The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. II., No. 12, November, 1836

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.

VOL. II. RICHMOND, NOVEMBER, 1836. NO. XII.

T. W. WHITE, PROPRIETOR. FIVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM.

STANZAS.

BY MRS. E. F. ELLET.

Would’st thou know, stranger, wherefore the vain cares, And envious strifes, and ills of this sad world Vex not my thoughts serene, Nor fright my peace of soul?

Wherefore its wild commotions fret me not, And the vain pageants of its summer smile, (More fleeting than the light) Nor dazzle, nor distract?

It is not that a swelling pride doth lift My spirit ’bove the reach of changeful Fate, Or shield me from the ills To mortal lot assigned;

Or teach me with a scorn unwise to turn From good on all bestowed, the boon of Heaven:— ’Tis not that spells I bear By stern cold Reason wrought:—

But in my spirit’s inmost treasure-house There is a blessed world, from evil free, Nor wearying cares come nigh The chambers of the soul!

In this fair home hath Thought her palace reared, And planted living flowers; there flow the springs Of Fancy, pure and bright, In sweet rejoicing streams.

There bends the golden heaven of Poesy, With gladdening sunlight fraught; there blandest airs Breathe o’er the fragrant soil, And palmy groves ascend.

Thus is it that Life’s clamors and complaints, And idle vaunts, unheeded pass me by, Like the dull streamlet’s voice, Or inarticulate wind.

Amid the jarring storm’s discordant strife, O, searcher after rest! may’st thou too hear That mightier melody From chords attuned of Heaven!

MODERN TRAVELLING.

Forty years ago, I used to be a great traveller, and was pretty well acquainted with the means of transportation then in use; but about that time, I retired to the country and settled upon a small farm, where I have, until lately, pursued the even tenor of my way. During the last summer, some business compelled me to set out for a distant point, and I left my little home with extreme reluctance. As I was to travel in a world about which I knew but little, except through the newspapers, I thought it right to rig myself out in somewhat better style than usual, so I put on my best bib and tucker and repaired to town and sought a barber’s shop to get my hair cut and my beard shaved, humming, as I went along, the old song,

“I called to the barber, come shave me boy, do you hear, And I’ll give you sixpence for to spend in ale or beer; Shave me, shave me, barber come shave me, Make me look neat and spruce that Molly may have me.”

Sixpence quotha!—it cost me four and sixpence, at the least. When I opened the door, I was so much astonished at the elegance of the apartment, that I drew back, and would have retired, thinking I had made some mistake, when two or three fellows flew out upon me, and began brushing my coat with such impetuous violence, that I could not escape from them; indeed, it was with much ado that I could prevent my ears from being brushed off, by their whizzing brooms. I was as restive, you may depend upon it, as my horse is under a cedar broom; twice they struck me severe blows on the cheek, but always begged pardon, so I could not be offended; and, indeed, I had made up my mind when I left home, not to betray my ignorance of present customs. All this time two small shavers were dusting my boots, and I protest it was with much difficulty I could keep my legs. After considerable suffering on my part, and repeated declarations of my being satisfied with their services, and paying each of them something, (for I saw they expected it,) they desisted. I now expressed a wish to be shaved and trimmed, and was immediately disrobed, and ushered to a high-backed chair, where my head was roughly thrown back, my chin tucked, and the operation of shaving performed in the twinkling of an ejaculation. It did not take long to cut my hair and strangle me with cologne water; but what was my surprise, when they were done with me, to find the whole of my occiput as bare as the palm of my hand, and nothing left upon my head but a few straggling locks at the side, time having already stripped naked my forehead. I was sadly vexed, but what could I say? I had voluntarily put myself in their power, and was devoutly glad when I got into the street, that I had escaped alive from their hands. Well, I had now paid four-and-sixpence; I had lost all my hair; my face had been scratched by brooms and lacerated by a razor, and I had learned in exchange, that barbers were different folks now-a-days from what they used to be, and that men were brushed down like horses—rather a bad speculation! I had not been in this world, it is true, “ever since king Pepin was a little boy,” but I was pretty old, and had never been treated so unceremoniously in my life. I had imagined when I entered the house, that I was going into just such a shop as my old friend Kippin used to keep, who received me with the profoundest of bows, and shaved me with a solemnity of manner that suited my temper exactly. No tawdry ornaments hung upon his walls; no mirrors flashed wheresoever you turned; no newspapers lay scattered around; no {734} Helen Jewetts or other engravings caught your eye. His walls were mute as “Tara’s Halls”—a piece of broken looking-glass stood upon the table, and an old shaving-can, encrusted with the smoke of a thousand fires, sat disconsolately in the chimney; but, nevertheless, these modern fellows cannot shave as Kippin “_used to could_.” There is too much hurry in every thing now-a-days! It is true, shaving must be done by steam—the water ought to be hot, but the razor travels too incontinently fast, and the whirlpools in my beard cannot be crossed over with such despatch—but pshaw! this is nothing to what I have to tell of the changes in this world. My first trip was to be made in a steamboat which was to start (fly, perhaps, would be a better word) at ten o’clock at night. I had never been in one, having been of the same opinion with old what’s his name, who never could be induced to go on board, not even when the boat was lying at the wharf without a particle of fire—when urged to go, and told that there was no earthly danger, he always shook his head doubtingly, and declared “_there was no knowing when accidents might happen_.” However, go I must; my business required despatch, and there was no mode of travelling so expeditious. Accordingly, I went on board, and passing the fire-room, where they were just firing up, I stopped, with unfeigned horror, and asked myself if, indeed, I was prepared to die! I almost fancied myself at the entrance of the infernal regions, and the firemen, all begrimed and black and covered with sweat, seemed like the imps of the devil, tossing the damned spirits into the flames. I shuddered and turned away, inwardly vowing if heaven would be graciously pleased to spare me this time, I would never again, voluntarily, put myself in the way of being burnt to death. I proceeded to the cabin, which I found, as yet, unoccupied, and you may be certain if the barber’s shop had surprised me, my amazement was now complete, at finding myself in the most splendid apartment I had ever beheld. I shall not attempt any description, because I have no doubt, Mr. Editor, you have seen many a one; all I shall say is, that having examined every thing with as much wonder as did parson Polyglott when “_he dinner’d wi’ a Lord_,” I laid myself down in a birth, and could not satisfy myself of my personal identity, any more than could he who went once to see some great man, and was treated with so much distinction, that when he retired to bed, he lay some time revolving all that had passed, and the scene around him, and exclaimed, “can this be me!” Putting his foot out of bed, (he had a remarkable foot,) egad! he cried, that is certainly my foot. Just so, clapping my hand to the back of my head, and feeling that the barber had nearly scalped me, I became assured that it was indeed your humble servant, and was trying to compose myself, when I heard a cry of “the stage is come,” and in a few moments in walked the captain and seated himself at his writing-table, and immediately afterwards forty passengers, at least, rushed into the cabin, all talking in the loudest key, and dressed in every variety of mode, and seeming to strive with one another who should get first to the captain to pay his money. What does this mean? thought I; wherefore such hurry? “Why need they be so forward with death who calls not on them?” as Falstaff says. I soon found out the cause; they were securing births, and as they passed mine, they severally peeped into it; at length, one prying more earnestly than the others, exclaimed, “halloo, my hearty, you are in the wrong box; you must come out.” I made no reply, and he repeated his command to me to turn out—still I said nothing, and he turned to the captain: “I say captain, here’s a Jackson man in my birth.” “Yes,” said I, feeling my dander rise, as honest Jack Downing says, “and I shall assume the responsibility of staying in it.” Alas! I reckoned without my host, for the captain came up and desired me to evacuate the premises. “Why,” said I, “captain, I thought possession was eleven points of law.” “None of your nonsense, sir,” returned he, and took hold of my arm. Seeing how matters stood, I fixed myself, Dentatus-like, with my back to the side of the boat, and seizing my hickory stick, defended myself manfully, but numbers prevailed over valor, and I was, at last, ignominiously dragged forth, like Smith from the Chickahominy Swamp, to the no small amusement of the company, some of whom hurraed for old baldpate. Here was a pretty commencement of my journey! In the end, I was compelled to sleep upon a table, think o’ that! and imagine my horror when I found myself stretched out like a corpse, with a sheet over me!! All my previous fears of being scalded to death rushed upon my mind, and I made sure that this was indeed my winding-sheet. The thumping of the boat; the groans of the lever above, leaping and pitching like some vast giant struggling to be free; the snoring and snorting around me; the intense heat, produced by the juxta-position of so many human bodies, effectually banished sleep from my eyelids; I was “_in a state of dissolution and thaw_,” and wished myself anywhere else, even in “_the Domdaniel caves under the roots of Ocean_,” if there were such a place, so that I could escape my present thraldom. How often have I wondered, said I to myself, that people could be so foolhardy as to live at the foot of Mount Ætna or Vesuvius, where they are liable to be overwhelmed in a moment by burning lava; and here am I, lying near the crater of a volcano, without the hope of escape if there should be an eruption!! Overwhelmed by the oppressive weight of my thoughts, I sunk, from absolute exhaustion, about daybreak, into a doze, from which I was almost immediately aroused by a bell, which I mistook for the last trump, and springing up, perceived that it announced our arrival at the place of destination, and I was forced to huddle on my clothes as fast as possible. Such a scene of confusion and hurry as now presented itself, baffles my poor powers of description. Passengers, porters, trunks, wheelbarrows, hackmen, every body and every thing, in one moving mass upon the wharf, so completely confounded the few brains I had, that I stood like a fool, while “hack, sir?” was bawled in one ear, “hack, sir?” in another—“omnibus, sir? do you go in the omnibus?” One pulled me by the right, another by the left, until my limbs were almost dislocated. At last, remembering a little of my latin, I concluded it must be right to go with all, and I cried out “omnibus!” “Your baggage, sir, where is it?” “God only knows, my friend,” said I. “Is this it, sir?” “Yes, yes.” Into the omnibus they shoved me, with such despatch, that had I been the “_stout gentleman_” himself, I am sure none could have seen even the “broad disk of my pantaloons.” It was the first time in my life, that I had ever travelled in a carriage without shutting the door, {735} except once, upon compulsion, when my horses ran off with me; but if you will credit me, sir, there is no door to an omnibus; so I suppose omnibus means without a door, but in what language is more than I pretend to know. Perhaps it may be the Garamna language, but none but the author of the Doctor can tell that. If you should be acquainted with the tongue, Mr. Editor, just drop me a hint in your next number, and I shall be much obliged to you.