shall be obliged to ask very elementary questions. Shall you have patience to answer them?

PHRENOLOGON. There is nothing I like so well. But I must take another opportunity; for the hour is come for our lecture. I will meet you here again at the hour and the day you will appoint.

SOCRATES. I am always to be found by those who seek me. But when you come, be prepared to tell me,-what is the Soul?

TO THE RIVER HUDSON.

EY T. H. HOWARD.

On Hudson! by thy margin, I,

In boyhood's fond and fervid dreams
Once schooled my heart to love, and why
Are now my steps by other streams?
And where thy Palisades arise
In gorgeousness, to greet the skies,
Why rove I not-no more to part?
River! bright river of my heart!

River, that rollest by the walls

Of that great city, which hath cast
Her spell o'er earth, and now recalls
Each memory of the mightiest, past.
Of the queen Venice, when arose
Her marble structures, and of those
Of Olden Tyre, still freely roll,
River! bright river of my soul !

River, whose crested billows sweep,

By her abode whose name doth waken

The recollection, fond and deep,

Of hours, ere she was yet forsaken;
River! oh, let in murmurs sweet
To her, thy waves, the words repeat,
We breathed together by thy side,
River, bright river of my pride!

River, oh wildly rolling river!

What scenes of beauty match with thine;

Not the famed Po, nor Gaudelquiver,

Nor rock-ribbed Rhone, nor classic Rhine;
Nor the dark Danube, in his course,—

Nor myriad-mouthed, of unknown source,—
Mysterious Nile—nor one, in truth,
River, bright river of my youth!

NAPOLEON IN EXILE.

River, oh let me speak thy name

Once more with hers whose name to me,
In Song's melodious numbers, came

Hallowed alike to her and thee;
Hallowed by unforgotten hours

Of bliss, by youth's decaying bowers,→
By hopes to meet, no more to part;
River! bright river of my heart.

MOBILE, July 25th, 1837.

NAPOLEON IN EXILE.

I LIVE, to breathe the breath of pain,
And ask for death and find it not;
And loathe and dare to curse the chain
That binds me to my sunless lot.
My only care,-to hide my feeling!
My only prayer,-to feel no more!
My joy,-that pain at least is stealing,
In every sigh one life-throb more!

I am alone!-The waves go by,

And mock me with their reckless roll,
And Heaven's serene and burning eye
Looks calm into my maddened soul!
Oh for some war!-some blast or groan,
To hush or drown, or oh! to blend,
In fearful union, with the tone
Of passions, that my spirit rend.

Alone! and it is fit and well;

For this I thank my coward foe;
They dare not bid the eagle dwell,

Though chained, among the weak and low!

Ay! 'tis a fitting fate for one,

Who, 'mid their haughtiest, lonely stood;
I would not leave my glorious throne,
Though all their kings beneath me sued.

And still they fear me;—even I,

The feeblest, loneliest of them all,
The veriest wretch beneath the sky
Can yet their craven hearts appal.

Yet unforgotten, too;-no breast,

But thrills with love, or fear, or hate,
For him, the exiled and unblest,

The chained, the weak, the desolate !

What though no titles yet remain ?

As well with night might mortals war,
And think, with human breath, to stain
The lonely splendor of her star,—

As they, to rob my fatal name
Of the deep glory it hath won,-
The clear-the halo-light of Fame,
That lingers round NAPOLEON!

FLORENCE.

CRITICAL NOTICES.

Memoirs, Correspondence, and Manuscripts of General Lafayette. Vol. I. Saunders and Otley, New-York.

"Light won light lost," is an old saying so often exemplified in human actions, that it bears with it all the force of an axiom. If the converse be equally true, the present condition of our liberties must be an exception to the rule. It seems incredible, while reading the details of the fierce struggle of our fathers in books like that before us, that men should so easily surrender the advantages which it cost so much toil to win; and that we should let the liberties which were wrenched from the most powerful nation of the earth glide from us like a dream of the night, and pass into the hands of the most contemptible oligarchy that ever swayed the destinies of a people. It is enough to make one sicken at all human endeavor. In vain has the head of the statesman contrived, in vain has the arm of the warrior achieved, in vain has the heart of the patriot bled, if the voice of the sage, the deeds of the brave, and the hallowing blood of the martyr are so soon to be forgotten, or remembered only as heard from the desecrating lips of those who blaspheme the name of Freedom while holding their infernal orgies above her grave. Good heavens! what would the men who figure in this correspondence have thought, could they, with prophetic car, have caught the avowals of the party now in ascendancy as to the principles upon which the government which they were building up was to be conducted? What would they have thought could they have heard the President of the republic, before two generations had passed away, declare, in a formal instrument addressed to the national legislature, that he possessed certain original powers paramount to the constitution, and not derivable from the people? What would they have thought could they have known that he would have the ability effectually to enforce his doctrine of "divine right" by interpreting the constitution upon his "own responsibility?" that he would have the power not merely to act upon that doctrine in his own person, but to appoint his successor, and bequeath to him that same right almost undisputed by the people?-a right now so little questioned, that no act of extravagance upon the part of him who wields it, can affect its continual exercise. Think ye the reflection would have stimulated them to do, and dare, and suffer every thing for the cause of Freedom-so soon to be betrayed? But they dreamed not that their labors would prove so perishable. They could not conceive that when they left an equal heritage of Liberty to all, the hard-won possession would so soon pass to a few, and centre almost in one alone, until our theoretical democracy should become as practical a despotism as any at the moment existing in Christendom. If any man doubts that our government be such a despotism from the mere fact that it has not yet tampered at will with the lives as well as with the fortunes and characters of its subjects, we would ask him, whether any single individual, or any one set or class of men, have dared to raise their voices against its usurpations without he or they being made in some way to suffer dearly for their

temerity, if not ground to the earth beneath the wheels of the political Juggernaut of the day? Have we not for years lived under a system of espionage that penetrates into every family in the country as effectually as did ever the secret tribunals of Venice? and are we not now living under a system of oppression so blind and relentless that no man can say where next it may touch his property-where still it may continue to spare him the means of living? And yet there are those among us who, seeing all this-who, seeing how each promise of the government has been falsified-how each principle, save that of the spoils, by which it pretends to regulate itself, has been violated-who, witnessing how the different classes of society have been arrayed against each other-the State Banks against the general bank, the mechanics against the merchants; and finally, after using each for a certain time to work its own profligate ends-the Government against them all, until the influence of each has been broken in detail, and all obliged to succumb to the one absorbing power-there are those we say, who, having had a full experience of the reliance to be placed upon such a party, still continue to hope better things from the present administration. The honest but dreaming Democrat still hopes it will realize his happy visions of an era of equal rights, when the aristocracy of nature will be alone acknowledged; the equally honest but timid Conservative still looks to it to preserve his country against scenes like those which polluted the soil of Revolutionary France; while the imported UltraRadical, and the Tory monarchist in embryo, look with more rational hopes upon the ultimate tendency of measures which daily vibrate between the darling tenets of either, without ever occupying any wholesome ground between them. But enough of this. The torch may expire that was passed in such effulgence to our hands; but, like the degenerate votaries of Dodona of old, we may still gather round the fount where it was first kindled, and recall the glories of former years. We learn from President Duer, in his preface to this work, that it was the desire of Lafayette that this edition of his Memoirs and Correspondence should be considered as "a legacy to the American people." As a bequest of the noble old general, it will be of course esteemed by our countrymen; but we think it has a value of its own, apart from the association with the name of the owner. It is the record of a just, honorable, and kind heart, ever actuated by the most virtuous impulses, and preserving throughout every trial of its constancy the same singleness of feeling, the same unshaken rectitude of purpose; the record of a heart softened by a benevolence that knew no intermission, and warmed by a philanthropic zeal that shed the same wholesome and well-regulated influence to the last. There were many men figuring amid the scenes of our Revolution who were worthy of even such a leader as Washington; many who in intellectual qualities were superior to Lafayette; but in him alone do we recognize the thorough disciple of the most perfect man that ever lived. No man ever served a more faithful apprenticeship to greatness than did this young French nobleman from the moment that he made Washington his model, which was upon his first interview with the great Republican Chief. He studied his character in all its phases, and spared no self-discipline to form his own upon the glorious original. How shallow then is the charge of a want of ambition, so often ascribed to Lafayette as a fault by the mere politician, when he passed a long life in such selfennobling emulation! But it is ever thus with mankind; there is a trait of meanness in human nature which leads it to measure greatness, not by worth, but by power; while the power to injure and to trample upon our race is ever more admired than the will to serve and elevate it. So all-pervading, too, is this weakness, that even singularity of position, however eminent, can hardly gain the suffrages of the multitude for the good, when compared with the dazzling eminence which evil men may attain. The world, which has seen many Napoleons, has known

but one WASHINGTON yet ten men worship the glory of the Corsican conqueror; where one cherishes the memory of the American Patriot. And so with the fame of the good Lafayette," which Napoleon, though he would have scorned to emulate, did not disdain to slur with his sneers.

How far the reputation of Lafayette for talent may be raised by the publication of this work we are not prepared to say until we see the second volume. What especially strikes us in the present one, however, is a certain precocity of character, which leads him to reason and act for himself, while yet a mere youth, with a degree of good sense that rarely accompanies so zealous a disposition in early life. We commence our quotations with some extracts, which portray the delightful relations existing between the young hero and the different members of his family, at the time when he first sacrificed the enjoyments of home to the promptings of a spirit in which chivalry and philanthropy were ever most beautifully blended.

LETTER FROM LAFAYETTE TO HIS FATHER, ÆT. TWENTY.

"London, March 9, 1777. "You will be astonished, my dear father, at the news I am on the point of giving you it has cost me far more than I can express not to consult you. My respect and affection for you, as well as my great confidence in you, must convince you of the truth of this assertion; but my word was given, and you would not have esteemed me had I broken it; the step I am now taking will at least prove to you, I hope, the goodness of my intentions. I have found a peculiar opportunity of distinguishing myself, and of learning a soldier's trade: I am a general officer in the army of the United States of America. The frankness of my conduct, and my zeal in their service, have completely won their confidence. I have done, on my side, all I could do for them, and their interest will ever be dearer to me than my own. In short, my dear father, I am at this moment in London, anxiously awaiting letters from my friends; upon receiving them, I shall set off from hence, and, without stopping at Paris, I shall embark in a vessel that I have myself purchased and chartered. My travelling companions are the Baron de Kalb, a very distinguished officer, brigadier in the King's service, and majorgeneral, as well as myself, in the United States' army; and some other excellent officers, who have kindly consented to share the chances of my fate. I rejoice at having found such a glorious opportunity of occupying myself, and of acquir ing knowledge. I am conscious that I am making an immense sacrifice, and that to quit my family, my friends, and you, my dearest father, costs me more than it could do any other person, because I love you all far more tenderly than any other person ever loved his friends. But this voyage will not be a very long one; we see every day far longer journeys taken for amusement only; and hope also to return more worthy of all those who are kind enough to regret my absence. Adieu, my dear father, I hope I shall soon see you again. Retain your affection for me; I ardently desire to merit it-nay, I do merit it already, from my warm affection towards you, and from the respect that, during the remainder of his life, will be felt for you by

"Your affectionate son,
"LAFAYETTE."

TO MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.

"On board the Victory, May 30th, 1777.

"I am writing to you from a great distance, my dearest love, and, in addition to this painful circumstance, I feel also the still more dreadful uncertainty of the time in which I may receive any news of you. I hope, however, soon to have a letter from you; and, amongst the various reasons which render me so desirous of a speedy arrival, this is the one which excites in me the greatest degree of im patience. How many fears and anxieties enhance the keen anguish I feel at being separated from all that I love most fondly in the world! How have you borne my second departure? have you loved me less? have you pardoned me? have you reflected that, at all events, I must equally have been parted from you,-wandering about in Italy, dragging on an inglorious life, surrounded by the persons most opposed to my projects and to my manner of thinking? All these reflections