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O!

(pursues Tacitus,) alarmed the jealous'temper of Tibcrius- What remains for the commander in chief if a woman can thus unsex herself, at the head of the eagles ---this woman towers above the commanders of the legions, and even above their general officer-she can suppress an insurrection, though the name and majesty of the' Prince makes no impression.' 'These were the reflections,' says Pliny, that planted thorns in the heart of Tiberius.' They plant a very different growth in my breast. when I read of such a wife as this-combining all that tenderness which dissolves the heart with love, with all that grandeur of character which inflames it with enthusiasm, it is then, indeed, I wish that I were a Germanicus. Where is the human being, so cold & subterranean, who would not glory in cherishing such a being through life; and, "even in death" to "lay close his lips to her's, and catch the flying breath!" But the noble Agrippina had few parallels in her age. Contrasted with the infamous court of Tiberius, she resembled the solitary star which sometimes breaks upon us through the chasm of a massy cloud, and becomes the brighter, from the blackness which surrounds it. To a picture of that degraded court, I have now no disposition to descend: I turn with pleasure, from a moral hemisphere, overcast with such accumulated darkness, to that cloudless and starry firmament which adorns our own.

To save the

My pen had here launched into a tribute, whose sincerity I would seal with my blood, to the spotless purity and ingenuous simplicity of my fair country-women of Virginia; but I erased the half-finished period, because I foresaw that it would draw upon me some sarcasm from the unthinking and the malicious; as if I were bent on seeking the admiration and favor of the fair, and endeavoring to gain, by a general courtship, what I have confessed that I have sought in vain by a particular one. necessity of any brilliant sallies of this sort, to spare the needless effusion of wit from those who I am sure can illy afford it, and to prevent the degradation of my real object, I here frankly confess that my purpose is to court the fair; nay, if I can, to draw them into a conspiracy with me; a conspiracy to bring about a revolution in this country, which I am sensible that I can never effect without their aid. I cannot better explain myself than by describing a picture which I saw some years ago, in the parlour of a gentleman with whom I was invited to dine.

It was a small plate which represented a mother as reciting to her son the martial exploits of his ancestors.The mother herself had not lost the beauty of youth; and

was an elegant and noble figure-She was sitting-her face and eyes were raised-her lips were opened-her arm extended aloft, and her countenance exalted and impassioned with her subject. The little fellow, a beautiful boy, apparently about twelve or fourteen years of age, was kneeling before her; his hands clasped on her lap, and, stooping towards her, his little eyes were fixed upon her's, and swimming with tears of admiration and rapture. 'Such,' said I to myself, is the impulse which a mother can give to the opening character of her child, and such the way in which a hero may be formed!"

I am sure that I am understood. The virtues of this country are with our women, and the only remaining hope of the resurrection of the genius and character of the nation rests with them. Need I assert that since the revolution this character has most woefully declined? Look to our public bodies and the question is answered. Where is the remedy? No national institution can be hoped for: it would cost money! How is the glory of the republic to be retrieved? How is the republic itself to stand? As to our men they are differently employed; how employed, through pity to them, I will not now say. But the mothers of the country, and those who are to become mothers, have the character of the nation in their hands.O if to their virtues and their personal graces, they would superadd that additional culture of the mind which would fit them for this noble task, and warm them in the enterprize, I should not envy Rome her Agrippina, her Aurelia, her Atia, her Julia Procilla, or Cornelia. May I not say thus much without offence? And will they not permit me, old and bachelor as I am, to point their efforts to this exalted object, and aid them in the átchievement of it? I am sure they will: and with such fair and candid interpreters of my motives, I shall, without fear of offence, pursue that course which seems to me best fitted for the object.

Nor have I any fear that these remarks on the degeneracy of national character, will give displeasure to those bright exceptions, the men of sense and virtue who remain among us. On the contrary, I calculate on their cooperation, and look for the tribute of their assistance to The Old Bachelor. I am not about to write a course of heavy lectures. My object indeed is one, yet greatly diversified and I shall cheerfully relieve the dullness and monotony of my own productions, by any virtuous sport of wit or fancy which may be furnished by another. If I shall be thought worthy of this assistance, any letter addressed to Dr. Robert Cecil, to the care of Thomas Ritchie,

and lodged free of postage, in the office at Richmond, will reach me in ten days or a fortnight at the farthest, and meet with the notice which it shall seem to me to merit, I am well aware that this invitation may subject me to some impertinence from low and little minds: but I have long since learned to look on such impertinence and such minds, without any other emotions than those of pity.

Number VI.

Nunc patimur longæ pacis mala, sevior armis,
Luxuria incubuit.

We suffer all th' inveterate ills of peace,
For Luxury, more fatal far than arms,
Hath hatched her baleful brood.

Lucan.

The maxim, dulce bellum inexperto, that war is sweet to him who has not tried it, cannot apply to our country. We have tried it. The vestiges of desolated towns-the ruins of houses perforated with cannon balls-our fields still marked with the breast work, the line of circumvallation, the traces of bursted shells-and, here and there, in our cities, the still animated body of a poor old soldier, maimed, seamed with scars, hobbling on his crutch or stick, and reduced, not by the ingratitude of his country, but the unfeeling rapacity of speculators, to beg his bread

these spectacles are enough to remind us that war has been this way, and to prevent any wish, on our part, for a "renewal of the visit.

And yet how strange is the condition of humanity! for it seems as if it were only amid the direful calamities of war, that man can be seen to advantage; as if all the trumpet's clangor and the cannon's roar were necessary, to keep his virtues and talents awake. The remark is not confined to America. "Mankind" it is said truly, "is pretty much the same in every age and nation." In all of them, the season of war has ever been that of talents and virtues on their grandest scale: and the heavier the pressure of the occasion, the higher have those noble properties risen. Such were the occasions on which Leonidas fought and Demosthenes spoke. Such in every country

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have been the most splendid epochas of orators and he roes. It is not my purpose, to enquire, at this time, with minute curiosity, why the dormant powers of man require this excitement of injuries and insults to awaken them; nor why the energies of his mind seem so dependent on the tumult and impulse of his passions. It will be mor useful to examine the mournful collapse which follows this state of high exertion and marks the state of peace; and to enquire whether no remedy exists either to prevent or remove it.

This is not a topic of light and fruitless speculation; nor one which relates merely to the literary ornament of the nation. On the contrary it is a topic which is connected with the very existence of the republic; for it is only by a state of constant preparation against both foreign and domestic ambition, that we can calculate on the continuance of that existence, and that preparation can certainly, be, in no way maintained but, by keeping the heart pure and stout and the mind enlightened and alert.

If those effects cannot be produced in a state of peace; if they can by no possibility exist but in a state of war, then peace is a curse, and war a comparative blessing. But this conclusion is by no means necessary-because the premises themselves, I am persuaded, are not true. It seems to require no great penetration to discover why wars of uncommon duration and violence have been, always, followed in every country by a declension of virtues and talents. Have they been wars of foreign conquest? The first fruits are an influx of wealth into the victorious nation; such as that which in the latter years of the Roman republic, lined the bank of the Tiber with gardens and villas-and then the process is plain and easy-luxury-indolence-ignorance- multiform-vices. imbecility

subjection. Or has the war been one of internal defence? It has left the country desolate, although victori-" ous-Then follows, first, the necessity of struggling for subsistence.-Neither honest labor nor sly speculation can find time for liberal study. The first, leads the warrior slowly to independence and obscurity-but preserves the heart;-The latter leads rapidly to wealth and distmction-but is too apt to corrupt the heart, and debase the understanding. Such is the first state of things to which the return of peace directly conducts. But the long continuance of peace and prosperity, internal and external, leads regularly on to national wealth-and then, as in the case of wars of conquest, follows luxury with "all her baleful brood."

It has now been thirty years since the sound of war has

been heard in the interior of this country. In the course of that time the population, the agriculture, the manufac tures, the commerce, the wealth of the United States have advanced with vast and rapid strides: And we see already the usual consequences of a long and prosperous peace. That spirit of public virtue, of love of country, which extinguished every private feeling and glowed with such attractive lustre during the revolution, is fled.The question with us is no longer how we shall best serve our country, but how we shall best serve ourselves. We are all in quest of wealth, of places, of offices, of salaries, of honors;—instead of being as we were, during the last war, forgetful of ourselves, and looking around only for those who could do most good to our common country.

I have heard a story from one of the children of the revolution, a virtuous, an able and a truly great man, which puts this subject in a strong light,, Although at that time not more than seventeen years of age, he was enrolled in a volunteer company and wore the national hunting shirt with the animating badge on its breast of "Liberty or Death." To the same company belonged several men of the first families and fortunes in the State; men, too, whose education and virtues gave them strong influence and entitled them to respect. When the company was a bout to elect its captain and other officers, the eyes of them all were fixed on these men. They knew it. And just before the vote was taken, begged the company to form a circle and hear them. The circle was formed and one of them addressed the company-" Fellow-citizens fellow-soldiers-we know the honor you intend us and we are grateful for it. But we have only the same object with yourselves to serve our beloved country. We know that we can best serve her by remaining in the ranks-there we are prepared to stand-but we have no experience... no skill in war. You have in your company a man every way qualified to command you and us make him your captain-we will cheerfully serve with you under him." "Who is he?" was the question from every mouth. They named him. He was one of the poorest and humblest men in the company-a carpenter: but an honest, a firm, a gallant man, who had seen service during Braddock's war. He was elected by acclamation-and justified the election by his conduct. In a short time he was transferred to the regular army-rose to the rank of Colonel and died gloriously in the service of his country, at the battle of Monmouth.

This is the kind of noble self-denial, this is the spirit which makes a nation strong, great and victorious. Where