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wicked and corrupt; and their implicit faith of the enormity admits only of the explication, that it is the allegory of their own system, and the type of their own policy. The unhallowed transports with wbich they thrice repeat the charge, argues strongly that they are lost to shame; and while the Kentuckian is libelled, the reader is scandalized. Those “ Kentuckians (say the Reviewers) who “ have the least turn for economy, cut their razor-strops " from the backs of Indians while alive ; and according “ to their common practic, do it coolly and deliberately. “We believe that this infernal fact is true to the letter."*

If it were practicable to treat such atrocious nonsense seriously, I would not undertake the vindication of the Kentuckiaps, on the plea of remorse and compunction of heart, as the assumption might be thought gratuitous; but I should at once shew that the charge necessarily meets its confutation on the very principle of economy. The race of Indians is extinct in Kentucky, and a red man is as scarce in the district as a horse in Venice. The nearest tribe of Indians is that of the Catawbas in Caro. lina, a distance of five hundred miles, and not even the gratification of skinning an Indian alive would compen.

* The Federalist, from whose exploded pamphlet the Quarterly Reviewers have collected their information, is a little tippling author of Philadelphia, with only a single pair of galligaskins, who is glad to make his dinner off a halfpenny porrenger of pease soup and potatoes; a thoughtless buffoon of a satirist, who would himself be astonished if he were held to the letter of his own description. The pamphlet is a joint performance, Rawle, the printer, finding his subscribers im. , portunate for its appearance, sought the author at his lodgings; who being disqualified by his potations for literary pursuits, the typographer sat down very deliberately and finished the composition.

sate Jonathan for the expences of the journey, while there was a sympathetic calf in the neighbourhood to tellow out in me converte ferrum. But what I consider decisive of the point in debate is, that having applied to my barber for his opinion, who is a manufacturer of straps, the little swarthy Packwood, on hearing through the diabolical story, fell into a fit of immoderate laughter, and wiping the tears from his eyes with his holland-apron, assured me that the absurdity of the charge counteracted its virulence; that it would baffle the ingenuity of Jonathan to cut a strop adapted to a razor out of the back of an Indian, though inexorably deaf to his pressing entreaties to desist; that the skin of an Indian is too thin for the purpose ; and that a Reviewer must possess a very thick head to let such an idle rumour command his absolute confidence.

It is impossible to conclude this Letter without expressing a wish that the Critical Department could be reformed by filling it with enlightened and conscientious characters. The recognized establishment of such an authority would scatter the present insidious confederacy from their lurking-holes, like a ruined nest of ants. The Quarterly Review would cease to be a practical satire on the liberality of an English public ; a kindred Nation would no longer be the sport of a blind and insolent faction; and the opinion necessarily entertained by Americans would undergo a modification, that the laudable love of polite literature in the mother country has been superseded by an unbappy passion for coarse invective, clumsy raillery, and vilifying abuse.

I am, Sir, yours, &c.







OCEAN all hail! ours the proud joy to roam
Thy world of waters glittering in their foam,
O'er thee to gaze-to rest the roying eye
On thy curld waves that plume the verging sky.
Our home a barque-the pageant of the scene-
Pride in her port, defiance in her mien,
Whose well-arm’d deck displays a gallant crew,
Each man a'héro, to his colours true.
But to my tale





Where Pennsylvania's river opens wide
His arms and ample bosom to the tide,
A rugged cliff impends with beetling brow,
Whence giddy terror dreads to look below,
And on its tree-capt summit stands a fane,
Whose ancient tower surveys the rolling main.



Primæval is the spot, where overhead
Gigantic oaks their twilight shadows spread,
Cinctur'd with roses the magnolia towers,
The ancient cedars wave their sacred bowers,
And Nature only, in her sylvan tone,

20 Wakes with the breeze through green arcades to



Thither the sailor oft is seen to stray,
As pensive Meditation points the way,
To note the scythe, the hand-glass and the bone,
That point a moral on the antique stone :


His foot scarce raising midst the awful gloom,
Lest he disturb the silence of the tomb-
Vain thought! yet who, not curst with breast of steel,
Would the fear spurn, and not the foible feel?


While our tall anchor'd bark at distance lay,

30 With sail loose flagging in the breezy bay, Soon as the holy light shoots o'er the fane, And dazzling paints the ivy-mantled pane, Then musing up the hill yet hoar with dew, In solemn rites to join ascend our crew,

35 There to incline, and ocean's God implore To speed their vessel to her destin'd shore. Bare, reverential, o'er the turf they spread, Where in their long long sleep reclin'd the dead, Each in his narrow home with sealed eye- 40 No more to view the splendours of the sky.


Beneath an oak, o'ershadowing a tomb
That eloquently preach'd man's certain doom,

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