THE PLAINT OF THE WILD-FLOWER.

I.

I WAS not born for the town,

Where all that's pure and humble's trodden down:
My home is in the woods-

The over-arching, cloistered solitudes;

Where the full-toned psalm

Of Nature at her matin broke the calm
Of cloudy-pillowed Night,

With calmness made more voluble by light,
And where the Minstrel, Noon,

Made every young stem spring, as to a tune;
Aye, where our joys were led

To suit the fluted measures of the orb o'er head.
I am forlorn

Here, 'mid the waking jargon of the day;
Noon brings no light, no song of birds at play;
My plume is in the dust: I pine and pray
For the old woods, the grand old woods away
Where I was born.

II.

Here I am dying: I want room

Room for the air of heaven, for the bloom
Of never-tiring nature; room

For the verdure-freighted clouds, and thunder-boom
That sounds relief to droughty earth;
Room for the sunlight, and th' exhaustless mirth
Of riant July's breeze,

Untangling the meshes of the branching trees;
Room for cool night and ruddy day,
For peace, for health-aught naturally gay;
Room to take vital breath,

And look on any thing not painted death!
Oh! I am forlorn-

I, who from my earliest golden age

Sat by the regal Oak's foot, like a page,
And, mantled in moss, at the close of day
Slept by my prince, in the woods far away
Where I was born.

III.

Here is no room-no room

For e'en a flower's life; nothing but a tomb.
O forest gods! look down,

And shield your other offspring from the town.
Ah! would that I could die

Where o'er my wreck the forest flow'rs might sigh,
And clustering shrubs a-near

Weave dirges low, like leaves above my bier;
Where kindly chestnut-leaves

Would shade the woe of every plant that grieves,
And e'en the great Oak's head

Let fall its tears of dew when his poor page is dead.
I am forlorn:

Night brings no darkness, and the day no light;
Noon brings but noise, to vary my affright;
I'm dying 'neath the city's loathsome blight,
Far, O my mother Nature! from thy sight,

Far from thy earth, thy heaven, and the woodland bright
Where I was born.

JOHN SAVAGE.

DUELS AND DUELLING.*

"You owe me a coat, Mr. Clay."-JOHN RANDOLPH.
"I am glad the debt is no greater."-HENRY CLAY.

OF all modes of settling differences, the duel seems to be the most absurd. It is absurd as a punishment, since it admits of no relative proportion to crimes, and absurd as an appeal, since virtue and vice, guilt and innocence are, by its requirements, equally exposed to death or suffering. If, in extreme cases which seem to justify the most summary punishment, the aggressor, upon being "called out," would be shot, or even wounded, then indeed something might be gained; but the conditions of the "Code of Honor" afford no such advantages. On the contrary, the injured party, as challenger, is, by its rules, placed on unequal terms in a mortal conflict with perhaps the heartless seducer, the truculent bully, or the unprincipled and conscienceless calumniator.

In the great majority of instances, one of the disputants has a decided right, and by the same reason, his antagonist is clearly and indisputably in the wrong. In such cases, that a man feeling or even supposing himself deeply injured, should add to the weight of his grievances by submitting to be shot at by the party who owes him reparation, seems an act of the maddest folly. In exceptional cases, where both parties may be equally at fault, and equally aggressive, there appears to be no other result from an appeal to arms, than the inevitable adding of injury to injury. Who, in his sane mind, upon the discovery that his confidence had been basely betrayed, or that the reputation of a cherished sister had been blackened, would, if he allowed his own private judgment or even his

*Notes on Duels and Duelling, Alphabetically Arranged, with a Preliminary Historical Essay. By Lorenzo Sabine. Boston: Crosby, Nichols & Co., 111 Washington street. 1855.

feelings to dictate to him, offer himself as a target to be shot at by the "gentleman" who had so deeply injured him? Or who, having the most limited ideas of right and wrong, and left to the dictates of a conscience not entirely blunted to the most ordinary sense of common justice, would seek to destroy the man whom, without provocation, he had already made to suffer? The advocate for the "Code of Honor" apparently ignores the noble principle that the acknowledgment of, and atonement for, a real fault can never be injurious to one's honor; and the stickler for "ten paces," seemingly loses sight of the fact that a duel really decides nothing. Wherever this unfortunate code prevails, any man may, at any moment, be called upon to choose one of the alternatives, to fight or to be hunted down-to lose his life "in satisfaction" for an affront, or be driven from society by public opinion, which, in these matters too often over-rides all law and reason; for wherever the practice prevails, public sentiment, in "affairs of honor," seems almost omnipotent, ruling the statute-book and shielding, ex- cept in rare instances, from all punishment, the man who has outraged the laws of the land.*

It is true, as a part of the history of our species, that many men of strong minds have equally strong passions, which are ill-controlled, and subject such men to grosser errors than others possessed of fewer mental advantages; these men fight duels, having no guide but blind and reckless passion, when aroused--regardless of their own lives or those of others; hence their conduct furnishes the worst possible rule for the government of society. This class of duellists are not less wicked than others, though their position and standing in society almost invariably shield them from legal consequences. As a melancholy example of the results of duelling to men of this stamp, we condense from a New-Orleans journal an account of one of the most serious encounters which has ever occurred in this country, and which, singularly enough, seems to have been entirely overlooked by the author of "Duels and Duel

* There are in our courts, however, a few honorable exceptions-judges, against whom this perhaps too general a charge can not in justice be made-stern, inflexible dispensers of the law, who under no circumstances permit either their interests, their feelings, or the opinion of the public to interfere with the most rigid performance of their duties. Of this class may be cited a Judge F, (mentioned by Mr. Sabine,) who, in charging a jury, said: "Gentlemen, it is my duty to lay down the law to you, and I shall do so. When two men go out to fight a duel and one of them falls, it is murder, and I tell you, by law it is murder; but at the same time a fairer duel than this, I never heard of in the whole course of my life."

ling;" at least we find no mention of it in his Alphabetical Record. The following took place in 1827.

:

Dr. Maddox invited Mr. Samuel L. Wells to meet him without the limits of Louisiana they met according to understanding at Natchez on the 17th; on the 18th, Wells was formally challenged by Maddox; the 19th was appointed for the day of combat, and the first sand-beach above Natchez on the Mississippi side, selected as a place of meeting. They met, exchanged two shots without effect, and then made friends. While the combatants and seconds were retiring from the ground, Wells invited Dr. Maddox, Col. Crane, (Dr. M.'s second,) and Dr. Denny, the surgeon in attendance, to the woods, where his (Wells') friends, who had been excluded from the field, were stationed, to take some refreshment. Col. Crane objected, and stated as his reason that there were certain men among them whom he could not meet. Wells then assented to go where Maddox's friends were stationed in the woods, and who also had been, by previous arrangement, excluded from the field. When about half-way, they were met by the friends of Wells, namely, Mr. James Bowie, Gen. Cuny, and T. J. Wells. Gen. Cuny on meeting them observed to Col. Crane that it was a good time to settle their difficulty. Crane had a pistol in each hand, which he, in the capacity of a second, was carrying to the woods; he immediately put himself in an attitude of defense, and observing Bowie with a drawn pistol, shot him; and, wheeling round, shot Cuny. Bowie did not fall, but Cuny did, and expired in about fifteen minutes. Bowie exclaimed, "Crane, you have shot me, and I will kill you if I can." They then both fired simultaneously; Bowie's fire was without effect. After Bowie had made the above declaration to Crane, he drew a large knife and immediately endeavored to put his threat in execution, but was prevented by a blow from Crane, with the butt of his pistol, and which brought Bowie to his knees. Before he recovered, Crane got out of his way. Bowie then discovered Major Wright, who had arrived from the woods in company with the two Blanchards. Bowie exclaimed to Wright, "you d—d rascal, don't you shoot!" Wright observed that he was not afraid of him, and immediately levelled his pistol-they both fired. Bowie's shot struck Wright in the side and went through him; Wright's fire was without effect; it struck an interposing snag. After firing, they both advanced on each other-Wright with a drawn sword-cane and Bowie with his knife. Bowie stabbed Wright in two places through the arm-he then left him and went at Alfred Blanchard, made three stabs at him, one of which struck him in the left side; then leaving Blanchard he returned to Wright, who, notwithstanding his desperate wounds, was still enabled to maintain an offensive attitude, gave him a stab in the breast which went to his heart and killed him instantly. Bowie was fired at twice by Alfred, and once by C. II. Blanchard, while engaged with Wright, and once when engaged with A. Blanchard. One of the shots struck him in the thigh which brought him to the ground; he fell a short distance from Wright. A. Blanchard was