Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.

PLOF. How many kinds of salt occur in a saltbox?

STU. Two-coarse and fine.

PROF. You have said that the saponaceous preparation is produced by the action of a vegetable alkaline salt on a pinguidinous or unctuous substancedescribe the process?

STU. If a great quantity of strong lie be procured by passing water through wood ashes, and if a very large body of a pinguidinous habit should be immersed in this lie, and exposed to a considerable heat, the action of the lie, or rather the salts with which it abounds, upon the pinguidinous body, would cause the mixture to coagulate and-[Here the examiner looked very sour, for he was very fat.] At this instant a servant announced that dinner was on the table-the examination was concluded, and the parties separated-one rejoicing in the anticipation of a feast, and the examined happy in finding the fiery trial over.

May, 1784.

DIALOGUE ON THE ADDRESS OF THE PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
TO DR. FRANKLIN,

[For the Pennsylvania Packet.]

I have perused with some attention the several addresses made to the venerable Doctor Franklin, by public bodies and private societies on his arrival in this city. So far as they express a sense of gratitude and esteem for his integrity and abilities as a public agent and a philosopher, they have my hearty concurrence and approbation: but they also afford some literary amusement, when considered merely as compositions, with a design of observing the various forms which the same subject matter may assume, in passing through the varied machinery of different pericraniums.

Talking on this subject with Mr. B. the address of the American Philosophical Society engaged our attention, as distinguished from all the others by a dearth of sentiment, awkwardness of style, and obscurity of expression. I am surprised, said I-but it will be better to give it in the to avoid the number of said I's and said he's. way of dialogue,

A. I am surprised that our Philosophical Society, from whom we might expect, on such an occasion, at least ease and propriety, if not something more, should exhibit so barren, so stiff, and costive a performance, as their address seems to be: it must certainly have been seethed too long in the author's brain, and so become hard like an over-boiled egg. B. I perceive, sir, you are not a member of the Philosophical Society.

A. No, sir; I have not that honor.

B. So I thought by your mentioning brains. Why, sir, we never make use of any in writing letters, or drawing addresses: we manage these things in quite a different way. How do you imagine our address was produced?

4. Some member, I suppose, was appointed to draft the address, which was afterwards read before the society; and being corrected, was finally ap proved of, and so delivered.

B. When you shall become a philosopher you will know better: no, sir, we conduct all our business by ballot, as they choose magistrates-according to the spirit of our excellent constitution.

A. No doubt, when new members, or officers of the institution are to be elected; but how an address can be composed by ballot, I confess, I cannot comprehend.

B. Well, I will inform you. You must know we have four boxes: in one are put a number of substantives, the best the dictionary affords; in the second, an equal number of adjectives; in the third,

a great number of verbs, with their participles, gerunds, &c.; and in the fourth, a still greater Lumber of pronouns, articles, and particles, with all the small ware of the syntax. The secretary shakes these boxes for a considerable time, and then places them side by side on a table, each bearing its proper label of distinction. This done, the members proceed to ballot for the composition, whatever it may be; each member taking out one substantive, one adjective, two verbs, and four particles from the boxes respectively; and so they proceed, repeating the operation, until they have drawn the number of words, of which, according to a previous determination, the composition is to consist. Some ingenious member is then requested to take all the ballots or words so obtained, and arrange them in the best order he can. In the present case, this task fell to *****; and you can see how he has worked up the materials which chance threw in his way.

A. If this is your method it will sufficiently account for the short broken sentences, the harshness of the periods, and general obscurity which distinguish your address.

B. What do you mean by obscurity? I am sure our address, if not elegant, is at least intelligible.

A. Pray, inform me, then, what is meant by this paragraph:-"The high consideration and esteem in which we hold your character, so intimately combine with our regard for the public welfare, that we participate eminently in the general satisfaction which your return to America produces:"-and of this "We derive encouragement and extraordinary felicity from an assemblage of recent memorable events: and while we boast in a most pleasing equality, permanently ascertained," &c., &c.

B. The meaning of your first quotation is, that our high consideration for the doctor, combining and intimately mixing with our regard for the public welfare, occasion a kind of chymical solution or effervescence in our minds, producing a tertium quid, which causes us to participate eminently, and so on; if you know anything of chymistry, you would have understood it well enough.

A. Well! it appears to me something very like nonsense; but, I confess, I am no philosopher.

B. As to the other passage you mentioned-the truth is, we were a little unlucky-it would have been the most elegant paragraph in the whole coinposition but for an unfortunate accident. You must know, that whilst ***** was arranging the ballots, a puff of wind blew away a number of excellent explanatory words, and carried them out of the window; the whole sentence had like to have gone: a careful search was made in the street, but no more could be recovered than what you see. indeed, proposed to ballot over again for as many It was, words as had been lost: but some members were of opinion that this might prove a dangerous precedent, and so the passage was suffered to pass as it now stands.

A. I observe further, that you mention "the growth of sciences and arts;" would it not have read better, "the growth of arts and sciences;” according to the usual mode of expression? which has this to justify it, that arts were known and practised before sciences were investigated; and besides, the expression is more musical and pleasing to the ear.

B. We had a long debate upon this subject; and the very reasons you now give were urged in favor of the common way of placing those words; but the learned compositor insisted, that as the sciences were more abstruse, and more eminent in dignity than the arts, they ought to be mentioned first, especially by a philosophical society.

A. This reminds me of what the town-clerk says

in Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing :-" To. Cl. Write down that they hope they serve God: and be sure to write God first; for God defend, but God should go before such villains."

B. It is in vain to attempt explanation to a mind so prejudiced as your's. I perceive you are determined to find fault, and so let us drop the subject.

A. Why, do you imagine I believe one word of your boxes and your ballots? You are either ridiculing, or endeavoring to excuse a performance, which would, indeed, disgrace a schoolboy.

When I compare this address with the president's short but elegant reply, I cannot but observe, how strongly the difference is marked between an author who sits down to think what he shall write, and one who only sits down to write what he thinks.

VERSES

Wrote in a blank book which once belonged to Mr. Shenstone the poet, and was given by the Lord Bishop of Worcester. Come little book, the giver's hand,

Shall add such worth to mine,
That I will hold thee highly priz'd,
And joy to call thee mine.

Come little book; nor in my care,
An humbler lot refuse,

Tho' Worcester own'd thee once, tho' once
Design'd for Shenstone's muse.

Had Shenstone in thy spotless page
In glowing numbers plac'd,
All that is pleasing, great, and good,
With ev'ry virtue grac'd:
Fill'd thee with gentleness and love,
With piety and truth;
The wisdom of experienc'd years,
The brilliant powers of youth;
With all the condescending ease
Of manners most refin'd,

Then hadst thou been an emblem fit,
Of Worcester's generous mind.
Come little book; and let me boast
No small, no common fame,
That in thy once so honour'd page,
I write my humble name.
Hartlebury Castle, in Worcestershire, 1767.

DESCRIPTION OF A CHURCH.

As late beneath the hallow'd roof I trod,
Where saints in holy rapture seek their God;
Where heart-stung sinners suing Heav'n for grace,
With tears repentant consecrate the place.
Oh! how my soul was struck with what I saw,
And shrunk within me in religious awe:

The massy walls, which seem'd to scorn the rage
Of battering tempests and of mouldering age:
In long perspective stretched, till breadth and height
Were almost lost in distance from the sight;
With monumental decorations hung,
They spoke mortality with silent tongue.

There, sorrowing seraphs heav'nward lift their eyes,
And little cherubs weep soft elegies.

I trod-and started at the mighty noise;
The hollow pavement lifted up its voice;
The swelling arch receiv'd the rising sound,
Responsive to the stroke the walls around,
And sent it murm'ring to the vaults around,
Thro' lengthen'd aisles prolong'd the solemn sound.

Far in the west, and noble to the sight,
The gilded organ rears its tow'ring height:
And hark! methinks I from its bosom hear,
Soft issuing sounds that steal upon the ear
And float serenely on the liquid air.

1

Now by degrees more bold and broad they grow,
And riot loosely thro' the aisles below;
Till the full organ lifts its utmost voice,
And my heart shudders at the powerful noise:
Like the last trump, one note is heard to sound
That all the massy pillars tremble round:
The firm fixt building shivers on its base,
And vast vibration fills th' astonish'd place:
The marble pavements seem to feel their doom,
And the bones rattle in each hollow tomb.

But now the blast harmonious dies away,
And tapers gently in a fine decay:
The melting sounds on higher pinions fly,
And seem to fall soft oozing from on high;
Like evening dew they gently spread around
And shed the sweetness of heart-thrilling sound;
"Till grown too soft, too fine for mortal ear,
The dying strains dissolve in distant air.
Methought I heard a flight of angels rise,
Most sweetly chaunting as they gain'd the skies:
Methought I heard their less'ning sound decay
And fade and melt and vanish quite away.

Hail heav'n born music! by thy pow'r we raise Th' uplifted soul to acts of highest praise; Oh! I would die with music melting round, And float to bliss upon a sea of sound.

A MORNING HYMN.

Once more the rising source of day,
Pours on the earth his genial ray:
Withdraws the starry veil of night,
And smiles on ev'ry mountain height.
Once more my soul, thy song prepare,
Thy God approach in praise and pray'r
With early voice salute the skies,
And on the lark's fleet pinions rise.
This hand did me from danger keep
When nature lay entranc'd in sleep:
When ev'ry sense forsook its post,
And reason's guardian pow'r was lost.
Soon as dark night o'erspreads the skies,
Cold mists and drowsy damp arise:
Contagious streams their confines break,
And slumber o'er the sluggish lake.
Loud shrieks the melancholy owl,

And prowling wolves through deserts howl
The fancied spectre glides the green,
And midnight murder walks unseen.
Forlorn the wearied wand'rer strays,
Lost in a labyrinthian maze;
Where'er he treads, is danger there,
And his soul sickens in despair.

Whilst slumbers soft my eye-lids close,
And golden dreams and sweet repose,
Wear the sad hours of night away,
And hasten on the cheerful day.

My God! shall not such goodness move
My soul to gratitude and love?
Or shall my heart forget to raise,
Her loud hosannahs to thy praise?

When shall my eager spirit rise,
And soar above these floating skies?
Oh! when with hosts seraphic join,
To sing thy majesty divine?

In realms where no returns of night,
Shall e'er the tim'rous soul affright?
But one eternal blaze of day,
Shines forth with unremitting ray?

AN EVENING HYMN.

At length the busy day is done,
And you bright orb, the glorious sun,
Deep in the west reclines his head,
Where misty curtains shroud his bed.

Oh! God of hosts! with this day's close,
How many sleep in death's repose?
And with the sinking sun's decline,
To thee their fleeting souls resign.
Hark! 'tis the tolling bell I hear,
And slow and dull it strikes mine ear:
E'en whilst I tune my pensive song,
The solemn fun'ral moves along.

He whom this night th' expecting tomb,
Shall wrap within its dreary gloom,
At yester-morn, devoid of care,

Up rose and breath'd the healthful air.
Gay Hope o'erlook'd the present day,
Prospects of years before him lay;
He hasten'd distant joys to meet,
Nor saw the grave yawn at his feet.
Ambition, stop thy mad career,
Look on that corse and drop a tear;
E'en when thy hand would grasp the prize,
The stroke is giv'n, and glory dies.

Let Av'rice, feeble, grey and old,
Whilst his broad palm protects his gold,
Lift up his eyes, and sighing say,
Death is a debt we all must pay.

Let thoughtless youth, too often found,
In sensual joy's enchanting round,
Behold, and as he trembling stands,
Let Pleasure's cup fall from his hands.
And thou, my soul, thy thoughts employ,
On God thy glory, wealth and joy:
Virtue alone is stable here,
Nought but religion is sincere.

When mortal pangs his frame shall seize,
And the chill'd blood begins to freeze;
When my fixt eyes must roll no more,
And life escapes thro' ev'ry pore.

Ah! what shall cheer my drooping heart?
Shall worldly honours joy impart?
Can sensual pleasure sweeten death,
Or wealth redeem one parting b. cath ?
Therefore, my soul, thy thoughts employ,
On God, thy Glory, wealth and joy:
Virtue alone is stable here,
Nought but religion is sincere.

AN EPITAPH FOR AN INFANT.

Sleep on, sweet babe! no dreams annoy thy rest,
Thy spirit flew unsullied from thy breast:
Sleep on, sweet innocent! nor shalt thou dread
The passing storm that thunders o'er thy head:
Thro' the bright regions of yon azure sky,
A winged seraph, now she soars on high;
Or, on the bosom of a cloud reclin'd,
She rides triumphant on the rapid wind;
Or from its source pursues the radiant day;
Or on a sun-beam, smoothly glides away;
Or mounts aerial to her blest abode,
And sings, inspir'd, the praises of her God:
Unveiled thence, to her extensive eve,
Nature, and Nature's Laws, expanded lie:
Death, in one moment, taught this infant more
Than years or ages ever taught before.

A CAMP BALLAD.

Make room, oh! ye kingdoms in hist'ry renowned Whose arms have in battle with glory been crown'd,

Make room for America, another great nation,
Arises to claim in your council a station.

Her sons fought for freedom, and by their own brav'ry

Have rescued themselves from the shackles of slav'ry,

America's free, and tho' Britain abhor'd it,
Yet fame a new volume prepares to record it.

Fair freedom in Britain her throne had erected,
But her sons growing venal, and she disrespected;
The goddess offended forsook the base nation,
And fix'd on our mountains a more honour'd station.
With glory immortal she here sits enthron'd,
Nor fears the vain vengeance of Britain disown'd,
Whilst Washington guards her with heroes sur-
rounded,

Her foes shall with shameful defeat be confounded.
To arms then, to arms, 'tis fair freedom invites us;
The trumpet shrill sounding to battle excites us;
The banners of virtue unfurl'd, shall wave o'er us,
Our hero lead on, and the foe fly before us.

On Heav'n and Washington placing reliance,
We'll meet the bold Briton, and bid him defiance.
Our cause we'll support, for 'tis just and 'tis glorious
When men fight for freedom they must be vic-
torious.

THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS,* Gallants attend and hear a friend,

Trill forth harmonious ditty,

Strange things I'll tell which late befel
In Philadelphia city.

'Twas early day, as poets say,
Just when the sun was rising,
A soldier stood on a log of wood,
And saw a thing surprising.
As in amaze he stood to gaze,

The truth can't be de..ied, sir,
He spied a score of kegs or more
Come floating down the tide, sir.
A sailor too in jerkin blue,

This strange appearance viewing, First damn'd his eyes, in great surprise, Then said, "Some mischief's brewing. "These kegs, I'm told, the rebels hold, Pack'd up like pickled herring; And they're come down t' attack the town, In this new way of ferrying." The soldier flew, the sailor too,

And scar'd almost to death, sir,
Wore out their shoes, to spread the news,
And ran till out of breath, sir.

Now up and down throughout the town,
Most frantic scenes were acted;
And some ran here, and others there,
Like men almost distracted.

Some fire cry'd, which some denied,
But said the earth had quaked;
And girls and boys, with hideous noise,
Ran thro' the streets half naked.

[blocks in formation]

Sir William he, snug as a flea,

Lay all this time a snoring,

Nor dream'd of harm as he lay warm,
In bed with Mrs. Loring.
Now in a fright, he starts upright,

Awak'd by such a clatter;
He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries,
For God's sake, what's the matter?
At his bed-side he then espy'd,

Sir Erskine at command, sir,
Upon one foot, he had one boot,

And th' other in his hand, sir. "Arise, arise," Sir Erskine cries, "The rebels-more's the pity, Without a boat are all afloat,

And rang'd before the city. "The motly crew, in vessels new,

With Satan for their guide, sir,
Pack'd up in bags, or wooden kegs,
Come driving down the tide, sir.
"Therefore prepare for bloody war,

These kegs must all be routed,
Or surely we despised shall be,
And British courage doubted."
The royal band now ready stand
All rang'd in dread array, sir,
With stomach stout to see it out,
And make a bloody day, sir.

The cannons roar from shore to shore,
The small arms make a rattle;
Since wars began I'm sure no man
E'er saw so strange a battle.

The rebel dales, the rebel vales,

With rebel trees surrounded; The distant woods, the hills and floods, With rebel echoes sounded.

The fish below swam to and fro,

Attack'd from ev'ry quarter;

Why sure, thought they, the devil's to pay, 'Mongst folks above the water. The kegs, 'tis said, tho' strongly made, Of rebel staves and hoops, sir, Could not oppose their powerful foes, The conq'ring British troops, sir. From morn to night these men of might Display'd amazing courage; And when the sun was fairly down, Retir❜d to sup their porrage An hundred men with each a pen, Or more upon my word, sir, It is most true would be too few, Their valour to record, sir. Such feats did they perform that day, Against these wicked kegs, sir, That years to come, if they get home, They'll make their boasts and brags, sir.

THE NEW ROOF: A SONG FOR FEDERAL MECHANICS.

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Who, at the suggestion of Samuel Adams, opened the old Continental Congress of 1774 with prayer, was for a time Chaplain to the Congress of 1776, and was much admired for his ease and elegance as a preacher in his day; was also a writer of some pretensions. Of Huguenot descent, he was

a native of Philadelphia, born about 1738. He took orders in England, and became a rector of the Episcopal church in his native city. In 1771 appeared from his pen the Letters of Tamoc Caspipina, an acrostic on his designation as Assistant Minister of Christ's Church, and St. Peters, in Philadelphia, in North America.* They have reference to the English politics of the times. One of them has an allusion to Sir William Draper, who was about that time in America, urging him to a fresh encounter with his antagonist Junius, "the knight of the polished armour." The letters are addressed by Tamoc Caspipina to Right Hon. Viscounts, Lady Carolines, Lord Bishops, &c.; and give an easy account, with not too much matter, of some of the institutions of Philadelphia, a few trite moralities of religion, two or three feeble poems,

Soon, Myrtilla, must thy friend
Hasten to a distant shore, &c.,

and a passing mention of the volumes of Godfrey and Evans. In one of the letters there is a contemplation of the rising greatness of America, which is expressed in a flowing style-probably a very good specimen of the author's rhetorical manner in his sermons, which, joined to a good delivery, might readily produce the effect assigned to Duché's pulpit eloquence. This collection was several times reprinted. In an elegant edition, in two small volumes, published at Bath in England in 1777, there is an allusion to two prior ones; and there is one still later, published at London in 1791. To the Bath edition is appended, A Brief Account of the Life of William Penn, Esq., Proprietor and Governor of Pennsylvania; in which his settlement of that Province is included, and to which is added his Character.

The incidents of Duché's first services in the Continental Congress were striking. John Adams has given an account of the scene in a letter to his wife dated September 16, 1774. Duché appeared "with his clerk and his pontificals, and read several prayers in the established form, and then read the collect (psalter) for the seventh day of September, which was the thirty-fifth psalm. You must remember this was the next morning after we heard the horrible rumor of the cannonade of Boston. I never saw a greater effect upon an audience. It seems as if Heaven had ordained that psalm to be read on that morning. After this Mr. Duché, unexpectedly to everybody, struck out into an extemporary prayer, which filled the bosom of every man present. I must confess I never heard a better prayer, or one so well pronounced. Episcopalian as he is, Dr. Cooper himself never prayed with such fervor, such ardor, such earnestness and pathos, and in language so elegant and sublime for America, for the Congress, for the Province of Massachusetts Bay, and especially the town of Boston. It has had an excellent effect upon everybody here. I must beg you to read that psalm. If there was any faith in the Sortes Virgiliana or Sortes Ho

* Caspipina's Letters. Observations on a variety of subjects, literary, moral, and religious; in a series of original letters, written by a gentleman of foreign extraction who resided some time in Philadelphia. Philadelphia. 1774. + Graydon's Memoirs. Littell's Ed., p. 98.

merica, or especially in the Sortes Biblicæ, it would be thought providential. Mr. Duché is one of the most ingenious men, and best characters, and greatest orators in the Episcopal order upon this continent-yet a zealous friend of liberty and his country."

He published two revolutionary sermons, a fast sermon before Congress, and another address to the militia. The Duty of Standing Fast in our Spiritual and Temporal Liberties, was the title of his discourse preached in Christ church, July 7, 1775, before the First Battalion of the city. He addressed his audience from the text, Stand fast, therefore, in the Liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, as freemen both in the spiritual and temporal sense. It is temperate to England, but animated for independence. In one sentence he indulges in a bit of sarcasm. "We wish not to possess the golden groves of Asia, to sparkle in the public eye with jewels torn from the brows of weeping nabobs, or to riot on the spoil of plundered provinces."

The American Line, was his fast-day sermon, delivered before the honorable Continental Congress the same month, in which he looks to the past prosperity of the country and invokes its continuance. He gave the pay of his chaplaincy to the families of the Whigs slain in battle. Though a man of conscientious views, and a lover of right, his judgment unfortunately wavered from timidity or the pressure of society around him on the British occupation of Philadelphia, and he felt himself called upon to write an unfortunate letter to General Washington,* urging him to abandon the cause of Independence, which Washington prudently laid before Congress, and which Duché's brother-in-law, Francis Hopkinson, replied to with great spirit and directness. This action caused his retirement from the country. He was well received in England, where he published two volumes of sermons in 1780, and a sermon before the Humane Society in 1781. After the war he returned to Philadelphia in 1790, where he died in 1794.

FROM CASPIPINA'S LETTERS.

To the Right Honorable Lord Viscount P, Queen Street, Westminster.

**My attachment to America, I am apt to think, in a great measure proceeds from the prospect of its growing greatness, to which every day seems more or less to contribute. In Europe, the several arts and sciences are almost arrived at their meridian of perfection; at least, new discoveries are less frequent now than heretofore. Architecture, gardening, agriculture, mechanics are at a stand. The eye is weary with a repetition of scenes, in which it discovers a perpetual sameness, though heightened by all the refinements of taste. Excellency itself, in works of human art, cloys the faculties, if the mind is not now and then relieved by objects of inferior beauty. After roving over the magnificence of churches and palaces, we are glad to fix a while upon a simple farm-house, or straw-built cottage. We feel a particular delight in tracing the windings of a beautiful river from its first springs till it empties itself into the vast ocean. The mind pursues it through an immense tract of variegated country, and

[blocks in formation]
« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »