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ment of American originality. We have come upon On this main point, let Dr. Carroll speak:the stage of this world 100, as a nation, under the dy. “It would be doing injustice to this subject not to notice briefiyy, nasty of science. Astrology was the delusion of other in conclusion, the duty of educated men to bring the infuence of days and of distant lands. Our youth are learning the has been made in our own country, on a small seale, to break matter-of-fact science of astronomy. Alchemy was the the alliance between religion and learning, and to divorce the hallucination of the eastern cloister, in a barbarous age. whether such an attempt offends most against sound philosnphy, We have the universe of matter before us, under the good taste or correct morals. Coleridge, . profound mental slow and small beginnings of chemical experiment. Ne intense study of the Bible wili prevent any writer from being cromancy, soothsaying, witchcraft and fable at large, all vulgar in point of style. He perhaps never uuered a sentence, in their turn marred the incipiency of the literature of this. To illustrate the beauty and sublimity of the holy ecrip. other days and other nations, but they were all exploded a national literature, would demand limits far more extensive before our oldest college edifices were built, or charters than the present address will allow. Besides giving us an

authentic account of that tremendous moral overthrow in Eden, enacted, and our literature dates since their death. which has so deeply influenced the phenomena of our present Light and immortality, come to light by the gospel, condition, the Bible presents the most touching and tender scenes shone upon the wilderness when our forefathers land- friendships of the earliest and simplest stages of human society, ed. Here then is the pedestal of American society, those agitating extremes of elevation and depression of fortune, government, genius, literature, character, and fame. and tragic interest, the plot and the catastrophe of the drama e The obstructions in the way of all, are manifest enough. the romance; it presents an analysis of moral character the

most critically exact, and furnishes the most perfect models of We have too much public domain still unappropriated. true greatness ; contains poems pervaded with an imagery, The waves of emigration roll too conspicuously toward that familiarizes the mind to those general forms of beauufal the wilderness. Wealth is too near under the gaze of stupendous realities of a future world, amidst a sunlight and a every body, as a bait to exertion. We have too many mediate residence of the Deity. Now these are objects of inspilong rivers to navigate. We have rather too sparse a ration and of classic allusion, that infinitely transcend the endre population every where as yet, and too little division of machinery of pagan mythology, and all the incidents of protade labor in all departments; loo much bustle, and too lit- fishermen derived their imperishable code of morality, far extle leisure--and, more than all, as a people we are not investigation, than that from which Plato and Socrates collected much more Americans as yet, than we are an assem- their splendid fragments. And who can doubt but that the fous

tain from which David and Isaiah drank, contains waters were blage of emigrants and their children from other nations, calm, and clear, and deep, imaging the azure above and in America. If some power of heaven, or earth, or both, reflecting the pearls beneath, on which they sleep, mere brightly had come and civilized the red men of the forest, ga- Does not · Mount Zion above,' whose summit is gilded with thered them into friendly society, organized them into the beams of an unsetting sun, and whose foot is laved by the states, gave them religion, and warmed their minds and of life, on either bank, in their perennial green, and their bosoms into that fruitfulness of thought and feeling and golden fruit, afford richer and more ample materials for the invention, out of which a literature springs—if institu- with every form of beauty with which the unassisted imagination tions had sprung up thence from the seeds of truth, and can invest it?

Whoever will examine the adaptation of the objects disclosed under the bounties of heaven--that would have been all in revelation to the original susceptibilities of our mental consti. and purely American. As it is, it will no doubt be a the Bible is destined to have over the intellectual character of long time before any thing that is American will be our race. True, as yet there is scarcely an approximation 10 a entirely original.

Christian literature in the most refined valions of the earth.

But it will not always be so. The triumphs which the Bible will But let the question of originality take care of itself, yet gain over the human intellect, and is power to lead captive we need not vex ourselves about it. The point really are as certain as those splendid conquests which it has begun to important is the intellectual and moral advancement of make, and is pledged to complete over the moral nature of man. our population. This is a field as open before us, as literature of nations, or how much has been lost by the absence the skies above, or the wilderness westward. And he of that influence on the ages that have passed away? Hos dil

ferent would have been the literature of the Augustan period, is a benefactor of our race, and the nation's friend, who had it been pervaded by the spirit of the Bible! The monuments does any thing towards this object, whether it be in of pagan genius and taste of that era, have indeed won the

admiration of the world; but it is that kind of admiration which thought, word or deed.

we feel in contemplating the proportions and symmetry and But, in conclusion of these hasty observations, we must beauty of the statue, with the concurrent conviction that still it is be contented to select one consideration from the many age, has the stature and the proportions of manhood, but it that rise to view, and that one, of course, ought to be the life, that k might become a living soul. This the Bible is most important one of all. It is this-religion is in- destined to do for the literature of future times. Whether cur dispensable to a dignified, uniform and permanent lite- tion of ours, or not, divine revelation will yet transfuse its ligte erature. On this point let every national literature and purity and vivifying spirit through the literature of all nethat the annals of time bear, be produced as witness- empire of mind. Genius shall yet pay its homage and reverently God and nature can not be obscured nor divorced from worship at the shrine of the holy oracles. And when this world each other. Of this the bosom of every man, not yet a of prophecy, which is to bring it nearer to the central light of demon, is conscious. Give the people religion, and heaven, all nations will have a literature, pure and chaste ami give it to them early, and give it to them always. It sparkling, with the dews and the sunbeans of the millennial will make them orderly, moral, thoughtful, intelligent, aspiring, enterprising and “ready unto every good work.” Then schools will arise and learning will advance. Every

CHARITY nation has a soil of its own, and an atmosphere and a sky somewhat peculiar to itself, but God has given one Bible

It is the duty of a man to love his greatest foe, to the race; and, in the language of an old heathen poet,

And shield the arm that late was raised to work his direst wo:

Just so the scented sandal tree, in all its pride and bloom, quoted by the Apostle Paul,“ we are all his offspring." Sheds on the axe that lays it low a sweet and rich perfume.


joyed, and have passed away, he still looks forward to

more substantial and enduring happiness beyond the LIFE.

grave. All human pursuit and human exertion termi

nate in this common boundary. I look upon life as a sickly and feverish dream. Its

“ The paths of glory lead but to the grave.” highest enjoyments are transient and fuctuating, and its realities painful and vapid. The poet of nature has And when, at the close of life, and he is about to plunge with great truth exclaimed, “How dull

, stale, flat, and into the fathomless ocean of eternity, he casts back his unprofitable, are all the uses of this life.” To him who has passed its meridian, and descended into the vale of eye upon the varied scenes through which he has pass

ed—the toilsome and painful march he has accomplishyears, its uses will indeed appear " dull and unprofita- ed—the unsubstantial pageants he has sighed for, and ble." He looks back upon the irregular and devious the melancholy ruins of blasted hope or of wild ambipath he has trodden, and perhaps remembers with regret, the few flowers he has called and left to perish, tion, he must exclaim, in the language of Pindar, “We and looks forward to the barren waste that lies before cies conceive!” Abdulraman, the third Caliph of Cor

are shadows, and the dreams of shadows are all our fanhim. He may recall the joyous feelings of bis youth, dova, had full experience of the vanity of the world, when fancy dipped her pinions in the rainbow hues of hope-when all the breathing scenes, and gorgeous and days of happiness he had enjoyed: “I have now reign

when he pronounced the memorable summary of the living pictures of this world, were beauty to his eye ed above fifty years in victory or peace, beloved by my and music to his ear;" but, while he remembers them, he sickens at the thought that they were but the base subjects, dreaded by my enemies, and respected by my less fabrics of a vision”—the glittering and evanescent waited on my call- nor does any earthly blessing ap

allies riches and honors, power and pleasure have baubles of fleeting enjoyment—which have

pear to have been wanting to my felicity. In this situ“Gone glimmering through the dreams of things that were."

ation I have diligently numbered the days of pure and

genuine happiness which have fallen to my lot : they And what is life?

amount to FOURTEen !-Oh, man! place not thy confi

dence in this present world.” How very few can say "A summer's day!

even this. Fourteen days of happiness out of fifty That dawns bedewed with icy tears; Youth glitters like the orient ray,

years of existence, are more than fall to the share of the Till busy, coilsome noon appears :

great mass of mankind. What is life after all ? A fitful Then as the sultry sun descends,

dream or a painful reality. Misfortunes embitter, miseThe dim horizon shadowy grows,

ries sour, and guilt poisons its enjoyment. Who would While nought but gloom and care remain, To veil the scene at evening's close.”

wish to live over the years he has numbered ? To pass

along the same path to feel the same emotions-10 But what is life? To the great majority of mankind witness the same sickly pageants, and to experience it is, after all, but a mere struggle for existence—a con- the same ingratitude, contumely, oppression, and wrong? stant effort to procure a modicum of food and raiment. It is made up of moments that are wasted-of days To this end, man labors through life-passes off, and that are misspent—and of years that only fill up the is succeeded by others, who pursue the same dull and brief span of life, and leave but the memory of the past beaten path. In civilized, as well as savage life, man behind. is propelled by the same impulses, and struggles after the same object. They, indeed, who are born to opu- “To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow, lence, are not governed by the same necessity; but are Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time; stimulated to action by another motive-the love of

And all our yesterdays bave lighted fools pleasure, power, or fame. But action of some sort is

The way to dusty death.” essential. To all, the great Creator has issued his man. date, that virtuous action is indispensable to human Let man then regard this world merely as a preparatory happiness. The motionless and unagitated lake, may stage to a future and eternal scale of existence. Let please the eye by its apparent placidity and repose, him consider his misfortunes, sufferings, and miseries, while its waters are putrid and its particles pregnant as intended to prepare him the better for a world of unwith the seeds of pestilence and death. He who labors dying glory and happiness, and let him persevere in a for mere subsistence, gives strength and activity to his course of virtue and usefulness, in contempt of the mabody, and consequent energy to his mind; and he who lignity of his enemies, and the storms of adversity that seeks fame, or wealth, or power, must be intellectually, beat around him, and he will infallibly attain to that if not physically employed. He feels the stimulus perfection and happiness hereafter, which should constiwhich gives him pleasure, and he bounds forward from iute the only true end and aim of all human exertion cliff to cliff, in his ascent, till death closes all his exer- and pursuit. tions, toils, and hopes. Disappointment does not always arrest his career, but sometimes adds new ardor to his

" Life's little stage is a small eminence, pursuit and fresh vigor lo his efforts.

Inch high the grave above, 'that home of man,

Where dwells the multitude :' we gaze around, " Man never is, but always lo be blessed."

We read their monuments ; we sigh; and while

We sigh, we sink; and are what we deplored : He lives and acts in the anticipation of future good; and Lamenting, or lamented, all our lot.” when all the sickly realities of human life have been en- Washington City.

G. W.

CROSS READING. One of the first specimens of cross reading was given by the celebrated Cardinal Richelieu, in a letter to the French Ambassador at Rome, dated the 23d of November, 1638, in which he gives a true character of a person who had been soliciting him for some time, for a recommendation to that functionary. It is as follows

"Master Campy, a Savoyard by birth, | friar of the order of St. Benedict,
is the man who will present to you the notification communicated by me in
this letter. He is one of the most discreet, the wisest, and the least
vicious persons that I ever knew; among all that I have conversed with:
he has long and earnestly solicited me to write to you in his favor, and
to give him a suitable character, together with a letter of credence ;
which I have accordingly granted to his merit rather than to
his importunity ; for, believe me, sir, he deserves infinitely your esteem ; and
I would be sorry that you should be wanting in serving him, from being
mistaken in not knowing him well, I should be afflicted if you were so,
as some worthy people have been, on that score ; but now esteem him
and those among the best of my friends. Wherefore, and from no other motive,
I think it my duty to advise you, that you are most particularly obliged
to take especial care of this man ;

to show him all the respect imaginable,
nor venture to say any thing before him, that may either offend or displease him,
in any sort. For I may and really do truly say, I love him as myself, and
assure you, there cannot be a more convincing argument of a mean and
unworthy person in the whole world, than to be base enough to injure him ;
I well know that as soon as ever you are made sensible of his virtues, and
shall become acquainted with him, you will love him as well as I do, and
will thank me for this my advice. The assurance I entertain of your
Civility obliges me to desist from urging this matter on you further, or
saying any more upon the subject. I am, sir, your affectionate friend,

RICHELIEU." I wonder if our present worthy President has ever thought of this scheme. It would have been useful to him in the palmy state of his popularity.

While on this subject f must not omit another specimen of this species of ingenious deception. It is taken from an old history of popery, published in 1679, and called the Jesuits' creed in England, and will suit either catholic or protestant. “Pro fide teneo sana Quæ docet Anglicana,

I hold for faith

What England's church allows; Affirmat quæ Romana Videntur mibi vana,

What Rome's church saith; My conscience disavows. Supremus quando rex est Tum plebs est fortunata,

Where the king is head, The flock can take no sbame, Erraticus cum Grex est Cum caput fiat pupa,

The flock's misled, Who hold the pope supreme. Altari cum ornatur Communio fit inanis,

Where the altar's drest, The worship's scarce divide, Populus tum beatur Ćummenoa vina panis.

The people's blest, Whose table's bread and wine. Assini nomen meruit Hunc morem qui non capit,

He is an ass

Who their communion fies, Missam qui deseruit. Catholicus est et sapit.”

Who shuns the mass, Is catholic and wise. Washington City.

G. W.




His power !—a word, and from the deep

This earth, with beauty rife, Shook off the incubus of sleep,

And started into life.

He spake : and radiant floods of light

Came streaming o'er its gloom,
And sweetest flowers spread to the sight

The richness of their bloom.

The deep-toned cadence of its wrath,

Speaks in the thunder's roar,
When strides the storm-sprite o'er his path,

And shakes the trembling shore.
But, oh! its deepest melody

Breaks on the troubled soul,
When first it sets the spirit free,

And makes the wounded whole.
His presence !--if there were a spot

Of earth on which we dwell,
Where it were said that God is not,

That spot would be a hell.
His presence fills the heaven of heaven

With its supreme delight,
And from his dazzling throne is given

The glory of its light.
Creation quakes beneath His frown,

Worlds fly before his nod;
The boundless universe must own

The presence of its God.

It measured out the billowy sea,

It piled the mountain high ;
His power has caused the stars to be

'Tis written on the sky.

His voice !-when gently breathes the morn,

The voice of God is there; Its accents, too, are softly borne

Upon the evening air.

'Tis a time

will know no voice until awakened in a brighter world. FRANCIS ARMINE-A ROMANCE.

Peace to that young heart--rest to that fair form! BY A NOVICE.

The wife and the mother sat there. She was so no longer. Many trials had she gone through

these were the heaviest,-many afflictions had she CHAPTER VII.

passed by—these were the bitterest. The window at For memory and for tears. Within the deep

which Mrs. Morton sat, commanded a view, which at Still chamber of the heart, a spectre lifts

that hour might well have attracted her attention. The coffin-lid of Hope and Joy and Love,

But her thoughts flowed in a far different channel. The And bending mournfully above the pale

themes on which she mused, were dark and melanSweet forms that slumber there, scatters dead flowers O'er what has passed to nothingness.

choly; and as they, one by one, glided before her, and Geo. D. Prentice.

gave way but to new doubts and fears, the tears of Why turns her brow so pale-why starts to life

affliction gushed from her eyes, and swept, drop by That languid eye? What form, before unseen,

drop, down her pale cheeks. There comes an hour to With all the spells of hallowed memory rife, Now rises on her vision ?


all, when hope, though an evergreen, blooms in vain-or

blooming, as it springs up is withered by the hot winds How mournful is it to realize the truth that Death, of despair! the slayer, has laid his cold finger upon the young and It was the morning of the day on which she was to beautiful, and swept them from the earth forever. It is witness the remains of her husband and her daughter mournful at all times! but when his dread wing has placed in the grave. Many were already gathered been flapped over those with whom we were associated around the house. As she sat in the recess of the low by the deep feelings of natural affection, or the tender window of the room, and looked forth upon the people ties of love, it is doubly mournful! How mournful and beneath, their words reached her ears. They were how bitter is it to enter the darkened chamber, and speaking of the child's death, and alluding to its guiltmark the awful change that has passed over forms less murderer. which, perchance, on yesterday moved gaily and hap- “Of what country was he ?” inquired onė. pily down the great stream of life-to behold the lip on “An Italian,” was the answer. whose words we lingered, mute and still-the heart, "What was his name?” asked another. whose beatings were all in unison with our own, mo- “Francis Armine," was the immediate reply of tionless and calm—the hand, with whose every touch many. we were familiar, dull and heavy-the pulse that Mrs. Morton heard no more. At the mention of swelled in warmth and freedom, throbbing no more that name, a sudden dizziness came over her, and she the eye, whose glance had often met our own, glazed swooned away. and fixed-the smile that once interpreted our lightest wish, departed—the brow cold-the breath choked, and The funeral procession swept on. First came the the frame pressed in the mouldering coffin, where the bier, drawn by two black horses, and surmounted by worm will feed upon it, and where the cold damp earth dark and gloomy plumes ; then followed the principal will rot and decay it.

mourner, with the relatives of the deceased. The There was sorrow and death in the dwelling of Mor- venerable clergy, with whom Morton had been assoton. It was a strange contrast between the joy and ciated, came next, with slow and measured tread. brightness of the outward scene, and the gloom and Next came a great number of little children, the acsadness of that house of mourning. Sweetly and beauti- quaintances and schoolinates of the deceased daughter, fully had the light of another day trembled from the chanting, as they walked along, a low and plaintive distant portals of the east upon the earth. That light song, and at moments changing the air to one thrillingly streamed through the closed curtains of the chamber, sweet and touching, which sounded like tones of hope and fell upon a bed on which lay the unconscious bursting on the despairing mind; then could be seen dead-the father and the child. Though the death of an immense multitude of citizens drawn together in the former had been a violent one, he seemed to have sympathy for the survivor. passed away without much pain. His features were And thus the procession moved on. It had swept calm and settled—the hands, that had performed many through the streets of Paris-throoged with awekind deeds, hung heavily at his side-the eyes, that had stricken spectators--and wherever it moved, the gay looked love and affection, were dull and rayless-the laugh of life was stilled, and the hum of business was form, that had moved among the living but a few hours hushed. Already had it passed through the city and previous, in manly pride, had returned to senseless reached the heights of Charron, on which is situated clay: and the young girl, that Francis Armine had that quiet resting place the last and silent home of the innocently robbed of life and sent to her long resting illustrious and noble dead-Pere la Chaise. place ere the world had withered her affections, seemed That funeral train was a melancholy spectacle. The as though she had fallen into a gentle slumber. How dreary bier with its death-like plumes—the mournersmany sweet thoughts went down with that beautiful the clergy-the children, and the long line of citizens, child to the voiceless grave! Thoughts of home-of as well as the perfect silence that reigned around, renhappiness of joy, and peace,--thoughts, that may not dered it sacred and solemn to the most unfeeling specyet have burst forth, and awaited but some genial tator. The song of the children had ceased—the cry of touch, to make them flow like cooling waters from the the mourners could not be heard, and the whisperings rock of old, -thoughts of love and affection, that had of the assembled multitude were hushed. All was not yet clustered around that pure mind—and that, alas! Istill-awfully still-within the city of the dead. The

VOL. IV-88

mourners stood around the graves—the coffins were he would'nt make such a sorry spectacle of a friend who lowered the earth was dropped upon them, but its has served him like a brave fellow through all his little hollow sound could scarce be heard amid the loud and sprees, and so forth, on the road." piercing lament that then went up as if from every lip. “He would though. To be sure he was very easy,

And now the vast crowd of carriages and foot pas- when our company first selected him; but splice me if sengers moved homewards—stream upon stream rushed be has'nt become the tightest rogue that ever backed a from the heights of Charron, down towards Paris, and horse in the glance of old Oliver.* He shot that great in a short time nearly all of that dense and serried preacher the other night who was buried to-day; and, crowd had disappeared.

I'm told, has said that he intended to quit us. France But Mrs. Morton, overcome with fatigue and sorrow, is getting too hot for him, and he'd better leave it." sat in her carriage alone, and moved slowly towards The robbers became silent, for the person of whom the city. She seemed lingering to gaze upon that spot they were speaking, had joined them. He was about to which the living never turn save in sadness. At the middle height, of a sinewy frame, and presented this time a change came over the scene. The clouds altogether a brave and chivalric bearing, well calculated that had before passed along silent and unnoticed, now for the situation of captain of the followers of Robin swept swiftly over the southern part of the sky. A Hood. low yet distant thunder was heard—the air, before “Ha! Captain Montanvers.” refreshing, now became sultry and oppressive-and “Well, my merry men, how fares the lady since I then suddenly the bending pines gave warning that the left her ?” tempest would follow. And it did come. Masses of “Better, far better, captain," replied Allen. thickened clouds rushed in gloomy ranks up the hea- “Hush! hush, man-not so loud. Go you Allen to vens, and contended, like giant gladiators, in the savage the common yonder, and inform me when any traveland convulsive struggle-nearer and nearer shouted ler comes in sight. I have suspicions that some one has the thunder-swifter and swifter flashed the many- blabbed on us-go you—quick." forked lightning, and darkness mantled the outstretched And he departed, chanting such rude ditties as this, wall of heaven-above and about the earth it de- as he walked alongscended in one far-spreading intense banner of gloom

“ Much sweeter than honey when the spirit of the tempest moved abroad, and shook

Is other men's money!" out his rainy shroud upon the earth, and fast and fiercely

Some time elapsed ere Mrs. Morton was conscious of it poured and fell. It lasted but for a short time, and her situation. During the night she had talked and ere it came again, a horseman dashed by the carriage raved and suffered-she had, in her delirium, spoken of of Mrs. Morton. As he passed, the whole earth was events and named names, which none but the captain lighted up with an intense and brilliant glare. That of whom we have spoken knew, and which of course light enabled Mrs. Morton clearly to see the horse none but him understood. When she awoke, daylight man. As she did so, a gladness beamed upon her was streaming into the window of a room of which she melancholy countenance. Her heart was in her eyes; was the only occupanShe looked around, and won. and as they gazed, the warm tears of joy fell uncon- dered where she was, and then her recollection returned, sciously from them. “Do I dream? No-no! It is and all the grief that had weighed upon her spirit again him! That form, I could never forget it! Would that came rushing back like the chilling waters of some he were nearer! Would that I could again hear his mighty stream. voice! I will!-I will!”

“Where am I?” cried she, rising from the bed. At that instant the carriage struck violently against “My brother-my brother--surely I have seen him. a huge rock in the road, and suddenly overset. The No!--it was but a dream !” boy driver, escaping unhurt from the vehicle, hastened

A man entered-it was Allen. to assist Mrs. Morton, and found her thrown some dis

“ Your service, madam,” said he, bowing low. The tance from the seat and senseless.

captain asked me to thank you for your condescension in honoring his humble roof, and says your carriage is

now at the door, which, thinking you might wish to CHAPTER VIN.

return to your home early, he had sent to the village and My mind misgives

repaired." Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,

“Thanks--many thanks--it is already late, and I Shall bitterly begin this fearful date.

will start immediately. To whom do I owe this hospi

Romeo and Juliet. tality."
Since I came hither I have heard strange news.

“Why, madam, it was nothing but rightseeing King Lear. that the night was dark and stormy, and your carriage

broke down. I hope your ladyship was not hurt, "Softly, softly-here approaches the captain. Should although you looked awful pale when we found you. he witness your mutinous arm raised so high, be sure This is captain Montanvers' house, and I am sure that he'd tear it off and beat you to death with the bloody any one in distress is welcome here." stump,” said a little man, evidently of the lowest order,

"Could I see that gentleman, and thank him personto one of the same stamp, as they stood in the door of ally for his kindness?" asked she. a small house on the road side, near Paris.

“Oh! no, madam : the captain is-is unwell;" and “ Hist!" returned the companion, looking at the as he spoke he walked towards the door. The lady folcaptain, who was near the house; and sinking his voice, "Allen, you sly dog, the captain may be tyrannical, but

The moon.

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