Aristarchus of the South Seas

'ARISTARCHUS is charming: how full of knowledge, of sense, of sentiment. You get him with difficulty to your supper; and after having delighted everybody and himself for a few hours, he is obliged to return home; - he is finishing his treatis, to prove that unhappiness is the portion of man.'
-Richard Fulke Greville, Maxims, Characters, and Reflections

'Mr. Melville was probably quite as entertaining and somewhat less abstruse, when his communications were by word of mouth. Mrs. Hawthorne used to tell of one evening, when he came in, and presently began to relate the story of a fight which he had seen in the Pacific, between some savages, and the prodigies of valor one of them performed with a heavy club. The narrative was extremely graphic; and when Melville had gone, and Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne were talking over his visit, the latter said, "Where is that club which Mr. Melville was laying about him so?" Mr. Hawthorne thought he must have taken it with him; Mrs. Hawthorne thought he had put it in the corner; but it was not to be found. The next time Melville came, they asked him about it; whereupon it appeared that the club was still in the Pacific island, if it were anywhere."
-Julian Hawthorne, Nat. Hawthorne & his Wife, a Biography; Vol. 1

'Melville, as he always does, began to reason of Providence and futurity, and of everything that lies beyond human ken, and informed me that he had "pretty much made up his mind to be annihilated;" but still he does not seem to rest in that anticipation; and, I think, will never rest until he gets hold of a definite belief. It is strange how he persists - and has persisted ever since I knew him, and probably long before - in wandering to and fro over these deserts, as dismal and monotonous as the sand hills amid which we were sitting. He can neither believe, nor be comfortable in his unbelief; and he is too honest and courageous not to try to do one or the other. If he were a religious man, he would be one of the most truly religious and reverential; he has a very high and noble nature, and better worth immortality than most of us."
-Hawthorne, Journal, Nov. 12 1856

'An agreeable day. Took a long walk by the sea. Sands & grass. Wild & desolate. A strong wind. Good talk."
-Melville, Journal, Nov. 12 1856

The Land of Eden

"We're tired of trees. We should stop believing in trees, roots, and radicles."
-Gilles Deleuze, Anti-Oedipus

On the morrow I journey to the Land of Eden, my home-stretch, where the noble Dan River flows quiet 'neath the trees. My two years amongst the Germans & Sauvages, have barrister'd & lawyered away at my Conscience, till I can no longer stand to be apart from my beloved red clay.

Half the delight of any Journey derives from the anticipatory pleazure. We recall the roads & byways, speckled with the gold & green shadows of summer. We hope for a flagon of dark Mexican beer & a great Dish of Pollo Mole. We imagine the faces of Friends, so long unseen that they seem to have been Characters in a dream. They may only be revived by offering yourself, in the flesh.

Homer gives us a type of this, when Odysseus must pour hot sacrificial blood on the ground, to attract the hungry Shades. We forget the wide distance between ourselves. Gadgetry & Mechanistickal devices - the Cell-Phone - allow us to appear in Effigy, or to breathe a few words into remote ears. But, being good Pagans in heart if not in mind, we prefer always the flesh, to the spirit.

See what grievous loss Departure wreaks: Dido's lovely flesh, burning on the Carthaginian ramparts, after Mercury tugged Aeneas' spirit onward to Italy; poor Fitzgerald, maintaining his mad wife Zelda, who became only a mannequin of her self. For that matter, wou'd not Troy's high walls stand forever, if not for Helen's duplicitous escape?

But Herodotus tells us otherwise, that Helen hid in Egypt, and it was only an image of Helen in Troy. Indeed, no matter how much she was shamed, and whored by the Heroes & Princes of the Mediterranean, always she was reverenced as pure, indeed as a Virgin. Helen escapes from Menelaus, as she later escapes from Paris & the burning Walls of Ilion - by remaining ghostly, uncommitted. There will always be some part of Helen that survives; like a Tree, ever so harshly scoured by Winter & fire, yet blooming in Spring.

The virgins worshipp'd Helen under the sycamores, near Sparta. & it was fruit from the fig-sycamore, the Mulberry, that Eve ate, that expell'd our noble line from perpetuall Happiness. Who can say what spirit they relinquish'd in that garden? Who cou'd say what spirit we have gain'd, by the Toils of our unhappy flesh?

But now it is time to put away recondite Musings, & attend to my tree-dreams.

On Disgust, Considered as One of the Fine Arts

"He was fundamentally and outwardly abject, as other men are markedly of a generous, distinguished, or venerable appearance. It was the element of his nature which permeated all his acts and passions and emotions; he raged abjectly, smiled abjectly, was abjectly sad; his civilities and his indignations were alike abject. I am sure his love would have been the most abject of sentiments - but can one imagine a loathsome insect in love? And his loathsomeness, too, was abject, so that a simply disgusting person would have appeared noble by his side."
--Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim, Ch. 29

In our Dominion, we are much dispos'd to laud & venerate good intentions. Let me pry an example from its native Granite, and set it in a golden Band, as an exemplum

Far from WILLIAMSBURGH, the most candy'd corner of Virginia, there are odious tasks to be done, with daily regularity. One of these is the making of syrup, and the further refining of the maple-tree's Sap till it come to pounds of Sugar. Thus, Saponi Ned & I oft take to the Woods, finding ourselves in the darkest Crevices & Hollows. Here, Dame Nature turns a pale Shoulder to the Sun's warming caress, and the ground holds a monstrous chill through the Seasons. Here we tap the Sap as it rises, and gather the sticky Resin while we may.

Yet, I betook myself 'round Joseph Stauber's fields, passing thro' his wife's Kitchen to enjoy the Biscuits she avails, and cross'd the Ridge back to my lands. Here, I find a line of trees quite Rott'd thro', the branches falling apart of their own, like the blacken'd Limbs of a Corpse.

When I queried Mme. Bainton & Ned about this most unusual development, they gave me a most mournful Stare, and then took a close Study of the Floorboards.

"Well?" ask'd I, "what reason cd be for the pestilential death?"

Ned unseat'd himself from his Haunches, and rose. "Epaph., 'twas my young man, Hyco, who belted the trees. They drain'd little sap, but have died in the year since. He is a boy with more enterprise than sense."

"Epaph., do not fly to one of yr Colics; he is but a boy, and that was another season. And, aside, he only had the best of intentions."

****
What a mockery of Sense! What counterfeit of Courtesy! Allow Folly to go uncorrect'd - and watch the Land become Waste. I have a hillside now, decorat'd & scour'd with the black Hulks of decaying wood, mold'd o'er with glowing fungus & the writhing bodies of Larvae. Anyone may stand at the Foot of Stauber's Oldfield, and watch scores of good American pounds rot before their very eyes!

An edifying Specktacle, and one produc'd all for the Benefit & instruction of the following sermon: that it is not the Result of an Action, but the Aim, that shou'd be consider'd most in judging its moral Worth. Thus, with a pretty Sentiment, we may fill our Bellies, even tho' we starve, by Error. But, all in good Faith!

Thus, I propose, amidst the Rot, a Revival. I open my Tent to the Mean, that I may give measure to their meanness; I give a path to the shiftless & Imbecile, that I may blast their loping step; I unbar my door to the Vain, that I may strike down their pride. I declare, that I will be an Artist, in Disgust!

Of Signs and Wonders

"There was another method of capnomancy which consisted of observing the smoke arising from poppy and jessamin seeds cast on burning coals."
---John Bumpus, Demonologia, 1827

"I been watchin' the roads, I been studyin' the dust."
--- B. Dylan

Just this night, I took myself en promenade to the Stadium, to do my dance in the chill Evening. While Exercises give enjoyment enough, trimming the Belly & quickening my sluggish Blood, the viscous & frigid Air adds a piquancy all its own. For what man does not enjoy the Shadow of his own breath on the ground? That most insubstantial part of him, made thick enough to catch light in its twirling curlicues? Or perhaps the razor-sharp thrill of a harsh Breeze, blown south by way of the Great Lakes?

I shudder to think that those self-same breezes that brush my branches have also touched a redoubt of Ft. Duquesne, or jolted an Acadian into watchfulness. Some nights, I think that I can see the very Eyes through the trees - as tho' a baleful visage appeared in the Face of the Appalachians, and mouth'd its Gallic nonsense at me.

My father was a great Interpreter of signs; he studied most prodigiously the Dents of Traffick-signs, the Colours of horse-Mucus, the arrays of Pine-needles, the emissions of Pocosins, and most especially what Wrinkles & stains happen'd to the rare English Pound he cou'd find. But his friends, esp. the noble Doctor Wigham Dodd, wou'd counsel him, ye have but little wisdom in ye, if ye wou'd seek the word of God in the flecks & Daubs of a fallen World!

But my father held it different; that just as Christ liv'd with the Sinners, so too he would betake his Intelligence to the meagerest Figures of God's creation; so he would seek the natural Philosophy in the Crannies. Sic, on the subject: Epaph, the world is a glorious, whirring Machine; the Great God wou'd have us check its parts & manage well the Grease.

& it is true that the Ancients held their mancies & Predictions in the highest. For who appears most as Wisdom's body in the Greek Dramatists, but sexless Tiresias, teller of hidden Truth? Who gives the Ides for Caesar's death, but a broken old Hag? And what gave Rome the sign of Caesar's Ascension, but a streaking Comet?

It wou'd appear that, tho' lacking a Caesar, the Heavens nonetheless offer Wonders. First in California, that distant shore of unparalleled Villainy; then in New York, quagmire of that peculiar business-wisdom, that pretends to Vision, but only by vast Ignorance. For ne'er have I met a Trader, dealer or worker of the Docks generally that did not boast eagerly of his Ignorance - that did not make it a very Badge of his manhood.
& this from them that would deal most with the Work of the World! But here we revisit a Common-place, that a professor of Literature hath no Ear for Poetry, and that a Engineer wou'd ignore an aqueduct, that a man wou'd sooner gaze upon a fresh Beauty than on his long-practic'd Wife - no matter how lovely she may be.

But so it is with the world, that Beauty, in the sense of the Philosophers, disappears when we stand too close to her. We must make a hard Journey past siren & Cyclops before we may see Ithaca afresh. It is no accident that Pausanias shows us an instance of divination with a Mirror - Captroptomancy - for it shows us the world again.

Thus it may well benefit the be-numb'd soul to have ghostly Strands, or fiery Comets, or phantom Missiles running thro' the skies, if only to bolden the glass and stone Skyline. Tho' the threat of Gallic duplicity & Weroance-wickedness has no mean weight, I wou'd not sacrifice the Wonder of a water-fall for the safe Trickle of a Creek.

When I walk'd across the Macadam-path that lines the Sherando Valley, to the Stadium for a moment of Exertion, I saw a Comet break through the heavenly Spheres like a flaming Pearl.

I refute it Thus!

But yester-day, an Incident, common enough in the Traffick of daily Existence, yet singular in Import, & to the profit to humane Learning, requiring acute Attention & a pretty Interpretation to justify its Profundity, came to pass, tho' quickly, & so common, that it wou'd defy the sharpest of naturall Philosophers to capture. For it has been said, that no Observation can be made, without subtly changing the Observ'd; so does my Quill quiver at the Thought of recording so particular, & yet so instant, an Occurence.

Brick Stairs ascend to the Door of Lantz Chapell. This Work of ancient artisanry reflects the finer religious Sentiments of this porcinely profane Valley. Its stained-glasse depicts noble Scenes, exemplary Tales of Biblical History; its Gables aspire into the Sky, as do the pious & noble Souls praying therein.

On yesterday, Marcus Hockaday, a Musician, one skill'd in Composition & the arts of Conduction, strode towards the Chapell. Carrying to this, his Place of work, a sheaf of Papers, musics, notes, the Papers of his Students, he hurry'd & hoped to gain the Chapell before his Strength yield'd. As its Construction seems accomodat'd to Giants of both Spirit & stature, its Stairs are an easy Foot in height. He tripp'd his Toe against the tip of the Brick, stumbl'd, & explod'd into a Torrent of paper. & from the Depths of this white Whirlwind erupt'd a Cry, a horrid Expression of turgid Rage - "F_____!"

Marc. H. came to me, grievously cut & troubled that he wou'd lose his employ. Seeing the grizly Wound, smudg'd verdant, vermillion & teal, & hearing Marc. H.'s acc't of the terrible Incident, where by Pain & startl'd Rage he found himself utterly unmann'd, I found myself troubl'd. A nagging Sore had appear'd in the Tissue of my Thought, & I cou'd not rest till I found Balm & Bandage.
***

Why shou'd we, when fill'd with Disgust, or enflam'd with Agony, yelp out that one Word that signifies Copulation, the sacred Act of Love? Or, given the other Choice, why hurl from one's throat, "Excrement!", or "Scally-wampus!"

Such Reactions are all the more peculiar, for they cross-breed Instinct, with Learning. Pain inspires a natural Cavill to rise from our Throats, & yet we must be taught these Words, before we can employ them as the supposed instinctive Flexes of outraged Sense.

First, a distinction: that there are Curses, where one might wish Evil upon another; this is what Montaigne means when he describes, "In times past, when those of Crete would curse any one, they prayed the gods to engage him in some ill custom." Thus, when we say, "Fie on ye, & yr wretch'd whorish Family entire!", we wish that the Gods wou'd descend & violate their bodily Dignity.

Otherwise, there are Oaths, where one invokes, as Witness, a Deity or spirit presumed Oblivious. Id est, when Hamlet cries,
"Swounds! I shou'd take it: for it cannot be
But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall
To make oppression bitter."
we know that he calls upon the very Wounds of Christ's Passion, both to evoke the Depths of his abasement, & to stand as Emblem of his monstrous Iniquity.
***

But before we proceed to the finer Analysis, we must ask - which, then, of the two, shou'd be nobler? Is the untrammel'd Sincerity of the Heart to be valued, so that pure Exclamation gains Weight, in direct proportion to its unthinking Utterance? Or shou'd we value that man, that on a Sea of troubles, refuses to relinquish his Piety, & calls to lofty Heaven to scan his Misery?

Picture, then, monstrous plum'd Vanity, that with an outrag'd Toe, stubb'd to blood, cries to our Saviour Himself, dragging the Attention of our Almighty Redeemer to the gory Stubb that he trails along the Ground. Or a Strumpet, suddenly blossom'd with Cankers all along her most intimate Parts, giving out a cowish Bellow that summons the very Spiritu Sancto to her splay'd Legs - a Nothing, a Trouble sprouting on a Naught.
***

Nothing outrages the Reader so, as settling on a Void; so let us return to our favored Word: "F_____!", & our Theory of the Exclamation.

Earlier I claim'd it as a signal Mystery that, when in Pain, we evoke that supreme conjugal Pleazure. Even aside Ned Bearskin, I have seen him slice his Palm with an oyster-shell, & faster than Blood sprung to the Wound, the very word, "F____!" burst from his brazen Lips.

& yet this Digamma gives the Clew to the Mystery entire. For any Exclamation is an Excess of feeling - an o'erbrimming of sentiment that crushes the Frame, firing our Fury further with its own wheezing Torrent.

Linguists, in their prettiness, call these words "Expletives," from L. expleo, "I fill up." This descends yet further from the Greek - pleio, "more or many"; & plethon, "plenitude" (vide "plethora"). On the one, pain, or Frustration, to excess, inspires our ejaculation; whereas amatory Desire, fuelled by the tender Twigs of conjugal Ardor, explodes in that Burst of pent-up longing.
***

Devolving my Theory thus, I tugg'd at the Ear of young Goodman Stubb, as in his assoc. with the commoner Sort, he must have more Occasion to philosophize on the Meanings of colorful Language. When we had bandag'd Marc. H., & sent him off fie'ing & thumbl'ing the World in his Waggon, Goodman turn'd, with sagacious Humour in his Eyes. I cou'd only assume that my Physick of the Emotions had convinc'd him fully. "I must say, Sir;" and here he paused, searching my Face for Clews of my Honesty, looking for Hints of Hostility surging at my Brows, or some other, more obscure Passion, clamoring for expression in another Part of the Plantation. "I must say, I don't understand why you talk on so; seems to me, you go to some Lengths, to give a f______ about a nothing."

"On life’s vast ocean diversely we sail,
Reason the card, but passion is the gale."
--A. Pope, Essay on Man

Let yr Unloved Parts Get Loved

"With this conscious effort, the virtue of spirit began to grow, and kept them from satisfying their bestial lusts in the sight of Heaven, which now inspired their mortal fear. Instead, each giant would drag a woman into his cave and keep her there as his lifelong mate. In this way, they practiced human intercourse secretly in private, which is to say, with modesty and shame...After religion, shame is the second bond that keeps nations united...In this manner, marriage was introduced, which we may define as a carnal union modestly consummated in fear of some divinity."

-G. Vico, The New Science

Noble Vico - Last of the poetic Moralists. I say last, for the Years of Revolt & depraved Suspicion have choked the Light of Moralistick Reason. Tho' some few Sparks of Wisdom blink in the Dark, most oft we are abandoned to a Cloud of Unknowing - if Love succeed, we count it Happenstance, or flame our Hearts with vain Approbation. If our Loves fail, we shrug at the violent Mystery pass'd o'er us, like the Hurricanoes that sweep Houses to Twigs, & yet leave a pair of laced Dolls untouch'd.

Such, the blight'd & ignorant State that crowns us Moderns. And in our Depravity, we seek after false Prophesy & Explication; we incense & pray at the Altars of Mars & Venus; we swallow down the vile Philtres & Powders of 1,000 leering Conjur-men. These Trifles are the Bells to our Fool's Crown - the jangling Train of Attendants supported by Folly.

Is it any wonder then, that on this Harlequinne's Road we shou'd find ourselves most often Astray? When a Father leads his veil'd Daughter down the Aisle, has he shrouded her eyes not for Modesty's Sake, but to obscure the primrose path on which they walk? Is it any wonder that so great an Auctor as Johnson, himself known for his profound conjugal Affection, would say

"Sir, it is so far from being natural for a man and a woman to live in a state of marriage, that we find all the motives that they have for remaining in that connection, and the restraints which civilized society imposes to prevent separation, are hardly sufficient to prevent separation."
+++

Not two Days ago, I sat on my Porch, expecting at any Moment my dear Friend, Ned Bearskin. Saponi Ned had descended to his Home-grounds, the Land of the Fat Bear, as his brazen Chums call it. He wou'd bring back from this Venture a Winter's Store-worth of Deer, Bear, & the various trade-Trinkets that so delight the Naturalls local to my Plantation. Bear-flesh has always treat'd poor Epaph. most unkindly - the greazy Tissues & Folds of Muscle are jellied-o'er with mucous Fat.

This presents a most aweful Task to my untutor'd Belly, which most oft rejects the Meal, in a riotous & unpleasing Spectacle. So wretch'd was my last Voiding, that as a publick Service, the Magistrate visit'd upon me a Writ of Quarantine. Mme Bainton, long-since us'd to such mephitic Discharge, had wrapp'd her nose in an Alcohol-soak'd Rag; Goodman Stubb ate little, and retain'd less, as his Stomach was in perpetual Danger. "What rotten Beast, what curs'd Mongrel-hellion, cou'd have given ye such a disorder'd Bowels, Sir? Every Day yr Chamber-pot resounds with the Noises of yr bloody Violence, & our Naturalls [for we then had some of Bearskin's Family in a Dependency] shudder with every Scream that comes from yr room. What aweful Buttock-birth! What Labor ye expend, for the sake of a single Meal!"

But yet I rebuk'd Stubb for his familiarity, & took no small Delight in distressing his girlish Nose. Such pleasant Memories as these occupied my mind, when Bearskin huff'd to my Door, bearing with him up the shady Promenade an old Man. Despite strict Instruction to the contrary, Bearskin had return'd with a new Companion - yet another Mouth to feed!

I sputter'd; I shook; I left my Chamber-pot beneath his Window. Yet Bearskin wou'd not relinquish his shrivell'd Companion. I protest'd of Scarcity - had not Bearskin just relinquished his Wife & the sundry Comforts of Domesticity, merely to obtain Supplies necessary to our mutual Survival? But yet he wou'd give me one of his gnomic Stares, & shrug into Conversation with the old Sage.

This Business had so stuff'd me with Jealousy & querulous Curiosity that Bile began to rise in my Stomach; I sought an Interview with this Personage, this wizened Troll.

He had lost much of his Hair, & offer'd a shining, fuzzy Pate to the Sky. His Walk was an unhappy Compromise between the anxious Shuffle of a baby, and the Strut of an aged Sergeant-at-arms. Long Years of Fighting had train'd his Knees to buckle - a harsh Winter in the Hudson Valley took his Toes - but his Back remain'd straight, no matter the Circumstance. Yet an Eddy of gleeful Wrinkes surrounded his Eyes, & an ever-ready Smile sprung easy to his Lips. There was a cheery Wisdom about him, & a woeful Glee.

I queried him concerning his Discourse with my trusted Friend. "Ned ask'd for my advises," he wou'd say, simply & without Aggravation - yet without Invitation, either. Instead, this old Yankee Sibyl grinned at me, & drank my Brandy & ate my Venison, like a mugging Free-loader.

Amidst this Mystery, Mme Bainton purloin'd my Ear, and pour'd out a Sea of feminine Trouble. Ned's Wife, Annie, had taken to sleeping apart from my Comrade - had gone so far as to take up Confidence with a young Man from a neighboring Cittie, a Den of iniquitous Deception call'd Newe Market. Not yet had there been Consumation of this Lust, but Mme Bainton fear'd the worst, for my Friend, & for our general Peace. She theoriz'd that perhaps Ned had ask'd this Codger to assist him in recapturing his Wife's Attentions - that perhaps Ned sight'd the Dutch Warlock & return'd him to Virginia for his magickal Counsel. "Wou'd that some other Men were so concern'd after their Wives' Constancy!" To which I replied, in the spirit of Plutarch, "All Women look the Same, with the Lamp extinguish'd." Miff'd, she disappear'd; puzzled, I continued cogitation.

A ponderous Week pass'd - baleful Glares & leaden Silence all 'round. One Afternoon, on Promenade thro' my Grounds, Bearskin tread silently into Step with me. Tho' I was pleas'd at his Return, I cou'd not show this, til he shou'd reveal his Mysteries. Instead, he had a Request - "Cou'd you offer a Dinner for the Dutchman? He is due to leave, on the Morrow." I assented, Bearskin shuffled off again, into the Corn-fields & his Thoughts.

We pass'd a pleasant enough Meal, tho' the Fare was light, in consideration of the oncoming Winter: Rolls, Venison, a Fowl-pie, Beer & cider, Wines for the second Course of Sprouts & Creme, a Ham with Pilsner, a Heap of butter, & four Ears of Indian Corn for each. Mme Bainton made her usual, silly eye-brow Shrugs at me, indiscreetly indicating the subtle Movements of Bearskin's Chair, as it migrat'd closer & closer to that of his frigid Wife. She made no Gesture toward him, but ate silent & dour, unconcern'd by his obvious Interest. My Wife continued her idiot Pantomime, whose Meaning, beyond proving her imbecile Fascination with my Friend's Grief, remain'd obscure.

At last, the Dutchman clink'd his glass, & spoke his Mono-logue:

"When I left my wife, to go to the fighting at the frontier, I had been given two dolls - corn husk figures of us two. I do n't look as I did then, and then I did n't look like nay corn husk, neither. Yet I left them with her, and told her what I had been told, when they were given me, in secret, by a Huron midwife - 'keep always these two together, and ye will be happy together.' My wife wd keep them on the mantle in our general room. Some time, I wd come home after months afield & find them separate, and some time, over the nights, I wd find them, moved closer. Some time, if we argued, or had cause for discontent, she wd move them far apart, and the children knew to keep well away from her ill-temper. And with mine trespasses she had plenty cause for distemper.

But never did she lose 'em, never did she misplace 'em, in all her years of keeping house & cleaning up after. My wife died last summer, of the bloody pox, and now I can n't keep the dolls together in the house, knowing she won't nay be around. And I - miss her sometime. So I give 'em to you, Ned & Annie, because if they kept my wife with me, cruel & stupid tho' I cd be, they will keep ye together."

Mme Bainton clapped with Delight, & I was sure that later, she wou'd approach me in the Night for Caresses - she is tiresome Predictable. Ned handed his Doll to Annie, and she smiled, and held them together in her Lap. Looking brief at them, she then returned her Eyes to Ned, and did not move them. And, rumbling into his Seat, tippling from his Glass, the old Dutchman chuckled, and wiped from the Wrinkles of his Eyes, the Gleams of Tears.

Chopping Out

When, in Antient Times, our Forebears did survey a Ground, establishing those Lines which wou'd ensure all the commodious assurances of Property, those hearty men wou'd "Chop Out" a section of Woods. Taking down saplings and lesser Trees, leaving the Titans of that primeval Forest to break of their own Accord, these Explorers chopp'd into the Unnamed Wilderness.


And, as they with their clumsy axes did divvy the mute and remote Woodlands, so I set forth into that unseen VIRGINIA; the moreso ignored because omnipresent; as a Housewife's domestic improvements, by their very Success, are sure to be ignored. Or, as a Beggar's ubiquity blanches the Horror of Poverty.


I shall present True & Accurate notes on the body of our Dominion, not flinching from the bitten Nails and broken Bones, but neither forgetting to compliment her graceful carriage, her sweet-tuned Voice, and the autumnal light in her hair.