A Fourth of July Party [pp. 327-328]

18 —.,.r fJt~Pr 2
Act brought over here, but as I don't go much to town, I
maybe shall be easy for a while after the election is oyer,
but till that I must be disturbed. I shall send your letter
by Friend. God bless and keep you is the prayer of
Yours forever,
D. FRANKLIN.
Extractsfrom a letter dated November, ye 3. 1765.
"The dreadful first of November is over, and not so much
disorder as was dreaded. I am ashamed of many of our
citizens, but I think you are informed by better hands than
I am.
*
I saw a letter from Mr. Colden, wherein he says they had a
mob the night before, and there was one threatened to be that
night to pull down his office, that his wife and children
were gone to the fort in order to escape the insults of the
mob, but I hope it will blow over without any damage, as
the threatenings of the tools have done here; so, my dear,
you see how ready we are to follow the fashion of the
English folks. I have often thought what a mercy it was
that it is only those here that seem dissatisfied which think
and call themselves the better sort, and that we can turn
out six or seven hundred honest good tradesmen to convince them that they are but mere botchers. The head of
our mob is about three parsons, two or three doctors, your
countryman S. S, whom I really pity, as I believe he
will kill himself with his own ill nature. Mr. T has
been very active and got himself heartily despised, for
which I can't help being pleased in some measure."
A FOURTH OF JULY PARTY.
On the fourth of July, 18-, a bright and cloudless sky, and a gentle southern breeze, the indispensable accompaniments of a happy festal day, gave
joy to the beating hearts of thousands and tens of
thousands of freemen, and assurance that the natal
day of liberty would be celebrated as its importance
and sanctity deserved.
In one of the many picturesque villages that lie
scattered along the head waters of Potomac's tributaries, a party of gay young men were preparing to visit a neighboring village, with the intention of assisting in the national jubilee. A
small sloop lay in the beautiful river upon which
both villages were situated, and which, from the
preparations that had been made on board, indicated that she was destined for some particular service. Of a very neat and graceful model, though
of diminutive size, the little craft presented a
lovely and enchanting spectacle as she swung by
her anchor in the stream between two lofty hills,
rearing her taper-mast, with the stars and stripes
proudly floating in the breeze, scarcely to one
fourth the height of the craggy mounts in which
she was embayed-painted of a deep sea-green,
with a yellow stripe running around her bends-her
trunk of the same color-and the inside of the rails,
the deck, and the foot of the mast, white-her sails
half masted, and flapping impatiently in the breeze.
In fine, her'tout ensemble,' would have enticed
the most timorous fair-one to tread her springy
deck-or might have thrown an amateur-waterman
into ecstasies.
In describing the craft, however, I do not wish
to lose sight of her moorings. But here, I could
wish for some more practised and astute delineator
of Nature's beauties to do justice to the lovely
and romantic spot. lJpon the southwestern banks
of a small river, flowing into the Potomac some
hundred miles from its mouth, lies a small village,
the scene of this incident. Surrounded on the
south and west by towering hills, with the stream
whose name its bears, flowing to the south and east
along a beautifil range of meadows at the eastern
termination of the village, its location, when viewed
either from the hills environing it, or from the
water washing their base, presents the appearance
of a huge bowl. Like most of the villages in the
Old Dominion, it is situated immediately at the
head of tide water; a neat wooden bridge spans the
river at the further end of the village, creeping
over to the foot of a high and rocky hill, whose
shaggy and precipitous sides defy all effort to surmount them. Turned by this stern barrier, the
road winds along the base of the hill the whole
extent of the village opposite to which it lies, until it meets a ravine, up which it passes. The
banks of the river for miles above the village rise
precipitously on each side to the height of one hundred and fifty feet, covered with huge masses of
overhanging granite, in whose interstices the rugged pine and gnarled oak have found a scanty root.
These tower above dense masses of ivy and laurel,
whose lasting verdancy forms a lovely and romantic contrast to the weather-beaten trunks, scattered
here and there in their midst, and wreath in perpetual summer the frowning crags that peep from
their green embraces.
Through the entire range of these hills the bed
of the river is formed of one serried mass of rocks;
here and there, some large one in the midst, whose
fissures have given a meagre foothold to a few
stunted pines, forming numberless cascades, as ledge
after ledge rises abruptly throughout the whole extent of the mountainous range. When the river
becomes swollen, by heavy rains, the spectacle is
truly sublime; the water comes roaring and leaping down the cascades in its track, with the noise
of distant thunder, casting white foam high above
its pelting waves, to meet the rays of the rising
sun, which tinge the floating mists with myriads
of lovely rainbows. After passing the last cascade, which lies immediately above the village,
the river flows on, widening in its course for some
few miles, until it falls into a beautiful bay at its
mouth; to the east of the village, upon the opposite side of the stream, a grove of cedar and cypress casts its dark shade over the final resting
place of many an earlier denizen of the hamletand he who, mindful of the "unhonored dead,"
1841.]
A Fourth of July Party,
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