2 The pupil and mistress of Epicurus, who called her his "dear little Leontium" (Asovragiov) as appears by a frag. ment of one of his letters in Laertius. This Leontium was a woman of talent; "she had the impudence (says Cicero) to write against Theophrastus;" and, at the same time Cicero gives her a name which is neither polite nor trans- To pour at Arethusa's crystal feet! lateable, "Meretricula etiam Leontium contra Theophras-Think, when he mingles with his fountain-bride tum scribere ausa est."-De Natur. Deor. She left a What perfect rapture thrills the blended tide! daughter called Danae, who was just as rigid an Epicurean as her mother; something like Wieland's Danae in Agathon. Each melts in each, till one pervading kiss It would sound much better, I think, if the name were Confound their current in a sea of bliss! Leontia, as it occurs the first time in Laertius; but M. Me- "Twas thusnage will not hear of this reading.

3 Pythias was a woman whom Aristotle loved, and to whom after her death he paid divine honours, solemnizing her memory by the same sacrifices which the Athenians offered to the goddess Ceres. For this impious gallantry the philosopher was, of course, censured; it would be well however if some of our modern Stagirites had a little of this superstition about the memory of their mistresses.

4 Socrates; who used to console himself in the society of Aspasia for those "less endearing ties" which he found at home with Xantippe. For an account of this extraordinary creature, Aspasia, and her school of erudite luxury at Athens, see L'Histoire de l'Académie, etc. Tom. xxxi. p. 69. Ségur rather fails on the subject of Aspasia. "Les Femmes." Tom i. p. 122.

The author of the "Voyage du Monde de Descartes" has also placed these philosophers in the moon, and has allotted Seigneuries to them, as well as to the astronomers; (2 part. p. 143.) but he ought not to have forgotten their wives and mistresses; "curæ not. ipsà in morte relinquunt."

5 There are some sensible letters extant under the name of this fair Pythagorean. They are addressed to her female friends upon the education of children, the treatment of servants, etc. One, in particular, to Nicostrata, whose husband had given her reasons for jealousy, contains such truly considerate and rational advice, that it ought to be translated for the edification of all married ladies. See Gale's Opuscul. Myth. Phys. p. 741.

6 Pythagoras was remarkable for fine hair, and Doctor Thiers (in his Histoire des Perruques) seems to take it for granted it was all his own, as he has not mentioned him

But, Theon, 'tis a weary theme,
And thou delight'st not in my lingering dream.
Oh! that our lips were, at this moment, near,
And I would kiss thee into patience, dear!
And make thee smile at all the magic tales
Of star-light bowers and planetary vales,
Which my fond soul, inspir'd by thee and love,
In slumber's loom hath exquisitely wove.
But no; no more-soon as to-morrow's ray
O'er soft Ilissus shall dissolve away,
I'll fly, my Theon, to thy burning breast,
And there in murmurs tell thee all the rest :
Then if too weak, too cold the vision seems,
Thy lip shall teach me something more than dreams!

among those ancients who were obliged to have recourse to the "coma apposititia." L'Hist. des Perruques, Chap I.

1 The river Alpheus; which flowed by Pisa or Olympia, and into which it was customary to throw offerings of dif ferent kinds, during the celebration of the Olympic games. In the pretty romance of Clitophon and Leucippe, the river is supposed to carry these offerings as bridal gifts to the fountain Arethusa. Kai i Thy Agiduσ NT TOP ALO100 νύμφαςτολοι όταν αν η των Ολυμπίων εορτή, κ. τ. λ. Lib

THE SENSES.

A DREAM.

IMBOWER'D in the vernal shades, And circled all by rosy fences, I saw the five luxurious maids,

Whom mortals love, and call THE SENSES. Many and blissful were the ways,

In which they seem'd to pass their hoursOne wander'd through the garden's maze, Inhaling all the soul of flowers; Like those, who live upon the smell Of roses, by the Ganges' stream,' With perfume from the flowret's bell, She fed her life's ambrosial dream! Another touch'd the silvery lute,

To chain a charmed sister's ear,
Who hung beside her, still and mute,
Gazing as if her eyes could hear!

The nymph who thrill'd the warbling wire,
Would often raise her ruby lip,

As if it pouted with desire

Some cooling, nectar'd draught to sip.
Nor yet was she, who heard the lute,
Unmindful of the minstrel maid,
But press'd the sweetest, richest fruit
To bathe her ripe lip as she play'd!

But, oh! the fairest of the group

Was one, who in the sunshine lay,
And op'd the cincture's golden loop
That hid her bosom's panting play!
And still her gentle hand she stole
Along the snows, so smoothly orb'd,
And look' the while, as if her soul
Were in that heavenly touch absorb'd!
Another nymph, who linger'd nigh,
And held a prism of various light,
Now put the rainbow wonder by,

To look upon this lovelier sight.
And still as one's enamour'd touch
Adown the lapsing ivory fell,
The other's eye, entranc'd as much,
Hung giddy o'er its radiant swell!
Too wildly charm'd, I would have fled-
But she, who in the sunshine lay,
Replac'd her golden loop, and said,
"We pray thee for a moment stay.
"If true my counting pulses beat,

It must be now almost the hour,
When Love, with visitation sweet,
Descends upon our bloomy bower.
"And with him from the sky he brings
Our sister-nymph who dwells above-
Oh! never may she haunt these springs,
With any other god but Love!

1 Circa fontem Gangis Astomorum gentum..... halitu tantum viventum et odore quem naribus trahant. Plin. lib vii. cap 2

"When he illumes her magic urn,

And sheds his own enchantments in it, Though but a minute's space it burn,

"Tis heaven to breathe it but a minute! "Not all the purest power we boast,

Not silken touch, nor vernal dye, Nor music, when it thrills the most, Nor balmy cup, nor perfume's sigh, "Such transport to the soul can give, Though felt till time itself shall wither, As in that one dear moment live,

When Love conducts our sister hither!" She ceas'd-the air respir'd of blissA languor slept in every eye; And now the scent of Cupid's kiss

Declar'd the melting power was nigh!

I saw them come-the nymph and boy,
In twisted wreaths of rapture bound;
I saw her light the urn of joy,
While all her sisters languish'd round!
A sigh from every bosom broke-
I felt the flames around me glide,
Till with the glow I trembling woke,
And found myself by FANNY's side!

THE STEERSMAN'S SONG.

WRITTEN ABOARD THE BOSTON FRIGATE 28th APRIL WHEN freshly blows the northern gale,

And under coursers snug we fly;
When lighter breezes swell the sail,

And royals proudly sweep the sky;
'Longside the wheel, unwearied still
I stand, and as my watchful eye
Doth mark the needle's faithful thrill,
I think of her I love, and cry,

Port, my boy! port.

When calms delay, or breezes blow
Right from the point we wish to steer;
When by the wind close-haul'd we go,
And strive in vain the port to near;
I think 'tis thus the Fates defer
My bliss with one that's far away,
And while remembrance springs to her,
I watch the sails and sighing say,

Thus, my boy! thus

But see! the wind draws kindly aft,
All hands are up the yards to square,
And now the floating stu'n-sails waft
Our stately ship through waves and air.
Oh! then I think that yet for me

Some breeze of Fortune thus may spring,
Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee!
And in that hope I smiling sing,
Steady, boy! so.

1 I left Bermuda in the Boston, about the middle of April, in company with the Cambrian and Leander, aboard the latter of which was the Admiral, Sir Andrew Mitchell, who divides his year between Halifax and Bermuda, and is the very soul of society and good-fellowship to both. separated in a few days, and the Boston after a short cruise We proceeded to New-York.

TO CLOE.

IMITATED FROM MARTIAL.

I COULD resign that eye of blue,

Howe'er it burn, howe'er it thrill me; And, though your lip be rich with dew,

To lose it, CLOE, scarce would kill me. That snowy neck I ne'er should miss,

However warm I've twin'd about it! And though your bosom beat with bliss, I think my soul could live without it.

In short, I've learn'd so well to fast,

That, sooth my love, I know not whether

I might not bring myself at last,
To-do without you altogether!

TO THE FIRE-FLY.

THIS morning, when the earth and sky
Were burning with the blush of spring,
I saw thee not, thou humble fly!

Nor thought upon thy gleaming wing.
But now the skies have lost their hue,
And sunny lights no longer play,
I see thee, and I bless thee too

For sparkling o'er the dreary way.

Oh! let me hope that thus for me,

When life and love shall lose their bloom, Some milder joys may come, like thee, To light, if not to warm, the gloom!

THE VASE.

THERE was a vase of odour lay

For many an hour on Beauty's shrine,
So sweet that Love went every day
To banquet on its breath divine.

And not an eye had ever seen

The fragrant charm the vase conceal'd-
Oh Love! how happy 'twould have been,
If thou hadst ne'er that charm reveal'd!

But Love, like every other boy,

Would know the spell that lurks within;
He wish'd to break the crystal toy,

But Beauty murmur'd " 'twas a sin!"
He swore, with many a tender plea,
That neither heaven or earth forbad it;
She told him, Virtue kept the key,

And look'd as if she wish'd he had it!

He stole the key when Virtue slept,

(E'en she can sleep, if Love but ask it!) And Beauty sigh'd, and Beauty wept,

While silly Love unlock'd the casket.

1 The lively and varying illuminations, with which these fire-flies light up the woods at night, gives quite an idea of enchantment. Puis ces mouches se développant de l'obscurité de ces abres et s'approchant de nous, nous les voyions sur les orangers voisins, qu'ils mettaient tout en feu, nous rendant la vue de leurs beaux fruits dorés que la nuit avait ravie," etc. etc.-See l'Histoire des Antilles, Art. 2. Chap. 4. Liv. 1.

Oh dulcet air that vanish'd then!

Can Beauty's sigh recall thee ever! Can Love, himself, inhale again

A breath so precious? never! never! Go, maiden, weep-the tears of woe By Beauty to repentance given, Though bitterly on earth they flow, Shall turn to fragrant balm in heaven!

THE WREATH AND THE CHAIN.

I BRING thee, Love, a golden Chain,
I bring thee too a flowery Wreath;
The gold shall never wear a stain,

The flow'rets long shall sweetly breathe
Come, tell me which the tie shall be
To bind thy gentle heart to me.
The Chain is of a splendid thread,

Stol'n from Minerva's yellow hair,
Just when the setting sun had shed

The sober beam of evening there.
The Wreath 's of brightest myrtle wove,
With brilliant tears of bliss among it,
And many a rose-leaf, cull'd by Love,
To heal his lip when bees have stung it!
Come, tell me which the tie shall be,
To bind thy gentle heart to me.

Yes, yes, I read that ready eye,

Which answers when the tongue is loath, Thou lik'st the form of either tie,

And hold'st thy playful hands for both. Ah!-if there were not something wrong,

The world would see them blended oft; The Chain would make the Wreath so strong! The Wreath would make the Chain so soft! Then might the gold, the flow'rets be Sweet fetters for my love and me!

But, FANNY, so unblest they twine,

That (heaven alone can tell the reason) When mingled thus they cease to shine, Or shine but for a transient season! Whether the Chain may press too much, Or that the Wreath is slightly braided, Let but the gold the flow'rets touch,

And all their glow, their tints, are faded! Sweet FANNY, what would Rapture do, When all her blooms had lost their grace? Might she not steal a rose or two,

From other wreaths, to fill their place?—
Oh! better to be always free,
Than thus to bind my love to thee.

THE timid girl now hung her head,
And, as she turn'd an upward glance,
I saw a doubt its twilight spread
Along her brow's divine expanse.
Just then, the garland's dearest rose

Gave one of its seducing sighs—
Oh! who can ask how FANNY chose,

That ever look'd in FANNY's eyes! "The Wreath, my life, the Wreath shall be, The tie to bind my soul to thee!"

ΤΟ

MOORE'S WORKS.

AND hast thou mark'd the pensive shade,
That many a time obscures my brow,
Midst all the blisses, darling maid,
Which thou canst give, and only thou?

Oh! 'tis not that I then forget

The endearing charms that round me twineThere never throbb'd a bosom yet

Could feel their witchery, like mine!

When bashful on my bosom hid,

And blushing to have felt so blest,
Thou dost but lift thy languid lid,
Again to close it on my breast!

Oh! these are minutes all thine own,
Thine own to give, and mine to feel;
Yet e'en in them, my heart has known
The sigh to rise, the tear to steal.

For I have thought of former hours,
When he who first thy soul possess'd,
Like me awak'd its witching powers,

Like me was lov'd, like me was blest!
Upon his name thy murmuring tongue
Perhaps hath all as sweetly dwelt;
For him that snowy lid hath hung
In ecstasy, as purely felt!

For him-yet why the past recall

To wither blooms of present bliss! Thou'rt now my own, I clasp thee all,

And Heaven can grant no more than this!

Forgive me, dearest, oh! forgive;

I would be first, be sole to thee;
Thou should'st but have begun to live,
The hour that gave thy heart to me.
Thy book of life till then effac'd,
Love should have kept that leaf alone,
On which he first so dearly trac'd
That thou wert, soul and all, my own!

EPISTLE VI.

TO LORD VISCOUNT FORBES. FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON.

ΚΑΙ ΜΗ ΘΑΥΜΑΣΕΙΣ ΜΗΤ' ΕΙ ΜΑΚΡΟΤΕΡΑΝ ΓΕΓΡΑΦΑ ΤΗΝ ΕΠΙΣΤΟΛΗΝ, ΜΗΔ' ΕΙ ΤΙ ΠΕΡΙΕΡΓΟ

ΤΕΡΟΝ Η ΠΡΕΣΒΥΤΙΚΩΤΕΡΟΝ ΕΙΡΗΚΑΜΕΝ ΕΑΥΤΗ. Isocrat. Epist. 4.

IF former times had never left a trace,
Of human frailty in their shadowy race,
Nor o'er their pathway written, as they ran,
One dark memorial of the crimes of man;
If every age, in new unconscious prime,
Rose, like a phoenix, from the fires of time,
To wing its way unguided and alone,
The future smiling, and the past unknown—
Then ardent man would to himself be new,
Earth at his foot, and heaven within his view,

Well might the novice hope-the sanguine scheme
Of full perfection prompt his daring dream,
Ere cold experience, with her veteran lore,
Could tell him, fools had dream'd as much before!
But tracing, as we do, through age and clime
The plans of virtue 'midst the deeds of crime,
The thinking follies, and the reasoning rage
Of man, at once the idiot and the sage;
When still we see, through every varying frame,
Of arts and polity, his course the same,
And know that ancient fools but died to make
A space on earth for modern fools to take;
'Tis strange, how quickly we the past forget;
That wisdom's self should not be tutor'd yet,
Nor tire of watching for the monstrous birth
Of pure perfection 'midst the sons of earth!

Oh! nothing but that soul which God has given,
Could lead us thus to look on earth for heaven;
O'er dross without to shed the flame within,
And dream of virtue while we gaze on sin!

Even here, beside the proud Potomac's stream,
Might sages still pursue the flattering theme
Of days to come, when man shall conquer fate,
Rise o'er the level of this mortal state,

Belie the monuments of frailty past,

And stamp perfection on this world at last!

"Here," might they say, "shall power's divided reig Evince that patriots have not bled in vain.

Here godlike liberty's herculean youth,
Cradled in peace, and nurtur'd
up by truth
To full maturity of nerve and mind,
Shall crush the giants that bestride mankind!!
Here shall religion's pure and balmy draught,
In form, no more from cups of state be quaff'd;
But flow for all, through nation, rank, and sect,
Free as that heaven its tranquil waves reflect.
Around the columns of the public shrine
Shall growing arts their gradual wreath entwine,
Nor breathe corruption from their flowering braid,
Nor mine that fabric which they bloom to shade.
No longer here shall justice bound her view,
Or wrong the many, while she rights the few;
But take her range through all the social frame,
Pure and pervading as that vital flame,
Which warms at once our best and meanest part,
And thrills a hair while it expands a heart!"

Oh golden dream! what soul that loves to scan
The brightness rather than the shades of man,
And loves the world with all its frailty still
That own the good, while smarting with the ill
What ardent bosom does not spring to meet
The generous hope with all that heavenly heat,
Which makes the soul unwilling to resign
The thoughts of growing, even on earth, divine!
Yes, dearest FORBES, I see thee glow to think
The chain of ages yet may boast a link

1 Thus Morse:-" Here the sciences and the arts of civilized life are to receive their highest improvements; here civil and religious liberty are to flourish, unchecked by the cruel hand of civil or ecclesiastical tyranny; here genius, aided by all the improvements of former ages, is to be exerted in humanizing mankind, in expanding and enriching thei. minds with religious and philosophical knowledge," etc etc. p. 569

EPISTLES, ODES, ETC.

Of purer texture than the world has known,
And fit to bind us to a Godhead's throne!

But, is it thus? doth even the glorious dream
Borrow from truth that dim uncertain gleam,
Which bids us give such dear delusion scope,
As kills not reason, while it nurses hope?
No, no, believe me, 'tis not so-e'en now,
While yet upon Columbia's rising brow
The showy smile of young presumption plays,
Her bloom is poison'd and her heart decays!
Even now, in dawn of life, her sickly breath
Burns with the taint of empires near their death,
And, like the nymphs of her own withering clime,
She's old in youth, she's blasted in her prime!'

Already has the child of Gallia's school,
The foul Philosophy that sins by rule,
With all her train of reasoning, damning arts
Begot by brilliant heads or worthless hearts,
Like things that quicken after Nilus' flood,
The venom'd birth of sunshine and of mud!
Already has she pour'd her poison here
O'er every charm that makes existence dear-
Already blighted, with her black'ning trace,
The opening bloom of every social grace,
And all those courtesies, that love to shoot
Round Virtue's stem, the flow'rets of her fruit!
Oh! were these errors but the wanton tide
Of young luxuriance or unchasten'd pride;
The fervid follies and the faults of such
As wrongly feel, because they feel too much;
Then might experience make the fever less,
Nay, graft a virtue on each warm excess:
But no; 'tis heartless, speculative ill-
All youth's transgression with all age's chill-
The apathy of wrong, the bosom's ice,
A slow and cold stagnation into vice!
Long has the love of gold, that meanest rage,
And latest folly of man's sinking age,
Which, rarely venturing in the van of life,
While nobler passions wage their heated strife,
Comes skulking last, with selfishness and fear,
And dies, collecting lumber in the rear!
Long has it palsied every grasping hand
And greedy spirit through this bartering land;
Turn'd life to traffic, set the demon gold
So loose abroad, that Virtue's self is sold,
And conscience, truth, and honesty, are made
To rise and fall, like other wares of trade !2
Already in this free, this virtuous state,
Which, Frenchmen tell us, was ordain'd by fate,

To show the world, what high perfection springs
From rabble senators, and merchant kings-
Even here already patriots learn to steal
Their private perquisites from public weal,
And, guardians of the country's sacred fire,
Like Afric's priests, they let the flame for hire!
Those vaunted demagogues, who nobly rose
From England's debtors to be England's foes,'
Who could their monarch in their purse forget,
And break allegiance, but to cancel debt,
Have prov'd, at length, the mineral's tempting hue,
Which makes a patriot, can unmake him too."
Oh! freedom, freedom, how I hate thy cant !
Not eastern bombast, nor the savage rant
Of purpled madmen, were they number'd all
From Roman Nero down to Russian Paul,
Could grate upon my ear so mean, so base,
As the rank jargon of that factious race,
Who, poor of heart, and prodigal of words,
Born to be slaves and struggling to be lords,
But pant for licence while they spurn control,
And shout for rights with rapine in their soul!
Who can, with patience, for a moment see
The medley mass of pride and misery,
Of whips and charters, manacles and rights,
Of slaving blacks and democratic whites,*
And all the pye-bald polity that reigns
In free confusion o'er Columbia's plains?
To think that man, thou just and gentle God!
Should stand before thee, with a tyrant's rod
O'er creatures like himself, with soul from thee,
Yet dare to boast of perfect liberty:
Away, away-I'd rather hold my neck
By doubtful tenure from a sultan's beck,
In climes, where liberty has scarce been nam'd,
Nor any right but that of ruling claim'd,
Than thus to live, where bastard freedom waves
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves;
Where (motley laws admitting no degree
Betwixt the vilely slav'd and madly free)

1 I trust I shall not be suspected of a wish to justify those arbitrary steps of the English government which the Colonies found it so necessary to resist; my only object here is to expose the selfish motives of some of the leading American demagogues.

2 The most persevering enemy to the interests of this country, among the politicians of the western world, has been a Virginian merchant, who, finding it easier to settle his conscience than his debts, was one of the first to raise the standard against Great Britain, and has ever since endeavoured to revenge upon the whole country the obligations which he lies under to a few of its merchants.

selves.

3 See Porcupine's account of the Pennsylvania Insurrection in 1794. In short, see Porcupine's Works throughout for ample corroboration of every sentiment which I have ventured to express. In saying this, I refer less to the com1 "What will be the old age of this government, if it is ments of that writer, than to the occurrences which he has Chus early decrepit!" Such was the remark of Fauchet, related, and the documents which he has preserved. Opithe French minister at Philadelphia, in that famous despatchnion may be suspected of bias, but facts speak for them to his government which was intercepted by one of our cruisers in the year 1794. This curious memorial may be found in Porcupine's Works, vol. i. p. 279. It remains a striking monument of republican intrigue on one side, and republican profligacy on the other; and I would recommend the perusal of it to every honest politician, who may labour under a moment's delusion with respect to the purity of American patriotism.

2" Nous voyons que dans les pays où l'on n'est affecté que de l'esprit de commerce, on trafique de toutes les actions humaines et de toutes les vertus morales" Montesquieu, de "'Esprit des Lois, Liv. 20. Chap. 2.

4 In Virginia the effects of this system begin to be felt rather seriously. While the master raves of liberty, the slave cannot but catch the contagion, and accordingly there seldom elapses a month without some alarm of insurrection emigrations which are expected to take place from the amongst the negroes. The accession of Louisiana, it is feared, will increase this embarrassment; as the numerous southern states to this newly acquired territory, wil considerably diminish the white population, and thus strengthen the proportion of negroes to a degree which must ultimately

be ruinous.

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