I mounted the stair. As I approached the door of which I was in search, a vapor, infectious and deadly, assailed my senses. It resembled nothing of which I had ever before been sensible. Many odors had been met with, even since my arrival in the city, less supportable than this. I seemed not so much to smell as to taste the element that now encompassed me. I felt as if I had inhaled a poisonous and subtle fluid, whose power instantly bereft my stomach of all vigor. Some fatal influence appeared to seize upon my vitals; and the work of corrosion and decomposition to be busily begun. For a moment, I doubted whether imagination had not some share in producing my sensation; but I had not been previously panic-struck; and even now I attended to my own sensations without mental discomposure. That I had imbibed this disease was not to be questioned. So far the chances in my favor were annihilated. The lot of sickness was drawn. Whether my case would be lenient or malignant ; whether I should recover or perish, was to be left to the decision of the future. This incident, instead of appalling me, tended rather to invigorate my courage. The danger which I feared had come. I might enter with indifference on this theatre of pestilence. I might execute without faltering, the duties that my circumstances might create. My state was no longer hazardous; and my destiny would be totally uninfluenced by my future conduct. The pang with which I was first seized, and the momentary inclination to vomit, which it produced, presently subsided. My wholesome feelings, indeed, did not revisit me, but strength to proceed was restored to me. The effluvia became more sensible as I approached the door of the chamber. The door was ajar; and the light within was perceived. My belief, that those within were dead, was presently confuted by a sound, which I first supposed to be that of steps moving quickly and timorously across the floor. This ceased, and was succeeded by sounds of different, but inexplicable import. Having entered the apartment, I saw a candle on the hearth. A table was covered with vials and other apparatus of a sick chamber. A bed stood on one side, the curtain of which was dropped at the foot, so as to conceal any one within. I fixed my eyes upon this object. There were sufficient tokens that some one lay upon the bed. Breath, drawn at long intervals; mutterings scarcely audible; and a tremulous motion in the bedstead, were fearful and intelligible indications. If my heart faltered, it must not be supposed that my trepidations arose from any selfish considerations. Wallace only, the object of my search, was present to my fancy. Pervaded with remembrance of the Hadwins; of the agonies which they had already endured; of the despair which would overwhelm the unhappy Susan, when the death of her lover should be ascertained; observant of the lonely condition of this house, whence I could only inter that the sick had been denied suitable attendance; and reminded by the symptoms that appeared, that this being was struggling with the agonies of death; a sickness of the heart, more insupportable than that which I had just experienced, stole upon me. My fancy readily depicted the progress and completion of this tragedy. Wallace was the first of the family on whom the pestilence had seized. Thetford had fled from his habitation. Perhaps, as a father and husband, to shun the danger attending his stay, was the injunction of his duty. It was questionless the conduct which selfish regards would dictate. Wallace was left to perish alone; or, per haps, which indeed was a supposition somewhat justified by appearances, he had been left to the tendence of mercenary wretches; by whom, at this desperate moment he had been abandoned. I was not mindless of the possibility that these forebodings, specious as they were, might be false. The dying person might be some other than Wallace. The whispers of my hope were, indeed, faint; but they, at least, prompted me to snatch a look at the expiring man. For this purpose, I advanced and thrust my head within the curtain. The features of one whom I had seen so transiently as Wallace, may be imagined to be Lot easily recognised, especially when those features were tremulous and deathful. Here, however, the differences were too conspicuous to mislead me. I beheld one in whom I could recollect none that bore resemblance. Though ghastly and livid, the traces of intelligence and beauty were undefaced. The life of Wallace was of more value to a feeble individual, but surely the being that was stretched before me, and who was hastening to his last breath, was precious to thousands. Was he not one in whose place I would willingly have died? The offering was too late. His extremities were already cold. A vapor, noisome and contagious, hovered over him. The flutterings of his pulse had ceased. His existence was about to close amidst convulsion and pangs. I withdrew my gaze from this object, and walked to a table. I was nearly unconscious of my movements. My thoughts were occupied with contemplations of the train of horrors and disasters that pursue the race of man. My musings were quickly interrupted by the sight of a small cabinet, the hinges of which were broken and the lid half raised. In the present state of my thoughts, I was prone to suspect the worst. Here were traces of pillage. Some casual or mercenary attendant had not only contributed to hasten the death of the patient, but had rifled his property and fled. This suspicion would, perhaps, have yielded to mature reflections, if I had been suffered to reflect A moment scarcely elapsed, when some appearance in the mirror, which hung over the table, called my attention. It was a human figure, nothing could be briefer than the glance that I fixed upon this appsrition, yet there was room enough for the vague conception to suggest itself, that the dying man had started from his bed and was approaching me. This belief was, at the same instant, confuted, by the survey of his form and garb. One eye, a sear upon his cheek, a tawny skin, a form grotesquely misproportioned, brawny as Hercules, and habited in livery, composed, as it were, the parts of one view. To perceive, to fear, and to confront this apparition were blended into one sentiment. I turned towards him with the swiftness of lightning, but my speed was useless to my safety. A blow upon my temple was succeeded by an utter oblivion of thought and of feeling. I sank upon the floor pros trate and senseless. My insensibility might be mistaken by observert for death, yet some part of this interval was haunte by a fearful dream. I conceived myself lying on the brink of a pit, whose bottom the eye could not reach. My hands and legs were fettered, so as to disable me from resisting two grim and gigantic figures, who stooped to lift me from the earth Their purpose, methought, was to cast me into this abyss. My terrors were unspeakable, and I struggled with such force, that my bonds snapped and I found myself at libery. At this moment my senses returned and I opened my eyes. The memory of recent events was, for a time, effaced by my visionary horrors. I was conscious of transition from one state of being to another, but my imagination was still filled with images of danger. The bottomless gulf and my gigantic persecutors were still dreaded. I looked up with eagerness. Beside me I discovered three figures, whose character or office were explained by a coffin of pine boards which lay upon the floor. One stood with hammer and nails in his hand, as ready to replace and fasten the lid of the coffin, as soon as its burthen should be received. I attempted to rise from the floor, but my head was dizzy and my sight confused. Perceiving me revive, one of the men assisted me to regain my feet. The mist and confusion presently vanished, so as to allow me to stand unsupported and to move. I once more gazed at my attendants, and recognised the three men, whom I had met in High street, and whose conversation I have mentioned that I overheard. I looked again upon the coffin. A wavering recollection of the incidents that led me hither and of the stunning blow which I had received, occurred to me. I saw into what error appearances had misled these men, and shuddered to reflect, by what hairbreadth means I had escaped being buried alive. Before the men had time to interrogate me, or to comment upon my situation, one entered the apartment, whose habit and mien tended to encourage me. The stranger was characterized by an aspect full of composure and benignity, a face in which the serious lines of age were blended with the ruddiness and smoothness of youth, and a garb that bespoke that religious profession, with whose benevolent doctrines the example of Hadwin had rendered me familiar. On observing me on my feet, he betrayed marks of surprise and satisfaction. He addressed me in a tone of mildness. 64 Young man," said he, "what is thy condition? Art thou sick? If thou art, thou must consent to receive the best treatment which the times will afford. These men will convey thee to the hospital at Bush Hill." The mention of that contagious and abhorred receptacle, inspired me with some degree of energy. No," said I," I am not sick, a violent blow reduced me to this situation. I shall presently recover strength enough to leave the spot without assistance." He looked at me, with an incredulous but compassionate air; "I fear thou dost deceive thyself or me. The necessity of going to the hospital is much to be regretted, but on the whole it is best. Perhaps, indeed, thou hast kindred or friends who will take care of thee." "No," said I; "neither kindred nor friends. I am a stranger in the city. I do not even know a single being." Alas!" returned the stranger, with a sigh, "thy state is sorrowful-but how camest thou hither?" continued he, looking around him, "and whence comest thou?" "I came from the country. I reached the city a few hours ago. I was in search of a friend who lived in this house." "Thy undertaking was strangely hazardous and rash; but who is the friend thou seekest? Was it he who died in that bed, and whose corpse has just been removed?" The men now betrayed some impatience; and inquired of the last comer, whom they called Mr. Estwick, what they were to do. He turned to me, and asked if I were willing to be conducted to the hospital? I assured him that I was free from disease, and stood in no need of assistance; adding, that my feebleness was owing to a stunning blow received from a ruffian on my temple. The marks of this blow were conspicuous, and after some hesitation he dismissed the men; who, lifting the empty coffin on their shoulders, disappeared. He now invited me to descend into the parlor; "for," said he, "the air of this room is deadly. I feel already as if I should have reason to repent of having entered it." He now inquired into the cause of those appearances which he had witnessed. I explained my situation as clearly and succinctly as I was able. After pondering, in silence, on my story;-" I see how it is," said he; "the person whom thou sawest in the agonies of death was a stranger. He was attended by his servant and a hired nurse. His master's death being certain, the nurse was despatched by the servant to procure a coffin. He probably chose that opportunity to rifle his master's trunk, that stood upon the table. Thy unseasonable entrance interrupted him; and he designed, by the blow which he gave thee, to secure his retreat before the arrival of a hearse. I know the man, and the apparition thou hast so well described, was his. Thou sayest that a friend of thine lived in his house-thou hast come too late to be of service. The whole family have perished. Not one was suffered to escape." THOMAS GREEN FESSENDEN, THOMAS GREEN, the son of the Rev. Thomas Fessenden of that place, author of a volume entitled A Theoretical Explanation of the Science of Sanctity, was born at Walpole, New Hampshire, April 22, 1771. He completed his course at Dartmouth in 1796, having supported himself while at college by teaching psalmody in the evenings, and keeping school during the vacations, and afterwards studied law at Rutland, Vt. While thus occupied, he amused his leisure hours by contributing to the Dartmouth Eagle and the Walpole Farmer's Weekly Museum, a number of humorous poems similar in style to those of Royal Tyler and the other "Walpole Wits." One of these, "The Country Lovers," became very popular. In 1801, he visited London for the purpose of introducing a new hydraulic machine, in which he had, with a number of friends, become interested; but on subjecting the machine to a more thorough test than it had received in America, it was found not to answer the purpose. His plans thus frustrated, in the hope of still turning his journey to account, he embarked in a project set on foot by a fellow countryman, resident in London, of constructing a water-mill on the Thames. He invested his means in the purchase of one-fifth of the concern. The project failed. During the season of anxiety occasioned by this disaster, and while a portion of the time confined to his bed by sickness, he made a literary venture, which The G Fruender proved as successful as his former attempts had disastrous. The Terrible Tractoration* was composed as a satire on the medical profession in general; its special subject being the Metallic Tractors of Perkins, an application of galvanism to the treatment of disease, in the efficacy of which Fessenden then and afterwards professed himself to be a believer. It professes to be composed by a starving garreteer in the pay of the faculty, to write down the new invention. A large portion of the volume is occupied by original notes, satirizing the commentators, which equal in humor the text they illustrate. The poem was published anonymously, and was variously attributed to Gifford, Wolcot, the author of "Peter Pindar," and Huddesford, an author to whom we have already had occasion to allude.§ Its success relieved the author's embarrassments, which, according to a story we have heard, had confined him to a jail, where the poem was written. The author followed up this hit by a collection of newspaper contributions, with the title Original Poems. In 1804 Fessenden returned to America, where both of his volumes had been reprinted with success, and published in the same year a violent attack, in verse, on the Jeffersonians, entitled Democracy Unveiled, or Tyranny stripped of the garb of Patriotism. He next started a periodical, The Weekly Inspector, in New York, which was continued about two years. This was a pleasant miscellany, of a literary rather than political character, enlivened by Christopher Caustic's verses, as well as his lively prose, but after a trial of two years proved unsuccessful. The editor closes the fifty-second number with a spirited editorial, from which we extract a few passages :— "The inevitable hour," which speedily overtakes, in Columbia's happy land," every publication which aspires to any character for literature, science, or general information, above that of a common daily advertising newspaper, has put a period to the Weekly Inspector. * * Terrible Tractoration!! A Poetical Petition against Galvanising Trumpery, and the Perkinistic Institution, in four cantos, most respectfully addressed to the Royal College of Physicians, by Christopher Caustic, M.D., LL.D., ASS., Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians, Aberdeen, and Honorary Member of no less than nineteen very learned societies. First American, from the second London edition, revised and corrected by the author, with additional notes. New York: Samuel Stansbury. 1304. + Perkins, after practising his system in London, came to this country "armed with his tractors, and fortified by the eredentials of a score of bishops and other dignitaries of the Church of England," and professed to cure yellow fever by his Tractors. He was allowed, in consequence of the sympathy of the Directors of the New York Hospital, to introduce his practice into that institution. He died himself of the yellow fever in 1799, a few months after his arrival, and was buried 17 the Potter's Field. now the Washington Parade Ground. -Reminiscences of Christopher Colles, by Dr. J. W. Francis, in Knickerbocker Gallery. Preface to the Modern Philosopher, 1806, p. 11. be the man, of all men, for an editor of an American newspaper. Americans look at the quantity and not the quality. Give us so much of something, and we will call you a great man. Write us sixteen pages a week of original matter, no matter how inuch was stolen, and we will set you on the top of a liberty pole. In 1806 he published The Minute Philosopher, an enlargement of the Terrible Tractoration. A third edition was published towards the close of his life. We next hear of him in 1812, as practising law at Bellows Falls, Vermont. Here he married. In 1815 he removed to Brattleboro', where he edited The Reporter, a political newspaper. Ile returned to Bellows Falls in the next year, where he edited a newspaper called The Intelligencer, a position he retained until 1822, publishing in the ineantime a volume in verse, The Ladies' Monitor. He then removed to Boston, to commence the New England Farmer, a weekly agricultural journal, which attained high rank in its department, in his hands. While conducting this journal, he edited two other periodicals of a similar character, The Horticultural Register and The Silk Manual, and also prepared a number of treatises on similar subjects. In these pursuits the remainder of his life was passed. He died of apoplexy at Boston, November 11, 1837. The Massachusetts Society for Promoting Agriculture, and the Horticultural Society, erected a monument over his remains at Mount Auburn.* Nathaniel Hawthorne, in an article in the American Monthly Magazine, has furnished a pleasant picture of Fessenden towards the close of his career. In January, 1836, I became, and continued for a few months, an inmate of Mr. Fessenden's family. It was my first acquaintance with him. His image is before my mind's eye at this moment; slowly ap proaching me with a lamp in his hand, his hair grey, his face solemn and pale, his tall and portly figure bent with heavier infirmity than befitted his years. His dress-though he had improved in this particu lar since middle life-was marked by a truly scholastic negligence. He greeted me kindly, and with plain, old-fashioned courtesy; though I fancied that he somewhat regretted the interruption of his eve ning studies. After a few moments talk, he invited me to accompany him to his study, and give my opinion on some passages of satirical verse, which were to be inserted in a new edition of "Terrible Tractoration." Years before I had lighted on an illustrated copy of this poem, bestrewn with vene rable dust, in a corner of a college library; and it seemed strange and whimsical that I should find it still in progress of composition, and be consulted about it by Doctor Caustic himself. While Mr. Fessenden read, I had leisure to glance around at his study, which was very characteristic of the man and his occupations. The table, and great part of the floor, was covered with books and pamphlets on agricultural subjects, newspapers from all quarters, manuscript articles for the New England Farmer, and manuscript stanzas for "Terrible Tractoration." There was such a litter as always gathers round literary man. It bespoke, at once, Mr. Fesse den's amiable temper and his abstracted habits, that seyeral members of the family, old and young, were sit Buckingham's Newspaper Reminiscences, 1. 918-20 Preface to the reprint of Terrible Tractoration... ting in the room, and engaged in conversation, apparently without giving him the least disturbance. A specimen of Doctor Caustic's inventive genius was seen in the "Patent Steam and Hot-water Stove," which heated the apartment, and kept up a pleasant singing sound, like that of a tea-kettle, thereby making the fireside more cheerful. It appears to me, that, having no children of flesh and blood, Mr. Fessenden had contracted a fatherly fondness for this stove, as being his mental progeny; and it must be owned that the stove well deserved his affection, and repaid it with much warmth. THE COUNTRY LOVERS, ETC. A merry tale I will rehearse, Yankee doodle,* keep it up, His father gave him bran new suit, Moreover, sir, I'd have you know, A hundred he could count, 'tis said, And in the bible read, sir, And by good Christian parents bred, Could even say the creed, sir. Yankee doodle, &c. He'd been to school to Master Drawl, To spell a-bom-in-a-ble, And when he miss'd, he had to crawl, Straight under master's table. Yankee doodle, &c. One day his mother said to him, "My darling son, come here, Come fix you up, so neat and trim, Yankee doodle, &c. "Pho! pho! fix up, a courting go, To see the deacon's Sarah, Then Jonathan, in best array, Yankee doodle, &c. He mutter'd as he rode along, "I wonder mother 'll make me go, I never know'd, nor want to know, “A wife would make good housen* stuff, Yankee doodle, &c. "But then, I shan't know what to say,t Yankee doodle, &c. He reach'd the house, as people say, Yankee doodle, &c. He made of bows, 'twixt two and three, At length came in the deacon's Sal Yankee doodle, &c. For she knows all about affairs, Can wash, and bake, and brew, sir, Sing "Now I lay me," say her prayers, And make a pudding too, sir. Yankee doodle, &c. To Boston market she has been She's courted been, by many a lad, Yankee doodle, &c. * Housen is a corruption for household. +"A courting I went to my love, Who is fairer than roses in May; And when I got to her, by Jove, The devil a word could I say." See an old English Comedy. Gal is, in New England, the vulgar pronunciation of the word Girl. § Most of the householders in New England have their washing, baking, and brewing done within their own precincts. A young lady who does not understand these branches of business is considered as not qualified for matrimony. Yankee doodle, &c. Now, should a Boston lady read, Of Sally's shoe and stocking, She'd say a "monstrous slut, indeed, Oh la-she is quite shocking!" Yankee doodle, &c. You fine Miss Boston lady, gay, For this your speech, I thank ye, Call on me, when you come this way, And take a drachm of Yankee.* Yankee doodle, &c. Now Jonathan did scratch his head, Then talk'd with Sally's brother Joe And how a witch, in shape of owl, And how a man, one dismal night, Yankee doodle, &c. How Widow Wunks was sick next day. And now the people went to bed: And wish'd himself at home, sir. Yankee doodle, &c. At length, says Sal, "they're gone, you see, Say Jonathan, "indeed—they be Sal cast a sheep's eye at the dunce, A glass of whiskey, mixed with molasses, is so called in New England, and is a common beverage with the peasantry. + There is a tale among the ghost-hunters in New England, that silver bullets will be fatal to witches, when those of lead would not avail. Verses are thus pronounced by the rustics in New England. His next address pray learn by heart, To whisper to the lasses. "Miss Sal, I's going to say, as how, Yankee doodle, &c. Then Jonathan, as we are told, Did even think to smack her; Sal cock'd her chin, and look'd so bold, He did not dare attack her! Yankee doodle, &c. "Well done, my man, you've broke the ice, "This courting is a kind of job And these two brands, with one dry cob, "Miss Sal, you are, the very she, "Then we will live, both I and you, "My father has a nice bull calf, "Your father's full of fun, d'ye see, Yankee doodle, &c. "Are you the lad who went to town, Our lover hung his under lip, Yankee doodle, &c. For he to Boston town had been, As matters here are stated; Came home and told what he had seen, As Sally has related. Yankee doodle, &c. And now he wish'd he could retreat, Yankee doodle, &c. * Vulgar pronunciation of the word trowsers. |