EPISTOLARY FOR THE PORT FOLIO. ORIGINAL LETTER FROM ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. DEAR SISTER, London, near the Shepherd and Shepherdess, City Road. SHOULD this sheet be fortunate enough to reach your hand, surely you will not fail to write for our mutual satisfaction, and for the pleasure it will give our poor old mother, who is still living, and as well as she has been for many years past. We have I sent you a letter directed to Philadelphia long ago. heard nothing from you since, nor indeed any ray of information since your letter which gave some account of your voyage to that place. Nat has long entertained a notion that as you have something of the rambler in your disposition you meant to forbear writing that you might one day surprise us with your sudden appearance in London, but I find he now gives you over for dead, thinking that nothing but death could induce you to keep your friends thus in total darkness, both as to your health or sickness, prosperity or poverty; for what if you are as poor as Job, did any of your relations expect you to grow rich? You set out a friendless adventurer, and what if you remain such, is that a reason for your breach of communication with your mother? Dear wench, think of these things, and believe that a letter directed to "Mrs. Bloomfield, to be left at No. 14, Great Bell Alley, Coleman's-street, London" will be highly acceptable to us all. You may probably receive this in October, and then, when may we expect a reply? With respect to myself my "Farmer's Boy" has run through six editions, and the last publication "Rural Tales" has been reprinted largely. I know, that of the first, you have, on your side of the water, several editions of your own, (American editions) and this circumstance alone makes me wonder that you have not written to me on so great and so interesting a subject to us all. There is a French translation of the Farmer's Boy at Paris, which is now reprinting in London. Your brothers and sisters are well, and their families. Katharine is still unmarried. If I have no reply in a reasonable time I will get some of the great and good friends whom fortune has thrown in my way, to employ some person residing in your city to ascertain the truth of your situation, if living; or to transmit the particulars of your demise. Remaining in anxious uncertainty, Elizabeth Bloomfield, ? Philadelphia. S Your affectionate brother, P.S. You may, if you like it better, direct to "Robert Bloomfield, Seal-Office. Inner Temple, London.” FOR THE PORT FOLIO. QUERIES RESPECTING THE COWPEN-FINCH OF NORTH AMERICA. IT is a fact well known to naturalists, and to the people of Europe generally, that the cuckoo of that country (cuculus canorus) never builds itself a nest, but lays her eggs in the nests of other birds, and The abandons her progeny to the mercy or affection of strangers. good and amiable Dr. Jenner, who has since risen to immortal reputation, and to whose genius and humanity the whole human race are under everlasting obligations, was the first person who gave the world a particular detail of these extraordinary habits of the cuckoo, which he has done with great precision, and chiefly from his own observations. In the United States we have two species of cuckoo, each differing greatly in colour and in notes from the European one, and also in habits, for both our cuckoos build their own nests, and hatch, feed, and attend their own young, with the greatest solicitude and affection. The natural history of both these species, will be found in the second volume of the AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY, accompanied with coloured representations of the two birds and their respective eggs. In the meantime the author of that work solicits the attention of persons of leisure and information, residing in the country, to the following facts and queries. In this part of North America, particularly in the middle and southern states, we have a small bird, about the size of the female redwing blackbird, which is fond of attending the cows while at pasture, and even of frequenting the places where they are penned up in winter, to feed on the seeds, insects, &c. which it finds among the excrements of the cattle. For these reasons it is called by many, the cowbird. It is the fringilla pecaris of Linnæus and Turton, and the cowpen finch of Catesby. At a distance it appears altogether black; but on being examined in the hand, the head and neck of the male is of a fine silky drab, with the upper part of the breast deep violet; the rest of the plumage may be called black, with strong reflexions of green. This bird has long been noted by persons of observation in the country, for laying its eggs in the nests of other birds, who hatch them, and feed the young foundlingt with all the care and tenderness they show to their own brood. When it leaves the nest, one or both of the foster parents assiduously watch all its wanderings, to feed and protect it, exhibiting the same marks of anxiety and distress for its danger, and the same manœuvres for its safety, and escape, as if it were their * This name is also applied, by some people, to the Cuckoo. own offspring. On the other hand, the cow-bird is not confined in its choice to the nest of any one particular bird; for I have myself found its eggs and young in those of five different species, some of whose nests were scarcely sufficient to contain the young cow-bird of a week old. Such are some of the facts. I have now to propose a few queries, to corroborate my own observations, and to enable me to throw some light on the history of this remarkable bird. 1. Has the cow-bird ever been known to build a nest for itself; and if it has, in what situation was it placed, of what materials was it composed, and what were the number and colour of its eggs? 2. What are the birds generally selected by the, cow-bird for its nurses; and have they been observed to resist or express any uneasiness at the intrusion of the latter? 3. When the young cow-bird is hatched, or soon after, does it, like its prototype of Europe, turn out all its fellow-tenants, eggs as well as young, and occupy the premises exclusively? On some of these heads a number of examples have occurred to my own observation. Any gentleman possessing facts relative to the above, or to the history of the bird in general, will confer an obligation by transmitting them under cover to the publishers, with as little delay as more important matters may permit, and the favour will be suitably acknowledged by Philadelphia, June 11th, 1809. ALEXANDER WILSON. FOR THE PORT FOLIO. ON THE CHARACTER OF HAMLET. On a recent perusal of the tragedy of Hamlet, I was forcibly struck with the injustice of a common criticism upon what are called defects in that admirable play. The authority of Dr. Johnson has given a sanction to the objections: that Hamlet is rather an instrument than an agent: that after he has, by the stratagem of the play, convicted the king, he makes no attempt to punish him, and his death is at last effected by an incident which Hamlet had no part in producing that of the feigned madness of Hamlet, there is no adequate cause, and that the apparition left the regions of the dead to little purpose, as the revenge which he demands is not obtained but by the death of him who was required to take it. my The limits of a single paper must circumscribe observations and forbid any notice of other subjects of critical inquiry which abound in a drama distinguished for the number and variety of its incidents and charecters. The single view to which I shall confine my remarks is to show, that the circumstances which have been stated as defects of the play, are defects of Hamlet's character, which Shakspeare designed to exhibit. And if it shall appear, as I think it will upon a very brief examination, that it was the author's intention to present such a character with all its imperfections, that the character itself is a natural one, and one which, from its high importance, deserved the distinguished attention of the moral dramatist, the criticism to which I have alluded must be pronounced unfounded. With equal propriety might the author be censured for the credulous jealousy of Othello, or the criminal ambition of Macbeth. No character is better calculated to excite a deep interest than that of Hamlet: a youth of genius and virtue, possessed of the highest accomplishments and the most amiable dispositions, whose feelings are wounded, and whose firmness is overwhelmed by circumstances of peculiar difficulty and distress. Grief for his father's death, and disgust at his mother's precipitate marriage, prey upon his mind and produce a settled melancholy in his temper. Shocked at his mother's want of feeling and respect for his father's memory, which was cherished with affection and reverence by the filial piety of Hamlet, he is sensible that every tie of natural affection is broken, and that he has suffered an injury and a disgrace which admit neither of redress nor alleviation. Such an instance of depravity fills him with amazement and horror: the world itself appears to be productive of "things gross and rank in nature merely," and all its uses seem to him, 66 weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable." He wishes his being at an end, and he regrets that "the everlasting had fixed his canon 'gainst self-slaughter." roused by HoraHe immediately From this state of listless despondency, he is tio's information that he had seen his father! suspects some foul play from the appearance of his father's spirit in arms, and resolves at every hazard to pursue the inquiry. When the ghost appears, he breaks from the restraint of his friends, and in spite of their remonstrances, follows it until he obtains an answer. At the mention of murder! he impatiently cries: Haste me to know it, that I with wings as swift As meditation or the thoughts of love May sweep to my revenge. When he is informed of the circumstances of his father's murder, and is urged to avenge it, he determines to neglect every thing else, and that "the commandments of his father's spirit all alone shall live within the book and volume of his brain, unmixed with baser matter." But these resolutions, thus solemn, sincere, and spirited, produce no corresponding action. His natural temper and disposition, averse from scenes of tumult and violence, prevail over his resolutions, and render his conduct weak and indecisive. His sensibility is carried to a dangerous and faulty excess, and his indecision is fatal to every plan which he adopts. To conceal his purposes, he thinks it necessary to feign madness, and to maintain the deception, he treats his friends and his mistress with insolence and rudeness. His determina-' tion to banish from his mind all thoughts but those of revenge is soon forgotten, he complains of the hardship of his fate in being destined to correct the evils of the time, and he continues to indulge his melancholy temper with reflections upon the miseries of life. With the most sublime ideas of the dignity of human nature, he exclaims: "What a piece of work is man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a God! But his mind could find no pleasure even in the contemplation of such a subject, and he adds: Yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me, nor woman neither. He is diverted from these thoughts by the arrival of certain players, by whom he appears to be interested and amused. The gayety of Hamlet's conversation upon this and other occasions, notwithstanding his general melancholy, is perfectly natural. These flashes of mirth break from the gloomy mind like lightning from the dark clouds which overspread the atmosphere; they arise from an involuntary effort of nature, which cannot sustain continual and profound sorrow; they are sometimes the ebullitions of a mind engrossed with its own sorrows, regardless of passing events, and disposed to treat them with levity and ridicule. Such appears to have been often Hamlet's hu mour. |