"Adieu: portez-vous bien. Je vous Salue "en Pope & en Shakespear. Votre affectioné, "Le 5, d'Août, 1801." "N. G. DUFIEF. They who delight in walking, must, during the summer in Virginia, embrace the night to stimulate their muscular energies. The fierceness of the sun would suspend the steps of the hardiest Traveller; but amidst the freshness of the night, he breathes only odours in journeying through the woods. No walk could be more delightful than that from Occoquan to Colchester, when the moon was above the mountains. You traverse the bank of a placid stream over which impend rocks, in some places bare, but more frequently covered with an odoriferous plant that regales the Traveller with its fragrance. So serpentine is the course of the river that, the mountains, which rise from its bank, may be said to form an amphitheatre; and nature seems to have designed the spot for the haunt only of fairies; for here grow flowers of purple dye, and here the snake throws her enamelled skin. But into what regions, however apparently inaccessible, has not adventurous man penetrated? The awful repose of the night is disturbed by the clack of two huge mills, which drown the song and echoes of the mocking-bird, who nightly tells his sorrows to the listening moon. Art is here pouring fast into the lap of nature the luxuries of exotic refinement. After clambering over mountains, almost inaccessible to human toil, you come to the junction of the Occoquan with the noble river of the Potomac, and behold a bridge, whose semi-elliptical arches are scarcely inferior to those of princely London. And on the side of this bridge stands a tavern, where every luxury that money can purchase is to be obtained at a first summons; where the richest viands cover the table, and where ice cools the Madeira that has been thrice across the ocean. The English bewail the want of convenient taverns in the United States; but the complaint is I think groundless; for I have found taverns in the woods of America, not inferior to those of the common market towns in England. My description of the tavern at the mouth of the Occoquan partakes of no hyperbolical amplification; the apartments are numerous and at the same time spacious; carpets of delicate texture cover the floors; and glasses are suspended from the walls in which a Goliah might survey himself. No man can be more complaisant than the landlord. Enter but his house with money in your pocket, and his features will soften into the blandishments of delight; call and your mandate is obeyed; extend your leg and the boot-jack is brought you. Having slept one night at this tavern, I rose with the sun and journeyed leisurely to the mills, catching refreshment from a light air, that stirred the leaves of the trees. The morning was beautiful, and my walk produced a little Ode, which will serve as a counterpart to that I have already inserted. MORNING AT OCCOQUAN. AN ODE. IN the barn the cock proclaims Sweet! Oh! sweet the breath of morn! Sweet the mocking-songster's strain; Where the waving stalks of corn Lo! the martins now forsake, See the cottage chimneys smoke, Here no negro tills the ground, On the Banks of Occoquan! But not the muses, nor walks, nor the melody of birds, could divert my mind from the publication of my Novel, which had been so long in press at Philadelphia, the 66 Demanding life, impatient for the skies." Suspense is ever an uncomfortable state of the mind; and I addressed Dufief in another letter, whose answer calmed my solicitude. 66 "A Philadelphie, ce 15, de Septembre, "1801. "Mon cher & ingénieux Romancier, "Monsieur Thompson m'a remis douze Exemplaires du volage William. Si le Public goute "l'ouvrage comme j'ai fait les premieres pages (car mes occupations multipliées ne m'ont pas encore permis d'en lire davantage) vous pouvez "'être assuré d'un prompt débit. "Je suis entousiasmé de votre francois. Vous " feriez honte en verité à beaucoup de nos nati"oneux qui se piquent cependant de bien ecrire "cette langue.* "Faites-moi part de ce qui vous arrivera "d'heureux dans un pays si peu fait pour vos "talens. "Adieu. Portez-vous bien, et acceptez les 66 assurances de mon dévouement. "N. G. DUFIEF." This passage of Mr. Dufief's letter alludes to a French Essay, which I had enclosed for his inspection. I cannot resist My publisher soon after sent me a dozen copies of my novel, together with a number of the Port Folio, which contained some remarks on the volume. Mr. Dennie, my former panegyrist, now wielded his bull-rush against me; but I fear the impulse of subjoining it. And. I subjoin it without deprecating the strictures of criticism. The prayers of an author to his reader never yet averted his destiny; if his writings be bad, no supplications, however moving, will preserve them from contempt. I think it is Despréaux, who says, Un auteur à genoux, dans une humble préface, Au lecteur qu'il ennuye a beau demander grace. I have never been in France. I therefore enjoy a particular advantage; for my style, formed only upon writers, can be infected with no colloquial barbarisms. Séjour dans les Bois de la Caroline du Sud. Sur la route de Charleston à Savannah, et presque à moitié chemin, se trouve un petit village qu'on appelle Coosohatchie. Ce fut à cinq milles de cet endroit que je passai l'hiver de 1798, et la plus grande partie du printemps de l'anné suivante. Ma demeure étoit chez un Planteur qui m'avoit proposé l'education de ses enfans. Je m'accoutumai peu-à-peu a mon esclavage. Tout alloit à merveille. J'étudiois l'esprit de mes éleves, et je réussissois auprès d'eux. J'en avois trois, dont deux étoient filles. La cadette, qui pouvoit bien avoir neuf ou dix ans, etoit d'une vivacité charmante. Son sourire exprimoit d'avance ce qu'elle alloit vous dire. Ses beaux yeux bleus peignoient toujours la situation de son cœur. C'étoit un charmant enfant, dont la beauté naissante promettoit d'egaler celle de sa Mere. Sa sœur plus agée de cinq ans, quoique moins jolie, avoit ce qui peut faire valoir la beauté. Elle étoit |