 |
|
|
 |
|
 |
|
|||
|
||||
|
||||
|
Maryland State Archives Maryland Colonization Journal Collection MSA SC 4303 msa_sc4303_scm11070-0111 Enlarge and print image (5M) |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|||
|
||||
|
||||
|
Maryland State Archives Maryland Colonization Journal Collection MSA SC 4303 msa_sc4303_scm11070-0111 Enlarge and print image (5M) |
| MARYLAND COLONIZATION JOURNAL. 115 with him; he is now under my care ; and all this comes, sir, from drink! His disease is called mania a potv. As he slept so little for some nights and days, I thought him so much exhausted before you came, that he would have sunk to sleep, and not have disturbed you ; so 1 judged it better to say nothing to you about him.' The noises still continued—moanings that sick- ened the heart, shrieks that chilled the blood, laughter of no mortal sounds, oaths that demons alone could fashion, all followed in quick succes- sion, wearying the ears, and exhausting the feel- ings. •There is no relief for him,' said mine host, 'I dread to give him what he most craves—liquor; it is but fuel for the fire that rages within liirn ; water he asks for, but will none of it—and medi- cine can only be forced upon him, which now seems to be cruel, as the doctor says he cannot live, and that all his remedies have failed.' ' Poor human, or rather poor beatlly nature,' said I, angrily, following my remark, a moment after, with a deep sigh, and more than half-asham- ed, too, that I should feel anger, and use such a word towards a fellow-being in such a state of hopelessness. ' Poor, unhappy youth,' added I, 'would that I could bring thee one moment of relief; may God, who alone knoweth the cause of thy great infirmity, find for thee a door of escape! but, if that must not be, have mercy on thee beyond the grave !' 'Oh, dear sir,' replied the landlord, 'I have known many persons lar more wicked than he ; for I may truly say, he is very amiable, and chari- table, and sensible when sober—nearly all his faults proceed from intoxication. He was to have been married before this time, to a lovely young woman haul-by; and could Mary Summers see him, even now, she would break her heart with weeping ; for she yet tenderly loves him. He still wears a locket of her hair, suspended by a black ribbon round his neck which he would not part with even for liquor; and yet it seems he would coin his body and soul, too, for a dram, but not that locket!' Some hours passed in these sympathetic collo- quies on his melancholy condition; but wearied nature made them more and more sluggish and forced, until, after having wrung all the changes on the miseries of the wretched inebriate, the vices and horrors of drunkenness, the mental agonies of his amiable parents, sisters, and brothers, and the deep sealed and inexhaustible love of Mary Summers, we were mutually silent. But the gioans, and hysterical laughs, and dreadful imprecations from the pandemonium chamber, no way diminished ; fortunately for us, they had lost much of their force on the worn-out feelings, and I fell asleep on my chair IB the very act of forc- ing out a briel reply to an equally laconic question of my goodnatured companion. I slept soundly—may be a couple of hours— when, from the hum of domestic arrangements, the glare of broad daylight, the occasional tramp- ing over the uncarpeted floor of the faithful house- dog, and the easily recognized sounds from the adjustment of the breakfast furniture, on a table set out at a short distance from me—I awoke. At that instant the landlord gentlv descended the steps into the room, and whispered to me,' Friend, it is all over with the youth ; he has departed to his long home!' 'Oh, it cannot be,'I involuntarily exclaimed— the big tear springing into my eyes, 'is he then relieved forever from his agony, or, oh God ! is death but the beginning of a never-ending life,— and, if so, is it hut a prolongation, with superad- ded horrors of this lite .' As the tree falls, so it lies; but yet to spring up an eternal tree of the same nature, bearing none hut its peculiar fruits; there can then, be no tilling, no melioration, no change for the better, dreadful, overwhelming thought! Hut. lan.'lloid. we must now indulge no farther in such matters.' We hastened to the sad chamber; and never diil eye rest upon a sight more heart-rending, more loathing. We beheld I youth of fine pro- portions, and once of manly beauty, now an emaciated corpse, a miserable wreck of what he had been, stretched upon the floor, with an empty bottle in one hand, and a fragment of a chair in the other, both held, apparently, with the same muscular force with which they had been seized, perhaps but a few moments before the vital spark had fled. His fine hazel eves were protruded from their livid sockets—his thin blue lips and dis- torted features showed how his vexed spirit had struggled with the grim monarch—his glossy brown hair hung in short ringlets, and were beautifully contrasted with the fair complexion of his exposed neck and shoulders, over which also hung the hair locket of Mary Summers! In hastily casting my eye over the room, I found that every thing within his reach had been bioken; and his bruised and lacerated body also showed that the unhappy youth had waged war against a thousand imaginary enemies, among which were his own tender limbs. We promptly removed him to another chamber, anil bestowed on his remains every attention that might, as far as possible, re- move from the eye of ali'ection, soon to visit him, the tokens of his miserable end. Jt was a sad scene, in a few hours after, to see his aged parents kissing his forehead and lips ; his lovely sisters, with deep ali'ection and involuntary horror blend- ed, embracing his lifeless corpse. Some of the sad tale of the preceding night, had been related to them by the host, and I was urgently invited by the afflicted parents to their house, and that I should extend my kindness still farther, by wit- nessing the interment. The heart, in such a case, needs not the ties of blood, nor yet of acquain- tance, to feel for the dead, or warmly to sympa- thize with the living; and, in a short time after, I found myself domesticated in the comfortable mansion ol a Virginian gentleman of the old school. Here, all that met my eye, at once told me that it had long been the home of an intelligent and worthy family; one of an extended hospitality, but whose progenitors had probably seen brighter and more prosperous days than had shone on its present owners for some time past, at least. I retired to my chamber, and slept soundly for some hours, till the dinner-bell sounded, and a pretty little colored boy softy tapped at my door, and summoned me out. I entered the dining room much refreshed, but with little appetite; a deathlike silence reigned there, interrupted only by those occasional subdued but heart-felt kindnesses which sprung from the newly kindled ali'ection towards me, blended with that habitual and noble politeness which charac- terizes manners in the 'Mother State.' As we approached the table, covered with the savory products of the surrounding manor, the old gentleman placed his hands in mine : 'I fear my friend, we must dine today without the following letter to a particular friend—Dr. Bar- row:— ' Dear Doctor.—I always looked upon you to he a person of true virtue, and know you to have a sound understanding; for however I have acted in opposition to the principles of religion, or the dictates ot reason, I can honestly assure you, I have always hail the highest veneration lor both. The world and 1, shake hands—for I dare affirm we are heartily weary of each other. C), what a prodigal have I been of that most valuable of all possessions, time ! I have squandered it away with a profusion unparalleled; and now, when the enjoyment of a few days would be worth the world, I cannot flatter myself with the prospect of half a dozen hours. How despicable, my dear friend, is that man who never prays to his God but in the time of distress.' In what manner can he supplicate that omnipotent Being in his af- flictions, whom in the time of his prosperity he never remembered with reverence? Do not brand me with infidelity, when I tell you that I am almost ashamed to offer up my petitions at the throne of grace, or to implore that divine mercy in the next world which I have scandalously abused in this. Shall ingratitude to man be looked upon as the blackest of crimes, and not ingratitude to God? Shall an insult olfered to the king he looked upon in the most offensive light, and yet no notice be taken when the King ot kings is treated with indignity and disrespect? " The companions of my former libertinism would scarcely believe their eyes were you to show them this epistle. They would laugh at me as a dreaming enthusiast, or pity me as a timorous wretch, who was shocked at the appear- ance of futurity; but whoever laughs at me for being right, or pities me for being sensible of my errors, is more entitled to my compassion than resentment. A future state may well enough strike terror into any man who has not acted well in his life ; and he must have an uncommon share of courage indeed, who does not shrink at the presence of God. The apprehensions of death will soon bring the most profligate to a proper use of his understanding. To what a situation am I now reduced ! From my rank I might have expected allluence to wait upon my life ; from religion and understanding, peace to smile upon my end ; instead of which 1 am afflicted with poverty, hunted with remorse, and, I fear, for- saken by my God! ' There is nothing so dangerous as extraordinary abilities. I cannot be accused of vanity now, by being sensible that I was once possessed of uncom- mon qualifications, especially as I sincerely regret that I ever had them. My rank in life made these accomplishments still more conspicuous ; and fas- cinated by the general applause which they pro- cured, I never considered the proper means by which they should be displayed. Hence to pro- cure a smile from a blockhead whom I despised, I have frequently treated the virtuous with disre- spect ; and sported with the holy name of Heaven, to obtain a laugh from a parcel of fools, who were etditled to nothing but contempt. Your men of wit generally look upon themselves as discharged from the duties of religion, and confine the doc- trines of the gospel to people of meaner under- standing. It is a sort of derogation, in their opinion, to comply with the rules of Christianity; and they reckon that man possessed of a narrow genius, who studies to be good. What a pily that the holy writings are not made the criterion of true judgment I or that any person should pass for a gentleman In this world, but he that appears solicitous about his happiness in the next. • Favor me with a visit as soon as possible. Writing to you, gives me some ease, especially on a subject 1 could talk of forever. I am of opinion this is the la>t visit I shall ever solicit from you: my distemper is powerful. Come and pray for the departing spirit of the poor, unhappy, Buckingham!' The Young Inebriate. A TAI.E. OF THE OLD DOMINION. A section from a work now in press, by David Hoffman, Esq. Baltimore. The moon shone into my windows with a flood of silvery light—all nature was hushed into pro- found silence—no air disturbed even the pensile foliage, that Iron) many trees, and shrubs, and flowers, in rich luxuriance, environed the inn, situate in one of nature's most beautiful valleys, in the 'Did Dominion'—a land, as is well known, of traditional hospitality, of generous feelings, exalted talents, and—of bad habits. The little wooden clock of mine host had struck twelve before I retired to rest, but not to sleep. The monotonous ticking of my watch, suspended near my pillow, alone reminded me that any thing with motion existed in nature; all was in deep repose, save my own busy thoughts, and these were fast subsiding into those gentle half-slumbers that must soon have ended in sleep, exhausted as I then was with my arduous day's journey. But a tremen- dous shriek from the adjoining room, struck a momentary horror through my inmost heart. This was instantly followed by a most unnatural laugh— then by horrid imprecations—then by cries of 'murder,' 'fire,' 'landlord, lam dying, sinking into hell!'—'Oh, I am lost, water, watt-r, I am Burn- ing up !' 1 naturally supposed that the landlord would have been instantly there—but he came not; and, as there was no intermission to the shocking cries of the unhappy being, I soun ap- peared at his chamber door, but was much as- tonished to find it locked on the outside with a padlock! The paroxysms, growing still more intense and long-continued, and finding no hope of sleep that night, already far advanced, it seemed but reasonable I should nave an associate in my unxions vigils; and at length, I resolved to seek companionship with my maitre d'hotel, who had left on my mind a very favorable impression, during the half-hour spent with him before re- tiring to my chamber. The moon kindly aided me through a few narrow passages to his door, which promptly yielded to my tap. 'Sir, can you solve this mystery for me I—you seem to have a maniac in your house—a strange alliance this, of hospital and hotel—have you no means of silencing him, so that I may yet obtain a little sleep I Who, and what is he?' T hoped, for your sake, as well as his,' replied the landord, ' he would have been silent this night; but poor yonth, he cannot last many nights more—this is the longest and severest fit I have yet known him to have; it has lasted, w ith but few intermissions, these four days, and as many nights—he is a young gentleman of our neigh- bourhood, of education, wealth, and high family— has not been from college more than two years— his excellent and wretched parents can do nothing ladies; but George and James will accompany us, and shall we do Detter, I hope, in a few days.'— Then pausing for a moment, he added, ' my wife and daughters were nearly prevailed on to join us; but, poor Mary Summers has just arrived, and their wounded hearts are now all bleeding afresh.' ' It is better so,' I gently replied, ' their tender souls need the solace of weeping, and I am happy they can weep.' 'Dear Mary does not weep,'rejoined the afflicted father, 'ire have been in some measure prepared for the sad event—not so with Mary Summers, to whom we never ventured to communicate all that took place with our afflicted son.' We dined in sadness; the day and night passed oir, and the hour of four in the afternoon of (lie following day, was appointed for the interment. At breakfast, all were present, except the eldest daughter and Mary Summers. So much had been said to me by the landlord, as also by the younger sons, whom I have named, in praise of Mary, that I felt, for a moment greatly disappointed at her absence; but how soon were all my feelings the other way, when selfishness gave room, on a moment's reflection, to far better sentiments.— 'Sweet sufferer !' said I mentally, 'I value thee greatly more for thy absence, for, surely, retire. ment and silence better harmonize with thy affliction, than the ruddy light of day and the unavoidable courtesies of life.' But, rousing my- self from this reverie, I inquired, 'How is Miss Summers;—how did she pass the night?' Julia, a blue-eyed girl of seventeen, as beau- tiful as a fresh May morning, garnished with dewy flowers, and redolent with their sweets, replied to my question: ' I fear sir, she did not sleep at all;' she neither weeps nor speaks, but only moans continually. I think her heart will break !' At this moment, Eliza, the eldest daughter, rushed into the room, and exclaimed—'Miss Summers is very ill—I fear past hope!' All were in her chamber in an instant, and I found myself also there, a witness of the melan- choly scene. Dear Mary Summers was then expiring, and my first acquaintance with her was made in performing the sad office of closing her eyes forever. ' Oh '. thou great and unsearchable Being," said I inwardly,' how unfathomable are thy ways ? She was young, and beautiful, and, as all say, full of angelic virtues,—and yet this fair and lovely creature dies a martyr to love, for a man who abandoned himself, his God, his loving parents, his ati'ectionate and beautiful sisters, the luxuries of his home, the respect of his friends, and, Homily, even his betrothed—all, all, for a nauseous, sicken- ing, poisonous draught! But what can conquer woman's chaste love I—it is as fathomless as the deep, deep sea, as high as heaven, as expensive and pervading as the atmosphere. And there was poor Mary's lifeless body, a faithful witness of the truth of this rush of thought, that for a moment occupied me in this chamber of death and of agonizing grief! Charles' funeral was of course, postponed for a couple of days more, to prepare for the joint obsequies of the youthful lovers. During this interval, I occasionally sought relief in the library, which occupied a very retired part of the venerable old building, the windows of which were shaded by honeysuckle and eglantine profusely blended, and which, as I reposed with my book in a deep armed chair, saluted me with their delicious fragrance,and excluded the garish day, now become almost olfensive tome. I had not been long in the library before my eye rested on a musty volume entitled ' Remains of Sir Walter Raleigh,' which I eagerly seized, with the full assurance of rinding therein much good sense—and, strange coincidence ! the first page my eye lit on, painted in living colours the vice ol Drunkenness. The passages I allude to. so harmonized with my feelings then, and ever, that I copied them into my diary, and hcie thev now are for the benefit of all who avail them- selves of the privilege of looking into such por- tions of my Note Book as 1 have chosen to reveal; and especially, for any one who hesitates whether he will become a man or a beast—whether he will enjoy life's blessing with wife, children, and friends, or its poisons, through absence of th*m all; for any one, in fine, who may hesitate whether he will murder himself and his betrothed, or live in health respected by the world, and wed the object of his first love. But, why should I mora- lize when we have the eloquent wisdom of Sir Walter Raleigh? ' Take especial care,' says he, ' that yon delight not in wine, for there never was any man that came to honour or preferment that loved it; for it trans- formed a man into a beast, decayeth health, poisoneth the breath, destroyeth natural heat, bringeth a man's stomach to an artificial burning, deformeth the face, rotteth the teeth, and, to con- clude, maketh a man contemptible, soon old, and despised of all wise and worthy men ; hated in thy servants, in thyself, and companions; for it is a bewitching and infectious vice; and remember my words, that it were better for a man to be subject to any vice, than to it; for all other vanities and sins are recovered, but a drunkard will never shake off the delight of beastliness; for the longer it possesseth a man, the more hi will delight in it, and the older he groweth the more shall he be subject to it; for it dulleth the spirits, ar.d destroyeth the body, as ivy doeth the old tree, or as the worm that engendered! in the kernel of the nut.' •Take heed therefore, that such a careless canker pass not thy youth, nor such a beastly infection thy old age, for then shall thy life be but as the life of a beast, and after thy death thou shall only leave a shameful infamy to thv posterity, who shall study to forget that such an one was their father. Anacharsis said—the first draught serveth for health, the second for pleasure, the third for shame, the fourth for mad- nets ; but in youth there is not so much as one draught permitted, for it putteth fire to fire, and wasteth the natural heat. And therefore, ex- cept thou desire to hasten thine end, take this for a general rule, that thou never add any artificial heat to thy body, by wine or spice, until thou find that time has decayed thy natural heat, and the sooner thou beginnest to help nature, the sooner will the furtake thee, and thou trust al- together to art. quaintances from a populous neighbourhood, to- gether with an equally long train of faithful slaves, who loved their young master and mistress,might have bepn seen slowly walking towards the family grave-yard. It was situate in a deep shaded dell, about a quarter of a mile from the mansion. The rude but substantial fence that encompassed it, was entirely covered with vines and creepers of various sorts, and in each corner of the square was planted an evergreen, that seemed to have been there very many years. Though this sacred spot was the receptacle of many graves, it contained but few tombstones which were to be seen, here and there, raising their white tops above the luxuriant grass and wild flowers, distinguishing the more promi- nent members of an ancient family, and of its numerous alliances, who, in the course of nearly two centuries had been there deposited. As we entered the ample gate, the sublime and well known words, « / am the resurrection and the life, said the Lend J he that belicveth in me, though he trrre dead, yrt shall he lire; and whoever liveth ami beliereth in me, shall nerer die;'—were uttered in heavenly tones by a very aged pastor, whose snowy locks seem to admonish us that temperance and serenity of mind are good securities for ripe old age—and that intemperance in man, and ex- cessive feeling in woman, had brought the de- ceased to nntimous graves. A short, but tender and appropriate discourse wss delivered by the venerable old man, which bathed all eyes in tears, and among the rest, those of Jack Hodgson, a middle aged man, clothed in rags, and who, I ob- served, had approached unusually close to the graves, and held before his eyes the miserable fragments of what had once been a hat, removing them occassionally, and looking into the graves, evidently with no idle curiosity, hut with a most intense interest I I afterwards learned that Hodg- son was notorious in the neighbourhood for rare scholarship, uil, obecenity, oaths, and drunkenness ; and had, occasionally claimed fellowship with Charles on the score of some distant relationship; but mainly, of late from the community of their tastes an'i pursuits. Charles' terrible death had made much impression in the neighbourhood, and had so softened the heart even of Jack Hodgson, that he presented himself sober that afternoon, and with a decency so unusual for him, gazed on the scene that closed forever from his sight, a manili-st victim to a habit that had brought Hodg- son to his then degraded state. As Hodgson, la profound thought, retired from the grave, and was slowly following at the heel of the main procession, and near the head of the coloured people, a very aged negro, whose short and crisped hair had become almost snowy white, approached Jack, whose long, gray hair was hang- ing profusely over his shoulders, 'Ah, MM Jack!' said the venerable negro, you he almost a boy alone side of me; but your hair be jist as white as mine ! Wad's the reason, massa Jack, o' that I Shall poor nigger, tell you, massa?—nigger drink water all his libe, work hard ebbery day, go to bed arly. get up arly; but massa Jack Hodgson drink nothing but poison water— nebbcr work at all any day—frolic all de blessed night—and I tell you, massa Jack, you be no long for (lis world. I tell you, you die in a few rnonds'' With this the old man, dropping Hodgson's hand, and was soon out of sight. A few years have passed since the events I have thus noted. A neat tomb new jointly re- cords the loves, and the nearly synchronous deaths of Charles and of Mary. Poor Jack Hodgson, who only lived the year out, lies buried in an ob- scure corner of the same grave yard, but with no slab to record his name, and with scarcely a mound to distinguish the spot desecrated by his ashes, from the virgin soil that surrounds it. Old Dembo, however, still lives to point it out, and from present appearances, will continue so to do for a long time to come. Since his warning voice to Hodgson *M so accurately verified by hia speedy death, Dembo regards himself as no little of a prophet; and it is fortunate, also, for some of the youths of the surrounding country, that they esteem him somewhat in the same light; for when religion, morats, and education have teen found to yield to the fascinations of the Circean bowl, the, superstitious threatening.) from the lips of the hoary-headed negro have proved of more avail. The Winter King. By Miss H. F. Gould Oh ! what will become of thee, poor little bird ! The muttering storm in the distance is heard! The rough winds are waking, the clouds Drowing black! They'll soon scatter snow-flakes over thy back ! From what sunny clime hast thou wandered away ; And what art thou doing this cold winter day? 'I'm pecking the gum from the old peach tree, The storm doesn't trouble me—Pee, dee, dee.' But what makes thee seem so unconscious of care ? The brown earth is frozen, the branches are bare; And how canst thou be so light-hearted and free, Like Liberty's form with the spirit of glee, When no place is near for thy evening rest, No leaf for thy screen, for thy bosom no rest? •Because the same hand is a shelter for me. That took otf the summer leaves!—Pee, dee, dee.' But man feels a brden of want and of grief, While plucking the clusters, and binding the sneaf! We take from the ocean, the earth anil the air. And the rich gifts do not silence our care. In suminei we faint; in winter w. 're chilled. With ever a void that is yet to. be filled. 'A very small portion suffices for me, If sweetened with gratitude !—Pee, dee, dee ' I thank thee, bright monitor! What thou hast taught Will oft be the theme of my happiest thought! We look at the clouds, while the bird hath an eye To Him who reigns over them, changeless and high; And now little hero, just tell me thy name, That 1 may be sure whence my oracle came. 'Because in all weather I'm happy and free. They call me the Winter King!—Pee, dee, dee.' The day at length arrived for the interment of Charles and of Mary. The hair-locket rested on his bosom; and the beautiful Mary Summers was placed in her tomb, with every memento that Charles had given to her of his atrection. It was on a lovely November afternoon, in the year 18—, that a long procession of weeping relations of both the families, with their numerous friends and ac- Soon there'll be ice weightngdown the light bough, Whereon thou art flitting so merily now ! And though there's a vesture well fitted and warm, Protecting the rest of thy delicate form, What then wilt thou do with thy little bare feet. To save them from pain 'mid the frost and the sleet ? 'I can draw llieiu right up in my feathers, you see, To warm them, and fly away !—Pee, dee, dee' |