No More Learning

Moore ! ” cried the footman at the top. And
with his glass at his eye, stumbling over an ottoman be-
tween his near-sightedness and the darkness of the room, enter
the poet. Half a glance tells you that he is at home on a carpet.
Sliding his little feet up to Lady Blessington (of whom he was
a lover when she was sixteen, and to whom some of the sweet-
est of his songs were written), he made his compliments with a
gayety and an ease, combined with a kind of worshiping defer-
ence, that was worthy of a prime minister at the court of love.
With the gentlemen, all of whom he knew, he had the frank,
merry manner of a confident favorite; and he was greeted like
He went from one to the other, straining back his head to
look up at them (for, singularly enough, every gentleman in the
room was six feet high and upward); and to every one he said
something which from anyone else would have seemed pecul-
iarly felicitous, but which fell from his lips as if his breath was
not more spontaneous.
Dinner was announced; the Russian handed down «miladi”;
and I found myself seated opposite Moore, with a blaze of light
on his Bacchus head, and the mirrors with which the superb
octagonal room is paneled reflecting every motion. To see him
only at table, you would think him not a small man. His
principal length is in his body, and his head and shoulders are
those of a much larger person. Consequently, he sits tall; and
with the peculiar erectness of head and neck, his diminutiveness
disappears.
Nothing but a short-hand report could retain the delicacy
and elegance of Moore's language; and memory itself cannot em-
body again the kind of frost-work imagery which was formed
and melted on his lips. His voice is soft or firm as the subject
requires, but perhaps the word “gentlemanly” describes it better
than any other. It is upon a natural key; but if I may so phrase
it, it is fused with a high-bred affectation, expressing deference
and courtesy at the same time that its pauses are constructed
peculiarly to catch the ear. It would be difficult not to attend
him while he is talking, though the subject were but the shape
of a wine-glass.


## p. 16004 (#350) ##########################################

16004
NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS
Moore's head is distinctly before me while I write, but I shall
find it difficult to describe. His hair, which curled once all over
it in long tendrils, unlike anybody else's in the world, and which
probably suggested his sobriquet of “Bacchus,” is diminished now
to a few curls sprinkled with gray, and scattered in a single ring
above his ears. His forehead is wrinkled, with the exception of
a most prominent development of the organ of gayety; which,
singularly enough, shines with the lustre and smooth polish of a
pearl, and is surrounded by a semicircle of lines drawn close
about it, like intrenchments against Time. His eyes still sparkle
like a champagne bubble, though the invader has drawn his pen-
cilings about the corners; and there is a kind of wintry red, of
the tinge of an October leaf, that seems enameled on his cheek,
- the eloquent record of the claret his wit has brightened. His
mouth is the most characteristic feature of all. The lips are
delicately cut, slight and changeable as an aspen; but there is a
set-up look about the upper lip, a determination of the muscle to
a particular expression, and you fancy that you can almost see wit
astride upon it. It is written legibly with the imprint of habitual
success. It is arch, confident, and half diffident, as if he were
disguising his pleasure at applause while another bright gleam
of fancy was breaking on him. The slightly tossed nose
firms the fun of the expression; and altogether it is a face that
sparkles, beams, radiates,- everything but feels. Fascinating
beyond all men as he is, Moore looks like a worldling.
This description may be supposed to have occupied the hour
after Lady Blessington retired from the table; for with her van-
ished Moore's excitement, and everybody else seemed to feel that
light had gone out of the room. Her excessive beauty is less an
inspiration than the wondrous talent with which she draws from
every person around her his peculiar excellence. Talking better
than anybody else, and narrating, particularly, with a graphic
power that I never saw excelled, this distinguished woman seems
striving only to make others unfold themselves; and never had
diffidence a more apprehensive and encouraging listener. But
this is a subject with which I should never be done.
We went up to coffee: and Moore brightened again over his
chasse-café, and went glittering on with criticisms on Grisi, the
delicious songstress now ravishing the world, whom he placed
above all but Pasta; and whom he thought, with the exception
that her legs were too short, an incomparable creature. This
con-


## p. 16005 (#351) ##########################################

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS
16005
introduced music very naturally; and with a great deal of diffi-
culty he was taken to the piano. My letter is getting long, and
I have no time to describe his singing. It is well known, how-
ever, that its effect is only equaled by the beauty of his own
words; and for one, I could have taken him into my heart with
delight. He makes no attempt at music. It is a kind of admira-
ble recitative, in which every shade of thought is syllabled and
dwelt upon; and the sentiment of the song goes through your
blood, warming you to the very eyelids, and starting your tears,
if you have soul or sense in you. I have heard of women's
fainting at a song of Moore's; and if the burden of it answered,
by chance, to a secret in the bosom of the listener, I should
think, from its comparative effect upon so old a stager as myself,
that the heart would break with it.
We all sat round the piano; and after two or three songs of
Lady Blessington's choice, he rambled over the keys awhile, and
sang When First I Met Thee,' with a pathos that beggars de-
scription. When the last word had faltered out, he rose and took
Lady Blessington's hand, said good-night, and was gone before a
word was uttered. For a full minute after he had closed the
door, no one spoke. I could have wished, for myself, to drop
silently asleep where I sat, with the tears in my eyes and the
softness upon my heart
« Here's a health to thee, Tom Moore! )
DAVID AND ABSALOM
T"
HE pall was settled. He who slept beneath
Was straightened for the grave; and as the folds
Sunk to the still proportions, they betrayed
The matchless symmetry of Absalom.
His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls
Were floating round the tassels as they swayed
To the admitted air; as glossy now,
As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing
The snowy fingers of Judea's girls.
His helm was at his feet; his banner, soiled
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid
Reversed beside him; and the jeweled hilt,


## p. 16006 (#352) ##########################################

16006
NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,
Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow.
The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier,
And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly,
As if he feared the slumberer might stir. -
A slow step startled him! He grasped his blade
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form
Of David entered, - and he gave command,
In a low tone, to his few followers,
Who left him with his dead. The king stood still
Till the last echo died; then, throwing off
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of woe:-
"Alas! my noble boy, that thou shouldst die!
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!
That death should settle in thy glorious eye,
And leave his stillness in this clustering hair!
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb,
My proud boy, Absalom !
“Cold is thy brow, my son; and I am chill,
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee.
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, -
Like a rich harpstring, — yearning to caress thee;
And hear thy sweet my father) from these dumb
And cold lips, Absalom!
(
“The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush
Of music, and the voices of the young;
And life shall pass me in the mantling blush,
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung:
But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shall come
To meet me, Absalom !
“And, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart,
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,
How will its love for thee, as I depart,
Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,
To see thee, Absalom!


## p. 16007 (#353) ##########################################

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS
16007
"And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,
With death, so like a gentle slumber, on thee;
And thy dark sin! --Oh! I could drink the cup,
If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.
May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home
My lost boy, Absalom ! »
He covered up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child; then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hand convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as if strength were given him of God
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently — and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.
DEDICATION HYMN
he perfect world by Adam trod
Was the first temple — built by God;
His fiat laid the corner-stone,
And heaved its pillars one by one.
T"
He hung its starry roof on high-
The broad illimitable sky;
He spread its pavement, green and bright,
And curtained it with morning light.
The mountains in their places stood -
The sea — the sky — and “all was good”;
And when its first pure praises rang,
The morning stars together sang.
Lord! 'tis not ours to make the sea
And earth and sky a house for thee;
But in thy sight our off'ring stands-
A humbler temple, made with hands.


## p. 16008 (#354) ##########################################

16008
NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS
ANDRÉ'S REQUEST TO WASHINGTON
I
Tis not the fear of death
That damps my brow,
It is not for another breath
I ask thee now:
I can die with a lip unstirred
And a quiet heart -
Let but this prayer be heard
Ere I depart.
I can give up my mother's look -
My sister's kiss;
I can think of love — yet brook
A death like this!
I can give up the young fame
I burned to win-
All — but the spotless name
I glory in.
-
Thine is the power to give,
Thine to deny,
Joy for the hour I live –
Calmness to die.
By all the brave should cherish,
By my dying breath,
I ask that I may perish
By a soldier's death!
THE BELFRY PIGEON
0"
N THE cross-beam under the Old South bell
The nest of a pigeon is builded well.
In summer and winter that bird is there,
Out and in with the morning air:
I love to see him track the street,
With his wary eye and active feet;
And I often watch him as he springs,
Circling the steeple with easy wings,
Till across the dial his shade has passed,
And the belfry edge is gained at last.
'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note,
And the trembling throb in its mottled throat;


## p. 16009 (#355) ##########################################

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLI6
16009
There's a human look in its swelling breast,
And the gentle curve of its lowly crest;
And I often stop with the fear I feel,
He runs so close to the rapid wheel.
Whatever is rung on that noisy bell
Chime of the hour or funeral knell -
The dove in the belfry must hear it well.
When the tongue swings out to the midnight moon,
When the sexton cheerly rings for noon,
When the clock strikes clear at morning light,
When the child is waked with nine at night,”
When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air,
Filling the spirit with tones of prayer,-
Whatever tale in the bell is heard,
He broods on his folded feet unstirred;
Or rising half in his rounded nest,
He takes the time to smooth his breast,
Then drops again with filinèd eyes,
And sleeps as the last vibration dies.
Sweet bird! I would that I could be
A hermit in the crowd like thee!
With wings to fly to wood and glen,
Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men;
And daily, with unwilling feet,
I tread like thee the crowded street:
But unlike me, when day is o'er,
Thou canst dismiss the world and soar;
Or at a half-felt wish for rest,
Canst smooth the feathers on thy breast,
And drop forgetful to thy nest.
UNSEEN SPIRITS
T".
He shadows lay along Broadway -
'Twas near the twilight-tide —
And slowly there a lady fair
Was walking in her pride.
Alone walked she; but viewlessly
Walked spirits at her side.
Peace charmed the street beneath her feet,
And Honor charmed the air:


## p. 16010 (#356) ##########################################

16010
NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS
And all astir looked kind on her,
And called her good as fair;
For all God ever gave to her
She kept with chary care.
She kept with care her beauties rare
From lovers warm and true;
For her heart was cold to all but gold,
And the rich came not to woo —
But honored well are charms to sell
If priests the selling do.
Now walking there was one more fair, -
A slight girl, lily-pale;
And she had unseen company
To make the spirit quail, -
'Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn,
And nothing could avail.
No mercy now can clear her brow
For this world's peace to pray;
For as love's wild prayer dissolved in air,
Her woman's heart gave way!
But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven
By man is cursed alway!
DAWN
“That line I learned not in the old sad song. ” — CHARLES LAMB.
T"
HROW up the window! 'Tis a morn for life
In its most subtle luxury. The air
Is like a breathing from a rarer world;
And the south wind is like a gentle friend,
Parting the hair so softly on my brow.
It has come over gardens, and the flowers
That kissed it are betrayed; for as it parts,
With its invisible fingers, my loose hair,
I know it has been trifling with the rose,
And stooping to the violet. There is joy
For all God's creatures in it. The wet leaves
Are stirring at its touch, and birds are singing
As if to breathe were music, and the grass
Sends up its modest odor with the dew,


## p. 16011 (#357) ##########################################

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS
• 16011
Like the small tribute of humility.
I had awoke from an unpleasant dream.
And light was welcome to me. I looked out
To feel the common air; and when the breath
Of the delicious morning met my brow,
Cooling its fever, and the pleasant sun
Shone on familiar objects, iť was like
The feeling of the captive, who comes forth
From darkness to the cheerful light of day.
Oh! could we wake from sorrow; were it all
A troubled dream like this, to cast aside
Like an untimely garment with the morn;
Could the long fever of the heart be cooled
By a sweet breath from nature; or the gloom
Of a bereaved affection pass away
With looking on the lively tint of flowers, -
How lightly were the spirit reconciled
To make this beautiful, bright world its home!
ASPIRATION
Extract from a poem delivered at the departure of the Senior Class of Yale
College, in 1827
W*
E SHALL go forth together. There will come
Alike the day of trial unto all,
And the rude world will buffet us alike,
Temptation hath a music for all ears;
And mad ambition trumpeteth to all;
And the ungovernable thought within
Will be in every bosom eloquent:
But when the silence and the calm come on,
And the high seal of character is set,
We shall not all be similar. The flow
Of lifetime is a graduated scale;
And deeper than the vanities of power,
Or the vain pomp of glory, there is writ
A standard measuring its worth for heaven.
The pathway to the grave may be the same;
And the proud man shall tread it, and the low
With his bowed head shall bear him company.
Decay will make no difference, and Death
With his cold hand shall make no difference;
And there will be no precedence of power,


## p. 16012 (#358) ##########################################

16012
NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS
In waking at the coming trump of God:
But in the temper of the invisible mind,
The godlike and undying intellect,
There are distinctions that will live in heaven,
When time is a forgotten circumstance!
The elevated brow of kings will lose
The impress of regalia, and the slave
Will wear his immortality as free,
Beside the crystal waters: but the depth
Of glory in the attributes of God
Will measure the capacities of mind;
And as the angels differ, will the ken
Of gifted spirits glorify him more.
It is life's mystery.
The soul of man
Createth its own destiny of power;
And as the trial is intenser here,
His being hath a nobler strength in heaven.
What is its earthly victory ? Press on!
For it hath tempted angels. Yet press on!
For it shall make you mighty among men;
And from the eyrie of your eagle thought
Ye shall look down on monarchs. Oh press on!
For the high ones and powerful shall come
To do you reverence; and the beautiful
Will know the purer language of your brow,
And read it like a talisman of love!
Press on! for it is godlike to unloose
The spirit, and forget yourself in thought;
Bending a pinion for the deeper sky,
And in the very fetters of your flesh
Mating with the pure essences of heaven!
Press on! “for in the grave there is no work,
And no device. » Press on, while yet ye may!
THE ELMS OF NEW HAVEN
Extracts from a poem delivered before the Linonian Society of Yale College
He leaves we knew
Are gone these many summers, and the winds
Have scattered them all roughly through the world;
But still, in calm and venerable strength,
THE
9


## p. 16013 (#359) ##########################################

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS
16013
The old stems lift their burthens up to heaven,
And the young leaves, to the same pleasant tune,
Drink in the light, and strengthen, and grow fair.
The shadows have the same cool, emerald air;
And prodigal as ever is the breeze,
Distributing the verdures temperate balm.
The trees are sweet to us. The outcry strong
Of the long-wandering and returning heart,
Is for the thing least changed. A stone unturned
Is sweeter than a strange or altered face;
A tree that flings its shadow as of yore
Will make the blood stir sometimes, when the words
Of a long-looked-for lip fall icy cold.
Ye who in this Academy of shade
Dreamt out the scholar's dream, and then away
On troubled seas went voyaging with Care,
But hail to-day the well-remembered haven,-
Ye who at memory's trumpet-call have stayed
The struggling foot of life, the warring hand,
And, weary of the strife, come back to see
The green tent where your harness was put on,-
Say, when you trod the shadowy street this morn,
Leapt not your heart up to the glorious trees?
Say, was it only to my sleep they came
The angels, who to these remembered trees
Brought me back, ever? I have come, in dream,
From many a far land, many a brighter sky,
And trod these dappled shadows till the morn.
From every Gothic isle my heart fled home;
From every groined roof, and pointed arch,
To find its type in emerald beauty here.
The moon we worshiped through this trembling veil,
In other heavens seemed garish and unclad.
The stars that burned to us through whispering leaves,
Stood cold and silently in other skies.
Stiller seemed alway here the holy dawn
Hushed by the breathless silence of the trees:
And who that ever, on a Sabbath morn,
Sent through this leafy roof a prayer to heaven,
And when the sweet bells burst upon the air,
Saw the leaves quiver, and the flecks of light
Leap like caressing angels to the feet
Of the church-going multitude, but felt
That here God's day was holier — that the trees,


## p. 16014 (#360) ##########################################

16014
NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS
Pierced by these shining spires, and echoing ever
« To prayer! ) « To prayer! ) were but the lofty roof
Of an unhewn cathedral, in whose choirs
Breezes and storm-winds, and the many birds
Joined in the varied anthem; and that so,
Resting their breasts upon these bending limbs,
Closer and readier to our need they lay,-
The spirits who keep watch 'twixt us and heaven.
LINES ON THE BURIAL OF THE CHAMPION OF HIS CLASS AT
YALE COLLEGE
Y"
E've gathered to your place of prayer
With slow and measured tread:
Your ranks are full, your mates all there,
But the soul of one has fied.
He was the proudest in his strength,
The manliest of ye all :
Why lies he at that fearful length,
And ye around his pall ?
Ye reckon it in days, since he
Strode up that foot-worn aisle,
With his dark eye flashing gloriously,
And his lip wreathed with a smile.
Oh, had it been but told you then
To mark whose lamp was dim,
From out yon rank of fresh-lipped men,
Would ye have singled him ?
Whose was the sinewy arm, that Aung
Defiance to the ring?
Whose laugh of victory loudest rung-
Yet not for glorying?
Whose heart, in generous deed and thought,
No rivalry might brook,
And yet distinction claiming not?
There lies he-go and look!
On, now,-- his requiem is done,
The last deep prayer is said;
On to his burial, comrades, on,
With the noblest of the dead!


## p. 16015 (#361) ##########################################

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS
16015
Slow, for it presses heavily,-
It is a man ye bear!
Slow, for our thoughts dwell wearily
On the noble sleeper there.
Tread lightly, comrades! we have laid
His dark locks on his brow;
Like life — save deeper light and shade:
We'll not disturb them now.
Tread lightly; for 'tis beautiful,
That blue-veined eyelid's sleep,
Hiding the eye death left so dull,-
Its slumber we will keep.
Rest now! his journeying is done,
Your feet are on his sod,
Death's chain is on your champion, -
He waiteth here his God.
Ay, turn and weep: 'tis manliness
To be heart-broken here,
For the grave of earth's best nobleness
Is watered by the tear.
LOVE IN A COTTAGE
THES
HEY may talk of love in a cottage,
And bowers of trellised vine,
Of nature bewitchingly simple,
And milkmaids half divine;
They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping
In the shade of a spreading tree,
And a walk in the fields at morning,
By the side of a footstep free!
But give me a sly firtation
By the light of a chandelier-
With music to play in the pauses,
And nobody very near;
Or a seat on a silken sofa,
With a glass of pure old wine,
And mamma too blind to discover
The small white hand in mine.


## p. 16016 (#362) ##########################################

11016
NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS
Your love in a cottage is hungry;
Your vine is a nest for flies;
Your inilkmaid shocks the Graces,
And simplicity talks of pies!
You lie down to your shady slumber
And wake with a bug in your ear,
And your damsel that walks in the morning
Is shod like a mountaineer.
True love is at home on a carpet,
And mightily likes his ease;
And true love has an eye for a dinner,
And starves beneath shady trees.
His wing is the fan of a lady;
His foot's an invisible thing:
And his arrow is tipped with a jewel,
And shot from a silver string.


## p. 16017 (#363) ##########################################

16017
ALEXANDER WILSON
(1766-1813)
BY SPENCER TROTTER
love of nature is a deep-planted human instinct that finds ex-
pression in the literature of every people.
It is the same
vital interest that runs alike through the lines of the poet's
verse and the glowing prose narrative of the naturalist.
The poet
and the naturalist are often united in the same individual; and it
takes only some circumstance of environment to throw the balance
in favor of one or the other of these facul-
ties.
Alexander Wilson, the Paisley Weaver,
was a poet, who through force of circum-
stances became the Father of American
Ornithology. ” He was only one of the
minor stars in 'the heaven of Scotland's
Makers. ” Not to be named with Ramsay,
or Burns, or Nicoll, he yet holds a place
with Tannahill and Nicholson, William Ten-
nant, and other of the lesser poets.
Wilson was born of honest though lowly
parents, on the 6th of July, 1766, in the
town of Paisley, Scotland. During his ALEXANDER Wilson
childhood his father thought to fit him for
a learned profession; and accordingly he was placed with a Mr. Bar-
las, a student of divinity, whose influence undoubtedly developed in
the lad a love for things literary. His mother's death, his father's
second marriage and increasing family, prevented the furtherance of
his studies; and by his own request he was, at the age of thirteen,
bound as a weaver apprentice to William Duncan of Paisley. Later
we find him a journeyman weaver, but all the while brooding over
his inability to lead a life of study. He indulged his fancy in fre-
quent rambles through the woodlands, and along the banks of the
Calder, in the delights of which his poetic nature found a solace.
Many poems and fugitive verses written about this time are full
of the rustic scenes and the life of the simple folk among whom he
dwelt. For a time he worked at the loom again with a Mr. Brodie,
XXVII-1002



## p. 16018 (#364) ##########################################

16018
ALEXANDER WILSON
a man of some attainment in learning, whose friendly influence con-
firmed Wilson's love for study. During these years he wandered
over the country, gun in hand, and acquired that habit of accurate
observation which went far toward his future career as the Pioneer
Ornithologist of America.
Discouraged with his failure to succeed at home, the poet-weaver
embarked for the New World, and arrived at New Castle, Delaware,
in July 1794.
The vicissitudes of the new life threw Wilson into
various occupations, - peddler, copper-plate printer, and schoolmaster.
It was while teaching at Kingsessing, near Philadelphia, that he
formed the lifelong friendship with William Bartram the botanist,
whose beautiful garden home stood near by on the western bank of
the Schuylkill. The love of birds, which had always been a source
of delight to Wilson, was fostered by this friendship; and the naturalist
side of his nature was awakened.
Through the advice and encouragement of his friend Lawson the
engraver, he learned to draw, though past his fortieth year; and the
making of an American Ornithology became the passion of his life.
The shadow of melancholy that so persistently followed him was
largely dispelled by his enthusiasm in the pursuit of this new study.
Across the mountains; navigating the hio in a small boat; wan-
dering alone through the wilderness of forest and swamp; sleeping
under the stars or in the rude cabin of the settler,- the first Ameri-
can ornithologist sought, studied, and drew the birds of the Western
World. Some of his letters descriptive of the wild frontier read like
a romance. Many a hitherto unknown bird was described and por-
trayed through his indefatigable zeal.
Before the completion of his
last volume Wilson fell ill, as a result of exposure in the pursuit
of some rare bird, and died at Philadelphia, August 23d, 1813. His
remains lie in the church-yard of Gloria Dei, - Old Swede's Church, -
Philadelphia. His work is his monument.
Wilson's life and writings will always appeal to the general reader.
Even to the ornithologist, the personality of the man and the vitality
of his work are the chief charms. The poem on the (Fish-Hawk)
is full of the strong, fresh breeze and local color of the beaches, and
that on "The Bluebird'— «Wilson's Bluebird ” — breathes of the free,
open air of the country-side.
n
-
Theneid
Sitte,


## p. 16019 (#365) ##########################################

ALEXANDER WILSON
16019
THE BLUEBIRD
From American Ornithology)
T"
>
He usual spring and summer song of the bluebird is a soft,
agreeable, and oft-repeated warble, uttered with open quiv-
ering wings; and is extremely pleasing. In his motions and
general character he has great resemblance to the robin-redbreast
of Britain; and had he the brown-olive of that bird, instead of
his own blue, could scarcely be distinguished from him. Like
him, he is known to almost every child; and shows as much con-
fidence in man by associating with him in summer, as the other
by his familiarity in winter. He is also of a mild and peaceful
disposition, seldom fighting or quarreling with other birds. His
society is courted by the inhabitants of the country; and few
farmers neglect to provide for him, in some suitable place, a snug
little summer-house, ready-fitted and rent-free. For this he more
than sufficiently repays them by the cheerfulness of his song,
and the multitude of injurious insects which he daily destroys.
Towards fall (that is, in the month of October) his song changes
to a single plaintive note, as he passes over the yellow, many-
colored woods; and its melancholy air recalls to our minds the
approaching decay of the face of nature. Even after the trees
are stript of their leaves, he still lingers over his native fields, as
if loath to leave them. About the middle or end of November,
few or none of them are seen; but with every return of mild
and open weather, we hear his plaintive note amidst the fields
or in the air, seeming to deplore the devastations of winter. In.
deed, he appears scarcely ever totally to forsake us, but to follow
fair weather through all its journeyings till the return of spring.
Such are the mild and pleasing manners of the bluebird; and
so universally is he esteemed that I have often regretted that
no pastoral Muse has yet arisen in this western woody world, to
do justice to his name, and to endear him to us still more by
the tenderness of verse, as has been done to his representative
in Britain, the robin-redbreast. A small acknowledgment of this
kind I have to offer, which the reader I hope will excuse as a
tribute to rural innocence.
When winter's cold tempests and snows are no more,
Green meadows and brown furrowed fields reappearing,
The fishermen hauling their shad to the shore,
And cloud-cleaving geese to the lakes are a-steering;


## p. 16020 (#366) ##########################################

16020
ALEXANDER WILSON
When first the lone butterfly Aits on the wing,
When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing,
Oh then comes the bluebird, the herald of spring!
And hails with his warblings the charms of the season.
Then loud-piping frogs make the marshes to ring;
Then warm glows the sunshine, and fine is the weather;
The blue woodland flowers just beginning to spring,
And spicewood and sassafras budding together:
Oh then to your gardens, ye housewives, repair;
Your walks border up, sow and plant at your leisure:
The bluebird will chant from his box such an air,
That all your hard toils will seem truly a pleasure!
He Aits through the orchard, he visits each tree,
The red flowering peach, and the apple's sweet blossoms;
He snaps up destroyers wherever they be,
And seizes the caitiffs that lurk in their bosoms;
He drags the vile grub from the corn it devours,
The worms from the webs, where they riot and welter:
His song and his services freely are ours,
And all that he asks is — in summer a shelter.
The plowman is pleased when he gleans in his train,
Now searching the furrows, now mounting to cheer him;
The gardener delights in his sweet, simple strain,
And leans on his spade to survey and to hear him;
The slow lingering schoolboys forget they'll be chid,
While gazing intent as he warbles before them
· In mantle of sky-blue, and bosom so red,
That each little loiterer seems to adore him.
When all the gay scenes of the summer are o'er,
And autumn slow enters so silent and sallow,
And millions of warblers, that charmed us before,
Have fled in the train of the sun-seeking swallow,-
The bluebird, forsaken, yet true to his home,
Still lingers, and looks for a milder to-morrow;
Till, forced by the horrors of winter to roam,
He sings his adieu in a lone note of sorrow.
While spring's lovely season, serene, dewy, warm,-
The green face of earth, and the pure blue of heaven,
Or love's native music have influence to charm,
Or sympathy's glow to our feelings is given,-


## p. 16021 (#367) ##########################################

ALEXANDER WILSON
16021
Still dear to each bosom the bluebird shall be:
His voice, like the thrillings of hope, is a treasure;
For, through bleakest storms, if a calm he but see,
He comes to remind us of sunshine and pleasure!
The bluebird, in summer and fall, is fond of frequenting open
pasture-fields; and there, perching on the stalks of the great mul-
lein, to look out for passing insects. A whole family of them
are often seen thus situated, as if receiving lessons of dexterity
from their more expert parents, who can espy a beetle crawling
among the grass at a considerable distance; and after feeding
on it, instantly resume their former position. But whoever in-
formed Dr. Latham that “This bird is never seen on trees, though
it makes its nest in the holes of them,” might as well have said
that the Americans are never seen in the streets, though they
build their houses by the sides of them. For what is there in
the construction of the feet and claws of this bird to prevent it
from perching? Or what sight more common to an inhabitant
of this country than the bluebird perched on the top of a peach
or apple tree; or among the branches of those reverend broad-
armed chestnut trees, that stand alone in the middle of our fields,
bleached by the rains and blasts of ages ?
THE WILD PIGEON
From An
rican Ornithology)
The
His remarkable bird merits a distinguished place in the annals
of our feathered tribes,- a claim to which I shall endeavor
to do justice; and though it would be impossible, in the
bounds allotted to this account, to relate all I have seen and
heard of this species, yet no circumstance shall be omitted with
which I am acquainted (however extraordinary some of these may
appear) that may tend to illustrate its history.
The wild pigeon of the United States inhabits a wide and
extensive region of North America on this side of the Great
Stony Mountains; beyond which, to the westward, I have not
heard of their being seen. According to Mr. Hutchins, they
abound in the country round Hudson's Bay, where they usually
remain as late as December; feeding, when the ground is covered
with snow, on the buds of juniper. They spread over the whole
of Canada; were seen by Captain Lewis and his party near the
>


## p. 16022 (#368) ##########################################

16022
ALEXANDER WILSON
Great Falls of the Missouri, upwards of 2,500 miles from its
mouth, reckoning the meanderings of the river; were also met
with in the interior of Louisiana by Colonel Pike; and extended
their range as far south as the Gulf of Mexico; occasionally vis-
iting or breeding in almost every quarter of the United States.
But the most remarkable characteristic of these birds is their
associating together — both in their migrations, and also during
the period of incubation - in such prodigious numbers as almost
to surpass belief; and which has no parallel among any other of
the feathered tribes on the face of the earth, with which natur-
alists are acquainted.
These migrations appear to be undertaken rather in quest of
food than merely to avoid the cold of the climate: since we find
them lingering in the northern regions, around Hudson's Bay,
so late as December; and since their appearance is so casual
and irregular, sometimes not visiting certain districts for several
years in any considerable numbers, while at other times they are
innumerable. I have witnessed these migrations in the Genesee
country, often in Pennsylvania, and also in various parts of Vir-
ginia, with amazement; but all that I had then seen of them
were mere straggling parties when compared with the congre-
gated millions which I have since beheld in our western forests,
- in the States of Ohio, Kentucky, and the Indiana Territory.
These fertile and extensive regions abound with the nutritious
beech-nut, which constitutes the chief food of the wild pigeon.
In seasons when these nuts are abundant, corresponding multi-
tudes of pigeons may be confidently expected. It sometimes hap-
pens that having consumed the whole produce of the beech-trees
in an extensive district, they discover another, at the distance
perhaps of sixty or eighty miles; to which they regularly repair
every morning, and return as regularly in the course of the day
or in the evening to their place of general rendezvous,- or as
it is usually called, the roosting-place. These roosting-places are
always in the woods, and sometimes occupy a large extent of for-
est. When they have frequented one of these places for some
time, the appearance it exhibits is surprising. The ground is
covered to the depth of several inches with their dung: all the
tender grass and underwood destroyed; the surface strewed with
large limbs of trees, broken down by the weight of the birds
clustering one above another; and the trees themselves, for thou-
sands of acres, killed as completely as if girdled with an
axe.


## p. 16023 (#369) ##########################################

ALEXANDER WILSON
16023
was
The marks of this desolation remain for many years on the spot;
and numerous places could be pointed out, where for several
years after, scarce a single vegetable made its appearance.
When these roosts are first discovered, the inhabitants from
considerable distances visit them in the night, with guns, clubs,
long poles, pots of sulphur, and various other engines of destruc-
tion. In a few hours they fill many sacks, and load their horses
with them. By the Indians, a pigeon roost or breeding-place is
considered an important source of national profit and dependence
for that season; and all their active ingenuity is exercised on
the occasion, The breeding-place differs from the former in its
greater extent. In the western countries above mentioned, these
are generally in beech woods, and often extend in nearly a
straight line across the country for a great way. Not far from
Shelbyville in the State of Kentucky, about five years ago, there
one of these breeding-places which stretched through the
woods in nearly a north and south direction, was several miles
in breadth, and was said to be upwards of forty miles in ex-
tent! In this tract, almost every tree was furnished with nests,
wherever the branches could accommodate them. The pigeons
made their first appearance there about the oth of April, and
left it altogether, with their young, before the 25th of May.
As soon as the young were fully grown, and before they left
the nests, numerous parties of the inhabitants from all parts
of the adjacent country came with wagons, axes, beds, cooking
utensils,— many of them accompanied by the greater part of
their families, -and encamped for several days at this immense
nursery. Several of them informed me that the noise in the
woods was so great as to terrify their horses, and that it was
difficult for one person to hear another speak without bawling in
his ear.
The ground was strewed with broken limbs of trees,
eggs, and young squab-pigeons, which had been precipitated from
above, and on which herds of hogs were fattening. Hawks, buz-
zards, and eagles were sailing about in great numbers, and seiz-
ing the squabs from their nests at pleasure; while from twenty
feet upwards to the tops of the trees, the view through the
woods presented a perpetual tumult of crowding and fluttering
multitudes of pigeons, their wings roaring like thunder, mingled
with the frequent crash of falling timber: for now the axemen
were at work, cutting down those trees that seemed to be most
crowded with nests, and contrived to fell them in such a manner


## p. 16024 (#370) ##########################################

16024
ALEXANDER WILSON
that in their descent they might bring down several others; by
which means the falling of one large tree sometimes produced
two hundred squabs, little inferior in size to the old ones, and
almost one mass of fat. On some single trees, upwards of one
hundred nests were found, each containing one young only; a
circumstance in the history of this bird not generally known to
naturalists. It was dangerous to walk under these flying and
fluttering millions, from the frequent fall of large branches,
broken down by the weight of the multitudes above, and which
in their descent often destroyed numbers of the birds them-
selves; while the clothes of those engaged in traversing the
woods were completely covered with the excrements of the
pigeons.
These circumstances were related to me by many of the most
respectable part of the community in that quarter; and were
confirmed, in part, by what I myself witnessed. I passed for
several miles through this same breeding-place, where every tree
was spotted with nests, the remains of those above described. In
many instances, I counted upwards of ninety nests on a single
tree; but the pigeons had abandoned this place for another, sixty
or eighty miles off towards Green River, where they were said at
that time to be equally numerous. From the great numbers that
were constantly passing overhead to or from that quarter, I had
no doubt of the truth of this statement. The mast had been
chiefly consumed in Kentucky; and the pigeons, every morning
a little before sunrise, set out for the Indiana Territory, the
nearest part of which was about sixty miles distant. Many of
these returned before ten o'clock; and the great body generally
appeared, on their return, a little after noon.
I had left the public road to visit the remains of the breeding-
place near Shelbyville, and was traversing the woods with my gun
on my way to Frankfort, when about one o'clock, the pigeons,
which I had observed Aying the greater part of the morning
northerly, began to return in such immense numbers as I never
before had witnessed. Coming to an opening by the side of a
creek called the Benson, where I had a more uninterrupted view,
I was astonished at their appearance. They were flying with
great steadiness and rapidity at a height beyond gunshot, in
several strata deep; and so close together that could shot have
reached them, one discharge could not have failed of bringing
down several individuals. From right to left, as far as the eye


## p. 16025 (#371) ##########################################

ALEXANDER WILSON
16025
could reach, the breadth of this vast procession extended, seeming
everywhere equally crowded. Curious to determine how long this
appearance would continue, I took out my watch to note the
time, and sat down to observe them. It was then half-past one.
I sat for more than an hour, but instead of a diminution of this
prodigious procession, it seemed rather to increase both in num-
bers and rapidity; and anxious to reach Frankfort before night,
I rose and went on. About four o'clock in the afternoon I crossed
the Kentucky River, at the town of Frankfort, at which time the
living torrent above my head seemed as numerous and as extens-
ive as ever. Long after this I observed them in large bodies,
that continued to pass for six or eight minutes, and these again
were followed by other detached bodies, all moving in the same
southeast direction till after six in the evening. The great breadth
of front which this mighty multitude preserved, would seem to
intimate a corresponding breadth of their breeding-place; which,
by several gentlemen who had lately passed through part of it,
was stated to me at several miles. It was said to be in Green
County, and that the young began to fly about the middle of
March. On the 17th of April, forty-nine miles beyond Danville,
and not far from Green River, I crossed this same breeding-
place; where the nests, for more than three miles, spotted every
tree: the leaves not being yet out, I had a fair prospect of them,
and was really astonished at their numbers. A few bodies of
pigeons lingered yet in different parts of the woods, the roaring
of whose wings was heard in various quarters around me.
All accounts agree in stating that each nest contains only
one young squab. These are so extremely fat that the Indians,
and many of the whites, are accustomed to melt down the fat
for domestic purposes, as a substitute for butter and lard. At
the time they leave the nest they are nearly as heavy as the old
ones; but become much leaner after they are turned out to shift
for themselves.
It is universally asserted in the western countries that the
pigeons, though they have only one young at a time, breed thrice,
and sometimes four times, in the same season: the circumstances
already mentioned render this highly probable. It is also worthy
of observation that this takes place during that period when
acorns, beech-nuts, etc. , are scattered about in the greatest abund-
ance, and mellowed by the frost. But they are not confined to
these alone: buckwheat, hempseed, Indian corn, holly-berries,


## p. 16026 (#372) ##########################################

16026
ALEXANDER WILSON
hackberries, huckleberries, and many others, furnish them with
abundance at almost all seasons. The acorns of the live-oak are
also eagerly sought after by these birds; and rice has been fre-
quently found in individuals killed many hundred miles to the
northward of the nearest rice plantation. The vast quantity of
mast which these multitudes consume is a serious loss to the
bears, pigs, squirrels, and other dependents on the fruits of the
forest. I have taken, from the crop of a single wild pigeon, a
good handful of the kernels of beech-nuts, intermixed with acorns
and chestnuts.
To form a rough estimate of the daily consumption of one of
these immense flocks, let us first attempt to calculate the num-
bers of that above mentioned, as seen in passing between Frank-
fort and the Indiana Territory. If we suppose this column to
have been one mile in breadth (and I believe it to have been
much more), and that it moved at the rate of one mile in a
minute, - four hours, the time it continued passing, would make
its whole length two hundred and forty miles. Again, supposing
that each square yard of this moving body comprehended three
pigeons, the square yards in the whole space, multiplied by
three, would give 2,2 30, 272,000 pigeons! — an almost inconceiv-
able multitude, and yet probably far below the actual amount.
Computing each of these to consume half a pint of mast daily,
the whole quantity at this rate would equal 17,424,000 bushels
per day! Heaven has wisely and graciously given to these birds
rapidity of flight, and a disposition to range over vast unculti-
vated tracts of the earth; otherwise they must have perished in
the districts where they resided, or devoured up the whole pro-
ductions of agriculture, as well as those of the forests.
A few observations on the mode of flight of these birds must
not be omitted: The appearance of large detached bodies of
them in air, and the various evolutions they display, are strik-
ingly picturesque and interesting. In descending the Ohio by
inyself in the month of February, I often rested on my oars
to contemplate their aerial maneuvres. A column eight or ten
miles in length would appear from Kentucky, high in air, steer-
ing across to Indiana, The leaders of this great body would
sometimes gradually vary their course, until it formed a large
bend of more than a mile in diameter, those behind tracing the
exact route of their predecessors. This would continue some-
times long after both extremities were beyond the reach of sight;
9


## p. 16027 (#373) ##########################################

ALEXANDER WILSON
16027
so that the whole, with its glittery undulations, marked a space
on the face of the heavens resembling the windings of a vast
and majestic river. When this bend became very great, the birds,
as if sensible of the unnecessary circuitous course they were tak-
ing, suddenly changed their direction; so that what was in column
before became an immense front, straightening all its indentures
until it swept the heavens in one vast and infinitely extended
line. Other lesser bodies also united with each other as they
happened to approach, with such ease and elegance of evolution,
forming new figures, and varying these as they united or sepa-
rated, that I was never tired of contemplating them. Sometimes
a hawk would make a sweep on a particular part of the column,
from a great height, when almost as quick as lightning that part
shot downwards out of the common track; but soon rising again,
continued advancing at the same height as before. This inflec-
.
tion was continued by those behind, who on arriving at this point
dived down almost perpendicularly to a great depth, and rising,
followed the exact path of those that went before. As these
vast bodies passed over the river near me, the surface of the
water, which was before smooth as glass, appeared marked with
innumerable dimples, occasioned by the dropping of their dung,
resembling the commencement of a shower of large drops of rain
or hail.
Happening to go ashore one charming afternoon to purchase
some milk at a house that stood near the river, and while talking
with the people within doors, I was suddenly struck with aston-
ishment at a loud rushing roar, succeeded by instant darkness;
which on the first moment I took for a tornado, about to over-
whelm the house and everything around in destruction. The peo-
ple, observing my surprise, coolly said, “It is only the pigeons; ”
and on running out, I beheld a flock thirty or forty yards in
width sweeping along very low, between the house and the
mountain or height that formed the second bank of the river.
These continued passing for more than a quarter of an hour, and
at length varied their bearing so as to pass over the mountain,
behind which they disappeared before the rear came up.
In the Atlantic States, though they never appear in such
unparalleled multitudes, they are sometimes very numerous; and
great havoc is then made amongst them with the gun, the clap-
net, and various other implements of destruction. As soon as it
is ascertained in a town that the pigeons are flying numerously
)


## p. 16028 (#374) ##########################################

16028
ALEXANDER WILSON
in the neighborhood, the gunners rise en masse; the clap-nets are
spread out on suitable situations, commonly on an open height
in an old buckwheat field; four or five live pigeons, with their
eyelids sewed up, are fastened on a movable stick; a small hut
of branches is fitted up for the fowler, at the distance of forty
or fifty yards; by the pulling of a string, the stick on which the
pigeons rest is alternately elevated and depressed, which produces
a fluttering of their wings similar to that of birds just alighting;
this being perceived by the passing flocks, they descend with
great rapidity, and finding corn, buckwheat, etc. , strewed about,
begin to feed, and are instantly, by the pulling of a cord, covered
by the net. In this manner ten, twenty, and even thirty dozen
have been caught at one sweep.
Meantime the air is darkened
with large bodies of them, moving in various directions; the
woods also swarm with them in search of acorns; and the thun-
dering of musketry is perpetual on all sides from morning to
night. Wagon-loads of them are poured into market, where they
sell from fifty to twenty-five, and even twelve cents, per dozen;
and pigeons become the order of the day at dinner, breakfast,
and supper, until the very name becomes sickening. When they
have been kept alive, and fed for some time on corn and buck-
wheat, their flesh acquires great superiority; but in their common
state they are dry and blackish, and far inferior to the full-grown
young ones or squabs.
The nest of the wild pigeon is formed of a few dry slender
twigs carelessly put together, and with so little concavity that
the young one, when half grown, can easily be seen from below.
The eggs are pure white. Great numbers of hawks, and some-
times the bald eagle himself, hover about those breeding-places,
and seize the old or the young from the nest amidst the rising
multitudes, and with the most daring effrontery. The young,
when beginning to fly, confine themselves to the under part
of the tall woods, where there is no brush, and where nuts and
acorns are abundant, searching among the leaves for mast; and
appear like a prodigious torrent rolling along through the woods,
every one striving to be in the front. Vast numbers of them
are shot while in this situation. A person told me that he once
rode furiously into one of these rolling multitudes, and picked up
thirteen pigeons which had been trampled to death by his horse's
feet. In a few minutes they will beat the whole nuts from a
tree with their wings, while all is a scramble both above and


## p. 16029 (#375) ##########################################

ALEXANDER WILSON
16029
below for the same. They have the same cooing notes common
to domestic pigeons, but much less of their gesticulations. In
some flocks you will find nothing but young ones, which are
easily distinguishable by their motley dress. In others they will
be mostly females; and again great multitudes of males with
few or no females. I cannot account for this in any other way
than that, during the time of incubation, the males are exclusively
engaged in procuring food, both for themselves and their mates;
and the young, being unable yet to undertake these extensive
excursions, associate together accordingly. But even in winter I
know of several species of birds who separate in this manner;
particularly the red-winged starling, among whom thousands of
old males may be found, with few or no young or females along
with them.
Stragglers from these immense armies settle in almost every
part of the country, particularly among the beech woods, and in
the pine and hemlock woods of the eastern and northern parts
of the continent. Mr. Pennant informs us that they breed near
Moose Fort at Hudson's Bay, in N. lat. 51°; and I myself have
seen the remains of a large breeding-place as far south as the
country of the Chactaws, in lat. 32°. In the former of these
places they are said to remain until December: from which cir-
cumstance it is evident that they are not regular in their migra-
tions, like many other species, but rove about, as scarcity of food
urges them. Every spring, however, as well as fall, more
less of them are seen in the neighborhood of Philadelphia; but
it is only once in several years that they appear in such formida-
ble bodies; and this commonly when the snows are heavy to the
north, the winter here more than usually mild, and acorns, etc. ,
abundant.
The passenger pigeon is sixteen inches long, and twenty-four
inches in extent; bill, black; nostril, covered by a high rounding
protuberance; eye, brilliant fiery orange; orbit, or space sur-
rounding it, purplish flesh-colored skin; head, upper part of the
neck, and chin, a fine slate-blue, lightest on the chin; throat,
breast, and sides, as far as the thighs, a reddish hazel; lower
part of the neck, and sides of the same, resplendent changeable
gold, green, and purplish crimson,- the latter most predominant;
the ground color slate; the plumage of this part is of a peculiar
structure, ragged at the ends; belly and vent, white; lower part
or


## p. 16030 (#376) ##########################################

16030
ALEXANDER WILSON
of the breast, fading into a pale vinaceous red; thighs, the same;
legs and feet, lake, seamed with white; back, rump, and tail
coverts, dark slate, spotted on the shoulders with a few scattered
marks of black; the scapulars, tinged with brown; greater cov-
erts, light slate; primaries and secondaries, dull black, the former
tipped and edged with brownish white; tail, long, and greatly
cuneiform, all the feathers tapering towards the point, the two
middle ones plain deep black, the other five on each side hoary
white, lightest near the tips, deepening into bluish near the
bases, where each is crossed on the inner vane with a broad
spot of black, and nearer the root with another of ferruginous;
primaries, edged with white; bastard wing, black.
The female is about half an inch shorter, and an inch less in
extent; breast, cinereous brown; upper part of the neck, inclining
to ash; the spot of changeable gold, green, and carmine, much
less, and not so brilliant; tail coverts, brownish slate; naked
orbits, slate-colored; in all other respects like the male in color,
but less vivid, and more tinged with brown; the eye not so brill-
iant an orange. In both, the tail has only twelve feathers.
THE FISH-HAWK, OR OSPREY
T**
He regular arrival of this noted bird at the vernal equinox,
when the busy season of fishing commences, adds peculiar
interest to its first appearance, and
procures it
many a
benediction from the fishermen. With the following lines, illus-
trative of these circumstances, I shall conclude its history:-
Soon as the sun, great ruler of the year,
Bends to our northern clime his bright career,
And from the caves of ocean calls from sleep
The finny shoals and myriads of the deep;
When freezing tempests back to Greenland ride,
And day and night the equal hours divide:
True to the season, o'er our sea-beat shore,
The sailing osprey high is seen to soar,
With broad unmoving wing, and circling slow,
Marks each loose straggler in the deep below;
Sweeps down like lightning, plunges with a roar,
And bears his struggling victim to the shore.
.


## p. 16031 (#377) ##########################################

ALEXANDER WILSON
16031
The long-housed fisherman beholds with joy,
The well-known signals of his rough employ;
And as he bears his nets and oars along,
Thus hails the welcome season with a song:-
THE FISHERMAN'S HYMN
The osprey sails above the Sound,
The geese are gone, the gulls are flying;
The herring-shoals swarm thick around,
The nets are launched, the boats are plying.
Yo ho, my hearts! let's seek the deep,
Raise high the song, and cheerly wish her,
Still as the bending net we sweep, -
«God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher ! »
Şhe brings us fish — she brings us spring,
Good times, fair weather, warmth and plenty;
Fine store of shad, trout, herring, ling,
Sheep's-head and drum, and old-wives dainty.
Yo ho, my hearts! let's seek the deep,
Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her,
Still as the bending net we sweep, —
«God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher ! »
»
She rears her young on yonder tree,
She leaves her faithful mate to mind 'em;
Like us, for fish she sails the sea,
And plunging, shows us where to find 'em.
Yo ho, my hearts! let's seek the deep,
Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her,
While slow the bending net we sweep,-
“God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher! )


## p. 16032 (#378) ##########################################

16032
JOHN WILSON
(1785-1854)
OHN WILSON was one of those men whose attractive and
striking personality makes it difficult to disassociate them
from their work. Of marked individuality and leonine pres-
ence, he was a large figure in the social and intellectual circles of
Edinburgh, a power in the life as well as literature of his period.
His faults were those of a big-souled man, who gave himself prodi-
gally and covered too wide an area. As one of his editors, Mr. John
Skelton, remarks, he needed concentration. Had the tree been thor-
oughly pruned, the fruit would have been
larger and richer. » His merits, weighed
now in the more impartial scales of a
later day, are felt to be distinct. To ex-
press Christopher North in metaphor, one
would call him a literary "Jupiter tonans. ”
He possessed a sort of dynamic energy,
and breathed out a wholesome atmosphere,
as of the sea or hills. This influence was
noticeable whether in the intercourse of so-
ciety, the class-room lecture, or the breezy
deliverances of the Noctes Ambrosianæ
as they appeared in Blackwood. The sheer
John Wilson animal spirits of those famous papers would
alone carry them into favor; and they pos-
sess besides, abundance of wit and humor, of felicitous description
and keen characterization, of wisdom and poetry. They constitute a
solid monument to their writer, independent, in the main lines, of
much that is local and temporary in the construction.
John Wilson was the son of a rich manufacturer in Paisley,
Scotland, where John was born May 18th, 1785. He was educated at
the University of Glasgow, and at Oxford, winning the Newdigate
Prize for poetry there. His degree was secured in 1807. He bought
soon thereafter an estate on Lake Windermere in the Westmoreland
country, so rich in literary associations; and for some years was an
intimate of Wordsworth, Southey, and Coleridge. It was in this



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JOHN WILSON
16033
environment that his poem “The Isle of Palms) was published, in
1812. He removed to Edinburgh in 1815, and was admitted to the
bar. The next year appeared the dramatic poem “The City of the
Plague. ' Blackwood's Magazine was founded in 1812, and Wilson
became at once a valued contributor. The fact that he was elected
in 1820 Professor of Morals at the university — defeating Sir William
Hamilton, who was also a candidate — testifies to the high rating of
him as man and scholar. From this throne Professor Wilson spoke
or used his pen for many years.
A number of tales and sketches are aside from what brought him
his more permanent reputation. Such are - Lights and Shadows of
Scottish Life' (1822), «The Trials of Margaret Lindsay' (1823), “The
Foresters) (1825), and the 'Essay on the Genius of Burns) (1841).
More characteristic and hence more lasting are the Noctes Ambro-
sianæ,' contributed to the magazine froin 1822 to 1835; the later series
(Dies Boreales, or Christopher Under Canvas) (1849-1852) not equal-
ing the earlier in spontaneity or charm. It is not hard to understand
the immediate popularity of the Noctes,' when at Ambrose's Edin-
burgh tavern, Mr. Tickler, the Ettrick Shepherd, Christopher North,
and other rare good spirits drank their toddy into the wee small
hours, and exchanged all manner of talk upon all manner of things.
The three main personages are limned with a clear eye and much
unction; and one of them at least, the Shepherd, is a true master-
piece in comedy creation. Wilson is open to the charge of being
diffuse, and occasionally coarse, in the conductment of these sprightly
dialogues; but these are but flies in the ointment.
In 1851 Professor Wilson resigned his seat in the university, and
died three years afterward, April 3d, 1854. Professor Ferrier, his son-
in-law, has edited his works in twelve volumes; and a Life) has
been written by his daughter, Mrs. Gordon. For purposes of conven-
ience, the general reader is directed to The Comedy of the Noctes
Ambrosianæ); an edition selected and arranged by Mr. John Skelton,
presenting the Noctes) in a much condensed form, whereby that
which is slighter, local, and least happy, is eliminated.
XXVII-1003


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