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the peace in sixty-three, so we were as well off as could be in these here backwood settlements. We had tramped through the woods too often not to know where the good land was upon the water courses. Some squatted here and some there-near enough to hear a dog bark or the crack of a rifle, but not too near neither. There was a fine place at the Dunkard bottom, and

ment where Clarksburg now is. This, mind, was just after the peace, when Fauquier was governor. Well, we all had our little cabins, that hadn't a nail in 'em, but the roof was of clapboards, kept on by a long sapline laid crosswise, and tied fast with hickory withes, You may see some of the like of 'em now in the nooks of the hills. And we had our little patch of corn and potatoes, and powder and ball enough to keep us in bear meat and venison. And now and then a pedler would come over among us, with a little rum and ammunition, and some pins and needles for our old women, and a heap o' little matters that would suit the like of us. We had no money-not even a cut half-bit; but every body had skins, and that was the very things the pedlers come for. And if so be, one had no skins, his neigh

It was not this: he had a wife and a young child the object of his cares. Was the burden beyond his strength? Then he had a son of more than sixty, on whom to lean in his latter day, when pressed by the hand of rude mischance, and compelled to throw himself and his helpless charge upon another for protection and support. What then was the motive of this wanderer through almost trackless mountains-on foot-there, there was a settlement, and there was a settlealone-his staff his only stay, and even without a dog for company? Reader! he was on his way to the county of Monongalia to ferret out a LAND TITLE ! I am well aware that in any other country than this, my story would be disbelieved. My readers would set me down as a pretender in the almost threadbare art of romancing, and my only credit would be the zeal which I display in contributing my mite to your pages. But those who are familiar with American backwoodsmen, feel and understand at once, how powerful a motive with an old settler and locator of land-warrants, is the hope of securing a title to some scanty glen among the hills, or of discovering a spot of vacant land between the boundaries of other occupants. Upon inquiry, I found that my new acquaintance was no other than Adam O'Brien, of celebrated memory in the north-bor would lend him some, and next time, maybe, he western part of Virginia, where his name or rather its initials are to be found marked on numerous trees as evidences of settlement. He was, I think, an Irishman by birth, though he was certainly in Virginia as long ago as the war of 1756, at the time of Braddock's defeat. At a later period he seems to have gone over the Alleghany, contrary to the King's proclamation, and was found in that region at the commencement of Indian hostilities before the battle of the Point in 1774. In this situation he became an Indian scout or ranger, and passed his days upon the frontier, amid all the hardships and privations of the forest, and in perpetual hazard of the tomahawk and the scalping knife.

After learning his name, and the service in which he had been engaged in the prime of life, I asked him what circumstances had led him at so early a day to pass into the wilderness and encounter all the perils and the sufferings of the frontier. "Why, Lord bless you, sir," said he, "I did not mind it a bit. It was just what I liked. You see I was a poor man, and I had got behind hand, and when that's the case you know there's no staying in the settlements for those varments, the sheriffs and the constables. They are worse than Ingians any day, for you daren't kill 'em no how. Now you know the King's proclamation* warned every body to keep the other side the big ridge, so there was no people over on this side except what run away from justice; and when they got here they were as free as the biggest buck agoing. The red men lay still after *I presume he alluded to the proclamation of 1763, which reserved “the lands and territories lying to the westward of the sources of the rivers which fall into the sea from the west and north-west," and "strictly forbid on pain of the King's dis pleasure all his loving subjects from making any purchases or settlements of any of the said lands without his special leave." It also expressly enjoined upon all officers to seize and apprehend all persons whatever, who, standing charged with treasons, misprisions of treasons, murders, or other felonies, or misdemeanors, shall fly from justice, and take refuge in the said territory, and send them under proper guard to the colony where the crime was committed, &c. in order to take their trial for the same." The trans-alleghany country thus appears to have been the city of refuge of those early times.

would have to borrow. And we all wur snug and comfortable, I tell you. But at last came the Revolution, and there was a land office opened for patenting the vacant lands; and then the land spekulators poured upon us; and as all settlement rights were saved, all our settlements were as good as gold, and we set about making new settlements. That was easy done. There was nothing to do but mark your name on a tree, and cut down a few saplines and plant a handful of corn, and you'd get a right to four hundred acres of land, though it afterwards cost a good deal of hard swearing, as you may guess. You may see A. O. B. now upon a heap of the trees in the woods through the country here. That stands for Adam O'Brien. That's my name; and I was employed to make settlements on the good lands, and many of 'em I did make sure enough, and after all I am now as poor as a bear in the month of March.

"Well, as I was a saying, we lived quite happy before the Revolution, for there was no courts and no law and no sheriffs in this here country, and we all agreed very well. But by-and-bye the country came to be settled; the people begun to come in, and then there was need for law; and then came the lawyers, and next came the preachers, and from that time we never had any peace any more. The lawyers persuaded us when we lent our skins to our neighbors that we ought to take a due bill for 'em, and then if they did'nt pay they never let us alone tell we sued 'em ; and then the preachers convarted one-half, and they begun to quarrel with t'other half, because they would not take care of their own souls; and from that time we never had any peace for our soul or body. And as for the sheriffs, the varmints, they were worse than a wild cat or a painter;* for they'd take the last coverlit from your wife's straw bed, or turn her out of doors in a storm. Oh Lord! oh Lord! its I that knows it! my old blood gets hot when I think of it. My second wife, no, it was my third wife, was lying in of her fourth child in the 'cold winter,' in the middle of January.

* Panther.

One of these here spekulators had brought suit agin | He then followed on the trail 'till about dark he came to me for my little settlement, and what with bad man- where they were camped in the fork of two little cricks. agement and hard swearing and perjury, he gained it. And there was his little daughter in the thick of them. And the sheriff come one snowy day in January, with 1 forget how many they were, but not many; so he a writ of possession to turn me out, and out we went, makes for home as fast as he can-gets back to the setand my poor wife I took to an old cabin that had but tlement and gets what neighbors he can to go with him. half a roof on, and she never was out of it till she come | And so they went, and 'tween daylight and sunrise they out a corpse. I'll tell you, what mister, I thought I'd come upon 'em, where they were with the little gal. rather live among the savages all my days, and take They sneaked up and all were to fire together, and he my chance of a tomahawk, than live among justices of begs them for God's sake not to hit his child. And so peace and lawyers and sheriffs, who with all their they let fly, and some tumbled down, and some jumped civility, a'nt got no natral feeling in 'em. They sarved up and run off, and Hart and his men set up a whoop, me amost as bad as the copper devils sarved old Tom and rushed on and saved the child and carried her safe Hart there down upon the Ohio."* back, and ever since that time he's been mortal innimy to all the race, and I raly think he would kill one if he was to see him, no matter where. And yet he got his spite out of 'em at the battle of the Point. How many he killed that day he never could say for sartain; but he could swear to two, for as the Ingians and white men were treed, whenever they could they took good sight, and twant hard to tell when they knocked one over."

"How was that?" said I, willing to divert the mind of the poor old man from reminiscences that seemed to shake his aged frame with emotion.

"Oh!" said he, "it was a sad affair, but what every body looked for in them hard times. I heard old Hart tell about it myself, one time when the Osages was coming into Virginia on their way to the seat of government. They staid all night at Gallipolis, a little below the Point, not far from where I live, and they were to have a war-dance, and the folks all wanted to go over from the Point to see it, and they wanted Hart to go. And he would'nt. And they asked him why not? And he said because he should want to kill one of them, and he said he was too old to commit murder, and the Indians were all at peace, and it would be a sin to kill one, but if he was to go he should want to kill one of the damned copperheads. And so he up and told what aggravated him so much agin 'em.

"You must know, just about the time of the battle of the Point the Ingians was even on, around the settlements. The settlers were sometimes forted, but whenever the innimy retired they went on to their settlements agin to plant and work their corn, and then the savages would come upon 'em of a sudden, and burn and scalp and slaughter all they come across. The man of the house had to go to the field with his gun, and oftentimes when he was at the plough the woman kept watch with the rifle. Rich people, mister, who have now got all these here lands, don't think much of what a world of suffering they cost the poor settlers. Well! Tom Hart went out one morning to plough, leaving his wife and children at home, and taking his rifie to shoot a buck if he should see one, for he never mistrusted about the Ingians, as it was rather before the troubles broke out, and they had for sometime been quiet. As he was coming home from his work what should he see but his house all afire. He run on, not slow, I tell you, and when he got there, he burst through the fire and found his wife and one child tomahawked and scalped and t'other child gone. He rushed out-for the fire was too hot for him to stay, and took the trail and followed on. He heard a cry like a wild turkey, and he knew it was an Ingian. So he got behind a tree and answered him; and presently a tall Ingian come tramping through the bushes, thinking 'twas another Ingian that answered. So he shot him.

The above recital is as nearly as I can recollect a substantially accurate statement of the old man's remarks.

¡Point Pleasant.

Gathered together in a fort with block houses for defence.

A new subject was thus broached, and I asked him if he was at the battle of the Point; he answered in the affirmative, and told me a good many things about it which I had heard before. I was particularly struck with his account of old Cornstalk, the Indian chief, who commanded the red men. He was often during the day on a little hillock where he could command a view of the whole battle, and gave his orders in a voice like a speaking trumpet. The old man could not repress his admiration of the noble savage, though he was his natural enemy, and he inveighed in strong language against the manner in which he was slain.

We sat till late bedtime chatting about Indian affairs and early times. I remember a little anecdote which gives a vivid idea of the state of the frontier population, while the Indians were yet hovering around them. Clarksburg was a small village much exposed, and the children were kept within very narrow limits, lest a lurking savage should chance to fall upon them. The little urchins, however, then, as now, sometimes broke their bounds. One evening, when a squad of them had wandered too far, they discovered an Indian who was creeping up to surprise them. They all set off for home at full speed, and the Indian finding himself discovered, pursued them fiercely with his tomahawk. The larger children were ahead, but one little fellow, though he ran his best, fell into the rear, and the savage was gaining on him. At last the boy got so far that his pursuer stopped, poised his tomahawk and threw it at him, but missed; upon which, the dauntless child, looking back, exclaimed, "Ahah! you missed me though, you slink."

The next

After several hours of interesting conversation with the old centenarian, we retired to rest. morning, though I rose with the sun, he was gone before I was up, and two days afterwards I met him again in Clarksburg, which he had reached after a circuit of more than sixty miles, travelling on foot at about thirty miles a day. How he succeeded in his land claim I never heard, nor do I know whether he yet lives. The days of his pilgrimage are probably ended, though his brawny frame, his firm and well developed muscles, and his fine "thews and sinews" might well have lasted him for half a century more.

A TRAVELLER.

JOANNA OF NAPLES.*

This is an exquisite morceau, and the printer has sent it from his hands in a style befitting the beauty of its literary execution. This is a charm which it ever stands an author in hand to seek. It is an a priori argument in favor of his book that it is thus beautifully printed,its "rivulet of text meandering through a meadow of margin."

The author of "Miriam" and the present work, is Miss Park, of Cambridge, Massachusetts, who origin ally intended to weave a tragedy from the rich material, which, like a lump of virgin gold rather than of ore, she has snatched from the quarry, and wrought into a most touching and intensely interesting history. But as she approached the task, her eyesight failed her, and she was obliged to present the work in a less pretending-but to our minds, a far more inviting form.

against her, adding but little force to the prejudiced accounts the church of Rome has handed down to posterity, concerning the monarch who had the independence to espouse the cause of Clement against the usurper Urban. "Public rumors, in the absence of proof, (says Hallam,) imputed the guilt of this mysterious assassination, [of Andrea, her husband,] to Joanna. Whether historians are authorized to assume her

participation in it so confidently as they have generally done, may perhaps be doubted: though I cannot venture, positively, to rescind their sentence." "The name of Joan has suffered by the lax repetition of calumnies. Whatever share she may have had in her husband's death, and certainly under circumstances of extenuation, her subsequent life was not open to any flagrant reproach: the charge of dissolute manners, so frequently made, is not warranted by any specific proof, or cotemporary testimony."

But the reader of this little romance will conceive a beau ideal of the character of Joanna of Naples, which will make him willing, (or we greatly mistake,) to believe nothing of that heroic woman, not proved,— which is inconsistent with the beautiful portraiture that the pencil of Miss Park has produced.

That which would have deterred an ordinary mind from attempting this task, seems to have suggested its execution the more forcibly to hers. She had been reading Mrs. Jameson's Life of Joanna of Naples, in the Biography of Female Sovereigns, and was led by that perusal to examine all the records of that celeAnother feature of this work will strike the reader. brated queen, to which she could gain access: and, to The author shall state this feature in her own happy quote the beautiful language of her preface to this little manner. "In this Tale," she says in her preface," the production, "When deprived of her customary occu-author has remembered a wish often expressed in ber pations, by partial blindness, one of her chief resources hearing by judicious mothers; she has endeavored to against the weariness of forced idleness was in exercises discard the machinery usually employed in works of of the memory and invention. She sometimes enter-fiction; and to bring strong passions and affections into tained herself with weaving fictions, and planning little play, without the cooperation of that, on which the works destined never to come forth from the chambers main interest of a romantic story commonly depends. of her brain; and amid the visionary processions which She respectfully waits the decision of the public, as to moved through her darkened apartment, many a time the degree of interest excited for a heroine, whose fears did the majestic figure of the Neapolitan queen sweep and trials are not interwoven with a love-tale. Her As a sadly by, the heroine of the unwritten romance. little work is published in the hope, that, if it win the memorial of those hours, when the faculties mercifully approbation of her young readers, they may be lured by it bestowed on every human mind asserted their power to the fountains of history, ever pouring forth bright streams to charm away physical evil, she has, the last summer, of pleasure and instruction. As the current comes gliding committed some of their fruits to paper, and the task down from the urns of dim antiquity, it brings us awful has again beguiled a few weeks of ill health. Want of truths, that deserve contemplation,—the insufficiency of eyesight has prevented her indulging in researches that human greatness, the dangers of a blinding prosperi might have graced her pages with antiquarian lore; but she trusts she has avoided any serious anacronisms. ty, the terrible retribution, which so often overtakes Her narrative is not a work of pure fiction, as most of guilt, even on this side of the grave.” the leading characters and principal events are historical; and she has endeavored to take no unwarrantable liberties with facts, as recorded by writers, who believed Joanna innocent of the crimes charged upon her by her

enemies."

We commend this book as one of the choicest productions of the day,-and express a hope, which we know all our readers will echo, when, upon our recommendation they shall have perused it,—that this will

prove but the commencement of a long series of similar favors, for which her countrymen are yet to be laid For this she is to be thanked by all who have pon-under willing obligation to the fair and gifted authoress. dered regretfully over those pages of history which record the imputed, but yet unproven crimes of the gifted and the beautiful: and the more is she entitled to the gratitude of such readers, that she makes out a good case, (to speak in legal language,) for the noble subject of her romance.

The strongest passages in the writings of any historian, who can be considered as impartial and independent upon this question, against the fame of this ill-fated queen, are the following, from Hallam's "Middle Ages," which are, at best, but doubtful witnesses

HEXAMETER VERSE.

Gabriel Harvey, who "had the ill luck to fall into the hands of that restless buffoon Tom Nash,” attempted to introduce the Hexameter into our versification. His Encomium Lauri thus ridiculously commences:

What might I call this tree? A lawrell? O bonny I lawrell! Joanna of Naples. By the author of "Miriam." Boston: Needes to thy | bowes will I bow this knee, and vayle my Hilliard, Gray & Co. 1839.

bon netto.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES

OF LIVING AMERICAN POETS AND NOVELISTS.

NO. L⭑

FRANCIS WILLIAM THOMAS, ESQ.

he could appreciate, and seize upon, the brighter, as well as encounter the darker objects in his path; and poetry, with her fascinations, allured him from the tumultuous sea, to glide among her flowery isles, and listen to the melody of Calliope and her sister train.

The "EMIGRANT, or Reflections while descendThis gentleman, now a resident of Cincinnati, is ing the Ohio River," a poem, published in 1833, a native of Baltimore. In 1829, we find him a first introduced Mr. Thomas to the public as an member of the bar in that city, and distinguished author, although he had previously written some for his forensic talents. In 1830-'31, he emi- fugitive pieces, one of which, entitled, ""Tis grated to Cincinnati, and shortly afterwards con- said that Absence Conquers Love," was set to nected himself with a political paper, which bore music, and is now one of the most popular Ameintrinsic evidence of being controlled by a power-rican lyrics, and may be found on every young ful pen. During his residence in Baltimore, Mr. lady's piano. Perhaps an incident like the followThomas, although very young, drew the attentioning, is more grateful to a living author, than a of political parties to himself, by several popular Shakspearian opulence of posthumous fame. In addresses, on occasions of great political excite- 1835, Mr. Thomas arrived in Philadelphia, a total ment. His oratorical powers were of a high order; his eloquence graceful and winning, and frequently varied by flashes of wit, and irresistible bumor; and when pointed at a party opponent, often barbed with the keenest sarcasm.

His talent for swaying political assemblies was soon discovered, and appreciated by his new fellow-citizens. He had been a resident of Cincinnati but a few months, when, in every gathering of the people, his voice was heard, stirring them by its powerful eloquence.

His readiness at repartee, and the biting force of his sarcasm, may be shown by the following incident. Like a certain noble poet, Mr. Thomas has a defect in one of his limbs; but, unlike him, he has the wisdom to be wholly indifferent to this peculiarity. On one occasion, during which he was the orator of his party, some reflection, by an opponent in his speech, upon his lameness, started him from his chair. With a kindling eye, and a lip writhing with indignant contempt, he turned upon the gentleman, and in a voice calm and clear, but which rung like a clarion, said "I thank God, that he gave me not two perfect feet, lest my footsteps should be mistaken for that man's!" The careless, but inimitable attitude of his pointed finger, the dark flashing eye, which sought out that of his opponent, and the scorn that dwelt on his curling lip, as he threw all the depth and bitterness of his sarcasm into the last two words, were irresistible and overpowering.

Although editor of a warm partisan paper, and launched on the tumultuous sea of politics, Mr. Thomas found time during the lulls of the tempest, to gaze on the colors of the rainbow; to admire the snowy crests of the waves, as they showered their crystals at his feet; and to amuse himself in watching the prismatic changes of the nautilus, as be trimmed his transparent sail. Amid the roar of the waves over which his bark was borne,

⚫These sketches are numbered, without any reference to literary pre-eminence.

stranger. Without any object to awaken a train of reflections which could make him feel less alone, he walked out in the evening a few hours after his arrival, and hearing from one of the merchants' palaces on Chesnut street, a sound of music, he paused to listen. The words of his own song fell on his ear, warbled by one of the sweetest female voices he had ever heard. The emotions this gratifying incident awakened, were peculiarly pleasing. He felt from that moment that he was no longer a stranger.

"Hoc est,

Vivere bis, vita priori frui."

The "Emigrant" is a poem in the heroic measure, and the metrical arrangement of its stanzas is similar to that of Gray's "Ode to Adversity." It contains 91 stanzas, and is 728 lines in length. It abounds with strong and beautiful imagery; original and stirring thoughts; is occasionally varied by thrilling transitions, and is not deficient in sound philosophy. In perusing this poem, the reader is struck with a certain energy and manly tone of thought pervading it; and discovers with pleasure, that the author has not sacrificed noble and sound sentiments and common sense, for the sake of a happy turn of verse, or to introduce a garland of fine and flowery words; nor has he substituted an unmeaning word, on account of its smoothness, for one more expressive and sonorous, as is the custom of many of our modern poets, who often seem to prefer smoothness of verse to soundness of thought.

The following extracts will show the character of the poet's mind, and better illustrate his powers than any description of them. The first quotation is from the opening stanza of the poem, and happily expresses the feelings of the Emigrant, on leaving his old, and seeking a new home.

"We both are pilgrims, wild and winding river!
Both wandering onward to the boundless west-
Chanceful and changeful is my destiny;
VOL. IV.-38

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The following apostrophe to Love, is rich with the quaint and beautiful imagery, which characterises the old masters of the English lyre:

"O, Love! what rhymer has not sung of thee?
And who, with heart so young as his who sings,
Knows not thou art self-burthened as the bee,
Who, loving many flowers, must needs have wings?
Yes, thou art winged, O, Love! like passing thought
That now is with us, and now seems as nought,
Until deep passion stamps thee in the brain,
Like bees in folded flowers, that ne'er unfold again."

We will add another quotation, which breathes the divine afflatus in every line, and marks the accurate observer of nature:

"And the wild river, laughing, laves its banks-
A babbler--like a happy-hearted girl,
Dancing along with free and frolic pranks;
The leaves o'erhanging tremble like the curl
That plays upon her forehead as she goes:
While, 'mid the branches free from human woes,
The wild bird carola to its happy mate,

Glad for the present hour, nor anxious for its fate."

Alas! another came; his blandishment,
The fascination of his smooth address,
That read so well the very heart's intent,
And could so well its every thought express,
Won thy fair spirits to its dark design,
And gave our country, too, her Catiline.
He lives...the Roman traitor dared to die!
Yet in their different fates behold the homily."

from the " Emigrant" is a pleasant allusion to the The following and last quotation we shall make author's profession. Its truth and accuracy will

find defenders in all who have to do with the glorious uncertainties of the law."

"Soon must I mingle in the wordy war,

Where knavery takes in vice, her sly degrees,

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As slip away, not guilty,' from the bar,

Counsel or client, as their honors please.

To breathe in crowded court, a poisonous breath...
To plead for life---to justify a death...

To wrangle, jar, to twist, to twirl, to toil,---
This is the lawyer's life--a heart-consuming moil."

We will here close this notice of Mr. Thomas's poetical works, for these "sketches" are not intended either for elaborate reviews or criticisms, but, simply, brief notices of the writings and style of authors, illustrated when necessary, by occasional quotations. We would observe, however, that the "Emigrant” was, even in this day, when poetry is so little read and appreciated, favorably received, and won for the author the praise and popularity due to genius. A poem of a different cast from the " Emigrant," several cantos in length, and abounding in keen satire, humorous hits at the times, and enriched with several admirable portraits, originating in the eccentricities and absurdities which characterize the fashions and follies of the present structure of society, is now we learn, in preparation by the same author.

In November, 1835, Mr. Thomas threw down his gauntlet in the lists in which he had appeared with some success as a poet, and challenged public

A more eloquent definition of Eloquence has opinion as a novelist. At this period, tired with

seldom been written than the following:

"And this is Eloquence. 'Tis the intense
Impassioned fervor of a mind deep fraught
With native energy, when soul and sense
Burst forth embodied in the burning thought;
When look, emotion, tone are all combined--
When the whole man is eloquent with mind:
A power that comes not at the call or quest,
But from the gifted soul and the deep-feeling breast."

The succeeding stanzas, suggested by the sight of Blannerhasset's island, on sailing past it, will close, save one in allusion to his profession, the extracts from this poem. The second stanza, it will readily be seen, alludes to Col. Burr:

"Isle of the beautiful! how much thou art, Now in thy desolation, like the fate

Of those, who came in innocence of heart,

With thy green Eden to assimilate ;

Then art her coronal to nature gave,

To deck thy brow, queen of the onward wave!

And woman came, the beautiful and good,

And made her happy home 'mid thy embracing flood.

"Wrangling, jarring, twisting, twirling, toiling,"

he had retired both from the editorial chair and the bar, and devoted himself to the more congenial pursuits of literary composition.

"CLINTON BRADSHAW, or the Adventures of a Lawyer," is the title of the work by which he made his first appearance in this new path of literature. In applying his talents to this fascinating species of composition, which has in a great measure taken the place of the epic-rythmical poem, Mr. Thomas was only directing his genius into a field where it could take a higher and wider range. The poet is necessarily the creator of the novelist; and although popular poets will not always make popular novelists, yet no man, however severely his mind may be cultivated, however accurate and extensive his knowledge, however polished and classical his style, can become a popular novelist without being also a poet. The

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