Of ages long ago,— Our old oaks stream with mosses, And mighty vines, like serpents, climb And trunks, o'erthrown for centuries, Cumber the forest-floor." "In the green valley, where the silver brook, From its full laver, pours the white cascade, And, amid the silent majesty of the deep woods, Its presence shall uplift the thoughts from earth, As to the sunshine and the pure bright air Their tops the green trees lift." He says, elsewhere, that the old and "gifted bards Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. For them there was an eloquent voice in all The sylvan pomp of woods,-the golden sun,The flowers,-the leaves,-the river on its way,— Blue skies, and silver clouds,-and gentle winds, The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes,"-&c. &c. This is a beautiful picture, and brings back Oakwood scenes most vividly. There is a broad belt of woods stretching far from south to north, upon the crest of a green slope, behind which the sun sets slowly and redly at the close of a hot summer day. Farther down the hill is a hedge-row, beneath which it was delightful to sit, and watch the gradual decline of the fiery orb, even He will lead you to the woodland fastnesses of brave after its yellow beams were hidden from the view: for Marion's men, and teach you their wild song; "Our fortress is the good green wood, Our tent the cypress tree,→ We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea! We know its walls of thorny vines, Its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass!" "The woodland rings with laugh and shout, As if a hunt were up: And woodland flowers are gathered, To crown the soldier's cup. With merry songs we mock the wind, And slumber, long and sweetly, On beds of oaken leaves." He will tell you when 'tis the better time to woo: - when autumnal dyes Tinge the woody mountain: In the choked up fountain." And, as you rove with him, "Ere, in the northern gale The summer tresses of the trees are gone, Amid the woods that crown The upland, where the mingled splendors glow, With him you will own, that "Twere a lot too blest Forever in those colored shades to stray; To rove and dream for aye; And leave the vain low strife That makes men mad, the tug for wealth and power, The passions and the cares that wither life, And waste its little hour." Henry Longfellow's is a kindred spirit with that of Bryant, and breathes, at times, most eloquently and touchingly, with the true inspiration of the forest. He describes the Spirit of Poetry, as moving the long and regular shadow of the whole woody mass seemed to come gradually creeping nearer and nearer to my feet, until there was no brightness left but that reflected from the sunken sun upon the rich masses of cloud, that hung, like curtains of purple and gold, over the green wood-tops. But I was quoting Longfellow: and here is another of his woodland pencillings. How touchingly appropriate to the rich scene of sylvan beauty spread out before me as I write! "There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life "Oh what a glory doth this world put on For him, who, with a fervent heart, goes forth Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks On duties well-performed, and days well spent! For him the wind, ay, the yellow leaves, Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings; He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death Has lifted up, for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear!" Perhaps after this I ought to recall what I said of Bryant, as the only American wood-poet: "Let both divide the crown!" Peabody of New England has a truthful pen, writing of such subjects. "God of the forest's solemn shade! The grandeur of the lonely tree That wrestles singly with the gale, Lifts up admiring eyes to thee! But more majestic far they stand, When, side by side, their ranks they form,To wave on high their plumes of green, And fight their battles with the storm!" when But I must draw this lengthening paper to a close. A mass of pencilled passages, marked in my books, Again, he asks-"What can be more beautiful than lying around my desk, by numerous dog's-ears, offer trees? Their lofty trunks, august in their simplicity, themselves for quotation, but I must limit my selections. asserting to the most inexperienced eye, their infinite I have been writing in the midst of all a New England superiority over the imitative pillars of man's pride; autumn's glory. October in Massachusetts is the most their graceful play of wide-spreading branches; and all picturesque of all the months. The harvest is in, the delicate and glorious machinery of buds, leaves, the orchards are yielding up their red and golden fruit- flowers, and fruit, that, with more than magical effect, age,—the brown and polished chesnuts are falling from burst forth from naked and rigid twigs, with all the rich their husks, the oaks are shedding their brown cupped and brilliant colors under heaven; breathing delectable acorns,—the maple, the ash, the low sumac are putting odors, pure, fresh, and animating; pouring out spices on their brilliant coloring, the hectic glow that tells of and medicinal essences; and making music, from the speedy decline, and early death,—and, as Bryant says, softest and most melancholy undertones to the full "The melancholy days are come,--the saddest of the year!" organ-peal of the tempest. I wonder not that trees have commanded the admiration of men, in all nations and periods of the world. What is the richest country without trees? What barren and monotonous spot can they not convert into a paradise? Xerxes, in the midst of his most ambitious enterprise, stopped his vast army to contemplate the beauty of a tree," &c.: and so he goes on in a strain which impels the wish on my part that Messenger articles might be extended, ad libitum, and that your readers could have the whole of this delicious essay spread before them. One passage more, beautiful and timely, I must transcribe. Yet why are they called "melancholy"? "What is there saddening in the autumn leaves? Of the wild Equinox, with all its wet, Brainard. "It is in this month, [October,] that woods may be It is now the time of "The Hunter's Moon," and, to pronounced most beautiful. Towards the end of it, quote this sweet poet once more, "The moon stays longest for the hunter now,- · what is called the Fading of the Leaf, [with us, The Fall,] presents a magnificent spectacle. Every species of tree, so beautifully varied in its general character, the silver-stemmed and pensile-branched birch, the tall smooth beech, the wide-spreading oak and chesnut, each developes its own florid hue of orange, red, brown, or yellow, which, mingling with the green of unchanged trees, or the darkness of the pine, presents a tout ensemble rich, glowing, and splendid. Yet, fine as our woods are at this season, far are they exceeded by those of America; the greater variety of trees, and the greater effect of climate, conspiring to render them Or whispers through the evergreens, and asks, What is there saddening in the autumn leaves?'" William Howitt, the husband of Mary, that sweet poetess, in his "Book of the Seasons," discourses with all the fondness of a true naturalist, of woods. He says, “Ariosto, Tasso, Spenser, Shakspeare, and Mil-in decay gorgeous and beautiful beyond description." ton, have sanctified them to the hearts of all generations. What a world of magnificent creations comes swarming upon the memory as we wander in woods! The gallant knights and beautiful dames, the magical castles and hippogriffs of the Orlando; the enchanted forest, the Armida and Erminia of the Gerusalemma Liberata; 'Fair Una, with her milk-white lamb,' and all the satyrs, Archimages, the fair Florimels and false Duessas of the Faery Queene; Ariel, and Caliban, Jaques, and the motley fool in Arden, the fairy troop of the Midsummer-Night's Dream, Oberon, Titania, and that pleasantest of all mischief-makers, ineffable Puck, -the noble spirits of the immortal Comus. With such company, woods are to us any thing but solitudes. What wisdom do we learn in the world, that they do not teach us better? What music do we hear like that which bursts from the pipes of universal Pan, or comes from some viewless source with the Eolian melodies of Faery-land? Whatever woods have been to all ages, to all descriptions of superior mind, to all the sages and poets of the past world, they are to us. We have the varied whole of their sentiments, feelings and fancies, bequeathed as an immortal legacy, and combined and concentrated for our gratification and advantage,--besides the innumerable pleasures which modern art has thrown to the accumulated wealth of all antiquity." Before this last of my lucubrations is turned to type, all this will have experienced a yet more striking change. The last leaf of the trees, the foliage of which falls at all, will have been whirled from their branches by the cold wintery winds, and the gigantic arms of the forest will be bared to the howling blasts that will shriek shrilly among them. The evergreens will retain a portion of their verdure, duller, however, than the summer tinting. Holly and mountain ash will alone keep their red berries, and some few faded leaves will cling with desperate tenacity to their brown branches. May the season prove one of undiminished comfort to all who have accompanied me in these my woodland rambles! May the "Christmas chimes" sounding merrily in their ears, welcome them to good cheer and happy fireside enjoyments: and among their chosen topics of reflection, may the beauties and wonders of nature find a prominent place. May they cultivate a taste, which every American should peculiarly cherish, as a sure source of the richest enjoyment, and the highest mental and moral improvement,--the taste for forest-trees. Our own Irving, of whom two worlds are justly proud, says truly that "there is something simple, and noble, and pure, in such a taste." It argues a sweet and generous nature to have this strong relish for the beauties of vegetation, and this friendship for the hardy and glorious sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of thought connected with this part of rural economy. It is, if I may be allowed the figure, the heroic line of husbandry. It is worthy of liberal, and freeborn, and aspiring men. He who plants an oak, looks forward to future ages, and plants for posterity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He cannot expect to sit in its shade, nor enjoy its shelter: but he exults in the idea, that the acorn which he has buried in the earth shall grow up into a lofty pile, and shall keep on flourishing, and increasing, and benefitting mankind, long after he shall have ceased to tread his paternal fields. "Indeed, it is the nature of such occupations to lift the thoughts above mere worldliness. As the leaves of trees are said to absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and breathe forth a purer atmosphere, so, it seems to me, as if they drew from us all sordid and angry passions, and breathed forth peace and philanthropy. There is a serene and settled majesty in woodland scenery that enters into the soul, and dilates, and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations." Indulgent reader, farewell! Newburyport, Oct. 7th, 1838. J. F. O. BOTANICAL NOTICES OF INTERESTING DIONEA MUSIPULA, OR VENUS' FLY-TRAP. fold to the sun, prepared to ensnare some other roving and unfortunate adventurer. It is probably beyond the bounds of our philosophic scrutiny to determine the final purpose of this singular organization. Whether it is constructed to answer some important end in the economy of the plant itself; or made in accordance with that law of diversity which is a leading principle in all the productions of nature, are questions involving much close and accurate obser vation for their solution. The generic name Dionea, is derived from Dione, one of the titles of Venus, on the account of the ele gance and delicacy of its flowers, and its peculiar faculty of ensnaring-a trait of character chargeable upon the ancient goddess, and not unfrequently attended with a similar train of fatal and heartbound consequences. ILEX VOMITORIA, OR SOUTH-SEA-TEA. The popular designation of this species of Holly is Yaupon or Yopon, a name of Indian origin. It is also sometimes called Cassena. As not only our colonial, but even our botanical history is indebted for much of its originality and peculiar interest, to the aborigines of our country, we will briefly trace the Indian source of authority for the use of the favorite Yopon. "The savages of Carolina," says Lawson, an old author of much credit, "have this tea in veneration above all the plants they are acquainted withal, and tell you the discovery thereof was by an infirm Indian, that labored under the burden of many rugged distempers, and could not be cured by all their doctors; so, one day, he fell asleep, and dreamt that if he took a decoction of the tree that grew at his head, he would certainly be cured; upon which he awoke, and saw the Yaupon or Cassena Tree, which was not there when he fell asleep! He followed the direction of his dream, and became perfectly well in a short time." This traditional origin, the intelligent reader will recognise as an ingenious spe cimen of Indian sagacity, to secure venerated sanction for the use of a favorite article. In another amusing relic of the last century, (Brickell's "Natural History of North Carolina,") the author says, "it is the plant whereof the tea is made, so much in request among both the Indians and christians." It is still used by the "christians" or whites wherever it grows, and is said to make, if well cured, a very pleasant beverage-preferred by many even to the "beloved tea" of China, and you know-de gustibus non disputandum. A BACKWOODSMAN BOTANIST. BAPTIST VINCENT LAVALL-an Inquiry. The leaf, which is the only curious part, is radical, and spreads upon the ground, or at a little elevation above it. It is composed of a petiole or stem with broad margins, from two to four inches long, several of which surround the parent stalk. To the extremity of this stem is articulated a thick, circular leaf, fringed around on its edges with somewhat rigid ciliae, or long hairs like eye-lashes. From either side or hemisphere of the leaf, which is a little concave within, proceed three or four delicate, hair-like organs, interlacing with each other. These are arranged in such an order that an insect can hardly traverse its surface without interfering with the sensitive rights of one of these faithful sentinels, which instantly causes the two portions of the leaf to suddenly collapse, and enclose the little intruder with a force surpassing its efforts to escape. The irritability of the leaf, resides only in these capillary processes; as it may be touched in any other part without perceptible effects. The little prisoner is not immedi-tensively through the south western states, in one of which it is ately crushed and destroyed, as is sometimes supposed, but is held in "durance vile" until it ceases to struggle; after which the two portions of the leaf gradually un Mr. White,-In the year 1809, the schooner Otter, Capt. Niles, on a voyage for furs from England, to the western coast of Ame rica, was lost below the mouth of Columbia river, and all on board perished. Baptist Vincent Lavali and three others, who were on shore hunting, owed the preservation of their lives to this circumstance. Not being taken off, they were obliged to travel to the United States on foot, crossing the Rocky Moun tains and descending the Red River. Lavall's MS. account of their journey and adventures is still in existence, and it is thought would prove interesting at this period, when attention is becom ing directed to the possessions of the United States on the Pacific. It has however been thought right first to ascertain whether Mr. Lavall is still living, and as your Messenger circulates ex believed that Mr. Lavall afterwards settled, it has been judged editors who may see this note will repeat. D. PAYMENTS TO THE SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER, FROM THE TENTH OF OCTOBER TO THE FOURTH OF NOVEMBER, 1838. All persons who have made payments early enough to be entered, and whose names do not appear in this .published receipt list, or in that of the next number, are requested to give notice of the omission immediately after receiving the December number, in order that the correction may be forthwith made. Armstrong, Rev. Wm. J.... ..New York.....vol 3-4 Minge, Collier H..... 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Buckingham....vol 4 ..Maryland... .......vol 4 Connecticut....vol 4-5 .Natchez,....vol 1-2-3 .N. Carolina.vol 1-2-3-4 ..Buckingham....vol 4 .Westmoreland. vol 3-4 .Tennessee.....vol 3-4 ..Pennsylvania....vol 4 ....North Carolina..vol 4 ..Maryland........vol 4 .......Louisiana.....vol 3-4 Hutchinson, L. H.........TASD........Mississippi......vol 5 Hunter, Isaac R...........BFR........ ...Gates, N. C....vol 3-4 Johnston, Jr., Thomas....... .Wheeling.....vol 3-5 Lomosy, John A...... ......Richmond.....vol 3-4 Macmurphy, D............AHP........Augusta, Ga.....vol 4 Michie, William.... .......Albemarle.......vol 4 Everest, C. W.. Flood, Henry D.. Nichol, James...........JNA rn........Tennessee......vol 4 AGENTS FOR THE SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER. Hill & Dabney, General Agents for Virginia. Thomas L. Jones, General Agent for Western and South Western States.* Thomas Shore, P. M., Petersburg, Va. Richard Northington, Norfolk and Portsmouth, Va. Col. James Page, P. M., Philadelphia, Pa. D. Bryan, Esq., P. M., Alexandria, D. C. Geo. T. Jessee, P. M., Fredericksburg, Va. Dr. Wm. H. Williams, Gen. Agent for N. Carolina. P. K. Chamberlayne, Atty. at Law, Carrollton, Ala. William W. Worsley, Louisville, Kentucky. John A. Settle, Texas. H. B. Gwathmey, Mobile, Alabama. John Parkhill, Tallahasse, Florida. Robert R. Stafford, Providence, Rhode Island. L. B. Landry, Post Master, St. Francisville, Louis'a Charles E. Ryan, Milledgeville, Georgia. Prof. Wm. H. Owen, Chapel Hill, N. C. John S. Granbery, Sunsbury, Gates Co., N. C. A. G. Southall, Williamsburg, Va. E. Burke Fisher, Pittsburg, Pa. *Mr. Jones can save the Editor some postage, if he will, so soon as even five payments have been made to him for the Messenger, send him the names of the payers, in order that he may record them on the covers of his work. PROSPECTUS OF THE SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER. THOMAS W. WHITE, Editor and Proprietor. This is a monthly Magazine, devoted chiefly | cule, into their fitting haunts. Ignorance lords to LITERATURE, bet occasionally finding room it over an immense proportion of our people:also for articles that fall within the scope of ScIENCE; and not professing an entire disdain of tasteful selections, though its matter has been, as it will continue to be, in the main, original. Party Politics and controversial Theology, as far as possible, are jealously excluded. They are sometimes so blended with discussions in literature or in moral science, otherwise unobjectionable, as to gain admittance for the sake of the more valuable matter to which they adhere: but whenever that happens, they are incidental, only; not primary. They are dross, tolerated only because it cannot well be severed from the sterling ore wherewith it is incorporated. Every spring should be set in motion, to arouse the enlightened, and to increase their number; so that the great enemy of popular government may no longer brood, like a portentous cloud, over the destinies of our country. And to accomplish all these ends, what more powerful agent can be employed, than a periodical, on the plan of the Messenger; if that plan be but carried out in practice? The SOUTH peculiarly requires such an agent. In all the Union, south of Washington, there are but two Literary periodicals! Northward of that city, there are probably at least twentyfive or thirty! Is this contrast justified by the wealth, the leisure, the native talent, or the actual literary taste, of the Southern people, compared talents, and taste, we may justly claim at least an equality with our brethren; and a domestic institution exclusively our own, beyond all doubt affords us, if we choose, twice the leisure for reading and writing, which they enjoy. REVIEWS, and CRITICAL NOTICES, occupy their due space in the work: and it is the Editor's aim that they should have a threefold ten-with those of the Northern? No: for in wealth, dency-to convey, in a condensed form, such valuable truths or interesting incidents as are embodied in the works reviewed,-to direct the reader's attention to books that deserve to be read, and to warn him against wasting time and money upon that large number, which merit only to be burned. In this age, of publications that by their variety and multitude distract and overwhelm every undiscriminating student, IMPARTIAL CRITICISM, governed by the views just mentioned, is one of the most inestimable and indispensable of auxiliaries, to him who does wish to discriminate. ESSAYS, and TALES, having in view utility or amusement, or both-HISTORICAL SKETCHESand REMINISCENCES of events too minute for History, yet elucidating it, and heightening its interest, may be regarded as forming the staple of the work. And of indigenous POETRY, enough is published-sometimes of no mean strain-to manifest and to cultivate the growing poetical taste and talents of our country. It was from a deep sense of this local want, that the word SOUTHERN was engrafted on the name of this periodical: and not with any design to nourish local prejudices, or to advocate supposed local interests. Far from any such thought, it is the Editor's fervent wish, to see the North and South bound endearingly together forever, in the silken bands of mutual kindness and affection. Far from meditating hostility to the north, he has already drawn, and he hopes hereafter to draw, much of his choicest matter thence: and happy indeed will he deem himself, should his pages, by making each region know the other better, contribute in any essential degree to dispel the lowering clouds that now threaten the peace of both, and to brighten and strengthen the sacred ties of fraternal love. The times appear, for several reasons, to de- The SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER has mand such a work-and not one alone, but now completed its FOURTH volume. How many. The public mind is feverish and irri- far it has acted out the ideas here uttered, tated still, from recent political strifes:-The is not for the Editor to say. He believes, howsoft, assuasive influence of Literature is need-ever, that it falls not further short of them, than ed, to allay that fever, and soothe that irritation. human weakness usually makes Practice fall Vice and folly are rioting abroad:-They should short of Theory. be driven by indignant rebuke, or lashed by ridi- December, 1838. WILLIAM F. RITCHIE, late of Richmond, Virginia, ATTORNEY AT LAW, Vicksburg, Mississippi. |