pleased with our company, that we began to feel uneasy at their sociability; and it was with some difficulty, after presenting them with some bread and meat and a bottle of gin, we could get rid of them. They then left us, and went on board another vessel, where was an American woman with several children, who had resided some time in the Cape, with her husband, a Frenchman, and who had received a passport to leave the country. Notwithstanding she stated to them that she was an American, and produced her passport, the inhuman wretches dragged her into their boat, and conveyed her to a barge, where she was chained down to the deck. During the night there was a severe storm, accompanied by a most violent rain, but still she was compelled to remain in that situation all night. In the morning, the commandant happening to pass that way in his boat, ordered her to be set at liberty, and carried back to the American vessel.

During my stay in Hayti, no instance has occurred of an American being put to death, though some were very roughly treated, of which I shall relate a few instances. A captain one day employed a negro to work for him. In consequence of some insolence from the fellow, the captain struck him, and a battle ensued. Two soldiers from a neighbouring guard-house ran, with charged bayonets, at the American, and, had he not expertly jumped on one side out of the way, he would certainly have been run through. The bayonets entered a coffee-hogshead. The soldiers then seized and marched him, at the point of their bayonets, to the guard-house, where he was detained, until the general, by the interposition of some friends, permitted him to be liberated.

At the time orders were issued to prohibit American boats from leaving the shore after six o'clock in the evening, one of the captains, who was not acquainted with the order, and who was entirely ignorant of the French or Creole language, was severely beaten by a mulatto officer, and turned back from the wharf. Complaints were made to Christophe, who was so condescending as to say, he was sorry for it." Two or three instances have also occurred of Americans being imprisoned on suspicion of coming on shore after night for the purpose of conveying Frenchmen on board their vessels. One supercargo, I recollect, was confined in a dungeon three or four days. One gentleman was one night attacked in the street, by a negro soldier, who aimed a blow at his head with a sabre, and would inevitably have been killed, had it not been for his umbrella, by which he warded it off.

We have found it advisable here to be extremely circumspect in our conduct and conversation, lest we might perchance share the fate of some of the unfortunate Frenchmen. Instances have formerly oc

curred in the island, wherein Americans have been killed; one particularly memorable. Dessalines ordered all the white inhabitants, including Americans, of the town of St. Marc, to be massacred. Mr. D. was the only one who escaped. Being upon terms of friendship with some of the officers, he received a private intimation from one, of what was about to take place, and profited by it to leave the town.

P. S. I do not recollect of ever having experienced such true happiness as I do at this moment. We are now nearly out of sight of the island, whence I have so frequently addressed you. The appearance of political affairs has seemed lately to indicate some horrible event, and our time has been so miserably spent under melancholy anticipations, that we have occasion to rejoice at our change of situation.

Early this morning, as is customary, the commandant of the place visited our vessel. We entertained him as we sailed gently along with a moderate land breeze, with the usual treat of a glass of cordial, a slice of ham, and a buiscuit, and after having seen his soldiers examine into every part of the vessel, wherein persons could be concealed, and even into the chests, to see if we had any Frenchmen on board, he left

us.

A short distance outside of the harbour, when we were congratulating each other upon the pleasure of being completely removed out of the power of the inhuman Dessalines, we were pursued by a barge, the officer of which, in a very insolent tone, ordered us to heave to. We did so, and found the crew to be composed of a gang of negro and mulatto ruffians similar to those above described, but more brutal in their conduct. They were scarcely a minute on board our vessel before they stole a musket and a sailor's coat. The sailor discovered the theft, and insisted upon having his property restored. He complained to the officer, who pretended to be in a passion, and threatened to stab the thief with his dirk. The coat was at length given up, but the musket they refused to return, as they said they had orders from the commandant to seize all the arms they met with. After examining the vessel, they insisted upon being furnished with a supply of provisions and liquor, which we, to avoid any further detention and insolence, found it our interest to grant them, after which they left us, informing us that we might proceed. This barge was one of those which are constantly stationed near the mouth of the harbour, to search vessels which are on their way out. Their bloodthirsty crews board a vessel under the pleasing expectation of coming by surprise upon some poor unfortunate Frenchman, who has been so snugly concealed on board as to have eluded the scrutiny of the commandant, and who might be just at that moment creeping from his hiding place. What a disgusting sight is it, and with what horrible reflections is that sight accompanied

to behold men hunting and, as it were, smelling after the blood of their fellow-creatures, like a pack of hounds after game, or the wild beasts of the forest in search of their prey. I have seen it so repeatedly, that I always associate in my mind, with the idea of a Haytian soldier, that of a bloodhound. The former feels no more compunction in killing a Frenchman than the latter does in tearing to pieces a negro. Both delight in that species of employment. It is a recreation and a feast

to them.

NOTES MADE IN 1809.

The first great naval character of the republic of Hayti deserved a better fate than the one which awaited the poor commodore. In 1806 Dublin was ordered by the emperor from Port-de-Paix to Gonaives. This order was received at the time that some vessels were about sailing for the Cape, which the commodore had engaged to convoy. Notwithstanding his orders, he accompanied them; but, unfortunately, on his return to Port-de-Paix, he struck his vessel upon some rocks, and totally lost her. The crew was saved. Upon receiving information of this occurrence, his majesty sentenced Dublin to be shot, and he was accordingly executed.

On my second visit to the island the account of the massacre at the Carenage was confirmed to me upon the most satisfactory authority, with the additional circumstance, which was also fully corroborated, that citizen A—, a white Frenchman, noticed in some of the preceding letters, with Richard, commandant of the place, was actually of this party of nocturnal assassins, and a sharer of the pillage.

SATIRE-FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

Rapidus montano flumine torrens,

Sternit agros, sternit sata læta boumque labores,
Præcipitasque trahit sylvas.

We often smile at the pomp, with which the simplest occurrence is introduced to public notice. Newspaper eulogy is pretty nearly as well understood, as newspaper abuse, and both the one and the other have been so often misap

plied as no longer to gratify the praiseworthy or make the vitious feel. The rapid advance of our own country carries with it a glowing style, which sometimes magnifies molehills into mountains, and a hard shower of rain into a second flood. To the east, this oriental swell of language, and pomp of metaphor peculiarly prevail. If a blacksmith's shop is burned, all the figures of speech are enlisted to describe the conflagration, and the proximus urdet Ucalegon becomes a feeble picture. If a worm-fence or a cow-stable happen to be blown down, the war of Milton's angels is tranquil to the fury of the winds. These things have often been remarked, and in a country so far from maturity as this, a little effervescence may be excused; it exhibits indeed an exuberance of thought, which may produce in time solid and substantial elegance of language. America, however, does not monopolize the art of magnifying in communicating intelligence. In older countries descriptions no less turgid are often to be found.

In a late English gazette I was much struck with a communication, which, in lack of perspicuity as well as pomp of language it would puzzle our cisatlantic writers to exceed. This brilliant effusion purports to describe an inundution the most destructive, near Carlisle: and it would appear that all the powers of fancy, the illustrations of poetry, and the ornaments of fiction had been conjured up to ennoble and embellish it. After proceeding through the regular gradations of an epic song, in which the only error, like that of Paradise Lost, is the want of a definite hero; after throwing rocks, woods, and waters into the most interesting chaos, and omitting to bring order out of confusion to wind up the plot, a most enchanting and picturesque incident is introduced sub finem, to complete the tale and leave a forcible and lasting and agreeable impression upon the reader. As this last sentence, for it is but a single sentence, marks strongly the character of the whole piece, I will take the liberty of copying it entire, and illustrate some of its striking beau

ties:

On Monday night, near the same place, the driver of a postchaise belonging to an innkeeper in Wigton, missing his road from the darkness of the night and the severity of the weather, the horses plunged into the foaming deep, where they were drowned, and the chaise dashed to pieces, which fortunately contained no passengers. Miraculously the driver regained the shore."

This, it will be observed, is an episode of the happiest kind, which, every one knows, is a minor poem, introduced or woven into the great plot to diversify the story and beguile the reader, that he may not be fatigued by too long a continuance of the same train of thought. As such, the above is perfect. The story of Melibaus and even the admired allegory of Sin and Death are nothing to it. At one view in a pair of lines, we are put in possession of every thing necessary to enable us to proceed hand in hand with the author in his story. The expression is short but comprehensive; it is like the ladies' gloves-of perfect utility—yet of so convenient a littleness as to be confined in a nut-shell. The time, on Monday night, the place, near the same, and the hero, the driver of a post-chaise belonging to an innkeeper in Wigton. Then follow the alarming incidents.

Missing his road. The most energetic writers often adopt the present tense in describing past events, and our author's taste is displayed in the judicious use of it here; he does not coldly speak of what has happened long ago, but brings the events actually before us, and makes them pass in review like Macbeth's kings, thus arousing the slumbering attention and keeping it widely awake. The driver is actually missing his road not only from the darkness of the night, which any reasonable man would think adequate cause for his aberrations; but from the severity of the weather. Now whether the severity of the weather has frosted off the right road, or frozen the driver's recollection, does not appear; but the severity of the weather has effected a wonder, it has made a man. familiar with the roads near Wigton, the driver of a postchaise, and that too belonging to an innkeeper, it has made him miss his road! What extreme severity! the cold of