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 prevalence 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.

While the philanthropist is devising means to mitigate the evils, and augment the happiness of the world, a fellow-worker together with God, in exploring, and giving effect to 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 his 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 mars, 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 endure.

Away, away, without a wing,
O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall fly;
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 trué taste-would effectually prevent. Suppose the person, who wishes to improve on nature'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 ani mate, or inanimate creation, never fails to harmonize with the object; that her most beautiful hues are often transient, and excite a more lively emotion from that very circumstance. 624. GAMBLER'S WIFE.

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 bride!:
"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's there!
For this!-for this he leaves me to despair!
Leaves love! leaves truth! his wife! his 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 he!

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!-Coates. Goodness--is only greatness in itself,

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

It lays its foundations in the soul,

And piles a tower of virtue to the skies, Around whose pinnacle-majestic-roll

The clouds of GLORY, starr'd with angel eyes.

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, and their bones mere as tombless as their
The meagre by the meagre were devoured; [flesh:
Even dogs assailed 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 piteous, and perpetual moan, [food,
And a quick, desolate cry, 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 their
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 prowl-
The frightful WILDERNESS OF MIND.
Were man

But constant, he were perfect; that one error-
Fills 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.

637. GENIUS. The favorite idea of a genius among us, is of one, who never studies, or who studies nobody can tell when; at midnight, or at odd times, and intervals, and now and then strikes out, "at a heat," as the phrase is, some wonderful production. This is a character that has figured largely in the history of our literature, in the person of our Fieldings, our Savages, and our Steeles: "loose fellows about town, or loungers in the country," who slept in ale-houses, and wrote in bar-rooms; who took up the pen as a magician's wand, to supply their wants, and, when the pressure of necessity was relieved, resorted again to their carousals. Your real genius is an idle, irregular, vagabond sort of personage; who muses in the fields, or dreams by the fireside; whose strong impulses that is the cant of it-must needs hurry him into wild irregularities, or foolish eccentricity; who abhors order, and can bear no restraint, and eschews all labor; such a one as Newton or Milton! What! they must have been irregular, else they were no geniuses. "The young man, it is often said, "has genius enough, if he would only study." Now, the truth is, as I shall take the liberty to state it, that the genius will study; it is that in the mind which does study: that is the very nature of it. I care not to say, that it will always use books. All study is not reading, any more than all reading is study.

Attention it is, though other qualities belong to this transcendent power,-attention it is, that is the very soul of genius; not the fixed eye, not the poring over a book, but the fixed thought. It is, in fact, an action of the mind, which is steadily concentrated upon one idea, or one series of ideas, which collects, in one point, the rays of the soul, till they search, penetrate, and fire the whole train of its thoughts. And while the fire burns within, the outside may be indeed cold, indifferent, negligent, absent in appearance; he may be an idler, or a wanderer, apparently without aim, or intent; but still the fire burns within. And what though "it bursts forth," at length, as has been said, "like volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force?" It only shows the intense action of the elements beneath. What though it breaks forth-like lightning from the cloud? The electric fire had been collecting in the firmament, through many a silent, clear, and calm day. What though the might of genius appears in one decisive blow, struck in some moment of high debate, or at the crisis of a nation's peril! That mighty energy, though it may have heaved in the breast of Demosthenes, was once a feeble infant thought. A mother's eye watched over its dawnings. A father's care guarded its early youth. It soon trod, with youthful steps, the halls of learning, and found other fathers to wake, and to watch for it, even as it finds them here. It went on; but silence was upon its path, and the deep strugglings of the inward soul silently ministered to it. The elements around breathed upon it, and "touched it to finer issues." The golden ray of heaven fell upon it, and ripened its expanding faculties. The slow revolutions of years slowly added to its collected energies and treasures; till, in its hour of glory, it stood forth imbodied in the form of living, commanding, irresistible eloquence. The world wonders at the manifestation, and says, "Strange, strange, that it should come

thus unsought, unpremeditated, unprepar'd!" But the truth is, there is no more a miracle in it, than there is in the towering of the preeminent forest-tree, or in the flowing of the mighty, and irresistible river, or in the wealth, and waving of the boundless harvest.-Dewey.

628. THE THREE BLACK CROWS.

Two honest tradesmen-meeting in the Strand,
One, took the other, briskly by the hand;
"Hark ye," said he, " 'tis an odd story this,
About the crows!"-"I don't know what it is,"
Replied his friend.-"No! I'm surprised at that;
Where I come from it is the common chat:
But you shall hear: an odd affair indeed!
And that it happened, they are all agreed:
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in short, as all the alley knows,
Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows."
"Impossible!"-"Nay, but its really true,
I had it from good hands, and so may you."
"From whose, I pray?" So, having named the man,
Straight to inquire--his curious comrade ran.

66

[faet,

Sir, did you tell "-relating the affair"Yes, sir, I did; and if its worth your care, Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me; But, by the by, 'twas two black crows, not three." Resolved to trace so wondrous an event, "Sir," and so forth-"Why, yes; the thing's a Whip to the third, the virtuoso went. Though, in regard to number, not exact; It was not two black crows, 'twas only one; The truth of that, you may depend upon, The gentleman himself told me the case. [place." "Where may I find him?" Away he goes, and, having found him out,— "Why, in such a "Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt." Then, to his last informant, he referred, And begged to know if true, what he had heard. "Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?" "Not I!" "Bless me! how people propagate a lie! Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and [one, And here I find, at last, all comes to none! Did you say nothing of a crow at all?" "Crow-crow-perhaps I might, now I recall The matter over." "And pray, sir, what was 't?" "Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last, I did throw up, and told my neighbor so, Something that was as black, sir, as a crow.", diffuse useful information, to farther intellec tual refinement, sure forerunners of moral improvement, to hasten the coming of that bright day, when the dawn of general knowledge shall chase away the lazy, lingering mists, even from the base of the great social pyramid; this, indeed, is a high calling, in which the most well press onward, eager to bear a part. splendid talents and consummate virtue may

THE HIGHEST OCCUPATION OF GENIUS. To

How soon-time-flies away! yet, as I watch it, Methinks, by the slow progress of this hand, I should have liv'd an age-since yesterday; And have an age to live. Still, on it creeps, Each little moment at another's heels, Of such small parts as these, and men look back, Worn and bewilder'd, wondering-how it is. Thou travel'st-like a ship, in the wide ocean, Which hath no bounding shore to mark its progress. O TIME! ere long, I shall have done with thee.