hours-but five days, as will appear from a subsequent document. His family reached him before he expired and ministered to him in his dying moments. He was calm and composed; and his last words were "I am dying, but in the strong hope and persuasion that my country will gain its independence." Thus died General Wooster, in the sixty-seventh year of his age, on the 2d of May, 1777. Congress voted 500 dollars for the erection of a monument to perpetuate his name The proceedings of that body we here insert. [PP. 156 and 197, Journals of Congress. Vol. III.] Monday, May 19th, 1777. "Resolved, That a committee of three be appointed to consider what honors are due to the memory of the late Brigadier Wooster, who died on the 21 of May, of the wounds he received on the 27th day of April, in fighting against the enemies of American liberty." The members chosen were Mr. Heyward, Mr. S. Adams, and Mr. Page. Tuesday, June 17th, 1777. The committee appointed to consider what honors are due to the memory of General Wooster, brought in a report which was taken into consideration; whereupon, "Resolved, That a monument be erected to the memory of General Wooster, with the following inscription:" "In honor of David Wooster, brigadier general in the army of the United States. In defending the liberties of America, and bravely repelling an inroad of the British forces to Danbury, in Connecticut, he received a mortal wound on the 27th day of April, 1777, and died on the 2d day of May following. The congress of the United States, as an acknowledgment of his merit and services, have caused this monument to be erected." Resolved, That the executive power of the state of Connecticut be requested to carry the foregoing resolution into execution; and that 500 dollars be allowed for that purpose. Notwithstanding these resolutions, no monument has ever been erected over his ashes. This is one of the most singular occurrences with which we are acquainted, and certainly demands explanation. How has it happened that a resolution of congress, recommending to the state of Connecticut in terms so positive the duty of erecting a memorial to one of its bravest sons, has never been carried into effect? Does the blame lie with the state or with congress or with any private party? We have heard it hinted that a private party was to blame, and actually appropriated to his own use the money which was voted for the purpose. But this rumor appears to carry its own refutation on the face of it. For besides the testimony of the general's widow to the contrary, can it for a moment be imagined that the state of Connecticut would entrust to a private person, however nearly connected with Wooster, the performance of a duty entrusted to itself by the national legislature, or deliver the public money into his hands? The matter, there fore, rests between congress and the state; and it does not seem much to the credit of either (we speak with all deference), that so little respect has been paid to the memory of General Wooster. No doubt he sleeps well; and the want of a sculptured monument disturbs not the security of his repose. The country "Has carved not a line-has raised not a stone, But left him alone in his glory." Yet the country ought to have regard to itself and its promises. It is not to its honor that a citizen so distinguished generally, and especially in our noble and successfu! struggle for independence and a name among the nations, should lie in the dust without a memorial, and that a solemn resolution of the most august body in the land should remain unfulfilled. There can be little doubt that if the country continues to neglect its duty in this matter the admirers of General Wooster are neither so few nor so forgetful as to leave him without a trophy. But we trust that the duty will not be neglected; and it would be to us a proud reflection that our feeble voice had reminded the public of what is due, and was actually promised, to departed worth. CLASSIC VAGARIES. NO. III. THE ROMAN NAVY. If you please, my friend and protegé, we will now take leave of Horace's villa; that "corner of earth," which, he says, wears a brighter smile for him than all the rest of the world besides. You may cast a look of regret at the olives, the elms, the vines, and the magnificent cascade, which pours its silver flood unceasingly into the lake below. But do not linger; we must return to Rome. You shall be conducted to the navy yard of the imperial city. Afterwards we will take the great paved road that leads directly to Ostia. We will converse, as we go, on the subject which will soon be illustrated to our senses. You know that the Romans never enjoy the poetry of sea-life. They never write it, never sing it. They have, it is true, made the sea poetical, and even deified it in their mythology. Old Neptune is as powerful a god, in his way, as Jove himself. The Nereids we can imagine to be as beautiful with their sea-green hair and foam-like eyes, as the nymphs of the woods and the fountains. Venus, too, first showed her lustrous charms to the dolphins and the sharks. Commodore Jason, the first sea captain, has been made a demi-god. Daedalus, who invented sails, has received the compliment of an enormous lie about making wings and flying over the Black sea. In fact, even now, the Roman sailor is considered by his countrymen a true hero, having a corslet of "oak and triple brass around his breast," as Horace has it. The Roman poets, too, call the sea "treacherous" and "angry" and "insane" and "ferocious," and make it as poetical a subject as any other people on the footstool can. But sea-life is to them absolute prose, with the single exception of its tragic aspects. This is not to be wondered at. The Roman vessel never ventures farther than a Yankee "salt" would send out his yawl. They coast along the shore. and sail around, instead of across the Mediterranean. They drag their vessels up on the reefs, when they see a storm coming up, and lie by until it is over. They push off, afterwards, with levers and crow-bars, to sail until another cloud rises. In short, Roman daring has never conquered the sea. The consequence is, that you never find any Latin verses breathing such sentiments as our fashionable lyrics at home contain: "A life on the ocean wave”— "A bold brave crew and an ocean blue." Ovid indulges himself in a dole, quite opposite in sentiment to our sea songs, when he addresses his dulcinea. It is not, "Come brave the sea with me, love." But he delivers himself thus: "No cities glitter on the deep, No forests wave upon the ocean; The blue in rest, the blue in motion. No painted stones or curvéd shells In delicate and sparkling cells Along the shore such treasures be. Tempt not the waves, then; rather beat The silver strand with marble feet." In America, full half of our drawing room arias, bravuras and recitatives are marine in sentiment, alluding to salt water with as much enthusiasm, as if high, white cravats, innumerable flounces and low-necked dresses were exactly suited to salt water. A naval battle is considered the perfection of martial splendor. A distingué in magazine literature offers one hundred dollars for the best story founded on the incidents of the Revolution, and two hundred and fifty dollars for the best sea story! America and Rome do not sympathise on the subject of marine life. But here is the navy yard. You can now see for the first time, the yellow waves of Father Tiber. Around you are specimens of Roman naval architecture. A galley, with five tiers of oars, is now upon the stocks. Here is a shattered vessel just drawn up to be repaired, and there is one, which has only to be covered with pitch to become sea-worthy. Here too are others, which have been drawn up from the water to remain forever. They have done good service in exchanging the commodities of Rome for the wealth of other countries, or in destroying the fleets of foreign enemies, and are now to be allowed repose. It is a fitting place to call to mind the beautiful picture of peace by a Roman poet: The wearied soldier, once in battle brave, Now seeks the farm his grateful country gave. The ship, which victory's garlands often wore, Vessels are built here with astonishing rapidity. Sometimes, to satisfy the demands of a rapid and general campaign, they are constructed of green wood. Such are, of course, a dangerous craft, but are only used for a single voyage, before they are refitted. You recollect that Scipio, in one of his brilliant enterprises against Carthage, built and equipped sixty vessels in forty-five days after the time when the timber of which they were constructed, was felled in the forests of northern Italy. Cæsar also, during his efforts to reduce the brave Marseillais, succeeded in building twelve ships of war in thirty days after the timber was cut for the purpose. You see around you the materials for ship-building; cypress, cedar, pine, a little oak, alder and fir in large quantities. But as you will find out more about naval affairs, at Ostia, I must invite you away; not however, without reminding you that the farm, exactly opposite, is that from which Cincinnatus was called to wipe off the sweat and dust of his humble toil, and to be saluted as dictator of the Roman people, whom he soon after saved from national ruin. * We are now at Ostia. As its name implies, it is the mouth of the Tiber, and is the finest harbor on the coast of Italy. Here is stationed in times of peace, the greater part of the Roman navy. From this place they are despatched to guard the coast, or upon expeditions against a foreign enemy. It is but thirteen miles from Rome, and orders to sail can soon be transmitted from the capital. Here occurred a feat by pirates, which, for audacity, might be called worthy of the buccaniers of the western tropical seas. A band of sea-robbers actually captured a whole fleet of Roman vessels, stationed at this port. You see two channels, but only one is really navigable. Yonder is the light house, but after the model of that at Alexandria by the emperor Claudius, who had a peculiar taste for marine-works. He constructed a mole into the water, after the manner so well understood in the large Atlantic cities of America. It so happened that, shortly before, an enormous vessel, which carried eleven hundred tons for ballast, had returned from Egypt with a large obelisk, which was to be erected in the circus. This ship, he sunk, to serve as a foundation for his mole, and then built yonder lighthouse upon the latter. You may observe in the offing vessels of every class, from every important post in Europe and Asia, or bound towards them. Yon der are huge hulks freighted with corn from the teeming granaries of Sicily, Chian wine from the birth place of Homer in the Ægean sea, and olive-oil (whalers are there unknown) from the territory of the Sabines. The ships of Alexandria will hardly fail to attract your attraction, for a crowd always is collected on the mole, to see them "round" yonder promontory. I can assure you that they possess what Seneca calls the qualities of a good ship. They are "upright and trim, water tight, snugly built, stout enough to bear the breaking of seas over their sides, obedient to the pilot, swift, and not too sensitive to the wind." But their peculiarity is the topsail, which they carry aloft in all weathers, except in storms of extreme violence, and which gives them extraordinary speed. No other ship could round the promontory, with a stress so great on the upper part of her masts. They present a beautiful appearance, as they sail up the bay, in a corner, like a flock of birds. The spars, from which the topsails hang, are moveable, and are run down in a gale. These vessels are called message-boats. You also see those small trim vessels, with a single tier of oars, named after the piratical Liburnians, who first made use of them. They are brigantines, with bows arched like the neck of a swan. In the famous battle of Actium between Augustus and the fleet of Anthony and Cleopatra, these vessels proved so effectual by their speed and capacity for easy management, that Augustus had the whole Roman fleet, in his day, built after their model. Among them, you may observe what the Romans call a ship-of-peace. Can you imagine a more beautiful name for a vessel? Is there not more poetry in it than in a "man-of-war?" The masts and rigging are dressed with olive branches, and ribbons are fluttering on the bows and stern. Not long since, its decks was crowded by a band of suppliants, who as they drew near the stern of the victorious vessel of the Romans, prayed the conquerors in the name of the gods carved on its stern, to grant them terms of peace. You may discern just outside of the harbor a cutter, light and graceful, which seems to look in for a moment, upon the vessels in the bay, and then darts off like a frightened deer. Its deck is full of pirates, who are bold enough to show themselves in open day to a Roman fleet. They rely upon the speed of their vessels, to escape the most imminent danger. Fifteen of them once ravaged the island Teos in the sight of the Roman fleet. In the time of Verres' prietorship, pirates entered a harbor of Sicily in frigates and burned an entire convoy of Roman ships. Yonder lies a peculiar craft, just from the Black sea, with a rudder at both ends, and a vaulted roof over it, reminding me of American river craft. There glides a yacht with the ease and grace of a swallow. It is called the "Bean-pod" and it marvellously resembles its namesake. It is built exac ly after the model of that once owned by Catullus, which he bosted of as the swiftest of vessels, or which, as he expressed it, could "go by any timber that floats." In this celebrated yacht he visited the sparkling Cyclades, Rhodes, Thrace and Propontis, |