is the bane of hundreds; "villanous company"-low company leads to drinking; and the precious time is lost which should have been employed in gaining that knowledge which alone can make men respectable. Ah! thank you, Mistress Burns: this has the true Hibernia smack?"

"You may say that, Mister Cooke.'"

It is needless to remind the reader, that with the aid of Mathews's powers of imitation, sometimes called ventriloquism in this humbugging world, all this and much more would be extremely pleasant, and the more especially as the company had repeated supplies of the same inspiring beverage from the steward, and almost as good, certainly as strong, as that of Mistress Burns's.

Mathews went on to describe the progress of Cooke's intoxication, during which his protests against drunkenness became stronger with each glass. He then undertook to instruct the tyro in the histrionic art, and especially in the manner of exhibiting the passions. Here it would be vain to endeavour to follow Mathews: Cooke's grimaces and voice, while his physical powers, under the government of whiskey, rebelled at every effort against the intention of the lecturer,- -were depicted by the mimic in a manner beyond the conception of even those who have seen the public exhibition of his talents: here all was unrestrained gig and fun, and the painting truly con amore, and glowing from heart and glass.

"It must be remembered," continued Mr. Mathews, "that I was but a boy, and Cooke in the full vigour of manhood, with strength of limb and voice Herculean. I had the highest reverence for his talents, and literally stood in awe of him; so that when he made his horrible faces, and called upon me to name the passion he had depicted, I was truly frightened,-overwhelmed with the dread of offending him, and utterly at a loss to distinguish one grimace from another, except as one was more and another most savage and disgusting.

"Yes, sir; anger, to be sure.'

"To be sure you are a blockhead! Look again, sir, look again! It's fear, sir-fear. You play! you a player'

Mathews then exhibited the face of Cooke, as he distorted it to express the tender passion,-a composition of Satanic malignity and the brutal leering of a drunken satyr,-and imitating Cooke's most discordant voice, cried,

"There, sir; that's love.'

"This," continued Matthews, "was more than I could bear: even my fears could not restrain my laughter: I roared. He stared at first; but immediately assuming a most furious aspect, he cried, "What do you laugh at, sir! Is George Frederick Cooke to be made a laughing-stock for a booby! What, sir!'

44

Luckily, at that moment Mrs. Burns stood with the door partly opened, and another jug in her bands. You must pardon me, sir,' I said, with a quickness which must have been the inspiration of

66 6

But remember your honour, Mister Cooke; and that is the jewel of a jontleman; and sure you have pledged it to me, you have.'

"I have, my good Mistress Burns; and it is the immediate jewel of the soul," as you say.'

"I said no such thing; but I'll be as good as my word; and one more jug you shall have, and the divil a bit more, jewel or no jewel.'

"I was heartily tired by this time, and placed mo hope on Mrs. Burns's resolution. The last jug came, and was finished; and I wished him good night. "Not yet, my dear boy.'

"It's very late, sir.'

Early, early one jug more.'

"Mrs. Burns will not let us have it, sir.' "She will not! I'll show you that presently !'" Then followed a fine specimen of imitation; Mathews, as Cooke, calling upon Mrs. Burns (who was in the room below, and in bed), and then giving her answers, as coming up through the floor, in the manner called ventriloquism.

"Mistress Burns! Do you hear, Mistress Burns?'

"Indeed and I do, Mister Cooke.'

"Bring me another jug of whiskey-punch, Mistress Burns!'

"Indeed and I won't, Mister Cooke !" "You won't?'

"Indeed and indeed so I won't.'

"Do you hear that, Mistress Burns?' (smashing the jug on the floor).

"Indeed and I do, and you'll be sorry for it to

morrow.'

He then regularly took the chairs, one by one, and broke them on the floor immediately over Mrs. Burns's head, after every crash crying, "Do you hear that, Mistress Burns?" and she as regularly answering," Indeed and I do, Mr. Cooke." He next opened the window, and threw the looking-glass into the street.

"I stood," continued Mathews, "in a state of stupid amazement during this scene; but now attempted to make my escape, edging towards the door, and making a long stride to gain the garret stairs.

Come back, sir! Where are you going?' "To bed, sir.'

"To bed, sir! What, sir! desert me! I command you to remain, on your allegiance! Desert me in time of war! Traitor!'

I now determined to make resistance; and feeling pot-valiant, looked big, and boldly answered, "I will not be commanded! I will go to bed!'

Aha!' cried the madman, in his highest key, Aha! do you rebel? Caitiff! wretch! mur

derer!'

46

Cato, the keeper of a road tavern! Alexander the bearer of gin toddy to a whiskered shop-boy on a Sunday! Cato-Alexander-what awful names! How full of associations! each singly denoting the conqueror of self, or the conqueror of the world; now united to designate a servant of vicious and pampered appetites!

Do not let us be mistaken. Cato of Cato's was no worse a man than the tens of thousands with whiter faces, who administer to the pride, passions, and vices of the multitude. He was neither more nor less than the keeper of an eating and drinking-house; one whose lawful trade is to tempt to excess, and who may legally live by administering poison.

It would puzzle any but a philosopher to find a reason for that preference "Cato's" has enjoyed for many years over all the many receptacles of idleness and intemperance which stand invitingly open on the roads and avenues leading to and from our moral and religious city. We, being a philosopher, have found it, and can communicate. other houses of refuge from temperance, that are It is preferred to known under the appellation of retreats, (such as "Citizen's Retreat," "Fireman's Retreat," Mechanic's Retreat," "Old Countryman's Retreat," and a

543

hundred other retreats from public notice, or domestic duties,) not because its situation has more of rural retirement-for it stands full in view of the traveller or way-farer. It is not a retreat from noise, for that resounds within; nor from dust, for that it invites and receives from every wheel and hoof that passes. It is not preferred because it enjoys or gives its visitors better or more extensive prospects than its rivals, for it commands no view but of the dirty highroad, a cabbage-garden, a horse-shed, and a signpost; nor is it chosen for that the breezes of either land or sea bear health or refreshment to its admirers; for the land rises on every side, barring every wind that blows from visiting it too roughly. Neither is it the spacious apartments or elegant furniture that gives it preference, for its inmates are cabined, cribbed, and confined in cells like acorncups, compared with the halls and saloons of the town hotels and gambling-houses. But, Mrs. Cato is a notable cook. The " cabin is convenient." There are none but black faces belonging to the establishment. We feel that we are "right worshipful." All visage in his mind; it is, to some, pleasing to see the around is subserviency. Desdemona saw Othello's. badge of subserviency in the visage.

Leave we the company of thought-drowners, and meet them again by-and-by. Some hours had passed. Spiffard had tired of the noise of the table, wearied with flashes of merriment not inspired by wit, but by wine; not the genuine and healthy progeny of the reasoning faculty when indulging in sportive recreation, but the mere empty ebullition of excited animal spirits, without the guidance or control of reason. He had walked up and down the road in search of a pleasant place for retirement, but finding none, seated himself upon a bench under a building erected for the reception of water drinkers, -it was the horse-shed in front of the house. The tavern has a piazza, but the noise of the revellers made it almost as disagreeable as the smoke-ircumbered dining-room. The tumult increased so as to reach the place of refuge he had chosen. cordant sounds commingled in confusion, the monoDistony of which was broken by the high, harsh, screeching and croaking of Cooke's notes of inebriation.

"I'm your man, sir!-a dead shot, sir! George Frederick is the name to cow a yankee!"

The whole party now issued to the piazza, and after a preliminary discussion of the mode in which wounded honour was to be cured by the duello, (n discussion of which Spiffard only heard pieces or snatches of sentences, as "ten paces-five paces,— yankee actor,-dead shot," they descended, and took a station between the tavern and the horse-shed. It now appeared that Cooke and Cooper were to be pitted, not as actors, but as duellists. The seconds were busy loading the pistols, (an implement of death or amusement always kept in readiness at Cato's.) Cooke became silent and dignified, only showing by increased energy in his step, (not always properly applied,) and increased colour in his face, the increase of his ebriety. His antagonist was all politeness the established etiquette with those who meet to murder. The seconds and witnesses displayed to the eye of the water-drinker, or any other retional animal, that they were all so far blinded theaselves, that they could not see how plainly they were exposing their supposedly deep-hidden hoax to any clear-sighted spectator.

The word was given. The two tragedians fired at the same moment, or nearly so. advantage of the smoke and noise to thrust a stick Cooke's second took through his principal's coat, to produce a bullet-hole.

at the same time he threw his left arm around him, as if for support, crying, "He has hit you, sir."

But Cooke was in one of those half-mad, half-cunning paroxysms, which enabled him to act as the subject of the hoax, while he in reality hoaxed the hoaxers; and enjoyed all the pleasure of acting the part of the dupe, with the assurance of duping those who thought they were playing upon him. He was assuming the madman, and sufficiently mad to enjoy all the pleasure which "only madmen know." Fretending to believe that he was hit by his opponent's ball, he, with a force which only madness could give, threw out his left arm, and hurled his officiously designing second several paces from him, reeling until the cow-yard (the court-yard of the establishment), received him at full length. As the smoke evaporated, Cooper was seen extended in mock agonies; his second and others of the party, leaning over him in pretended mourning.

"Mr. Cooke, your ball has passed through the lungs of poor Cooper, I'm afraid. The surgeon is examining the wound. There is little hope-"

I

"None, sirr! I never miss. He is the tenth. am sorry for him." He stalked up to the pretended hurt man with due gravity. This was a precious opportunity for the veteran to mingle sarcasm and mock regrets, and to pay the hoaxers in their own coin, stampt anew in the mint of his brains, and he did not let it escape him.

"Poor Tom, poor Tom's acold!' I'm sorry for him. I'm sorry that his farthing-candle-life was extinguished by my hand, although he deserved death from none more. This even-handed justice commends the ingredients of' our murderous pistols to our own breasts. I warned him of my unerring aim; but the thief will seek the halter.' How do you find his wound, sirr?"

"I am examining it, sir; I am torturing him." "It is no more than he has done to hundreds of hearers."

“I am afraid, sir, he will never play again."

"Then by murdering him honourably, I have prevented many dishonourable murders. Shade of Shakespeare, applaud me! He will never again murder Macbeth instead of Duncan, or throttle Othello instead of Desdemona, I am a second Mahomet overthrowing idolatry! The wooden god of the Yankee-doodles lies prostrate! Fie, George

Frederick, to triumph over a block. Farewell, poor Tom! poor enough." This was said over his shoulder. "I could have better spared a better actor— but let that pass, while we pass to our pious meditations. Who takes order for the funeral? Bear the body in!" When sober none did more justice to his rival's merit, although now so scurrilously unjust. "He revives, sir. There is hope yet," said the

surgeon.

Then may the poets mourn."

While the pretended dead duellist was removed into the house, Cooke's second approached him, exclaiming, "The horses are ready, sir; we must fly."

"We, sir! when I fly or creep, I choose my company. George Frederick Cooke never flies from danger. Fly, sir! if the idol of Yankee-land lives, there is nothing to apprehend from his worshippers, nothing to fly from, except when he acts; and if he dies, and by my hand, I have honoured him, and benefited the world." So saying, the hero strutted most sturdily to the steps of the piazza, where, feeling the difficulty of ascent, he recollected his wound called for assistance, and was supported to the table, at which sat, like another Banquo, the man whose fall he triumphed over.

ALEXANDER WILSON. ALEXANDER WILSON, the first to claim the title of the American Ornithologist, was born at Paisley, Scotland, July 6, 1766. His parents were persons in humble but respectable circumstances, and their anticipations for their son seem to have looked forward to a time, as expressed in his own words,

When, clad in sable gown, with solemn air, The walls of God's own house should echo back his prayer.

The death of his mother, when he was ten years old, and the re-marriage of his father not long after, probably prevented the execution of this plan. July 31, 1779, he was apprenticed to a weaver, and an entry on the indenture, dated Agst., 1782," records in verse the expiration of his time:

Be't kent to a' the warld in rhime,

That wi' right mickle wark an' toil,
For three lang years I've ser't my time,
Whiles feasted wi' the hazel oil.

He continued working at the loom for four years longer, varying his labors, as during his novitiate, with various attempts at poetry. One of the couplets shows the restiveness of his active mind and body, under his sedentary and monotonous employment :—

Good gods! shall a mortal with legs, So low uncomplaining be brought. About the close of this period he was at work for William Duncan, his brother-in-law, under whom he had served his apprenticeship. Duncan determined to make a venture as a pedlar, and Wilson, considering that occupation a much more appropriate one for a "mortal with legs," accompanied him. Three years of his life were employed in this manner, during which he visited various portions of Scotland, digressing from his route to all places of literary or romantic interest which lay within reasonable distance. His opportunities of observation increased his taste for writing, by furnishing him with ample material to work upon; and we find him, in 1789, making a contract with Mr. John Neilson, a Paisley printer, for an edition of his poems. He added a number of prospectuses to the varied contents of his pack, and set off afresh with purposes pleasantly recorded in a journal which he kept of his tour.

As youth is the most favourable time to establish a man's good fortune in the world, and as his success in life depends, in a great measure, on his prudent endeavours, and unwearied perseverance, I have resolved to make one bold push for the united interests of pack and poems. Nor can any one justly blame me for it, since experience has now convinced me, that the merit I am possessed of (which is certainly considerable) might lie for ever buried in obscurity, without such an attempt. I have, therefore, fitted up a proper budget, consisting of silks, muslins, prints, &c. for the accommodation of those good people who may prove my customers,-a sufficient quantity of proposals for my poetical friends; and, to prevent those tedious harangues, which otherwise I would be obliged to deliver at every threshold, I have, according to the custom of the most polite pedlars, committed the contents of my

pack to a handbill, though in a style somewhat remote from any I have yet seen.

ADVERTISEMENT EXTRAORDINARY.

Fair ladies, I pray, for one moment to stay,
Until with submission I tell you,
What muslins so curious, for uses so various,
A poet has here brought to sell you.

Here's handkerchiefs charming; book-muslins like

ermine,

Brocaded, striped, corded, and check'd; Sweet Venus, they say, on Cupid's birth-day,

In British-made muslins was deck'd.

If these can't content ye, here's muslins in plenty,
From one shilling up to a dozen,

That Juno might wear, and more beauteous appear,
When she means the old Thunderer to cozen.

Here are fine jaconets, of numberless sets,
With spotted and sprigged festoons;
And lovely tambours, with elegant flowers,
For bonnets, cloaks, aprons, or gowns.

Now, ye Fair, if ye choose any piece to peruse,
With pleasure I'll instantly shew it:

If the Pedlar should fail to be favor'd with sale,
Then I hope you'll encourage the Poet.

Though the subscription part of the enterprise was a failure, the book was printed in July, 1790, and the author again made his rounds to deliver copies to the few subscriber; he had obtained, and sell to some of the many who were not. Poetry is said to be a drug on a publisher's shelves, and can only be an active commodity of a pedlar's pack when its proprietor is on foot. The second tour produced a disgust to the business, and he abandoned it for the loom at Paisley. That had not been long in motion before he heard of a proposed discussion at an Edinburgh debating society, composed of a portion of the city literati, as to "whether have the exertions of Allan Ramsay or Robert Fergusson done more honor to Scottish poetry?" He borrowed the poems of the latter poet, worked hard by day to earn the means to travel to Edinburgh, and by night at a poem, The Laurel Disputed, which he read at the time and place of the discussion, before the assembled "Forum." The audience did not agree with him in his preference of Fergusson, but the merits of the performance gained him friends-among others, Dr. Anderson, for whose periodical of the Bee he became a contributor.

Before leaving town he recited two other poems, Rab and Ringan, and The Loss o' the Pack, and published with his friend Ebenezer Picken, who had taken the part of Ramsay in blank verse, a pamphlet, entitled The Laurel Disputed; or, the Merits of Allan Ramsay and Robert Fergusson Contrastel, in Two Poetical Essays by E. Picken and A. Wilson. On returning to Paisley, when his funds were exhausted, his Edinburgh success induced him to bring out a second edition of his poems. The volume, with the title, Poems, Humorous, Satirical, and Serious, was issued immediately, and the author again attempted to be his own bookseller, and again failed.

In 1792, his poem of Watty and Meg was published anonymously. It met with very great success-one hundred thousand copies being sold VOL. I.-35

within a few weeks-and received the high honor of being attributed to Burns. This was a great gratification to the author, who entertained a high regard for the great poet, and had previously made his acquaintance by a letter which he wrote to Burns on the first publication of his poems, in which he objected to some on the score of immorality. Burns replied he was so used to such communications that he usually paid no attention to them; but that as Wilson showed himself to be a good poet, he would, in this instance, vindicate himself. Wilson afterwards visited Burns at Ayrshire.

A dispute arising between the manufacturers and weavers of Paisley, Wilson, in the interest of the latter, wrote several satirical poems against the former, which were handed around in MS. One of these, The Shark, or Long Mills Detected, he sent in manuscript to the person it attacked, with an offer to suppress it for fire guineas. For this he was prosecuted, and on conviction sent to jail for a few days, and to burn his poem in public. The latter portion of his sentence was put in execution on the sixth of February, 1793. In consideration to his feelings, no public notice was given, and the act was witnessed only by the chance passers-by. The poem had already been secretly printed after the commencement of the prosecution, in the preceding May.* This occurrence was, no doubt, one of the causes of his emigration to America. The others were his sympathy with the democratic spirit of the early days of the French Revolution, which caused him to be suspected by the authorities, the hopelessness of bettering his condition in the old world, and the alluring prospect of political and pecuniary independence held out by the new. After living for four months at the rate of a shilling a week, he saved money enough to pay for his passage, walked to Port Patrick, sailed to Belfast, and thence embarked as a deck passenger for America.

He landed at Newcastle, Delaware, July 14, 1794, and proceeded forthwith to Philadelphia, distant thirty-three miles, on foot, shooting on the way a bird of the red-headed woodpecker species, the commencement of his ornithological pursuits. On his arrival at the city, he worked for a time at copperplate printing with one of his countrymen, and afterwards tried his old avocations of weaving and peddling. These were abandoned in 1794 for school-keeping. He commenced this portion of his career near Frankford, which he soon abandoned for a better position at Milestown, Pa., where he remained until the commencement of the next century, diligently einployed in repairing the deficiencies of his own education, as well as laying the foundations of that of the children in his charge. He also indoctrinated himself in American politics, delivered an oration On the Power and Value of National Liberty, and wrote the song, Jefferson and Liberty, about this period.

A few years before his death Wilson sent for his brother David, to join him in America. David brought with him copies of these satires, which he had collected with some trouble, and presented them to his brother. The author, however, at once threw them in the fire, saying: "These were the follies of youth; and had I taken my good old father's advice, they never would have seen the light."

Men Minn

In 1802 he took charge of a seminary near Gray's Ferry, on the Schuylkill, four miles from Philadelphia. This brought him into communication with two valuable friends, William Bartram the naturalist, and Lawson the engraver. His leisure hours were now devoted to the pursuit to which he was becoming more and more attached-that of Ornithology.

I sometimes smile (he writes to Bartram) to think, that while others are immersed in deep schemes of speculation and aggrandizement, in building towns and purchasing plantations, I am entranced in contemplation over the plumage of a lark, or gazing like a despairing lover on the lineaments of an owl. While others are hoarding up their bags of money, without the power of enjoying it, I am collecting, without injuring my conscience, or wounding my peace of mind, those beautiful specimens of Nature's works that are for ever pleasing. I have had live crows, hawks, and owls; opossums, squirrels, snakes, lizards, &c., so that my room has sometimes reminded me of Noah's ark; but Noah had a wife in one corner of it, and, in this particular, our parallel does not altogether tally.

I receive every subject of natural history that is brought to me; and, though they do not march into my ark from all quarters, as they did into that of our great ancestor, yet I find means, by the distribution of a few fivepenny bits, to make them find the way fast enough. A boy, not long ago, brought me a large basketful of crows. I expect his next load will be bull frogs, if I don't soon issue orders to the contrary. One of my boys caught a mouse in school, a few days ago, and directly marched up to me with his prisoner. I set about drawing it that same evening; and all the while the pantings of its little heart shewed it to be in the most extreme agonies of fear. I had intended to kill it, in order to fix it in the claws of a stuffed owl; but, happening to spill a few drops of water near where it was tied, it lapped it up with such eagerness, and, looked in my face with such an eye of supplicating terror, as perfectly overcame me. I immediately untied it, and restored it to life and liberty. The agonies of a prisoner at the stake, while the fire and instruments

of torment are preparing, could not be more severe than the sufferings of that poor mouse; and, insignificant as the object was, I felt at that moment the sweet sensations that mercy leaves on the mind when she triumphs over cruelty.

A letter written a little after, in June, 1803, shows that the amateur amusement was about becoming the engrossing occupation of his life. Addressing a friend at Paisley, he says: "Close application to the duties of my profession, which I have followed since November, 1795, has deeply injured my constitution; the more so, that my rambling disposition was the worse calculated of any one's in the world for the austere regularity of a teacher's life. I have had many pursuits since I left Scotland-mathematics, the German language, music, drawing, &c., and I am now about to make a collection of all our finest birds." The labors to which he refers had been undergone to supply, not only his own simple wants, but also those of a nephew, who with his family had settled on a farm, of which Wilson and the nephew were joint owners, in the state of New York. One of his various occupations had been to contribute a number of poems, among others his Solitary Tutor, to Charles Brockden Brown's Literary Magazine.

In October, 1804, Wilson, with two friends, made a pedestrian tour to the Falls of Niagara. Winter overtook them on their return, in November, near Cayuga Lake. One of his companions tarried with his relatives until the spring, and the other availed himself of a less fatiguing mode of transportation than that afforded by his legs; but Wilson trudged on with his gun through the snow "mid-leg deep," and arrived home in the beginning of December, after a journey of 1257 miles, and an absence of 59 days. One result of the trip was his poem of The Foresters, published in the Port Folio; another to confirm him in the resolution he had taken. He says, in a letter to Bartram:

So far am I from being satisfied with what I have seen, or discouraged by the fatigues which every traveller must submit to, that I feel more eager than ever to commence some more extensive expedition, where scenes and subjects, entirely new and generally unknown, might reward my curiosity; and where, perhaps, my humble acquisitions might add something to the stores of knowledge. For all the hazards and privations incident to such an undertaking, I feel confident in my own spirit and resolution. With no family to enchain my affections; no ties but those of friendship; with the most ardent love to my adopted country; with a constitution which hardens amidst fatigues; and with a disposition sociable and open, which can find itself at home by an Indian fire in the depth of the woods, as well as in the best apartment of the civilized; for these, and some other reasons that invite me away, I am determined to become a traveller.