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At the other extremity there rises from the ground (not stuck on a roof, as we frequently see) a beautiful spire of considerable height; and this is the steeple.

You pass by the steeple, and come into an apartment which has the name of the Dining-room. It has similar dimensions to the Church; and on its left side there is a continued elevation, resembling a table. You now enter an immense gallery, about 10 feet wide, and some 121 feet long, and from 80 to 100 feet high. You turn aside to visit a small apartment, but of exquisite beauty. Here the most singular sparry concretions hang pendent from the roof, while an equal number are growing up from the ground in several degrees of progress, many of them meeting in the centre, and becoming one.Winding passages are left among them, which make a sort of labyrinth; and as they are semi-pelluced, the passing of the lights through the several alleys has a very singular effect. This has the name of the Garden of Eden.

You return to the Dining-room, and pass by a dark opening at your feet, which is the mouth of a cavern, into which the foot of man has never been. It can only be explored by rope ladders; and it is supposed, though I think without sufficient reason, to be charged with mephitic gases, fatal to life.You may now make an ascent of some 50 feet, if your nerves allow, and your reward will be adequate to your pains. You must climb over the face of the rock, which has nearly a perpendicular pitch, and you will then find yourself on an elevated platform, and surrounded by loopholes and striking figures. You may now look down from your eminence, which is the Giant's Causeway, into the large illuminated rooms you have left, and perhaps see a small party moving over the floors in misty shadow. Here stands out in relief before you, and on the very verge of the platform, a fine group of stalagmites, white as alabaster, and suggesting to the fancy the figures of a small party of horse moving over high and dangerous precipices. They are Bonaparte and his Guards. There is a fine arch expanding before you over the scene below; you may with caution, ascend on its head, and by this means gain a more commanding view of the objects so far beneath you.

But we must hasten on. When you have made your descent to the ordinary level, and move on your returning course, you pass by an enormous and most beautiful concretion. It is a tower, about 30 feet each way at the base, and rising in diminished squares to the height of 30 feet. It is a stalagmite; nearly as white and clear as alabaster, and dazzles you by its capacity to reflect lights.

You pass, also, some fine springs, at which you may refresh yourself on the way. There is one I must distinguish before we leave. You ascend, in getting to it, a steep of 12 feet, by a ladder, and then, by a little hard climbing, attain to the end of the recess, and stand before what is named the Source of the Nile. It is a fine transparent spring, anu is very remarkable for being covered with a thin pellicle of stalagmite. It is strong enough to bear you; and has a hole cut in the centre, which gives you access to the water.

I hope you will not think you have been detained too long on this spectacle. My regret is, that I have only described one half of what it unfolds, and that with haste and imperfection. It is, in my judgment, one of the great natural wonders of this new world; and for its eminence in its own class, deserves to be ranked with the Natural Bridge and Niagara, while it is far less known than either. Its dimensions, by the most direct course, are more than 1,600 feet; and by the more winding paths, twice that length; and its objects are remarkable

for their variety, formation, and beauty. In both respects, it will, I think, compare, without injury to itself, with the celebrated Grotto of Antiparos.

For myself, I acknowledge the spectacle to have been most interesting; but, to be so, it must be illuminated, as on this occasion. I had thought that this circumstance might give to the whole a toyish effect; but the influence of 2,000 or 3,000 lights on these immense caverns is only such as to reveal the objects, without disturbing the solemn and sublime obscurity which sleeps on every thing. Scarcely any scenes can awaken so many passions at once, and so deeply. Curiosity, apprehension, terror, surprise, admiration, and delight, by turns and together, arrest and possess you. I have had before, from other objects, one simple impression made with greater power; but I never had so many impressions made, and with so much power, before. If the interesting and the awful are the elements of the sublime, here sublimity reigns, as in her own domain, in darkness, silence, and deeps profound.

On emerging from this subterrene world, our first concern was to perform our ablutions and rectify our dresses. This done, we hastened to the inn in search of refreshments. Here we were presented with a singular contrast to the scenes just contemplated. The inn-keeper had advertised his show over all the welkin; and his invitation had been fairly responded to; but he had not provided adequate accommodation. His inn was a little frame building, only fit for a small family; and had the day been wet, the company had been in a wretched condition. The two upper rooms were crowded with females, who were waiting in succession to enjoy the use of a single looking-glass, that they might arrange their dresses, and put themselves above ridicule. Below, the two rooms were equally thronged with men, who were making way to the bar for their potion of mint-julap, and other favorite mixtures. Many preferred rather to rely on the pure spirit, than on mixtures of any kind. All, perhaps, thought that the occasion, which is one of much fatigue and of exposure to great difference of temperature (not less than 30°) would justify the use of some potion; but many were not contented with a little; I never saw, at any other time, so many persons the worse for the use of spirituous liquors.

In front of the house, on the greensward, a table was prepared, with a wooden awning, which would receive about one third of the company. It was completely surrounded, and mostly by ladies, who were certainly discussing the matters before them with great earnestness; while their friends, lovers, and servants-young farmers, smart collegians, and blacks were in bustling attendance behind, supplying their plates, fanning their persons, and passing the merry joke and joyous laugh around. Apart from these were a multitude who had already partaken of the feast, reposing on chairs, or expanding themselves on the turf, talking, smoking, or listening to the squeaking fiddle of an old merry slave, who was doing his best to gather up the loose halfpence of the company. It offered to one an interesting specimen of the people for thirty miles round. It was composed chiefly of the young; and most of them seemed to have come rather to enjoy a frolic than to gratify an intelligent curiosity. One of their greatest faults was that of doing so much wanton mischief to the more delicate ornaments of the cave.

All who went to the cave paid for the refreshments; but as they were not easy to get at, and not very tempting when obtained, we partook of our sandwiches, and, admonished by approaching evening, prepared to leave. The black, who had attended our horses, and who had been recompensed

by Mr. Douglas, thinking that I was not aware of! This famous bridge is on the head of a fine limsthis, came up to me, and taking hold of my surmp, said, in a plaintive voice and look. Massa, it's been bad day to me! It most breaks my heart, to do so much and get so little. Massa! I have no doubt that Massa made a very good day of it; but these men are very insinuating; and bondage and cunning go together.

stone hill, which has the appearance of having been ren: asunder by some terrible convulsion in nature. The fissure thus made is about ninety feet; and over it the bridge runs, so needful to the spot, and so unlikely to have survived the great fracture, as to seem the work of man; so simple, so grand so great as to assure you that it is only the work of God. The span of the arch runs from 45 to 60 feet wide; and its height, to the under line, is about 200 feet, and to the head about 240! The form of the arch approaches to the ellipucal; and it is carried over on a diagonal line, the very line of all others so difficult to the architect to realize; and yet so calculated to enhance the picturesque beauty of the object!

We endeavored to return by a nearer and better course. From the advancing state of the day, and the wearied state of ourselves and horses, it was necessary that we should accept the first accommodations on the road. At a distance of five miles from the cave, we arrived at a village named New Hope, and at a tavern with the sign of Plain Dealing Hotel." Now, as I have no relish for terms of cant, either in civil or religious life, I There are chiefly three points of sight. You nathought this sign somewhat ominous. On a near-turally make your way to the head of the bridge er survey, some of us maintained that it could not first; and as it is a continuation of the common contain us; but Mr. D. thought its capacities great-, road, with its sides covered with fine shrubs and er than its appearance; and so we alighted. The trees, you may be on it before you are aware. But sleeping-rooms, as they were called, were in the the moment you approach through the foliage to angles of the roof, and were more like dove-cotes the side, you are filled with apprehension. It has, than bed-chambers; moreover, others were to have indeed, a natural parapet; but few persons can access to them. We determined, therefore, to have stand forward and look over. You instinctively the beds down stairs, and to sleep on the floor of the seek to reduce your height, that you may gaze on siting and eating-room. what you admire with security. Even then it agitates you with dizzy sensations.

When the time for this arrangement came, I was consulted by my hostess on my preference for a straw-mattress or feather-bed. Now, unused as I was to sleep on the boards, and harboring, as I did, from my weary and bruised state, a special dislike to all hard sounds, I hastily resolved on the featherbed. For me, this was a fatal choice. My friends had the mattresses, and, therefore, preserved between themselves and the floor a substance of some elasticity; but as for me and my feather-bed, whenever I thought to place myself upon it, and however softly, away went the feathers on either side, and left me just to the blank and knotted boards. It was a weary night, relieved only by two circumstances. The first was, that my friends were sleeping fairly; and the second was, that at midnight, some one opened the window, entered the room, and passed away to his place of slumber without ceremony. We had secured our door to prevent such intrusion; but this was done in simplicity. Doors are the only mode of entrance to some; they are only one of many to others. However, the people of this house, though of the plainest, gave us all the accommodation in their power; and plain dealing with them seems to have prospered, for they are carrying up a much better house for their own and the public use.

We rose with the sun, and hastened on our way before the heat of the day. We paused at the "Tinkling Springs," where we found a church, a school-house, and a burial-ground, in the heart of the woods; at Granville, where we left Mr. Douglas, at the dwelling of his mother; and at Colonel M'Dowell's, as we promised, where we had the same kindnesses repeated; and at length reached Lexington, after an excursion which was very gratifying at the time, and which will, I doubt not, be pleasant to recollection always.

I had only half a day remaining to see the Natural Bridge; and to have left Lexington without seeing it, would have been a piece of Vandalism which the good people would not have forgiven. Colonel Reid, and two other gentlemen, accompanied me; Mr. Carruthers had become unwell by the heat of the weather in our previous trip. On this occasion it was worse; the glass was at 95° and we had to ride on horseback in the presence of an intolerable sun. I perspired almost equally to what I had done at Louisville. But the sight leaves you neither weariness nor regret.

You then make your way some fifty feet down the bosom of the hill, and are supplied with some almirable standings on the projecting rock-work, to see the bridge and all its rich accompaniments. There is, 200 feet below you, the Cedar river, apparently motionless, except where it flashes with light, as it cuts its way through the broken rocks. Mark the trees, of every variety, but especially the fir, how they diminish as they stand on the margin of its bed; and how they ascend, step by step, on the noble rock-work, till they overshadow you; still preserving such delicacy of form and growth, as if they would not do an injury, while they lend a grace. Observe those hills, gathering all around you in their fairest forms and richest verdure, as if to do honor to a scene of surpassing excellence. Now look at the bridge itself, springing from this bed of verdant loveliness, distinct, one, complete! It is before you in its most picturesque form. You just see through the arch, and the internal face of the farther pier is perfectly revealed. Did you ever see such a pier-such an arch? Is it not most illusive! Look at that masonry. Is it not most like the perfection of art; and yet what art could never reach? Look at that coloring. Does it not appear like the painter's highest skill, and yet unspeakably transcend it?

This is exquisite. Still you have no just conception of this masterpiece until you get below. You go some little distance for this purpose, as in the vicinity of the bridge the rocks are far too precipitous. A hot and brilliant day is, of all others, the time to enjoy this object. To escape from a sun which scorches you, into these verdant and cool bottoms, is a luxury of itself, which disposes you to relish every thing else. When down, I was very careful of the first impression, and did not venture to look steadily on the objects about me till I had selected my station. At length I placed myself about 100 feet from the bridge, on some masses of rock, which were washed by the running waters, and ornamented by the slender trees which were springing from its fissures. At my feet was the soothing melody of the rippling, gushing waters. Behind me, and in the distance, the river and the hills were expanding themselves to the light and splendor of day. Before me, and all around, every thing was reposing in the most delightful shade, set off by the streaming rays of the sun, which shot

mitted twelve persons to the church, and three of them were baptized previously. The other services were in the usual order of the Presbyterian Church. The members came successively to the tables; the persons of color coming last. There must have been 500 persons communicating. There was the appearance of true seriousness on the whole assembly; and every thing was as quiet and solemn as it could be with a house so crowded, and the exchange of places which this method makes necessary. I gratefully united with them; we ate of one bread and drank of one cup, and were, I trust, of one spirit. In such circumstances, there was great power and sweetness in that promise, "I will be to them as a little sanctuary in the wilderness."

across the head of the picture far above you, and | sweetened the solitude below. On the right and left, the majestic rocks arose, with the decision of a wall, but without its uniformity, massive, broken, beautiful, and supplying a most admirable foreground; and, every where, the most delicate stems were planted in their crevices, and waving their heads in the soft breeze, which occasionally came over them. The eye now ran through the bridge, and was gratified with a lovely vista. The blue mountains stood out in the back ground; beneath them, the hills and woods gathered together, so as to enclose the dell below; while the river, which was coursing away from them, seemed to have its well-head hidden in their recesses. Then there is the arch, distinct from every thing, and above every thing! Massive as it is, it is light and beautiful by At noon a pause was made for half an hour, as its height, and the fine trees on its summit seem a period of refreshment. Then you might have now only like a garland of evergreens; and, ele-seen the family and friendly groups, in all direcvated as it is, its apparent elevation is wonderfully tions, seated at the feet of the gigantic trees, parincreased by the narrowness of its piers, and by its taking of their simple repast, and welcoming all to outline being drawn on the blue sky, which appears partake who were provided with less than thembeneath and above it! Oh, it is sublime-so strong, selves. and yet so elegant-springing from earth, and bathing its head in heaven! But it is the sublime not allied to the terrific, as at Niagara; it is the sublime associated with the pleasing. I sat, and gazed in wonder and astonishment. That afternoon was the shortest I ever remembered. I had quickly, too quickly, to leave the spot for ever; but the mu- At the close of the engagementis, I went with Mr. Sic of those waters, the luxury of those shades, the Morrison. His dwelling is about two miles disform and colors of those rocks, and that arch-that tant. It was really a beautiful sight to see this arch-rising over all, and seeming to offer a pas-people-men, women, and children-all mounted sage to the skies-O, they will never leave me!

LETTER XVI.

MY DEAR FRIEND--At four the next morning I left Lexington in the carriage of a friend, having made it one of my few resting places. My intention was to join Mr. Douglas at a four-day sacramental meeting, at which he was attending. The congregation in which it occurred was in a state of revival, and it was among the most prosperous of this country. I had a strong desire to commune with the assembled Christians on the solemn occasion, and to make myself acquainted with the appearances of religion among them.

We had about fifteen miles to go, and partly from the heaviness of the roads, and partly from the heat of the day, we did not arrive till after the morning service had begun. The first indication of our approach to the church was in the appearance of an immense number of saddle horses, from 300 to 400, lashed to the trees; and, as we continued to wind our way along, we presently saw portions of the building through the clustering trunks and foliage. On reaching the place, we found it crowded to excess, and enlivened without by a great number standing in the open doorways, sitting on the steps, or reposing on the grass, where they might have the chance of hearing; and, in many instances, charged with the care of young and happy children, too gay to be quiet in a state of confinement. The associations were interesting; here was a large congregation, proper to a city, convened in the depths of the forest. The circumstances were striking; the day was exceedingly hot, but here people, cattle, church, and all, were thrown into most delightful shade by the overtopping trees, except where the sun shot down through an opening before the sanctuary, like a pillar of light and glory.

We managed to gain admittance. It was the sacramental service. Messrs. Morrison, Douglas, and Armstrong, were officiating. The pastor ad

The afternoon service was renewed and sustained in like spirit. The birds, which had found a nest for themselves within and without this sacred habitation, flew in and out by the open windows, seeming to excite no observation except to myself, so rural were the habits of this people!

on their fine horses, and starting away, as from a centre, into every part of the forest, where you would think there was no way to be found. In our own line, we had quite a cavalcade, such as old Chaucer might have celebrated. As we advanced over glade, and brook, and dingle, our path forked, and we broke off to the right and left; and again it forked, and again we were scattered. My eye long rested on them. Now you might see a single horseman take his solitary path through the woods: now a family cluster, parent, child, and grandchild; and now an aged pair, who told you that they were closing life as they began it, alone. Now they thrid their way through the thickening forest; now they disappear in the dingle: now you see them again, but indistinctly, and far away; and now they vanish altogether. My eye searched for them in vain. Why should it have searched at all? I did not know these people-I had not spoken to them. Why, then, did a sentiment of regret steal over me, as they vanished, one by one, perhaps to be seen no more for ever? You can understand this.

The following day was the last of the four, and nothing would satisfy my brethren but that I should preach in the morning. There was an excellent attendance, and the people evidently heard with attention and seriousness. One circumstance gave me some surprise at the moment. Towards the close of the sermon, some twenty or thirty men rose, after each other, and went out, and in the course of three or four minutes returned to their places. It was evidently not the effect of inattention, for they were attentive themselves, and showed concern to disturb the hearing of others as little as possible. I could not imagine the cause; but it was afterward explained, that some rain had fallen, and they had gone out to cover the saddles, that they might not get wet. Apart from the unpleasantness and hazard of a wet saddle, the young people here are very chary of their horses and their accoutrements, as, more than any thing, these mark the respectability of the party.

I took my leave of the people, while yet assem

bled, and waiting other services, as I had to hasten Morrison remarked with emphasis, has been an inon to Staunton that day. My esteemed friend also creased spirit of prayer. excused himself to his people, and kindly insisted ❘ The effects were very exhilarating. There are that he would convey me so far on my journey. I now about 600 members of the church, and nearly was greatly obliged by this mark of friendship, es- 200 of them are under twenty-five years of age, pecially as it allowed me an opportunity of free though scarcely any under fifteen. The family intercourse with him on subjects touching his composing this church, cover a district of land charge. about ten miles square. There is scarcely one that I learned that this neighborhood had been long has not domestic worship. They have no poor to settled, though the population was so concealed; and receive charity from the sacrament, and only one that the present church is the third that has been person needing help, who receives it through pribuilt on the spot. The first was a mere log erec-vate channels; and they contributed 1,000 dollars tion. The inhabitants were till a late period much last year to foreign religious objects. The pastor's annoyed by the Indians. There was a fort on the salary, I think, is 80 dollars; and this my friend plantation where my friend resides; and most of considers equal to 1,800 in New-York. the houses were fortified, and the people obliged to bring their rifles to church, to protect themselves from attack.

Interesting conversations whiled the time away. We halted to refresh, and to take leave of our friends, the Douglases; and then drove on to Staunton. We alighted at the principal hotel. It was kept by a religious family, and Mr. Morrison was known and esteemed by them. We were entertained in their private rooms. They had read of the Deputation in the papers, and soon learned that I must be a member of it; and were eager to show, as to a Christian and an Englishman, the utmost attentions. We had a room full to social worship, and had the sensation of being members of a private household, rather than of guests at a tavern. In the morning I was up with the day, for I had to leave by the stage at four o'clock. My beloved friend (such I must now call him) had also risen to continue his kindness to the last moment. We spoke; we were silent; we separated.

My friend had been settled here since the year 1819, and it was his maiden charge. When he came, he thought there was a good impression on the minds of the people, from the sudden death of a beloved minister. The church was comparatively small, but there was a large body of hopeful young persons who had not yet professed the Saviour. His labors for the first five years were very success ful. After this, there was a pause in his usefulness, which gave him much distress. He could not avoid connecting this very much with the abundant production and use of distilled liquors throughout his parish. They had all, as farmers, fallen into the practice of converting their surplus corn and fruit into spirit. This, of course, was a great temptation. He made it the subject of consideration and I had, in this ride, to cross the Blue Ridge; and prayer. He determined to press the claims of the was quickly roused from my musings on the past, Temperance cause on their consciences. He did by hearing that we were about to make the ascent. it with firmness, but with equal prudence and tem- It was full four miles, and consumes much time; per. It had nearly unsettled him with his charge but this was no matter of complaint under such cir for a time; for some of the leading farmers resist- cumstances. I must not, however, hold your attened, and became adverse to him. However, some tion with renewed descriptions of mountain scenery. yielded, and others followed; and this was succeed- Let me merely remark, that while, in the ascent, ed by a revived state of religion such as they have the nearer objects greatly resembled some things not known; and it has continued for the last four that have been described, there is considerable difyears. Before this effort, no less than 150,000 bar-ference on attaining the full elevation. No single rels of spirits were produced, and each family had a still; now not 5,000 are made, and but one person holds a still. The farmers, too, have found a better market for their surplus produce, and are every way more prosperous.

To assist your judgment on this interesting case, I will supply you with the additions to this church through a course of years, as taken from the register. In the year 1819, the year of his settlement, fourteen persons were added; in 1820, thirty; in 1821, eighteen; in 1822, sixty-eight; in 1823, fortyfour; in 1824, five; in 1825, six; in 1826, nine; in 1827, six; in 1828, nine; in 1829, three; in 1830, six; in 1831, one hundred and four; in 1832, forty; in 1833, two hundred and seventy-four; and in the year 1834, up to August, twenty-five were added. In the first revival no means were used except preaching, and meetings for prayer. In the second, which includes the last four years, similar means were used with more frequency; and in a few instances, the serious were separated from the rest of the congregation. The persons impressed and converted on these occasions were, with very few exceptions, from fifteen to thirty years of age, inclining to the younger period. Those in respectable life were at least equally affected with others; and in the second revival, the work began in the more wealthy families, and passed downward to the poor and the servants. There was in neither case, nor at any time, the least noise or disorder; and the most useful seasons have always been characterized by deep stillness and solemnity. The

object stands out with prominence; but all that you have seen, and greatly more, is spread before you at once in grand, expanded, and mellowed harmony. There is before you a field of mountain heads, like to what may be seen in Wales or Scotland, beautifully colored, and bloomed by a blue mist which rests on them. And behind you is the valley you have left, now blended with other val leys, which together form only the raised foreground to the prodigious valley of the Mississippi, which stretches away and away, till it is lost in the horizon, and which might receive all the inhabitants of Europe, and ask for more. I knew not in which direction to look with most eagerness and continuity. Sometimes I preferred the mountain, and then the valley pictare; and the enjoyment of either, I knew, must be very short. I gazed and admired again and again, so long as our driver would allow; and when we began to descend, I felt that I was about to separate from another friend, and to separate for ever.

My intention in crossing the Blue Ridge, was to make Charlottesville in my way to Richmond. The University of that place is considered foremost in the literary institutions of this people, and it was desirable that it should not be overlooked. The site for the town and University could not have been better chosen. It is composed of fine swells of land; is surrounded by beautiful open country; and the blue hills lie in the distance delightfully. If one may be governed by ordinary indications, it must be highly salubrious.

first and chief sign for good, in every case, Mr. The town is small, and has an unfinished appear

ance. The inhabitants, however, are respectable, | happy to state, that it is one of renovation and great and have a measure of refinement not frequently promise. All the professors saw and felt the evil met with in towns of this class; but literature has which had come over this noble institution, and a tendency to humanize and refine all things where threatened its destruction; and generally they agreed it comes. The only deduction on this impression in the remedy. They adopted a decided and viis, that the stocks and the pillory stand in the court-gorous system of discipline; they honored the name yard, as a means of correction for the poor blacks. and institutions of religion; they subscribed at their The religious character of this place is too re- own expense to support ministers, who should, in markable to be unnoticed. It will be understood turn, conduct public worship within the University, that the University was promoted chiefly by Jef- and are now raising a subscription to build a church ferson, and on avowedly skeptical and infidel prin- for this very purpose. The consequence is, that ciples. This gave the character to the town. It order is restored, and with it public confidence; had no religious means; and the evil was increased and youth of respectable and pious connections are from time to time, by the settlement of such persons flocking to it from the surrounding States. The only as were at least indifferent to means which it professorships are again sought by men of the first did not supply. This was the state of things till attainment; and it is likely to do honor to the extwenty-five years since, when a lady was brought, pectations of an aspiring people. It is now an exby her husband's engagements at the University, to periment in favor of education, still conducted on reside in the town. She was a person of piety, and liberal principles, but with religious sanctions; and of course lamented greatly the moral and spiritual if it is steadily sustained, with a fixed regard to condition of the people. What she lamented, she this issue, it will succeed! sought to remove. She determined to commence, in her own house, a Sabbath school, for the religious instruction of the young. She persevered through many difficulties, and found reward in her work. The influence of her benevolent exertions, as well as of her excellent character, touched her husband and he learned to honor the religion he had thoughtlessly despised. Strengthened by his concurrence, she proposed that their dwelling should be opened once on the Sabbath for divine worship, that the people might have some opportunity of separating that day from their common time. The work of faith and love was crowned with success. Various ministers gave their services; and the people attended, listened, were impressed, and converted from worldliness and ungodliness. There are now, in this town, of about 1,000 in population, four places of worship-Presbyterian, Episcopalian, Baptist, and Methodist. Upwards of 600 persons habitually attend them, and there are about 150 children in the Sabbath schools. The excellent lady who made the first movement in this change, still lives-a mother in Israel; and the contrast of the former with the present times, in the history of this community, must often supply her with pleasant and grateful recollections.

From the town let us make a transition to the University. It was the favorite object of Jefferson. He gave it great pains, and was disposed to rest his reputation with posterity upon it. So far as morality and religion were concerned, his intention was to found it, not merely on liberal, but on infidel principles. His opinions had been mostly formed in the French school of that day; and into his views of education, there entered something of the acuteness and malignity of Voltaire, with a portion of the speciousness and extravagance of Rousseau. This was styled philosophy; and this philosophy was to govern the establishment, or rather, it was to give the youths license to govern themselves. They were to bow to no authority; they were to be controlled by no law, but were to be left to their own honor as a sufficient principle of action. The fact was, however, that when the young men were fairly left to their honor, their honor left them. Disorder, dissipation, and folly, became predominant. The better class of pupils was withdrawn. The professors took disgust, and looked around them for stations where order and conscience were still regarded; and the whole frame of this University was threatened with dissolution. So far, then, as this was an experiment in favor of infidelity, like every other experiment, it has failedcompletely failed.

What, then, you are ready to ask, is its condition now? For the sake of the cause of letters, I am

The Rev. Mr. Bowman, Presbyterian minister of this place, though unwell, kindly attended me to the University, and introduced me to Professor Patteson. It was the vacation, and the professor regretted that most of the officers and pupils were away. He conducted me over the principal buildings, and took great and obliging pains to satisfy my inquiries. There is here an observatory, an excellent library, a good philosophical apparatus, and a rising collection of minerals.

Externally, the mass of erections have an imposing and grand effect, and they are much assisted to this by the ground which they occupy. With some slight variations since, the plan is wholly Jefferson's. He gave it very deep and close attention; and obtained, by his extraordinary influence, large grants from the State in its favor. But these grants were not well applied, nor these pains skilfully directed. The erection, as a whole, will not endure the touch of rigid criticism. He saw that diversity of line, figure, and position, often contribute to striking effect, but he saw no more. The principal figure is the Rotunda; answering to its name, while every thing else is as square as square can be. It is a very high circular wall, built of red bricks, with a dome on its summit, and with windows perforated round it. It stands naked and alone at the head of the picture. Running down from this, on either hand, are the dwellings for the professors, and the lecture-rooms, forming two sides of a handsome area. They are detached erections, with large columns rising their whole height; and they are united by a colonnade running over the ground story, so that a line of columns, that is meant to be one to the eye, supplies you, at intervals, with pillars fifteen and thirty feet high! The accommodations for the pupils are in the background, and are not meant to appear in the principal scene. Jefferson was proud of his success as an architect; so proud that, notwithstanding the glare of his red bricks, and of a scorching sun, he would not allow any trees to be planted, lest they should hide the work of his hands! Now that he is gone, the young trees are appearing; and, ungrateful as he was, are beginning to screen his defects, and to give a grace and a keeping to the scene which gratifies the eye, and harmonizes with the quiet pursuits of the place.

In quitting the University, let me, while I have spoken freely of Jefferson, do him justice in this particular. He was not an architect, and, unhappily, he was not a Christian; but he was a great man, and he sought with much pains to confer honor and benefit on his country, by the establishment of a great literary institution. When the evils of his system shall have been removed, his name wil

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