and the longitude, 74° 0′ 25′′ W. of the Royal Observatory at Greenwich. As it appears to have been unknown to the citizens in general, that the lati tude of several places in the city has been well determined heretofore, the following information may be acceptable. In the year 1769, our illustrious astronomer, David Rittenhouse, took the latitude of Fort George, 40° 42' 8" N.; a Spanish astronomer, of great skill, from eight to ten years ago, did the same at 182 Fulton, then Partition-street, 40° 42′ 40′′; our Professor of Mathematics, &c. Columbia College, 40° 42′ 44′′; a respectable shipmaster, Mr. Bowers, of a house in Water-street, 40° 42′ 26′′. By including my own, and applying the difference between the City-Hall and these places, we have its latitude by five different observers, viz. Mr. Rittenhouse, at Fort Fulton-street, add 4′′ Mr. Adrain, Columbia College, sub. 3" 40 42 40 40 42 44 : 40 42 41 Mr. Bower's, Water-street, 40 42 45 N. Hoping that the foregoing remarks and observations may be acceptable to the public, and in some degree interesting to the friends of science, I remain, Gentlemen, Your most obedient servant, New-York, Oct. 27, 1817. THANKSGIVING. Messrs. Editors, As the Executive of this State has lately adopted an institution long prevalent in New-England, that of setting apart one day in each year, after the in-gathering of the products of the earth, as a day of thanksgiving to the Dispenser of every good, for his continued bounty; it may not be uninteresting nor uninstructive to your readers to learn in what manner this festival is celebrated in that part of our country where it was first established. No sooner is the day fixed by proclamation, in one of the New-England States, than arrangements of some sort are concerted for its observance throughout the community. It is regarded not only as a religious but as a social anniversary; and all the branches of every family calculate to assemble on Thanksgiving-day, under their paternal roof, to give scope to their filial and fraternal affections, and to cherish those ties which are equally sanctioned by humanity and revelation. Under such auspices much generous and rational hilarity may well be supposed to mingle with grateful devotion. It is indeed rendered a holyday in its most common acceptation, a day of gayety and feasting. And as a fitting offering at such a season, alms are liberally distributed to the poor, that they may enjoy a consonant spirit of cheerfulness, and indulge in the prescriptive festivities of the day. Collections are made in all the churches for the poor; and even the entertainments, which usually crown this day of rejoicing, are made to contribute to the purposes of charity. A ball is given in almost every village, and the tickets are put at a price which commonly leaves a surplus to be bestowed upon the necessitous. And here I cannot but express my regret that the managers of our Theatre should have mistaken Thanksgiving for a Fast!-as possibly, had they understood its nature, they would have entered so far into the liberal spirit in which this institution originated, as to have given some moral, or at least innocent exhibition on that evening, and appropriated the receipts of the house to benevolent uses: I regret, I say, that they should have lost such an opportunity of being, in some measure, the almoners of that bounty in which they so largely share, from a mistaken apprehension of violating the sanctity of a day on which it is the office of religion to banish sorrow, and which only requires temperance and decency in the ebullition of that mirth which is the best indication of a grateful heart. Nothing can be further removed from humiliation and fasting than a primitive Thanksgiving. In New-England divine service is performed in the churches in the morning, and in the morning only. At dinner all the scattered members of each family, with all their offspring, meet at the hospitable board of its head. On this day that board is spread with unwonted profusion. Every delicacy, proportionate to the means of the entertainer, is here to be seen, and at every, the meanest table throughout the country, a roasted turkey, a smoaking plum-pudding and pumpkinpies regale all the senses at once. The affluent minister to the wants of their needy neighbours; and in the very prisons and poorhouses, on this day, peace and plenty reign. After an ample repast, and becoming libations, the male members of the family, old men and boys, repair to the fields, and divert themselves till sunset at foot-ball, cricket, and similar sports. The evening is spent in dancing, playing at blindman's-buff, hunt-the-slipper, or some game of forfeits. Such is the manner in which Thanksgiving-day is kept by the descendants of the pilgrims; and by keeping it in this way it becomes an efficacious means of invigorating those home-bred virtues, of which a people should be proud. THEOPHILUS. We agree, generally, with our correspondent, that a day of Thanksgiving ought not to be made a day of mortification. As to his suggestion in regard to the Theatre, we doubt not that the mana gers will readily take the hint, and devote the profits of the house on Christmas to some such purpose as he proposes. We would recommend to them, the Society for the promotion of Industry as most deserving of encouragement among our eleemosynary associations. It is a constant practice in Boston, and if we remember aright, in Philadelphia and Baltimore, for the managers of the Theatre to bestow one or more benefits every season upon some public charity. Such praise-worthy conduct has a strong tendency to conciliate the good-will of the more respectable part of society towards dramatic entertainments. There are few who will not tolerate a doubtful evil for the sake of a positive good. ART. 2. Placide; a Spanish Tale. Translated from Les Battuécas of Madame de Genlis, by Alexander Jamieson. 12mo. 143 pp. Kirk & Mercein. New-York, 1817. MADAME de Genlis has seldom been gorgeous religion, and the most splendid equalled either in the amount and of the feudal monarchies, but passing, variety, or the vivacity and pathos of her, in its maturity, through a period of such writings. More than sixty octavo vo- convulsions, as to overturn the most velumes already attest her genius and in- nerable monuments of church and state,→→ dustry, and though now at a very ad- or under the influence of a religion vanced age, she continues to dispense comparatively simple; a government lithe accumulated treasures of her mind, mited, and from which the feudal traits and exercise her pen, for the instruction have principally disappeared, and during and delight of mankind. Her fellow- times of general tranquillity. Both, howcreatures still retain a claim upon her ever, are distinguished by a fine spirit of services, and a place in her sympathies; observation-a peculiarly happy talent and to rectify the principles which go- of drawing just and striking inference vern society and give elevation to the from examples, whether recorded or objects of life, still constitutes the im- contemporaneous. These endowments, portant end of her labours. Mistress of aided in both by a high degree of literary an eloquence almost as impassioned and culture, and the most advantageous inmagical as that of Rousseau, her princi- tercourse with society, have enabled them ples are pure, and her philosophy prac- to engage attention and sympathy, by tical. If search were made among the means of the interest always attached to wise women of Great Britain for a pictures of actual life and manners; and parallel to this illustrious ornament of under the guidance of an enlightened French literature, Miss Edgeworth would and kind-hearted philosophy, they have be found to resemble her most, if not both taught lessons of universal and perin the prominent features of her mind manent utility. Early in life, Madame de and her peculiar modes of feeling, at Genlis was engaged in the task of edu least in the general character of her stu- cating the children of the Duke of Ordies, her general theory of life, and the leans, and her studies being necessarily leading purpose of her writings. Madame conformed to the nature of her employde Genlis has more of romance in her ment, the whole strength of her fine incharacter-more enthusiasm in her feel- ́tellect-all her literary acquisitions, and ings, and a more poetical fancy, than Miss Edgeworth; but these differences appear to be more accidental than original and inherent-such as would be produced in the same mind according as it should be born on one or the other side of the channel-whether educated under the influence of an ancient and all the results of her experience, were united to give value to her instruction; the bright light of her genius was all reflected upon the subject of education. She has laboured for the benefit of society by addressing herself to both sexes, to the young and the old, and has adapted her lessons to the higher classes at society, on which the welfare of the whole, at least in a monarchial government, mainly depends. She has written many fictions, but not in the common way. Most novelists write merely to amuse, and endeavour only to copy, in glowing colours, indeed, and with hyperbolical proportions, the general course of life, leaving their pictures too deficient in precision of purpose to convey instruction, or operate upon conduct. But Madame de Genlis has constructed her fictions with the especial design of teaching some definite and important doctrine, either of private, or social and political morality. This has given to her writings a value far beyond the ordinary standard of fictitious productions, and elevated the writer to the rank of a moral teacher of the most interesting and influential kind. We will close these preliminary remarks with an extract from Mr. Walsh's very interesting letters on France and England, as published in the American Review of 1811. While in Paris, Mr. Walsh visited Madame de Genlis, and in the course of his account of her situation and character, he thus expresses himself. "The conversation of this lady impressed me with a high idea of her powers, and corresponded to the celebrity of her name. She appeared to me rather solemn and didactic than otherwise, and displayed much less fancy and vivacity in discourse than I was led to expect from the rich imagery, and the glowing pictures, with which her works abound. But I was still delighted with the depth and beauty of her observations on human nature; and with the rational and philosophical strain of her ideas. I could discover, at every moment, proofs of the most acute discern-. ment; of a memory uncommonly tenacious, and of a very singular faculty of description. The chief merit of her writings may, indeed, be said to consist, not so much in the flights of a vigorous imagination, as in the expression of strong feeling, and in the skill with which she discovers and exhibits the various shades, and the ridiculous points of the human character. She paints the depravity and follies of the world with a force and fidelity which lead you to suppose that she must have had for a long time some horrible models before her eyes, and retained many bitter recollections of them in her heart." The last part of the foregoing extract is fully exemplified by Placide, the book before us. The design of this work the writer has herself explained in her preVOL. 11.-No. 11. 15 face. "My object," says Madame do Genlis," was not to satirize civilization; on the contrary, my design has been to prove that heroic virtue, which is nothing but the happy exercise of a strong mind, is never to be met with where there is nothing to combat, and is never to be found but in the midst of every species of seductions, which unite to overcome and annihilate it; and, consequently, must be sought for in a state of civilization." The doctrine which Madame De Genlis has in this passage declared it her intention to enforce, is not more beautiful and elevating in theory, than it is literally true and practically important. It corresponds exactly with the metaphysical nature of man; and the conviction of its truth is precisely the conviction adapted to dispose men to the most strenuous exercise of their faculties, and the most faithful discharge of their relative duties. The consequences of such doctrines are, furthermore, favourable to the improvement of the human race, not only as they are calculated to win men from barbarism and lead them to unite in various political combinations, but also, as they are opposed to all those arbitrary principles of government which tend to exclude any portion of community from the benefits of the social compact, as well as to the monastic institutions and predominating power of the old ecclesiastical establishment of Europe. Having redeemed men. from the unconnected and sterile condition of savage life, they do not suffer them to remain stationary. Harmonizing with the versatile and progressive nature of the human mind, they accompany and accelerate the developement of its faculties, and remove the obstacles which would impede the advancement of civil society towards that ultimate perfection, which though it may not be absolutely attainable, is not, for that reason, the less to be sought after. But though the principles, and the general strain of reasoning and sentiment, in the work before us, be undoubtedly opposed to a state of indian vagrancy and unproductiveness, yet it was the specific design of the writer to support the cause of civilized, cultivated, refined, society, in opposition to a barbarism of a milder and more attractive character than that commonly understood by the term savage state; one which, though it give no scope to the high faculties of the mind, or the grand and ennobling qualities of the heart, is, nevertheless, compatible with the exercise of many gentle domestic affections, and which owes its charm, in the eyes of a superficial or misanthropic observer, to its simplicity and inpocence. Such a state of barbarism is, equally with the savage state, one of ignorance and inutility, but is more tranquil and equable: and resembles a barren, but surny hill-side, decked with a scattered and stinted vegetation, producing a few blossoms which the mildness of the climate, not the bounty of the earth, has suffered to expand, compared with some bleak and weather-beaten declivity of northern aspect, that lifts at intervals its dwarfish but sturdy growth, in despite of the inclement sky and the penurious soil. But still, though Madame de Genlis is a zealous advocate for that condition of society in which all the faculties of man may find opportunity for exercise, and which gradually extends its limits as these faculties improve, as one best suited to the dignity of the species, and the exaltation and enjoyment of the individual, she does not shut her eyes to the evils of civilization, nor by any means maintain that the present social system of Europe is modelled upon unexceptionable principles. On the contrary, she takes occasion throughout the whole work to expose whatever is unjust, pernicious, absurd, or ridiculous in that system, and to contrast its defects of principle, sentiment, and conduct, with the principles, sentiments, and conduct, which unprejudiced reason and un"perverted feeling would naturally and logically lead men to adopt and pursue. The story which the writer, has constructed for the purpose of illustrating her opinions is short and simple, but, filled with a happy selection of incidents described in perspicuous, eloquent language. The scene is laid in France and Spain, chiefly in the latter country; the period chosen commences with the sanguinary reign of Robespierre, commonly denominated the "reign of terror," and is continued down to the invasion of Spain by the troops of Napoleon Bonaparte. The narrative opens with the flight from Paris of a French nobleman, the Marquis of Palmene, and his son Adolphus, who had rendered themselves obnoxious to the Directory by the integrity of their sentiments, and the independence of their conduct. Six weeks prior to this event the Countess Auberive and her daughter Calista, to whom, on the very day of her departure, Adolphus was to have been married, had been compelled to save their lives by escaping into Spain, and it was there that the parties expected again to meet. The Marquis and his son, how ever, upon reaching Madrid, could gain no tidings of the Countess and Calista. After remaining eighteen months in Spain, the Marquis received a letter from the Baron d' Olmar, a French nobleman who had accompanied the flight of the Countess and Calista, and was a particular friend of the Marquis. "The Baron wrote that he had conducted the Countess Auberive and her daughter as far as Bayonne, under fictitious names, but bad been there separated from them by a very strange event. The day after his arrival at Bayonne he received a note from Calista, which informed him that her mother had changed her design; that she would not go into Spain, and that she had found another asylum, which, from prudential motives, she must, for the present, keep secret. The note ended with protestations of gratitude, and a promise of yet informing the Baron of their place of refuge. This note the Baron enclosed in his letter, and Adolphus knew the hand-writing. At the conclusion of his letter, the Baron added that be himself had been arrested that same day, and detained a long time in prison." After passing three months longer in anxious but vain endeavours to learn the fate of Calista, the Marquis received another letter mysteriously conveyed to him, which enclosed one for Adolphus, and which he perceived by the hand-writing of the superscription to be from Calista. This letter informed Adolphus that he would neve: be able to see her more, and that any attempt to discover her retreat would be utterly fruitless; she spoke of the unchangeable peace of her asylum, and promised to send him a letter every six months. Adolphus was unable to solve the mysterious conduct of Calista, except by supposing that she had taken the veil, and was a nun in some convent ia Portugal, or Germany, or Italy. After a residence in Spain of six years, the Marquis began to think of returning home, and arranged his affairs so as to return to his native land the following year. Adolphus had now attained his twenty-fifth year. "He was sensible, noble minded, and generous, and had tried to forget his unfortunate passion by application to study." Before they left Spain, however, the Marquis and his son resolved on completing their travels through the country which had so hospitably received and sheltered them in their exile; and, in the year eighteen hundred set out to visit those provinces with which they were yet unacquainted. On their tour they stopped at Salamanca. The host at the inn where they lodged in this city was an intelligent, shrewd man, and in his conversation he made frequent mention of a small community, in the heart of Spain, called the Battuécas. The account of this community is very interesting, and is substantially confirmed by history-Madame de Geolis assures us it is strictly true. "There exists in Spaio." says she,about fourteen leagues from Salamanca, in the diocess of Coria, in the kingdom of Leon, and about eight leagues from Cuidad-Rodrigo, a fertile valley, enclosed on all sides by a chain of enor mous rocks, forming round it a rampart, which, during centuries had rendered this retreat inaccessible. This canton is called the vale of the Battuécas. It extends itself almost a league; and during entire ages the entrance to it was truly inaccessible. The frightful and wonderful relations respecting this mysterious valley had increased without bounds as time rolled on. The shepherds of the surrounding county, and travellers who had lost their way, had seen clouds of smoke. flames, and apparitions of extraordinary figures; formidable voices had been heard to pronounce unknown words, and no doubt was entertained that this dreadful place was the abode of cruel monsters and evil-minded magicians." Indeed such terror was inspired in the neighbouring peasantry that no one ever dared attempt to explore the valley, and every spring the rectors of the country would assemble; form a solemn procession, and with songs and superstitious ceremonies, exorc'se the place, where the "prince of the power of the air," with every denomination of evil genii seemed to hold bis court. But the spot, which ignorance and fear had invested with so many terrors. was, in reality, one of the greenest and most fertile vallies in all Spain. It was inhabited by a simple people, tranquil as their valley, and ionocent as the flocks which they tended. Accident made known the actual character of the place and its inhabitants. "The Duke d'Albe, in the sixteenth century, having lost himself one day in its vicinity, with a small retinue, penetrated into the valley without knowing where he was. He admired the fertility of the place, whose approach had in it something solemn and grand. He found a pretty good number of cottages, covered with the foliage of trees, and a people mild and timid, who spoke an unknown language, and in whom his aspect seemed to inspire fear rather than curiosity. Light draperies of white skin formed L.of C. i their vestments. The girls were crowned with flowers, and the boys with green leaves; their young mothers wore in their hair garlands composed of ears of barley, symbolical of a happy fruitfulness.' This adventure of the Duke d' Albe aided the investigation of the history of the Battuécas, of which the following is what, according to Madame de Genlis, is most authentic. This small people are, supposeed by some to be the descendants of the Goths, who fled from the tyranny of the Moors; while others suppose them to be 'a remnant of the ancient Cantabrians, who had sought shelter in this retreat, where nature seemed to offer them riches sufficient for human happiness, and of that desc; iption which conquerors never yet coveted. Flocks of wild goats grazed in this enclosure, and salutary plants, and fruitful trees grew spontaneously in the valley, which was watered by indonerable springs issuing from the rocks. According to a tradition preserved among the Battućcas, towards the year one thousand and nine, the torrent o Toraes having changed its course, blocked up the only penetrable entrance to the valley, and the inhabitants lived for ages, in the bosom of Spain, strangers to their country, and separated from the rest of the world, whose very existence became problematical to them. By degrees they forgot their maternal tongue, customs which they could no longer observe, laws which had become useless to them, worship without temples, and even without priests, and their first origin. However, they preserved among themselves, by oral traditions, some ideas of a supreme being, and sentiments and customs which real savages can never be supposed to have. At the end of two or three centuries an earthquake altered, suddenly, the direction of the torrent which enclosed their asylum. The entrance of the valley, though still difficult of access, was more free; but this great event made no impression upon the Battuécas, for satisfied with their lot, they did not seek another residence. It is only our recollections, and comparisons of the transitions from an obscure situation to a brilliant destiny, that can produce in us impetuous desires, and inflame our imagination. The Battuécas had no ambition, for they had no idea of any condition superior to their own; their possessions, though limited, were suflicient for their wants. They did not imagine it was pos sible to have more dainty food than their herbs and their fruit, nor a drink more delicious than their fresh water which |
