withstand it singly, if no man will help him, regardless of wealth and fame, and all other private considerations-such a man, we say, is a great man; great in victory, and great in defeat. Many fine things could be said in his praise; we ourselves could round off florid rhetorical paragraphs, and fill up the proper adjectives, but we decline so doing; the idea is best in its bare simplicity,— "And is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most." All What Whittier has accomplished in matters of reform, it is impossible to say. human words and actions are merely seed; the harvest is not yet; but it will come by-and-by, however stony the soil. As for what he has attempted to accomplish, to give even a tolerable idea of it-its name is legion-would require more space than our limits allow. Briefly, he has warred against evil in whatever disguise he has seen it-in the form of old persecution, as in the case of the Puritans and Quakers; in the form of slavery, the world over, but more especially here in America; in the form of sectarianism, arraying creed against creed, and setting creed itself above man; in the form of capital punishment, and all kinds of revenge, and we know not what else, in the shape of politics, and other miscellaneous trifles. Be sure Whittier has not seen an evil without warring against it with all his might; fighting in verse and prose, and in a nobie life-the last the best of all. Whittier's last volume of poems, "The Songs of Labor," is, in our opinion, his best. It contains fewer faults and greater excellences; is in a higher and purer school of art, and much nearer our ideal of what poetry should be. Not, indeed, of the highest order, but bearing the same relation to it that the master-pieces of the Flemish school of painting do to the master-pieces of the Italian. Selecting commonplace themes, such as ship-building, shoemaking, cattle-driving, fishing, husking corn, and the felling and towing of timber, he makes them poetical by the fertility of their clustering associations, and the condensed picturesqueness of his imagination. Never before-so far as we can remember in the mass of our poetic memories-did poet stoop so low and rise so high. The Flemish fidelity of Crabbe, the master of this species of writing, is dull and tame in comparison; for he rare ly gives anything but detail, while Whittier, giving us the same detail, gives us something with it—a softened and mellowed light, and an autumnal richness of coloring. Not the mere fact of ship-building and cattle-driving is so poetical, but the associations which cluster around them : "From far-off hills the panting team For us the raftsmen down the stream Rings out for us the axman's stroke "We see them slowly climb the hill, "Anon with top of horn and tail, And paw of hoof and bellow, volume are that addressed to Pius the But, perhaps, the two best poems in the Ninth, and that on the death of Ebenezer Elliott. As we have already remarked, the satire of Whittier is merciless; in the poem to Pius it seems to have reached its height, and is in the best taste-strong, nervous, and classical. The funeral dirge of Elliott is very noble and beautiful, full of fire and tears. So should a man like Elliott be mourned, and by one who so much resembles him—the Elliott of America-John Greenleaf Whittier. PRAISE AND PRACTICE.-One of the greatest evils of the world is, men praise rather than practice virtue. The praise of honest industry is on every tongue, but it is very rare that the worker is respected more than the drone. THE COTTAGE HOME. MINE be a cot beside a hill: A bee-hive's hum shall soothe mine ear; A willowy brook that turns a mill, With many a fall, shall linger near. The swallow oft, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter from the clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal-a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing, In russet gown and apron blue.-Rogers. [For the National Magazine.] That face was very fair to see, So lustrous with her purity. Of lilies, brighten'd with their dew, You saw the warm thought flushing through! Her heart did Nature nurse and teach Of dewy woods. The rills that beat As angels wander, so went she In quiet and humility. The casual gazer could not guess Of half her vailed loveliness. The tenderness and sympathy, The beauty of sincerity, Quaint thoughts, that nestled fresh and sweet True woman was she day by day, The days are long-we wait and wait, NEW-YORK, 1852. TH THE ORPHAN ASYLUM. HERE is evil enough here in NewYork, and suffering enough too, to appal Beelzebub himself-the commixture of all nations nearly, so many thousands of people constantly in transitu, the great ingress of criminals and paupers, the very débris of European populations, and not a little suffering from the usual misfortunes of life among our own people, make of this vast community a strange, phantasmagoric picture of life. Over the huge aggregate of evil, however, play many benign, relieving lights. No city in this country -and that is equivalent to saying no city in the world-provides more abundantly, in proportion to its magnitude, for the claims of the poor. We mean literally what we say. The pauper appropriations of the city are unparalleled; a gigantic system of voluntary charity, with agents in every ward, and almost every street, provides for the worthy poor during the worst of the winter; nearly every Church has its charitable provisions; and the name of nearly every nation of Europe is borne by some humane organization, founded by its children who reside among us. Our present cut represents the Orphan Asylum. It looks down very picturesquely upon the Hudson, from a commanding site, between seventy-third and seventyfourth streets, at the distance of about five miles from the City Hall. The grounds reach from the Bloomingdale-road to the river, and comprise about fifteen acres. The structure is Gothic, one hundred and twenty feet in length and fifty feet in breadth, and its beauty cannot fail to attract the attention of travelers on the boats from the North. This institution is one of the oldest, most noted, and most useful in the series of our city charities. Distinguished names are associated with it. It sprung from the "Society for the Relief of poor Widows with small Children," which was founded in 1797, by the generous labors of Isabella Graham. In 1806, the widow of Alexander Hamilton, and the daughter of Mrs. Graham, (Joanna Bethune, the wife of Dr. Bethune,) with others, organized, in connection with that society, the "Orphan Asylum;" it was incorporated some time in the next year. During a number of years its building was on Bank-street. In 1836 it was enabled to enlarge its operations, and erect its present spacious Asylum." Besides these beneficent provisions, our metropolis is adorned by numerous charitable edifices, the monuments of a noble liberality, and the refuge of much suffering." We design to give, from time to time, engravings of some of these structures, with brief accounts of them. H* The Orphan Asylum is sustained by subscription and bequests. These have thus far been generous, and most providently and usefully applied. Not far from two hundred children, from two to twelve years of age, are sheltered in this beautiful sanctuary, receiving every necessary comfort of life, good food and clothing, protection from the corruptions of the world without, and excellent training in physical, intellectual, and moral education. No sectarianism corrupts their religious instruction. Stages from the City Hall carry passengers to the asylum for twelve-and-ahalf cents. Visitors are admitted daily, except Sundays. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE. were erected to support the earth, which appeared ready to give way-mountain torrents, which had hitherto inundated the meadows, were diverted into courses, or received into beds sufficient to contain them—and the thing was done. The bridge still bears the name of the "Bridge of Charity." It is impossible! said some, as they looked at the impenetrable forests which covered the rugged flanks and deep gorges of Mount Pilatus, in Switzerland, and hearkened to the daring plan of a man named Rapp,-to convey the pines from the top of the mountain to the Lake of Lucerne, a distance of nearly nine miles. Without being discouraged by their ex T is impossible! said some, when Peter clamations, he formed a slide or trough of Ithe impas det mined on a rerage of twenty-four thousand pine-trees, six feet discovery, and the cold and uninhabited region over which he reigned furnished nothing but some larch-trees to construct vessels. But though the iron, the cordage, the sails, and all that was necessary, except the provisions for victualing them, were to be carried through the immense deserts of Siberia-down rivers of difficult navigation, and along roads almost impassable the thing was done; for the command of the sovereign and the perseverance of the people surmounted every obstacle. It is impossible! said some, as soon as they heard of a scheme of Oberlin's. To rescue his parishioners from a half-savage state, he determined to open a communication with the high road to Strasbourg, so that the productions of the Ban de la Roche might find a market. Having assembled the people, he proposed that they should blast the rocks, and convey a sufficient quantity of enormous masses to construct a wall for a road, about a mile and a half in length, along the banks of the river Bruche, and build a bridge across it. The peasants were astonished at his proposition, and pronounced it impracticable; and every one excused himself on the ground of private business. He, however, reasoned with them, and added the offer of his own example. No sooner had he pronounced these words, than, with a pickax on his shoulder, he proceeded to the spot, while the astonished peasants, animated by his example, forgot their excuses, and hastened with one consent to fetch their tools to follow him. At length every obstacle was surmounted-walls broad, and from three to six feet deep; and this slide, which was completed in 1812, and called the slide of Alpnach, was kept moist. Its length was forty-four thousand English feet. It had to be conducted over rocks, or along their sides, or under ground, or over deep places where it was sustained by scaffoldings; and yet skill and perseverance overcame every obstacle—and the thing was done. The trees rolled down from the mountain into the lake with wonderful rapidity. The larger pines, which were about a hundred feet long, ran through the space of eight miles and a third in about six minutes. A gentleman who saw this great work says, that "such was the speed with which a tree of the largest size passed any given point, that he could only strike it once with a stick as it rushed by, however quickly he attempted to repeat the blow." Say not hastily, then, It is impossible! It may be so to do a thing in an hour, a day, or a week; or by thoughtlessness, carelessness, or indolence; but to act with wisdom, energy, and perseverance, is to insure success. "Time and patience," says a Spanish author, "make the mulberry-leaf satin;" and another remarks, that "care and industry do everything."Rev. C. Williams. TIME, THE CHEAT OF HUMAN BLISS."We live," says an able writer, "in an age of disenchantments; and many a good old prejudice and pleasant fiction have we seen die, that made our fathers very happy." The the power to defend a cause with even consummate abilities were alone sufficient to render one a successful professional advocate, there can be no question that Johnson would have been eminently successful as a lawyer. But when it is recollected that a pertinacious application to whatever is taken in hand, and a patient the attainment of a reputation above that of a "bookseller's hack" might seem to offer him inducements to persevere in his endeavors to reach a comfortable independence in the metropolis, they also, by affording the means of removing, and by promising a more eligible provision elsewhere, seemed to indicate this as the fittest time to attempt such | wading through the dullest details, as well an improvement in his fortunes. offer of a school at Appleby in Leicestershire, which promised him a moderate competence, notwithstanding his dislike of the business, induced him to accept it. A single condition stood in the way of an immediate consummation of the arrangement; the statutes of the school required that the master should be of the degree of Master of Arts. Accordingly Dr. Adams, then master of Pembroke College, was applied to by a common friend, as to the possibility of procuring that degree from Oxford, but it was esteemed too great a favor to be asked. Next, interest was made for him by Mr. Pope, with Lord Gower, who kindly wrote to Dean Swift, through a mutual friend, earnestly asking, as a special favor, that the University of Dublin would relieve the difficulty by admitting Johnson to the requisite degree. Why the application was unsuccessful is not ascertained; that it failed is known, however, and the anticipated escape of the heart-sick prisoner of the hated town, resulted only in disappointment. It is well known that Johnson always seemed to entertain some untold dislike to Swift, and also in a mitigated degree to Lord Gower, and by some this affair has been thought to have been not remotely connected with these antipathies; though, perhaps the hopes that were then disappointed were more confident than were justified by circumstances. as an habitual observance of order and arrangement, and especially a rigid punctuality in everything, are essential to the professional success of an advocate, it may well be doubted whether he was capable of succeeding in that profession. But the experiment was not made. The answer was again unfavorable, and so the want of a degree effectually hindered his emancipation. Defeated at every point in his attempts to better his condition, Johnson now found himself thrown back upon his present condition and course of duties. He continued to write for Mr. Cave, and to aid him in the management of the Magazine, and also undertake the translation of Sarpi's History of the Council of Trent, already referred to, which Cave now undertook to bring out. But this enterprise was likewise destined to fail, through a rather curious set of coincidences. At the same time that Cave proposed to issue a new translation of that celebrated history, from the pen of Samuel Johnson, the same thing was proposed by Dr. Zachary Pearce, afterward Bishop of Rochester-his also to be translated by Samuel Johnson, who was curate of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields. Both editions had advanced somewhat before the coincidence was discovered, when, after some skirmishing between the two interests, both were given up, and the work never appeared. The loss in this case fell upon Cave, who paid Johnson for the work he did in small sums amounting in all to nearly fifty pounds. Though compelled to occupy for the time the humble place of a "bookseller's hack," Johnson did not for a moment surrender his independence of thought and action. On more than one occasion the political sentiments that found expression in his "London," were afterwards more fully presented in his prose writings. |