1823. The Memorabilia of Willium Faux. elsewhere, for produce, unless a war comes, "The American, considered as an animal, is filthy, bordering on the beastly; as a man, he seems a being of superior capabilities; his attention to his teeth, which are generally very white, is a fine exception to his general habits. All his vices and imperfections seem natural; those of the semi-barbarian." Here is another amiable family pic ture. "To his honour Judge Chambers's to breakfast. His log-tavern is comfortable; he farms two and a half quarter sections, and raises from 40 to 60 bushels of corn an acre. Nearly all the good land on this road is entered. I had,' says he, hard work for the first two or three years.' The judge is a smart man of about 40, and not only a judge, but a senator also, and what is more, the best horse-jockey in the state. He seems very active, prudent, cautious, and industrious, and, like all the rest of the people on this road, kind-hearted. He fills the twofold station of reaiter and ostler in part; I say in part, for, as he has no servant, the drudgery must be done by the traveller himself, if he have a horse or horses. His honour left my driver to do all, and hastily rode off to a distant mill for his grist, now much wanted, and with which he returned in about two hours, while her honour, Mrs Judge, and the six Miss Judges, prepared my good breakfast. These ladies do all the work of the house, and some of the field; everything seems comfortable and easy to them, although the blue sky and the broad sun stare and peep through cracks and crevices in the roof of their house. While I sat at breakfast, his honour's mother, a fine smart young woman of fourscore, came briskly riding up, and alighted at the door; as good a horsewoman as ever mounted a side-saddle. She had been to pay a distant visit, and seemed as though her strength and youth were renewed, like the eagle's. She reminded me of Moses, with his eye not dim, nor Twofold character indeed, Mr Faux! Another Judge! a Daniel come to Judgement !'' "I had a long and interesting conversation with a young lawyer, the supreme Judge Hart, living in this town, but proscribed and suspended for sending a challenge to three agents of his estates in Kentucky, who, after injuring him, caricatured him, and then refused to fight." "The Supreme Judge, Hart, is a gay young man of twenty-five, full of wit and humorous eloquence, mixing with all companies at this tavern, where he seems neither above nor below any, dressed in an old white beaver hat, coarse threadbare coat and trowsers of the same cloth (domestic,) and yellow striped waiscoat, with his coat out at the elbows; yet very cleanly in his person, and refined in his language. What can be the inducement for a young man, like him, equal to all things, to live thus, and here ?" Yet one more judicial sketch. "Judge Waggoner, who was a notorious hog-stealer, was recently accused, while sitting on the bench, by Major Hooker, the hunter, gouger, whipper, and nose-biter, of stealing many hogs, and being, although a judge, the greatest rogue in the United States. This was the Major's answer to the question Guilty, or Not Guilty, on an indictment presented against him. The court laughed, and the Judge raved, and bade Hooker go out and he would fight him. The Major agreed, but said, Judge, shall go six miles into the woods, and you the longest liver shall come back to tell his tale!' The Judge would not go. The Major was now, in his turn, much enraged by the Judge ordering him into court to pay a fine of ten dollars for some former offence, the present indictment being suffered to drop." Judge Waggoner recently shook hands at a whisky shop, with a man coming be fore him that day, to be tried for murder. He drank his health, and wished him well through." "A pigeon roost is a singular sight in thinly settled states, particularly in Tenessee in the fall of the year, when the roost extends over either a portion of woodland or barrens, from four to six miles in circumference. The screaming noise they make when thus roosting is heard at a distance of six miles; and when the beechnuts are ripe, they fly 200 miles to dinner, in immense flocks, hiding the sun and darkening the air like a thick passing cloud. They thus travel 400 miles daily. They roost on the high forest trees, which they cover in the same manner as bees in swarms cover a bush, being piled one on the other, from the lowest to the topmost boughs, which so laden, are seen continually bending and falling with their crashing weight, and presenting a scene of confusion and destruction, too strange to describe, and too dangerous to be approached by either man or beast. While the living birds are gone to their distant dinner, it is common for man and animals to gather up or devour the dead, then found in cart-loads. When the roost is among the saplings, on which the pigeons alight without breaking them down, only bending them to the ground, the selfslaughter is not so great; and at night, men, with lanterns and poles, approach and beat them to death without much personal danger. But the grand mode of taking them is by setting fire to the high dead grass, leaves, and shrubs underneath, in a wide blazing circle, fired at different parts, at the same time, so as soon to meet. Then down rush the pigeons in immense numbers, and indescribable confusion, to be roasted alive, and gathered up dead next day from heaps two feet deep." "The term elegant is nowhere so little understood as in this country. One of Mr Birkbeck's neighbours' sons falling sick, the father applied to Mr B.'s chest for medicine, and received it. Mr B. next morning said to the father, Well, sir, how did the medicine operate ?' Oh, sir, elegantly,' was the reply." The following incident occurs at Philadelphia. "Atnight, I went into the black church, where the black minister shewed much uncultivated talent After sermon they began singing merrily, and continued, without stopping, one hour, till they became exhausted and breathless- Oh! come to Zion, come!' Hallelujah,' &c. And then, won't you have my lovely bleeding Jasus,' a thousand times repeated in full thundering chorus to the tune of Fol de rol. While all the time they were clapping hands, shouting, and jumping, and exclaiming, Ah Lord! Good Lord! Give me Jasus; Amen.' At half past ten this meeting broke up. For an hour it seemed like Bedlam let loose. At the close, one female said, striking the breasts of two male friends, We had a happy time of it."" "A common hot day at Washington.The wind southerly, like the breath of an oven; the thermometer vacillating between 90 and 100; the sky blue and cloudless; the sun shedding a blazing light; the face of the land, and everything upon it, save trees, withered, dusty, baked, and continually heated, insomuch that water would almost hiss on it; the atmosphere swarming with noxious insects, flies, bugs, mosquitoes, and grasshoppers, and withal so ness. drying, that all animal and vegetable life is exposed to a continual process of exhaustion. The breezes, if any, are perfumed by nuisances of all sorts, emptied into the streets, rotting carcases, and the exhalations of dismal swamps, made vocal and alive with toads, lizards, and bellowing bullfrogs. Few people are stirring, except negroes; all faces, save those of blacks, pale, languid, and lengthened with lassitude, expressive of anything but ease and happiNow and then an emigrant or two fall dead at the cold spring, or fountain; others are lying on the floor, flat on their backs; all, whether idle or employed, are comfortless, being in an everlasting steambath, and feeling offensive to themselves and others. At table, pleased with nothing, because both vegetable and animal food is generally withered, toughened, and tainted, the beverage, tea or coffee, contains dead flies; the beds and bed-rooms, at night, present a smothering unaltering warmth, the walls being thoroughly heated, and being withinside like the outside of an oven in continual use. Hard is the lot of him who bears the heat and burthen of this day, and pitiable the fate of the poor emigrant, sighing in vain for comforts, cool breezes, wholesome diet, and the old friends of his native land. At midnight, the lightning-bugs and bull-frogs become luminous and melodious. The flies seem an Egyptian plague, and get mortised into the oily butter, which holds them like bird-lime." Ohe jam satis !-Nobody will suppose that we have been quoting these things with any other view than that of amusing our readers with this modern Socrates, and the amiable manner in which he has played the part of his own Xenophon. At the same time, we have no reason to suppose, that Socrates tells anything but what he believes to be the truth, and his anecdotes certainly body forth the form and pressure of most strange and picturesque modes of human existence. The result of his researches seems to be exactly the same with that which "Cobbett's Year's Residence in America" points to. He has seen the Birkbecks and the Flowers, &c. &c. all cleaning their own shoes, and washing their own potatoes, for the want of servants-he has seen English damsels, who used to finger the piano-forte at home, skinning pigs, and undressing room with both men and pigs-he is themselves and sleeping in the same satisfied that all the Prairie gentry, who have any money, are losing that as fast as possible, along with every other good thing they brought with them from the regions of civilization. We have not quoted from this part of his book, however; for, in the first place, we believe the public is quite satisfied as to the subject of which it treats, and as for the gurnish of Mr William Faux, we really cannot imagine that any one feels much desire to be informed about the family sparrings and jarrings of the Flowers and the Birkbecks, the amours of young Flower and Miss Andrews the governess, or even the airs of Biddy the chambermaid, with the whole method and mystery of her exemplary humiliation. Of course, there is nothing what ever in this book concerning what we might have been most anxious to receive some information about-viz. the present condition of literature, in the United States of America. This was a matter entirely out of our friend's way and we do not mean to say, that if he had touched thereupon, we should have thanked him. We wish very sincerely, however, that some American scholar would write something like a sketch of what has been, and is going on. Their Reviews, &c. seldom or never travel so far as this; and when a stray number does find its way, it is sure to be, threeparts out of four, occupied with English books of the preceding year, which are either perfectly well known to everybody here, or irremediably forgotten. Why have they no journal exclusively their own-their own in subject, as well as in execution?-as much their own, for example, as our English journals are English? We see but few of their books either. A life of" James Otis" was lately put into our hands, and we expected much entertainment from the history of one of the great men of the Revolution. We were sadly disappointed. It is such a book as a young Irish student fresh from Trinity might be supposed to write about Emmett-for we will not mention Curran-a mere piece of boyish drivelling-nay," worse of worst extended," of boyish book-making. "Letters on the Eastern States," seemed to us to be another very mediocre affair; and as for "The Idle Man," "Koningmarke, the Long Finne," and all the other endless imitations of the Sketchbook, and Knickerbocker, they are to us utterly unmeaning imbecility. The only tolerable attempt in the poetical way that we have happened VOL. XIV. to meet with, is a very little book entitled "Percy's Masque."-and it is much more than tolerable. It is really, if the author be a very young man, a most promising Essay. There is an elegance of language, which shews perfect and intelligent familiarity with our models of the best age; and there is a certain elegance of thought and conception, which renders us even more anxious to be informed of the posterior proceedings of the author. Two different editions of our Magazine, by the way, are published every month within the United States: and one of them at least beats the original hollow, in the weighty matters of paper, ink, and typographical execution, as well maybe, where there is neither the hurry, nor the expense of authorship. Would it be too much for one or both of the publishers who are thus thriving upon our exertions. to make some return now and then in the shape of a parcel of American books? We throw out the hint, not doubting that our good friends will take it in good part; and we shall certainly be disappointed if it meets with no attention at their hands. Since we are talking of such matters, there is a notion that has long been in our heads, and we shall take this opportunity of mentioning it-assuredly not with any views, or the possibility of them, as to ourselves. We regard the Americans-how could we do otherwise?-as immeasurably nearer to us than any other people in the world; and in spite of all jealousies and prejudices, the two nations must continue kindred as long as they speak the same tongue. Now, although we are living under different governments, we really can see no good reason why that circumstance should at all affect the literature which is, and ever must be, the common food of both. In the last age, English authors had no remedy when their books were pirated in Ireland-that has been corrected-it was corrected long before the Union. Why, merely because the Americans have President Munroe, and we stick to King George, should the author who writes equally for England and America, (as all authors who write in the common language must do,) why should he be paid for his writings only by one half of his readers? This is not fair in itself; and the doing away with such a thing, would tend, we suspect, 4 C cover in the same manner as bees in swarms cover a bush, being piled one on the other, from the lowest to the topmost boughs, which so laden, are seen continually bending and falling with their crashing weight, and presenting a scene of confusion and destruction, too strange to describe, and too dangerous to be approached by either man or beast. While the living birds are gone to their distant dinner, it is common for man and animals to gather up or devour the dead, then found in cart-loads. When the roost is among the saplings, on which the pigeons alight without breaking them down, only bending them to the ground, the selfslaughter is not so great; and at night, men, with lanterns and poles, approach and beat them to death without much personal danger. But the grand mode of taking them is by setting fire to the high dead grass, leaves, and shrubs underneath, in a wide blazing circle, fired at different parts, at the same time, so as soon to meet. Then down rush the pigeons in immense numbers, and indescribable confusion, to be roasted alive, and gathered up dead next day from heaps two feet deep.' "The term elegant is nowhere so little understood as in this country. One of Mr Birkbeck's neighbours' sons falling sick, the father applied to Mr B.'s chest for medicine, and received it. ing said to the father, the medicine operate ? ly,' was the reply." Mr B. next mornWell, sir, how did Oh, sir, elegant The following incident occurs at Philadelphia. "At night, I went into the black church, where the black minister shewed much uncultivated talent After sermon they began singing merrily, and continued, without stopping, one hour, till they became exhausted and breathless-Oh! come to Zion, come!' Hallelujah,' &c. And then, won't you have my lovely bleeding Jasus,' a thousand times repeated in full thundering chorus to the tune of Fol de rol.' While all the time they were clapping hands, shouting, and jumping, and exclaiming, Ah Lord! Good Lord! Give me Jasus; Amen.' At half past ten this meeting broke up. For an hour it seemed like Bedlam let loose. At the close, one female said, striking the breasts of two male friends, We had a happy time of it.'" "A common hot day at Washington.The wind southerly, like the breath of an oven; the thermometer vacillating between 90 and 100; the sky blue and cloudless; the sun shedding a blazing light; the face of the land, and everything upon it, save trees, withered, dusty, baked, and continually heated, insomuch that water would almost hiss on it; the atmosphere swarming with noxious insects, flies, bugs, mosquitoes, and grasshoppers, and withal so drying, that all animal and vegetable life is exposed to a continual process of exhaustion. The breezes, if any, are perfumed by nuisances of all sorts, emptied into the streets, rotting carcases, and the exhalations of dismal swamps, made vocal and alive with toads, lizards, and bellowing bullfrogs. Few people are stirring, except negroes; all faces, save those of blacks, pale, languid, and lengthened with lassitude, expressive of anything but ease and happiNow and then an emigrant or two ness. fall dead at the cold spring, or fountain; others are lying on the floor, flat on their backs; all, whether idle or employed, are comfortless, being in an everlasting steambath, and feeling offensive to themselves and others. At table, pleased with nothing, because both vegetable and animal food is generally withered, toughened, and tainted, the beverage, tea or coffee, contains dead flies; the beds and bed-rooms, at night, present a smothering unaltering warmth, the walls being thoroughly heated, and being withinside like the outside of an oven in continual use. Hard is the lot of him who bears the heat and burthen of this day, and pitiable the fate of the poor emigrant, sighing in vain for comforts, cool breezes, wholesome diet, and the old friends of his native land. At midnight, the lightning-bugs and bull-frogs become luminous and melodious. The flies seem an Egyptian plague, and get mortised into the oily butter, which holds them like bird-lime." Ohe jam satis !-Nobody will suppose that we have been quoting these things with any other view than that of amusing our readers with this modern Socrates, and the amiable manner in which he has played the part of his own Xenophon. At the same time, we have no reason to suppose, that Socrates tells anything but what he believes to be the truth, and his anecdotes certainly body forth the form and pressure of most strange and picturesque modes of human existence. The result of his researches seems to be exactly the same with that which "Cobbett's Year's Residence in America" points to. He has seen the Birkbecks and the Flowers, &c. &c. all cleaning their own shoes, and washing their own potatoes, for the want of servants-he has seen English damsels, who used to finger the piano-forte at home, skinning pigs, and undressing themselves and sleeping in the same room with both men and pigs-he is satisfied that all the Prairie gentry, who have any money, are losing that as fast as possible, along with every other good thing they brought with them from the regions of civilization. We have not quoted from this part of his book, however; for, in the first place, we believe the public is quite satisfied as to the subject of which it treats, and as for the garnish of Mr William Faux, we really cannot imagine that any one feels much desire to be informed about the family sparrings and jarrings of the Flowers and the Birkbecks, the amours of young Flower and Miss Andrews the governess, or even the airs of Biddy the chambermaid, with the whole method and mystery of her exemplary humiliation. Of course, there is nothing whatever in this book concerning what we might have been most anxious to receive some information about-viz. the present condition of literature, in the United States of America. This was a matter entirely out of our friend's way and we do not mean to say, that if he had touched thereupon, we should have thanked him. We wish very sincerely, however, that some American scholar would write something like a sketch of what has been, and is going on. Their Reviews, &c. seldom or never travel so far as this; and when a stray number does find its way, it is sure to be, threeparts out of four, occupied with English books of the preceding year, which are either perfectly well known to everybody here, or irremediably forgotten. Why have they no journal exclusively their own-their own in subject, as well as in execution?-as much their own, for example, as our English journals are English? We see but few of their books either. A life of " James Otis" was lately put into our hands, and we expected much entertainment from the history of one of the great men of the Revolution. We were sadly disappointed. It is such a book as a young Irish student fresh from Trinity might be supposed to write about Emmett-for we will not mention Curran-a mere piece of boyish drivelling-nay, "worse of worst extended," of boyish book-making. "Letters on the Eastern States," seemed to us to be another very mediocre affair; and as for "The Idle Man," "Koningmarke, the Long Finne," and all the other endless imitations of the Sketchbook, and Knickerbocker, they are to us utterly unmeaning imbecility. The only tolerable attempt in the poetical way that we have happened VOL. XIV. to meet with, is a very little book entitled "Percy's Masque."-and it is much more than tolerable. It is really, if the author be a very young man, a most promising Essay. There is an elegance of language, which shews perfect and intelligent familiarity with our models of the best age; and there is a certain elegance of thought and conception, which renders us even more anxious to be informed of the posterior proceedings of the author. Two different editions of our Magazine, by the way, are published every month within the United States: and one of them at least beats the original hollow, in the weighty matters of paper, ink, and typographical execution, as well maybe, where there is neither the hurry, nor the expense of authorship. Would it be too much for one or both of the publishers who are thus thriving upon our exertions. to make some return now and then in the shape of a parcel of American books? We throw out the hint, not doubting that our good friends will take it in good part; and we shall certainly be disappointed if it meets with no attention at their hands. Since we are talking of such matters, there is a notion that has long been in our heads, and we shall take this opportunity of mentioning it—assuredly not with any views, or the possibility of them, as to ourselves. We regard the Americans-how could we do otherwise?-as immeasurably nearer to us than any other people in the world; and in spite of all jealousies and prejudices, the two nations must continue kindred as long as they speak the same tongue. Now, although we are living under different governments, we really can see no good reason why that circumstance should at all affect the literature which is, and ever must be, the common food of both. In the last age, English authors had no remedy when their books were pirated in Ireland-that has been corrected-it was corrected long before the Union. Why, merely because the Americans have President Munroe, and we stick to King George, should the author who writes equally for England and America, (as all authors who write in the common language must do,) why should he be paid for his writings only by one half of his readers? This is not fair in itself; and the doing away with such a thing, would tend, we suspect, 4 C |