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the pride of her great names. I claim them fo countrymen, one and all—the Laurens, the Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the Sumpters, the Mari

be hemmed in by state lines, than their talents and patriotism, were capable of being circumscribed, within the same narrow limits.

616. EULOGIUM ON THE SOUTH. If there be one state in the union, Mr. President, (and I say it not in a boastful spirit) that may challenge comparison with any other, for a uniform, zeal-ons-Americans all-whose fame is no more to ous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion to the union, that state-is South Carolina. Sir, from the very commencement of the revolution, up to this hour, there is no sacrifice, however great, In their day, and generation, they served, and she has not cheerfully made; no service, she honored the country, and the whole country, and has ever hesitated to perform. She has adhered their renown is of the treasures of the whole to you in your prosperity; but, in your adversi- country. Him, whose honored name the gentlety, she has clung to you, with more than filial man himself bears-does he suppose me less caaffection. No matter what was the condition of pable of gratitude for his patriotisin, or sympaher domestic affairs, though deprived of her re- thy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first sources, divided by parties, or surrounded by opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead difficulties, the call of the country, has been to of South Carolina? Sir, does he suppose it in her, as the voice of God. Domestic discord his power, to exhibit a Carolina name so bright, ceased at the sound, every man became at once as to produce envy in my bosom No, sir, inreconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Caro-creased gratification, and delight, rather. Sir, 1 lina were all seen, crowding together to the tem-thank God, that, if I am gifted with little of the ple, bringing their gifts to the altar of their com-spirit, which is said to be able to raise mortals to mon country. the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down. But sir, let me recur to pleasing recollections

What, sir, was the conduct of the south during the revolution? Sir, I honor New England for her conduct in that glorious struggle. But, great-let me indulge in refreshing remembrances of as is the praise, which belongs to her, I think at deast, equal honor is due to the south. They espoused the quarrel of their brethren, with a generous zeal which did not suffer them to stop to calculate their interest in the dispute. Favorites of the mother country, possessed of neither ships, nor seamen, to create commercial rivalship, they might have found, in their situation, a guarantee, that their trade would be forever fostered, and protected by Great Britain. But, trampling on all considerations, either of interest, or safety, they rushed into the conflict, and, fighting for principle, perilled all in the sacred cause of freedom.

the past-let me remind you, that in early times, no states cherished greater harmony, both of principle, and of feeling, than Massachusetts and South Carolina. Would to God, that harmony might again return. Shoulder to shoulder they went through the revolution—hand in hand, they stood round the administration of Washington, and felt his own great arm lean on them for sup→ port. Unkind feeling, if it exist, alienation and distrust, are the growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since sown. They are weeds, the seeds of which that same great arm neve scattered.

Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts-she needs none. There she is-behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill; and there they will remain, forever. The bones of her sons, fal'en in the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every state, from New England to Georgia; and there they will lie-forever.

Never-were there exhibited, in the history of the world, higher examples of noble daring, dreadful suffering, and heroic endurance, than by the whigs of Carolina, during the revolution. The whole state, from the mountains to the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the enemy. The fruits of industry-perished on the spot where they were produced, or were consumed by the foe. "The plains of Carolina" drank up the most precious blood of her citizens! Black, and smoking ruins-marked the places which had been the habitations of her children Driven from their homes, into the gloomy, and almost impenetrable swamps, even there-the spirit of liberty survived; and South Carolina, ustained by the example of her Sumpters, and Marions, proved, by her conduct, that though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her peo-its existence is made sure. it will stand, in the ple was invincible.--Hayne.

617. EULOGIUM ON THE NORTH. The eulogium pronounced on the character of the state of South Carolina, by the honorable gentleman, for her revolutionary, and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowladge, that the honorable member is before me. in regard for whatever of distinguished talent, or distinguished character, South Carolina has produced. I claim part of the honor: I partake in

And, sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its original spirit. If discord, and disunion shall wound it-if party strife, and blind ambition shall hawk at, and tear it; if folly and madness, if uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraint, shall succeed to separate it from that union by which alone,

end, by the side of that cradle in which its in-
fancy was rocked; it will stretch forth its arm,
with whatever of vigor it may still retain, over
the friends who gather around it: and it will
fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest
monuments of its own glory, and on the very
spot of its origin.-Webster.

The sweetest cordial-we receive at last,
Is conscience--of our virtuous actions past,
Inform yourself, and instruct others.

618. LIBERTY AND UNION. I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view, the prosperity, and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our federal union. It is to that union, we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that union, that we are chiefly indebted, for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That union we reached, only by the discipline of our virtues, in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin, in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, these great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration-has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility, and its blessings; and although our territory has stretched out, wider and wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its protection, or its benefits. It has been to us all, a copious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds, that unite us together, shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom-the depth-of the abyss-below; nor could I regard him, as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the union should be preserved, but, how tolerable might be the condition of the people, when it shall be broken up, and destroyed.

While the union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us, and our children. Beyond that, I seek not to penetrate the vail. God grant, that, in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. God grant, that on my vision, never may be opened what lies behind. When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last tune, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken, and dishonored fragments of a once glorious union; on states dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land, rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known, and honored, throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies-streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased, or polluted, nor a single star obscured-bearing for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as-What is all this worth? Nor those other words of delusion and folly-Liberty-first, and union-afterwards but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea, and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every-true-American heart-Liberty and union, now, and forever, une-and inseparable!-Webster.

Seems like a canopy, which Love hath spread.
To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle hills,
Robed in a garment of untrodden snow;
Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend,
So stainless, that their white and glittering spires
Tinge no: the moon's pure beam; yon castl'd steep,
Whose banner nangeth o'er the time-worn tower,
So idly, that rapt fancy, deemeth it
A metaphor of peace;-all form a scene,
Where musing Solitude might love to lift
Her soul, above this sphere of earthliness!
Where Silence, undisturbed, might watch alone,
So cold, so bright, so stili!
The orb of day,
In southern climes, o'er ocean's waveless field,
Sinks, sweetly smiling: not the faintest breath
Steals o'er the unruthed deep; the clouds of eve
Reflect, unmoved, the lingering beam of day;
And Vesper's image, on the western main,
Is beautifully still. To-morrow comes:
Cloud upon cloud, in dark and deepening mass,
Roll o'er the blackened waters; the deep roar
Of distant thunder mutters awfully;
Tempest unfolds its pinions, o'er the gloom,
That shrouds the boiling surge; the pitiless fiend.
With all his winds, and lightnings, tracks his prey;
The torn deep yawns-the vessel finds a grave
Beneath its jagged gulf.

Ah! whence yon glare
That fires the arch of heaven? that dark red smoke,
Blotting the silver moon? The stars are quenched
In darkness, and the pure spangling snow
Gleams, faintly, thro' the gloom, that gathers round!
Hark to that roar, whose swift and deafening peals,
In countless echoes through the mountains ring,
Startling palo Midnight, on her starry throne!
Now swells the intermingling din; the jar,
Frequent, and frightful, of the bursting bom);
The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout,
The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of men
Inebriate with rage!-loud and more loud,
The discord grows; till pale Death shuts the scene,
And, o'er the conqueror, and the conquered, draws
His cold, and bloody shroud. Of all the men,
Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there,
In proud, and vigorous health--of all the hearts,
That beat with anxious life, at sunset there-
How few survive, how few are beating now!
Ail is deep silence, like the fearful calm,
That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause;
Save when the frantic wail of widowed love
Comes, shuddering, on the blast, or the faint moan,
With which some soul bursts from the frame of clay
Wrapped round its struggling powers.

[smoke,

The gray morn Dawns on the mournful scene; the sulphurous Before the icy wind, slow rolls away, And the bright beams of frosty morning dance Along the spangling snow. There, tracks of bloo Even to the forest's depth, and scattered arms, 619. MOONLIGHT, AND A BATTLE-FIELD. And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh, Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful [path Which vernal zephyrs breathe, in Evening's ear, Of the out-sallying victors: far behind, Were discord, to the speaking quietude, [vault, Black ashes note, where their proud city stood. That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon Within yon forest, is a glooomy glen— Studded with stars unutterably bright, Each tree, which guards its darkness from the day, Thro' which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, Waves o'er a warrior's tomb.-Shelly.

READINGS AND RECITATIONS.

620. GOODNESS OF Gon. nature, the works of creation, the general The light of consent of nations, in harmony with divine revelation, attest the being, the perfections, and the providence of God. Whatever cause we have, to lament the frequent inconsistency of human conduct, with this belief, yet an avowed atheist is a monster, that rarely makes his appearance. God's government of the affairs of the universe, an acknowledgment of his active, superintending providence, over that portion of it, which constitutes the globe we inhabit, is rejected, at least theoretically, by very few.

That a superior, invisible power, is continvally employed in managing and controlling by secret, imperceptible, irresistible means, all the transactions of the world, is so often manifested in the disappointment, as well as in the success of our plans, that blind and depraved inust our minds be, to deny, what every day's transactions so fully prove. The excellence of the divine character, especially in the exercise of that goodness towards his creatures, which is seen in the dispensation of their daily benefits, and in overruling occurring events, to the increase of their happiness, is equally obvious.

THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.
How dear to this heart-are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection-presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot, which my infancy knew ;
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock, where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy house-nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket, which hung in the well!
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.
That moss-covered vessel-I hail as a treasure;

For often at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest, and sweetest, that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing!
And quick-to the white-pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well;
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket-arose from the well.
How sweet-from the green-mossy brim-to receive it,
As poised on the curb-it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet-could tempt me to leave it,
Though filled with the nectar, that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed-from the lov'd situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy-reverts to my father's plantation,

Do we desire evidence of these things? And sighs for the bucket, which hangs in the well; Who is without them, in the experience of The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, his own life? Who has not reason, to thank The moes-covered bucket, which hangs in the well. God for the success, which has attended his exertions in the world? Who has not reason portant, as I deem it, to discuss, on all prop 621. RIGHT OF FREE DISCUSSION. Imto thank him, for defeating plans, the accomplishment of which, it has been afterwards present pursued, it is still more important er occasions, the policy of the measures, at seen, would have resulted in injury, or ruin? to maintain the right of such discussion, in Who has not cause, to present him the unaf- its full, and just extent. Sentiments, lately fected homage of a grateful heart, for the con- sprung up, and now growing fashionable, sequences of events, apparently the most un- make it necessary to be explicit on this point. propitious, and for his unquestionable kind-The more I perceive a disposition-to check ness, in the daily supply of needful mercies?

PROGRESS OF LIBERTY.

Why muse
Upon the past, with sorrow? Though the year
Has gone, to blend with the mysterious tide
Of old Eternity, and borne along,
Upon its heaving breast, a thousand wrecks
Of glory, and of beauty,-yet why mourn,
That such is destiny? Another year
Succeedeth to the past,-in their bright round,
The seasons come, and go,-the same blue arch,
That hath hung o'er us, will hang o'er us yet,—
The same pure stars, that we have loved to watch,
Will blossom still, at twilight's gentle hour,
Like lilies, on the tomb of Day, and still,
Man will remain, to dream, as he hath dreamed,
And mark the earth with passion. Love will spring

From the tomb of old Affections,-Hope,
And Joy, and great Ambition-will rise up,
As they have risen,-and their deeds will be
Brighter, than those engraven on the scroll-
Of parted centuries. Even now, the sea
Of coming years, beneath whose mighty waves,
Life's great events are heaving into birth,
Is tossing to and fro, as if the winds

the freedom of inquiry, by extravagant, and unconstitutional pretences, the firmer shall be the tone, in which I shall assert, and the freer the manner, in which I shall exercise it.

It is the ancient and undoubted prerogative of this people-to canvass public measures, and the merits of public men. It is a

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home bred right," a fireside privilege. It hath ever been enjoyed in every house, cottage, and cabin, in the nation. It is not to be drawn into controversy. It is as undoubted, as the right of breathing the air, or walking on the earth. Belonging to private life, as a it is the last duty which those, whose repreright, it belongs to public life, as a duty; and sentative I am, shall find me to abandon. Aiming, at all times, to be courteous, and it to its extent. I shall place myself on the temperate in its use, except, when the right itself shall be questioned, I shall then carry extreme boundary of my right, and bid defiance to any arm, that would move me from my ground.

This high, constitutional privilege, I shall defend, and exercise, within this house, and without this house, and in all places; in time of peace, and in all times. Living, I shall assert it; and, should I leave no other inheritance to my children, by the blessing of God,

of heaven were prisoned in its soundless depths, I will leave them the inheritance of free prinAnd struggling to be free.

As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form,
Bwells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Tho' round its breast, the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine-settles on its head.

What is fame? A fancy'd life in others' breath.

ciples, and the example of a manly, inde-
pendent, and constitutional defence of them.
Grasp the whole world of reason, life, azi sense,
In one close system of benevolence;
Happier, as kindlier, in whate'er degree,
A height of bliss-is height of charity.

622. PEACE AND WAR CONTRASTED. The morality of peaceful times-is directly opposite to the maxims of war. The fundamental rule of the first is-to do good; of the latter, to inflict injuries. The former-commands us to succor the oppressed; the latter to overwhelm the defenceless. The former teaches men to love their enemies; the latter, to make themselves terrible to strangers. The rules of morality-will not suffer us to promote the dearest interest, by falsehood; the maxims of war applaud it, when employed in the destruction of others. That a familiarity with such maxims, must tend to harden the heart, as well as to pervert the moral sentiments, is too obvious to need illustration. The natural consequence of their prevaence is an unfeeling, and unprincipled ambition, with an idolatry of talents, and a contempt of virtue; whence the esteem of mankind is turned from the humble, the beneficent, and the good, to men who are qualified, by a genius, fertile in expedients, a courage, that is never appalled, and a heart, that never pities, to become the destroyers of the earth.

Away, away, without a wing,
O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall fy;
A nameless, and eternal thing,

Forgetting-what it was to die.-Byron. GENUINE TASTE. To the eye of taste, each season of the year has its peculiar beauties; nor does the venerable oak, when fringed with the hoary ornaments of winter, afford a pros pect, less various, or delightful, than, when decked in the most luxuriant foliage. Is, then, the winter of life-connected with no associa tions, but those of horror? This can never be the case, until ideas of contempt-are associated with ideas of wisdom, and experience; associations, which the cultivation of true taste-would effectually prevent. Suppose the person, who wishes to improve on na ture's plan, should apply to the artificial florist to deck the bare boughs of his spreading oak with ever-blooming roses; would it not be soon discovered, that, in deserting nature, he had deserted taste? It should be remembered, that the coloring of nature, whether in the animate, or inanimate creation, never fails to harmonize with the object; that her most beauti

While the philanthropist is devising means to mitigate the evils, and augment the happi-ful hues are often transient, and excite a more ness of the world, a fellow-worker together lively emotion from that very circumstance. with God, in exploring, and giving effect to 624. GAMBLER'S WIFE. the benevolent tendencies of nature; the warrior-is revolving, in the gloomy recesses of his capacious mind, plans of future devastation and ruin.

Prisons, crowded with captives; cities, emptied of their inhabitants; fields, desolate and waste, are among his proudest trophies. The fabric of is fame is cemented with tears and blood; and if his name is wafted to the ends of the earth, it is in the shrill cry of suffering 'humanity; in the curses and imprecations of those whom his sword has reduced to despair.

623. IMMORTAL MIND.

When coldness-wraps this suffering clay, Ah, whither-strays the immortal mind? It cannot die, it cannot stay,

But leaves its darkened dust behind. Then, unembodied, doth it trace,

By steps, each planet's heavenly way?
Or fill, at once, the realms of space,
A thing of eyes, that all survey?
Eternal, boundless, undecayed,

A thought unseen, but seeing all,
All, all in earth, or skies displayed,
Shall it survey, shall it recall;
Each fainter trace, that memory holds,
So darkly-of departed years,
In one broad glance-the soul beholds,
And all, that was, at once appears.

Before creation peopled earth,

Its eye shall roll-through chaos back;
And where the farthest heaven had birth,
The spirit trace its rising track.
And where the future inars, or makes,
Its glance, dilate o'er all to be,
While sun is quenched, or system breaks;
Fixed-in its own eternity.

Above all love, hope, hate, or fear,
It lives all passionless, and pure;
An age shall fleet, like earthly year;
Its years, as moments, shall erdure
BRONSON.
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Dark is the night! How dark! No light! No fire!
Cold, on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire!
Shivering, she watches, by the cradle side,
For him, who pledged her love-last year a Iride!
"Hark! "Tis his footstep! No!-'Tis past !—'Tis gone!"
Tick-Tick!-"How wearily the time crawls on!
Why should he leave me thus ?--He once was kind!
And I believed 't would last!-How mad!-How blind!
"Rest thee, my babe-Rest on!-Tis hunger's cry!
Sleep-For there is no food!-The font is dry!
Famine, and cold their wearying work have done.
My heart must break! And thou!" The clock strikes one.
"Hush! 'tis the dice-box! Yes! he's there! he there!
For this for this he leaves me to despair!
Leaves love! leaves truth! his wife! hu child! for what?
The wanton's smile-the villain-and the sot!
"Yet I'll not curse him. No! 'tis all in vain!
'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again!
And I could starve, and bless him, but for you,
My child-his child! Oh, fiend!" The clock strikes two.
"Hark! How the sign-board creaks! The blast howls by.
Moan! moan! A dirge swells through the cloudy sky!
Ha! 'tis his knock! he comes!-he comes once more!
'Tis but the lattice flaps! Thy hope is o'er!
"Can he desert us thus! He knows I stay,
Night after night, in loneliness, to pray
For his return-and yet he sees no tear!
No! no! It cannot be! He will be here!
"Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart!
Thou'rt cold! Thou'rt freezing! But we will not part!
Husband-I die-Father!-It is not be!

Oh, God! protect my child!" The clock strikes three.
They're gone, they're gone! the glimmering spark hath fled --
The wife, and child, are number'd with the dead.
On the cold earth, outstretched in solemn rest,
The babe lay, frozen on its mother's breast:
The gambler came at last-but all was o'er-

Dread silence reign'd around :—the clock struck four!--Coutea Goodness-is only greatness in itself,

It rests not on externals, nor its worth Derives from gorgeous pomp, or glittering pe Or chance of arms, or accident of birth;

It lays its foundations in the soul,

And piles a tower of virtue to the skies,

} round whose pinnacle-majestic-roll
The clouds of GLORY, starr'd with angel ep

625. DARKNESS.

i had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars
Did wander, darkling, in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind, and blackening, in the moonless air;
Morn came, and went-and came, and bro't no
And men forgot their passions, in the dread [day;
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chilled--into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watch-fires; and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings, the huts,
The habitations of all things, which dwell,-
Were burnt for beacons ; cities were consumed,
And men w're gather'd round their blazing homes,
To look once more into each other's face :
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanoes, and their mountain torch.
A fearful hope-was all-the world contained:
Forests were set on fire; but, hour by hour,
They fell, and faded, and the crackling trunks
Extinguished with a crash, and all was black.
The brows of men, by the despairing light,
Wore an unearthly aspect, as, by fits,
The flashes fell upon them. Some lay down,
And hid their eyes, and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up,
With mad disquietude, on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again,
With curses, cast them down upon the dust,
And gnashed their teeth, and howled. The wild
birds shrieked,

And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings: the wildest brutes
Came tame, and tremulous; and vipers crawled
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless-they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again-a meal was bought
With blood, and each sat sullenly apart,
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought-and that was
Immediate and inglorious; and men [death,
Died, an. their bones mere as tombless as their
The meagre by the meagre were devoured; [flesh:
Even dogs Jailed their masters-all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds, and beasts, and famished men, at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself, sought out no
But, with a piteons, and perpetual moan, [food,
And a quick, desolate ry, licking the hand
Which answered not with a caress--he died.
The crowd was famished by degress; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies; they met beside
The dying embers-of an altar-place.
Where had been heaped a mass of holy things,
For an unholy usage; they raked up, [hands,
And, shivering. scraped, with their cold, skeleton
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame,
Which was a mockery; then they lifted
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects; saw, and shriek'd, and died,

Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was, upon whose brow-
Famine had written fiend. The world was void
The populous, and the powerful was a lump-
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless;
A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still,
And nothing stirred, within their silent depths;
Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea, [dropped,
And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they
They slept, on the abyss, without a surge:
The waves were dead; the tides were in the
grave;

The moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were withered in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perished; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them; she--was the universe.—By'n.

626. TRUE PLEASURE DEFINED. We are affected with delightful sensations, when we see the inanimate parts of the creation, the meadows, flowers, and trees, in a flourishing state. There must be some rooted melancholy at the heart, when all nature appears smiling about us, to hinder us from corresponding with the rest of the creation, and joining in the universal chorus of joy. But if meadows and trees, in their cheerful verdure, if flowers, in their bloom, and all the vegetable parts of the creation, in their most advantageous dress, can inspire gladness into the heart, and drive away all sadness but despair; to see the rational creation happy, and flourishing, ought to give us a pleasure as much superior, as the latter is to the former. in the scale of being. But the pleasure is still heightened, if we ourselves have been instrumental, in contributing to the happiness of our fellow-creatures, if we have helped to raise a heart, drooping beneath the weight of grief, and revived that barren and dry land, where no water was, with refreshing showers of love and kindness.

THE WILDERNESS OF MIND.
There is a wilderness, more dark

Than groves of fir-on Huron's shore;
And in that cheerless region, hark!
How serpents hiss! how monsters roar!
'Tis not among the untrodden isles,
Of vast Superior's stormy lake,
Where social comfort never smiles,
Nor sunbeams-pierce the tangled brake
Nor, is it in the deepest shade,

Of India's tiger-haunted wood;
Nor western forests, unsurvey'd,
Where crouching panthers-lurk for blood.
'Tis in the dark, uncultur'd SOUL,
By EDUCATION unrefin'd-
Where hissing Malice, Vices foul,
And all the hateful Passions prow →→
The frightful WILDERNESS OF MIND.
Were man

But constant, he were perfect; that one errorFills him with faults; makes him run through all sins;

Inconstancy-falls off-ere it begins.

Vice is a monster of such hateful mien,
That, to be hated-needs but to be seen;
Yet, seen too oft-familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

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