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provisions of their constitution, which were most offen- | education and the press are stripping antiquated instisive to their countrymen; not because he thought themtutions of the gilded cloud, which so long dazzled the dangerous or objectionable in themselves, but because eyes of an ignorant multitude. they excited so much dissatisfaction, and by making But what could have raised the Cincinnati above the the society an object of popular jealousy, tended to common degree of American citizens? Not wealth; frustrate the patriotic design of the founders. The for, generally, they had inherited little from their anprovisions for hereditary succession and for the admis-cestors; universally, they accumulated nothing in the sion of honorary members, were therefore repealed, and the society was reduced to its first simple design of a friendly association for life among the officers of the revolutionary army.

Now when the society is extinguished by the decease of nearly all the venerable patriots who founded it, and it can no more excite the sensitive spirit of democratical jealousy; it is scarcely necessary to frame an elaborate vindication of the pure intentions of the founders and the harmless nature of the institution, even on the enlarged system of its original organization.

form of pay and plunder in the public service; and poor and long-delayed was the reward which their country gave them for all their deeds and sufferings in her cause. Had they by any means acquired extraor dinary wealth, they could not have transmitted it by entail to the heirs of their membership in the society. Law, usage, and public sentiment in this country, are alike opposed to the practice of entail, by which large estates descend undivided through a single line of posterity. On the contrary, the largest fortunes in this country are dissipated by division, and generally before they reach the third generation.

Can any one now suspect, that the officers of that Nor could the members of the Cincinnati Society army who "loved not their lives to the death" for lib- have acquired any exclusive privilege or official dig. erty, would tarnish their laurels and belie all their acts nity, except by the free gift of their fellow-citizens. of daring and of suffering, by a deliberate scheme to They had no wealth to buy political power, nor armies subvert the republican freedom, for which they had at command to wrest it from an unwilling people. risked the loss of all things? If ever men gave invinci- Their military authority was laid aside, after having ble evidence of devotion to free institutions, it was the been exercised only for their country's liberty; they scarred and weather-beaten heroes of the revolution-retained only the common station of citizens, and must the Washingtons, the Greenes, the Waynes, and the like others win their way to office by popular suffrage. Morgans of the revolution.

I apprehend, however, that no one was so blinded by a malignant prejudice, as to suspect that the Cincinnati in general harbored any anti-republican design, or were themselves aware of any aristocratical tendency in their institution. The worst that was charged by any respectable accuser, was probably this; that a few politic individuals among them, having no faith in democratical government, embraced the scheme of the Cincinnati Society as a feasible method of introducing a distinction of ranks into the country, and of preparing the way for monarchical government, and that the society, as originally formed, was well adapted to this purpose.

Here we join issue, and maintain that the Cincinnati Society, even with its hereditary succession, was not qualified to produce any aristocratical distinction among the people of the United States.

Aristocracy, to be any thing more than an empty name, must be endowed with some transcendant powers and exclusive privileges. Its titles of distinction must be sustained, either by hereditary and unalienable wealth, or permanent military command, or legislative power; or by all of these combined. The aristocracy of England is sustained by its vast endowment of landed property, and its co-ordinate power in the legislature. Were it deprived of either of these props, it would fall into contempt, and be stripped even of its vain titles by the growing spirit of English democracy. So, in every country where the nobility maintain a substantial superiority over the commons, it is, and it must be, by virtue of their hereditary possessions, and by their pre-eminent share of military commands and civil dignities. By means of these, they first established themselves; and by the same means, they must support their claim to the homage, or even to the respect, of the commonalty-especially in these times, when

In the competition for votes, they could not be supposed to have any advantage over their fellow citizens, except from two sources: namely, the fame and merits of those who founded the society, and the combined support of the members themselves. But neither of these could avail much. The veteran officer who had fought for his country, would have a claim to popular favor, which many would acknowledge; but this claim would be weakened in the son, and dissipated in the grandson. This has been proved by experience. What advan tage in political contests, have the sons and grandsons of the Cincinnati gained from the merit of their ancestors? How few of them have risen to eminent stations? Where are the kindred of Putnam, of Schuyler, of Greene, of Marion, or even of Washington? Their names are scarcely seen in the official lists of the age. A new generation has sprung up; and though the memory of our revolutionary patriots is embalmed in history, their families have generally fallen into obscu rity. While the Cincinnati lived and kept their society in full operation, no political effect was produced by the association. Were their intended successors yet to meet and wear the social badge, their voices would still be unheard amidst the din of party politics; unless their social organization gave them a weight, which their relation to dead patriots has evidently failed to bestow.

Whilst we fully acknowledge that union is strength, and that a social organization is adapted to promote union; we may well deny that the Cincinnati could have acquired, by this means, any political ascendency. Composing with their near connexions, not a hundredth part of the voters, they could have derived very inconsiderable weight from their numbers, even if they had acted in perfect union and concert. But perfect concert among themselves was not to be expected. Living, dispersed among their fellow citizens, and meeting in

counterpoise? There was evident danger, too, that the newly acquired liberty would degenerate into licentiousness; and that dissensions and collisions, among such ill-compacted states, would lead to intestine blood. shed and mutual desolation. Then their dearly bought independence would prove a curse instead of a blessing, for want of a controlling power.

These apprehensions were in part realised; and for several years a fearful progress was made towards the consummation of all that patriotism dreaded: when, after great difficulty and by the special mercy of heaven, the present federal constitution was adopted, and the country was saved at the very crisis of its fate.

society but once a year, their members would be more | their federal duties, under all the exigencies of the war subjected to the opposing influences which create par- for independence; how then would the same states ties, than to the consolidating tendency of their social fulfil them, when the pressure was removed, and the organization. If this was true of the original Cincin-indolence and the selfishness of peace should have no nati, the veteran brotherhood of the revolution; how much more would their successors, bound together by far weaker ties, have been rent by the contending elements of federalism and democracy? But had they been able to resist the intrusion of party spirit among themselves, they could not have prevailed against the resistance which their very union would have excited. You have heard how easily a few political pamphleteers of inferior degree, filled the public mind with suspicion and prejudice against their association; and that too, immediately after they had retired from the field of their glory, and almost before they had time to heal their wounds and to wipe the dust and the sweat of the revolution from their brows. How much more If then some of the leading men of the revolution easily could popular leaders have heaped odium upon doubted whether fourteen democracies, spread over them in after times? To accomplish their supposed | half a continent, and containing in themselves the elearistocratical designs, they must, in the division of ments of discord, could maintain good government parties, have embraced federalism, or high government within their respective limits, and move harmoniously principles; and then how utterly and irrecoverably together, these doubts were not unreasonable—and if must they have been overwhelmed by the surges of they desired a strong concentrated government, to give democracy, which swept down and dissolved the whole their country peace at home and respect abroad, the federal party! If they were compelled at the outset, desire argues nothing against their wisdom or their when they had every advantage, to pacify the public patriotism: for such a government, to some extent, mind by giving up some parts of their constitution; was forced upon the states by a few years experience must they not have yielded all, if they had, as a body, of the utter impotency and worthlessness of the mere engaged in political contests, when the wind and the league and covenant which they had first adopted. I waves of universal suffrage beat against their feeble wish, most devoutly, that even the present federal contenement? of a universal suffrage swollen to turbu-stitution may be able to carry us safely through the lence, by the pauperism and mobocracy of Europe, shock of the tempest, that is even now giving indicadisgorged upon our shores?

tions of its approach. The frequent out-breakings of

land-pirates and adventurers who call themselves patriots-above all the fanatical spirit of abolition in the north, and the fiery threats of civil hostility and separation in the south-are fearful omens of a trial at hand; which if not met by the sound part of our citi zens with wisdom and firmness, will yet extinguish all our patriotic hopes in sectional feuds and mutual destruction. We should then feel how much better it was to submit to a government, able to control the elements of discord, than to suffer the terrors of mobocratical violence, the horrors of civil war, and the furies of fanatical rage let loose.

I hold, therefore, that the fancied scheme of the Cin-lawless violence-the sympathy felt for all manner of cinnati to make noblemen of themselves and their descendants was too unfeasible to be entertained by wise men, such as Alexander Hamilton and General Knox; and that if it were admissible that such a scheme was conceived in the organization of the society, the result has proved how little ground there was for the popular apprehension. No, fellow-citizens; aristocracy, if it ever invade our system of political equality, will not come in that way; but through the anarchy of a lawless and violent democracy, disunion and civil war among the states, and their inevitable consequence, a resort to military despotism, as the only remaining refuge for a harassed and ruined people.

Something may be conceded, however, without casting the slightest shade upon the fair fame of our revolutionary patriots. We may admit that at the close of the war, not a few of the wisest and best men, both civil and military, had painful misgivings about the issue of the great political experiment which was then to be tried in this country.

We may admit also that the founders of the Cincinnati Society, in making provision for hereditary membership, desired to leave behind them an institution, which should stand as a living monument of their names and their public services.

"For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleased and anxious being e'er resigned;
And left the precincts of the cheerful clay,
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind."

When they considered the vast extent of our territory, in which a diversity of local interests and prejudices would grow up; and the imperfect union of the Would they not naturally, and might they not innostates under the old confederacy; a union so loose and cently, seek to preserve their posthumous fame; while fragile as to be easily rent asunder; with a federal they sought to prolong, during life, the personal friendgovernment dependant on the co-operation of all the ships formed in the field of their glory and their sufferstate governments, and incapable of commanding re-ings? Say not, that all anxiety about the honorable spect either at home or abroad--they could not have full remembrance and unfading gratitude of their countryconfidence in the success of the experiment. They had men, was superfluous-that the people of the United seen and felt the remissness of the states in fulfilling States could not forget them; nor delay to reward

them and their children liberally for the deliverance of | populous and wealthy republic, whose citizens spend their country. Public gratitude and justice are not al- millions a year for trifling gratifications, agree to conways infallible. Too often the popular idol of to-day, tribute, once for all, to raise a monument to Washingeclipses wholly to the public eye, the hero or the pa- ton, the Father of their country. triot, who retired yesterday into the shade of private life. Some partial remuneration was indeed promptly bestowed upon the officers of the revolution, in the form of land-titles and half-pay. But before this heavy debt of justice was fully acknowledged and provided for, about forty long years, and most of them years of unparalleled national prosperity, were suffered to pass away. At last, when the revolutionary pension-law was enacted, a majority of the war-worn veterans had travelled, many of them in poverty and despair, beyond the reach of human reward. It was only a feeble remnant who lingered on the scene of their campaigns, long enough to taste before they died, the tardy justice of their country.

Nor is this all. When the revolutionary Congress decreed monuments to the fallen, and honorary distinctions for the achievements of the living; how long were many of these decrees left unexecuted? And how few honors of the sort, have to this day been bestowed upon the dead or the living heroes of our independence! This flourishing and mighty republic, ought ere now to have adorned and glorified herself with a hundred magnificent structures, to commemorate the events of her revolutionary history, and the fame of her patriotic founders. Gratitude called for these tokens of respect; a wise policy demanded, that the patriotism of the living should be stimulated by visible monuments of the glorious dead. Saratoga, should have been marked to every visitor, by her pyramid of everlasting granite; York-Town should have lifted her tall column high over the plains of Virginia, a land-mark to fill the navigators of the Chesapeake with inspiring reminiscences.

Why is not Trenton distinguished by some visible memento of the 25th of December, 1776; when Washington led his shoeless band, darkling, through ice and snow; and turned that midnight of despair, into the dawn of glorious victory? And why has there not been long since, even a stone erected on the plain of Princeton, to direct the traveller's eye to the spot where Mercer fell-when Washington by a second stroke of consummate skill, brightened the dawn of returning victory into a day of reviving confidence in his country's cause?

But that which above all justifies the apprehension of the Cincinnati, respecting the grateful recognition of their merits, after they should have retired from the field, is the fact, that this nation has never yet erected a monument to Washington; or what would be better, a joint monument, at the seat of government, to Washington and his compatriots. Yes: this nation has been content, for almost forty years, to let the bones of her chief hero and patriot, whose name is revered over half the globe, lie obscurely under the weeping willow of Mount Vernon! While our thankful patriotism expends itself in yearly declamations, which cost nothing, and have become stale by repetition!

Let this shameful neglect be repaired. Let the fifteen millions of these six and twenty states, flourishing in peace and abundance, give due honor to the heroes and patriots of the departed generation, of two millions; who built the foundation of this great republic with their treasures and their blood. Build now their monuments. Let our citizens look upon them, and remember the times that tried the very soul of patriotism. Rear in the city of Washington the great revolutionary monument. Lay deep its foundation of rock; let art and genius try their utmost skill to raise it high above the dome of the capitol; to adorn it with the choicest sculpture, and to inscribe on its walls the story of the revolution, in letters and emblems to be read by a hundred generations. There, let the chiselled forms of the revolutionary heroes and sages meet the national eye.

ed.

There, let the bones of Washington be entombThere, in fine, let the embodied spirit of the revolution stand displayed, in the presence of the national government; to admonish our representatives, and to frown into shame and silence, the paltry selfishness of the day, and the impious threats of disunion.

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My last paper was sent to you from the beautiful shades of Oakwood,-and contained a promise of another, to be dated in my own New England. That promise it is now my intention to redeem.

What a transition it was from those fine old oaks in

Virginia, to the crowded thorough-fares, through which I had to pass on my way hitherward! It was indeed a change, and one, from the consequences of which I have not yet, even now, recovered.

"There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length, at noontide, would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that bubbles by." Every thing seemed and still seems new,-and its novelty is harsh. The din of the rail-ways, the bustle of the over-crowded streets, the rush and riot of the city's constant moving mass,--how unlike the scene, where, for weeks before,

66 at peep of dawn, Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away,

I've met the sun upon the upland lawn!” Deserted and disconsolate Mab! She could not share these reverses with him who had made her the partner of almost all his rural pleasures! She thrust her nose over the palings, and whinnied forth a not unmusical farewell, and as I was whirled away towards the town, she gazed wistfully after me, whose departure cut off so What public authority neglected to do, a private many of her innocent enjoyments. How Mab did enjoy association lately attempted; and after calling upon the peach season! She ate the delicious fruitage from the the nation for voluntary contributions, they at last re-weighed-down boughs by bushels, each rare-ripe, clingported the paltry sum of thirty thousand dollars-to stone, and melicatcón separately, however,—as a wellerect a monument to Washington! So much did this bred lady should do: daintily detaching, with her deli

cate lip, the juicy pulp from the rough stone, all as if she were discussing her dessert with a silver knife. Poor Mab! to whom is she now companion, among the breezy hills of old Fairfax? Of course, she well remembers yet her summer friend: methinks I see her "soft expressive face," saying, as plainly as a horse can speak,

"One morn, I missed him on the 'customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree; Another comes,-not yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, is he!"

Excuse this digression, my dear reader: but men and mares have feelings, you must be aware.

I have been quoting freely from Gray's fine Elegy in a Country Church Yard. A beautiful copy of this celebrated poem lies before me, as I write,—a book from which it is delightful to copy. Each stanza is appropriately illustrated in the most perfect manner by wood engravings, after designs of Charles Landseer, Thomas, his brother, Westall, Stothard, Cooper, Callcot, Chalon, Wright, Cattermole, Mulready, Copley, Fielding, and other distinguished artists. It is a London book, and has a deserved celebrity. Each page is a separate gem, distinctly and beautifully set,-the touching tale being told as expressively by the painter, as by the poet: and

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"Full many a flower, which, born to blush unseen, Still wastes its sweetness on the desert air,"

being depicted therein with the most truthful and natural fidelity.

The proud dictator of the state-like wood, Has bowed at last!"

Here is a beautiful simile, drawn from a kindred subject, by Habington, an English poet of the sixteenth century. Speaking of an old weather-beaten tar in Greenwich hospital, he says,

"Thus does he, like some gallant pine,
Famed for its travels on the sea,
Broken with storms and age, decline,

And in some quiet creek unnoticed rots away!"

At Oakwood, we had all kinds of oaks, as I have already told you in a former article. Among these, the willow oak was to me the greatest curiosity. Michaux gives a very minute account of this tree, which seems to have no great reputation, however, in the places where it grows. It is not so useful as the other varieties, and, as the "utile" is more of a consideration with our good people than the "dulce," it is ranked in every quarter as far beneath them all. It certainly is a singular freak of nature, however, and interests the naturalist who sees it for the first time. It bears an acorn, and this alone distinguishes it from the marsh willow, excepting when it grows to a larger size than any of this species ever does.

Apropos of willows. Johnson describes this tree as one, "whose branches are worn by forlorn lovers:" | and Virgil in his Eclogues tells us that willow is a badge of mourning for shepherds. Byron has these lines: "On the willow thy harp is suspended,

Oh Salem! Its sounds should be free!
And the hour when thy glory was ended,
But left me that token of thee!"

But it was not always an emblem of sadness. At the How touchingly does this rare poem draw wood-pic-feast of "first fruits," it was borne in triumph. “Ye tures! How breathes this stanza of the pure country

air!

"Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield;

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!"

The custom of wood-felling always struck me as a barbarity. Reason has convinced me of the necessity of the case, but still it smacks of cruelty, as I view the matter. The trade of the butcher is innocent and respectable enough, so custom wills it to be esteemed: but only look at it in detail,-knocking down a fine ox, or cutting the throats of tender lambs, in cold blood: and yet I know more than one very gentlemanly butcher, and I have known otherwise very good kind of people to order their oaks and maples felled, for firewood. You cannot imagine how paradoxical all this strikes me as being. But I have blown my blast against wanton wood-cutters already, in one of the earliest of these desultory papers,-and will give them now a respite--only suggesting to the legislators, whether or not it would be a constitutional enactment, to order that every man who fells a tree shall plant two, either in its or another place.

Old Herrick, (with whom I have already made quite free, in these articles,) has an apposite thought. "All things decay with time; the forest sees The growth and downfall of her ancient trees. That reverend oak, which, threescore lustres, stood,

shall take, on the first day," said Moses, in Leviticus, "the boughs of goodly trees, branches of palm, and boughs of thick leaves, and willows,—and so shall you rejoice!"

There is but one poet worthy of a coronal of oakleaf, as The Poet of Trees,--and he is our countryman. His splendid poem, entitled "Forest Hymn," entitles him to this meed. The whole of it might well be copied here, in proof: but it is too well known and too easily accessible to be allowed such space in this closing paper of my series as it would occupy. Read it, reader, if thou hast not; and, if thou hast, read it yet once more,-blend it with thy memory's strongest associations, and, with the poet,

meditate

In those calm shades God's glorious majesty,
And, to the beautiful order of His works,
Learn to conform the order of thy life!"-Bryant.
Accept his invitation,—

"Thou, who wouldst see the lovely and the wild
Mingled in harmony on Nature's face,
Ascend our Rocky Mountains. Thou shalt look
Upon the green and rolling forest-tops,
And down into the secrets of the glens,

And streams, that, with their bordering thickets, strive
To hide their windings."

Go with him to the glen, where, he tells you

"The fragrant birch above him hung
Her tassels in the sky,

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"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

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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,

That in the pine-top grieves,

And slumber, long and sweetly,

On beds of oaken leaves."

He will tell you when 'tis the better time to woo:

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when autumnal dyes

Tinge the woody mountain:
When the drooping foliage lies
In the choked up fountain."

And, as you rove with him,

"Ere, in the northern gale

The summer tresses of the trees are gone,
The woods of autumn, all around the vale,
Have put their glory on.

Amid the woods that crown

The upland, where the mingled splendors glow,
Where the gay company of trees look down,
On the green fields below,"-

With him you will own, that

""Twere a lot too blest

Forever in those colored shades to stray;
Amidst the kisses of the soft southwest,

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
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees,
And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,
Pouring new glory on the autumn woods,
And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds.
Morn, on the mountain, like a summer bird,
Lifts up her purple wing; and, in the vales,
The gentle wind,

Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life
Within the solemn woods of ash, deep crimsoned,
And silver beech, and maple, yellow leaved,--
Where autumn, like a faint old man, sits down,
By the wayside, weary."

"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, when 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!"

But I must draw this lengthening paper to a close.

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