Anburey's Travels in America [pp. 710-712]

1710 ong.-JInbure's Travels in Jinlerica. [SErTEMBsl R
the degradation of that land? It is the recollection of what
it once was; and this sympathy, paid for imperishable greatness, is involuntary-for who
Fare-you-well-the moments, Mary,
Fly when wing'd with pleasure;
But when thou art distant, Mary,
Time has lost his treasure.
The star that shines in life's dark sky
My spirit worships onlv;
And when thou art no longer nigh,
Then my heart is lonely, Mary Then my heart is lonely.
Richmond, 1840.
"(E'en in its bondage), who could tread the plains
Of glorious Greece; nor feel his spirit rise
Kindling within him? Who with heart and eyes
Could walk where science self hath been, nor see
The shining foot-prints of her deity;
Nor feel those God-like breathings in the air,
Which mutely tell her spirit hath been there?"
Take away from her this magnificent trait of national character, and like Ninevah and Babylon and the mighty empire of the Medes, her glory would depart, and a mere title
would tell that once she was! Now, how different! Ages
have rolled on, and yet genius still pours its noblest tribute
to the Egean shores. The sage loves in spirit to linger
and reason with the manes of Socrates and Aristotle. The
philosopher, to drink in draughts of almost divine inspiration from the lips of Plato. The poet of the nineteenth
century still turns his ardent eyes towards its sacred fanes;
and as the Gheberi snatches from the volcano the burning
lava which kindles up the fire upon his sacred altar, so do
the poets of our day snatch from the undying altar- the firethe inspiration which kindles up immortal song! Would
that the same tribute may one day be paid to this our own
native land!
America then presents an extensive field to all who would
gather laurels in this noblest of all pursuits; and to those
who nmay hereafter, or who are already aspiring for eminence in this department, we would say, HERE is room for
the most towering intellect. And oh! that some towering
spirit may arise and wipe away the oft-repeated aspersions
cast upon our literary renown! Oh, that every one who
is aspiring after literary eminence may press nobly forward, exclaiming in the beautiful language of another"Oh, my country! thou richest gift of GOD to man!-pree.miient in thy institutions, which honor Heaven and bless mankind-light and hope of nations:
This is the title of a book, probably very little known, if
at all, in this country. It consists of seventy-six letters,
th e last dated October, 1781. The writer's style is good,
but somewhat wordy. He appears a well-educated man;
he enlivens his pages (which, by the way, are eleven hund r ed in number) with a variety of anecdotes and episodes.
But Lieutenant Anburey doth cer t a inly wax ratherish prosy
at times. I-e has withal a very loyal stock of British prejudices and antipathies, yet is not without a good degree of
candor. He is a minute observer, but falls into a multiplicity of mistakes, as was inevitable in his circumstances.
Some of his stories are quite incredible-self-evident fabrications, which he cou ld hardly have expected John Bull
himself to swallow, great as his powers of deglutition may
be. The letters, however, are none the less amusing for
th-e I tough yarns,' or the blu nde rs, so n atu rally to be expected from a British subaltern campaigning in America.
Taking these travels, then, with some grains of allowance, they may be considered as the impressions of America andleers o the Americans on the mind of a'British officer during
the Revolutionary war. A republication of this work would
perhaps be not an unprofitable job to osde'of the book-craft,
and would no doubt gratify the republic of readers. Such
a republication, however, is not t o be lookedp fo r at this
par allel of latitude, where unfort unatel y a taste for such
things is at a low ebb.
TI'he letters date fro m the author's emubarkationwith Burgoyne's army, and thenc e give a narrative of all the incidents of the voyage, their arrival at Montreal in Upper
Can ada, th e campaign down to its termination at Saratoga,
the marc h of the prisoners of war first to Boston, their stay
there, then to Charlottesville, Virginia-the latter part of
the second volume, including about two hundred pages, being
devoted principally to Virginia. This part of the work is
of course especially entertaining to readers in this state,
and would make a capital selection for republication in a
periodical. I have not the work in question now by me,
and must therefore confine myself to some extracts made
during a cursory perusal of the only copy I have seen, and
perhaps the only copy in America-I may say almost certainly the only one in Virginia.
hark! yon bell is r inging, Mary Chills the sound upon me;
)For it is the signal, Mary That will bear thee from me.
Thy voice will thrill some other heart,
And other tones will cheer thee,
.But O! believe-where'er thou art,
Still my thoughts are near thee, Mary tStill my thoughts are'near thee.
THE BRITISH AR.IY ON LAKE'CHAMPLAIN.
Bu When we were in the w idest part of the lake, whose
beauty'and'extent 1 have already described, it was remarkably fine and clear, when the whole army appeared at one
Song.-.dnburey's Travels in America.
710
[SErTEM'BF, P.,
CI.RL.
ANBUREY'S TRAVELS IN AMERICA.
[We copy from that excellent paper, the,New Yorker,"
the following notice of a work, from the pen of a British
officer, describing incidents connected with our revolutionary contest, which give it an interest far beyond an ordinary book of travels. Our readers will no doubt be
pleased with the extracts introduced into the review, which
we understand is from the pen of a Virginian, Mr. Charles
Campbell, of Petersburg.]-Ed. ilfess.
t
I May thy renown
Burn in my heart, and give to thought and word,
The aspiring and the radiant hue of fire.' "
Sp?-ingville, S. Carolina, 1840.
4
SONG.
AIR-" Fare-you-well, -7ny handsome Willie."
Fare-you-well my gentle Mary:
Now's the time to sever;
Yet I still woLil(I linger, Mary Near thee thus forever.
My heart is with the fairy hand,
That trembles in my fingers;
And while my feet are on the strand,
Still my spirit lingers, imary - Still my spirit lingers.