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640. FEVER DREAM.

A fever--scorched my body, fired my brain!
Like lava, in Vesuvius, boiled my blood,
Within the glowing caveras of my heart.

I raged with thirst, and begged a cold, clear draught

Of fountain water.-Twas with tears, denied.

I drank a nauseous febrifuge, and slept;
But rested not-harassed with horrid dreams,
O burning deserts, and of dusty plains,
Mountains, disgorging flames-forests on fire,
Steam, sunshine, smoke, and boiling lakes-
Hills of hot sand, and glowing stones, that seemed
Embers, and ashes, of a burnt up world!

Thirst raged within me.-I sought the deepest vale,
And called on all the rocks, and caves for water;-

I climbed a mountain, and from cliff to cliff,

Pursued a flying cloud, howling for water:-

I crushed the withered herbs, and gnawed dry roots,

Still crying Water! water!-While the cliffs and caves,

In horrid mockery, re-echoed "Water!"

Below the mountain, gleamed a city, red

With solar flame, upon the sandy bank

Of a broad river.-"Soon, oh soon!" I cried,

"I'll cool my burning body in that flood,

And quaff my fill."-I ran-I reached the shore.-
The river was dried up. Its oozy bed
Was dust; and on its arid rocks, I saw
The scaly myriads-fry beneath the sun!
Where sunk the channel deepest, I beheld
A stirring multitude of human forms,
And heard a faint, wild, lamentable wail.
Thither I sped, and joined the general cry
Of "water!" They had delved a spacious pit,
In search of hidden fountains-sad, sad sight!
I saw them rend the rocks up in their rage
With mad impatience, calling on the earth
To open, and yield up her cooling fountains.
Meanwhile the skies, on which they dared not gaze,
Stood o'er them like a canopy of brass-
Undimmed by moisture. The red dog-star raged,
And Phoebus, from the house of Virgo, shot
His scorching shafts. The thirsty multitude
Grew still more frantic. Those, who dug the earth,
Fell lifeless on the rocks, they strained to upheave,
And filled again, with their own carcasses,
The pits they made-undoing their own work!
Despair, at length, drove out the laborers,

At sight of whom, a general groan-announced
The death of hope. Ah! now, no more was heard
The cry of "water!" To the city next,
Howling, we ran-all hurrying without aim :-

Thence to the woods. The baked plain gaped for moisture.
And from its arid breast heaved smoke, that seemed

The breath of furnace-fierce, volcanic fire,
Or hot monsoon, that raises Syrian sands

To clouds. Amid the forests, we espied

A faint, and bleating herd. Sudden, a shrill,

And horrid shout arose of "Blood! blood! blood!"

We fell upon them with the tiger's thirst,
And drank up all the blood, that was not human

We were dyed in blood! Despair returned;

The cry of blood was hushed, and dumb confusion reigned. Even then, when hope was dead!-past hope

I heard a laugh! and saw a wretched man

Rip hr own veina, and, bleeding, drink

With eager joy. The example seized on all :

Each fel, upon himself, tearing his veins,

Fiercely, in search of blood! And some there wer
Who, having emptied their own veins, did seize

Upon their neighbor's arms, and slew them for their blood--
Oh! happy then, were mothers, who gave suck.
They dashed their little infants from their breasts,
And their shrunk bosoms tortured, to extract
The balmy juice, oh! exquisitely sweet

To their parched tongues! 'Tis done!-now all is gone
Blood, water, and the bosom's nectar,-all!

Rend, oh! ve lightnings! the sealed firmament,
And flood a Lurning world.-Rain! rain! pour! pour!
Open-yo windows of high heaven! and pour
The mighty deluge Let us drown, and drink

Luxurious death! Ye earthquakes, spl the globe,
The solid, rock-ribbed globe-and ay all bar
Its subterranean rivers, and fresh seas!"

Thus raged the multitude. And many fell
In fierce convulsions;-many slew themselves.
And now, I saw the city all in flames-
The forest burning-and the very earth on fire

I saw the mountains open with a roar,

Lou as the seven apocalyptic thunders,

And seas of lava rolling headlong down,

Through crackling forests fierce, and hot as hell, Down to the plain-I turned to fly,and waked! 641. NOSE AND THE MAN.

Kind friends, at your call, I'm come here to sing
Or rather to talk of my woes;

Though small 's the delight to you I can bring
The subject's concerning my nose.

Some noses are large, and others are small,
For nature's vagaries are such,

To some folks, I'm told, she gives no nose at all,
But to me she has given too much.

Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me!

My cause of complaint, and the worst of my woes, Is, because I have got such a shocking long nose. Some insult or other, each day I do meet,

And by joking, my friends are all foes;
And the boys every day, as I go thro' the street,
Ali bellow out-" There goes a nose!"

A woman, with matches one day, I came near,
Who, just as I tried to get by her,
Shoved me rudely aside, and ask'd, with a leer,
If I wanted to set her o'fire?

Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me!

Each rascal, each day, some inuendo throws,
As, my nose is n't mine, I belongs to my nose.
I once went a courting a wealthy old maid,
To be married we were, the next day;
But an accident happened, the marriage delay'],
My nose got too much in the way.
For the night before marriage, entranc'd with my
In love, e'er some torment occurs-- [blis

I screw'd up my lips, just to give her a kiss,
My nose slipp'd, and rubb'd against her's!

Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me!

The ring that I gave, at my head soon she throws, And another tipp'd me, 'twas a w-ring on the nose. Like a porter all day, with fatigue fit to crack, I'm seeking for rest, at each place,

Or, like pilgrim of old, with his load at his backs,
Only my load I bear on my face.

I can't get a wife, though each hour hard I try,
The girls they all blush, like a rose;
"I'm afraid to have you!" when I ask 'em for why?
Because, you have got such a nose.

Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me!
Their cause of refusal I cannot suppose,
They all like the man, but they say- blow his nose!
Like a large joint of meat, before a small fire,
They say that my proboscis hangs-
Or, to a brass knocker, nought there can be nigles,
And in length, it a pump-handle bangs.

A wag, you must know, just by way of a wipe,
Said, with a grin on his face, t'other night,
As he, from his pocket, was pulling a pipe,
"At your nose will you give me a light?"
Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me!

If I ask any one my way to disclose,

If I lose it-they answer, why, follow your nose,

642. NOBILITY OF LABOR. Why, in the great scale of things, is labor ordained for us? Easily, had it so pleased the great Ordainer, might have been dispensed with. The world itself, might have been a mighty machinery, for producing all that man wants. Houses might have risen like an exhalation, "With the sound

Of dulcet symphonies, and voices sweet, Built like a temple." Gorgeous furniture might have been placed in them, and soft couches and luxurious banquets spread, by hands unseen; and man, clothed with fabrics of nature's weaving, rather than with imperial purple, might have been sent to disport himself in those Elysian palaces.

"Fair scene!" I imagine you are saying: "fortunate for us had it been the scene ordained for human life!" But where, then, had been human energy, perseverance, patience, virtue, heroism? Cut off labor with one blow, from the world, and mankind had sunk to a crowd of Asiatic voluptuaries.

No-it had not been fortunate! Better, that the earth be given to man as a dark mass, whereupon to labor. Better, that rude, and unsightly materials be provided in the ore-bed, and in the forest, for him to fashion in splendor and beauty. Better I say, not because of that splendor, and beauty, but, because the act of creating them, is better than the things themselves; because exertion is nobler than enjoyment; because the laborer is greater and more worthy of honor, than the idler.

643. DAVID'S LAMENT OVER ABSALOM.
The king-stood still,
Till the last echo-died: then, throwing off
The sack-cloth-from his brow, and laying back
The pall-from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of woe :-
"Alas! my noble boy that thou shouldst die!
Thou, who wert made so beaut fully fair!
That death-snould settle-in thy glorious eye,
And leave his stillness in this c stering hair!
How could he mark thee-for the silent tomb,
My proud boy, Absalom!

Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill,

As to my bosom-I have tried to press thee.
How was I wont-to feel my pulses thrill,
Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee,
And hear thy sweet-'my father,' from these
And cold lips, Absalom!
[dumb,

The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush
Of music, and the voices of the young;
And life will pass me-in the mantling blush,
And the dark tresses-to the soft winds flung;
But thou-no more, with thy sweet voice, shall
To meet me, Absalom!
[come

But, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart,

Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart, [token!

Yearn for thine ear-to drink its last-deep
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,
So see thee, Absalom!

And now-farewell! 'Tis hard-to give thee up,
With death-so like a gentle slumber on thee
And thy dark sin!-oh! I could drink the cup,
If, from this wo, its bitterness had won thee.
May God have called thee, like a wanderer,
My erring Absalom ?"
[home,

I call upon those whom I address, to stand up for the nobility of labor. It is heaven's great ordinance for human improvement. Let not the great ordinance be broken down. What do I say? It is broken down; and it has been broken down for ages. Let it then be built again; here, if any where, on the shores of a new world-of a new civilization. But how, it may be asked, is it broken down? Do not men toil? it may be said. They do indeed toil, but they too generally He covered up his face, and bowed himself, do, because they must. Many submit to it, A moment, on his child; then, giving him as in some sort, a degrading necessity; and A look of melting tenderness, he clasped they desire nothing so much on earth, as an His hands, convulsively, as if in prayer; escape from it. They fulfil the great law of And, as a strength were given him of God, labor in the letter, but break it in the spirit. He rose up, calmly, and composed the pall, To some field of labor, mental or manual, Firmly, and decently, and left him there, every idler should hasten, as a chosen, covet-As if his rest-had been a breathing sleep. Wüllte, ed field of improvement.

But so he is not compelled to do, under the teachings of our imperfect civilization. On the contrary, he sits down, folds his hands, and blesses himself in idleness. This way of thinking, is the heritage of the absurd and unjust feudal system, under which serfs labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting. It is time that this opprobrium of toil were done away.

The theatre was from the very first,
The favorite haunt of sin; though honest mer.,
Some very honest, wise and worthy men,
Maintained it might be turned to good account:
And so perhaps it might, but never was.
From first-to last-it was an evil piace:
And now-such things were acted there, as made
The devils blush: and, from the neighborhood,
Angels, and holy men, trembling, retired:
And what with dreadful aggravation-crowned
This dreary time, was-sin against the light.
All men knew God, and, knowing, disobeyed;
And gloried to insult him-to his face.
Look round-the habitable world, how few-
Know their own good, or, knowing it, pursue!
'Tis all men's office-to speak patience--
To those that toil-under a load of sorrow.

Ashamed to toil? Ashamed of thy dingy work-shop, and dusty labor-field; of thy hard hand, scarred with service more honorable than that of war; of thy soiled and weatherstained garments, on which mother nature has embroidered mist, sun and rain, fire and steam, her own heraldic honors? Ashamed of those tokens, and titles, and envious of the flaunt ing robes of imbecile idleness, and vanity? It is treason to nature, it is impiety to heaven; it is breaking heaven's great ordinance. Toil, I repeat-toil, either of the brain, of the heart, or of the hand, is the only true manhood,-"This the first sanction-nature--gave to man the only true nobility!-Dewey.

Each other to assist, in what they can

644. MARCO BOZZARRIS.

He fell in an attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the Lite of the ancient Platea, August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were-"To die for liberty, is a pleasure, and not a pain."

At midnight,-in his guarded tent,

The Turk-was dreaming of the hour,
When Greece,-her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble-at his power.

In dreams, through camp-and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;

In dreams, his song of triumph heard;
Then, wore his monarch's signet ring:
Then, pressed that monarch's throne.-a king;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,
As Eden's garden bird.

At midnight,-in the forest shades,
Bozzarris-ranged his Suliote band,
True-as the steel-of their tried blades,
Heroes-in heart-and hand.

There, had the Persian's thousands stood,
There, had the glad earth-drunk their blood,
On old Platea's day;

And now, there breathed that haunted air,
The sons of sires, who conquered there,
With arm-to strike, and soul-to dare,
As quick, as far as they.

An hour passed on-the Turk-awoke-
That bright dream-was his last;
He woke to hear his sentries shriek,
"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!"
He woke to die, 'midst flame, and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke,

And death-shots-falling thick and fast
As lightnings, from the mountain cloud;
And heard, with voice, as trumpet loud,
Bozzarris-cheer his band:

"Strike! till the last armed foe expires;
Strike! for your altars, and your fires;
Strike! for the green graves of your sires;
God-and your native land!"

They fought, like brave men, long and well;
They piled that ground-with Moslem slain;
They conquered-but, Bozzarris fell,
Bleeding-at every vein.

His few surviving comrades saw

His smile, when rang the proud—hurrah!

And the red field was won;

Then saw, in death, his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,
Like flowers-at set of sun.

Come to the bridal chamber,-Death!
Come to the mother-when she feels,
For the first time, her first-born's breath;
Come-when the blessed seals,
That close the pestilence, are broke,
And crowded cities-wail its stroke;
Come-in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;
Come, when the heart beats high, and warm,
With banquet-song, and dance, and wine-
And thou art terrible! the tear,

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know.-or dream, or fear,
Of agony, are thine.

But, to the hero, when his sword

Has won the battle for the free,

Thy voice-sounds like a prophet's word,
And, in its hollow tones, are heard-

The thanks of millions-yet to be.
Bozzarris! with the storied, brave,

Greece nurtured, in her glory's time,
Rest thee there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime.
We tell thy doom-without a sigh:
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's-
One of the few, the immortal names,

The were not bora-to die.-Halleck

645. MAID OF MALAHIDE

In the church of Malahide, in Ireland, are the tomb and effigy of the Lady Maid Plunkett, sister of the first Lord Dunsanny, of whom it is recorded that "she was maid, wife, and widow in ou day." Her first husband, Hussy, Baron of Galtrim, was calle, from the altar to head "a hosting of the English against the Irish," and was brought back to the bridal banquet a corpse, upo the shields of his followers.

The dark-eyed Maid-of Malahiċe,
Her silken bodice laced,
And on her brow,—with virgin pride,
The bridal chaplet-placed.
Her heart--is beating high, her cheek
Is flushed-with rosy shaine,
As laughing bridemaids-slily speak,
The gallant bridegroom's name.
The dark-eyed Maid-of Malahide-
Before the altar-stands,

And Galtrim-claims his blushing bride,
From pure and holy hands:-

But hark! what fearful sounds are those?
"To arms! to arms!" they cry;-
The bride's sweet cheek-no longer glows,
Fear-sits in that young eye.

The gallants-all are mustering now—
The bridegroom's helm-is on:
One look,-upon that wretched brow:
One kiss, and he is gone ;-

The feast is spread,-but many a knigh
Who should have graced that hall-
Will sleep-anon, in cold moonlight,
Beneath a gory pall.

The garlands-bright with rainbow dyes
In gay festoons—are hung;
The starry lamps-out-chine the skies,
The golden harps are strung:
But she-the moving spring of all,

Hath sympathy-with none
That meet in that old festive hall,-
And now-the feast's begun.
Hark! to the clang of arms! is 't he,
The bridegroom chief,-returned,-
Crowned-with the wreath of victory
By his good weapon-earned?
Victorious bands-indeed-return,-
But, on their shields-they bear-
The laurelled chief,-and melt-those steru.
At that young bride's despair.
"Take-take-the roses from my brow,
The jewels-from my waist;

I have no need--of such things now :"
And then-her cheek-she placed-
Close-to his dead-cold cheek, and wept,- -
As one may wildly weep,

When the last hope,-the heart had kept,

Lies buried-in the deep.

Long years have passed,--since that young
Bewailed-her widowed doom:

[brice

The holy walls--of Malahide-
Still-shrine her marble tomb :-
And sculpture there-has sought to prove,
With rude essay-of art.

That form-she wore in life,-whose love

Did grace-her woman's heart.-Crawford, The influence of example-is a terrible responsibility on the shoulders of every in dividual

646. AARON BURR AND BLENNERHAS- | and the seductive, and fascinating power of SETT. Who, then, is Aaron Burr, and what his address. The conquest was not a diffi the part which he has borne in this transac- cult one. Innocence is ever simple, and tion? He is its author; its projector; its ac- credulous; conscious of no design itself, it tive executor. Bold, ardent, restless, and as- suspects none in others; it wears no guards piring, his brain conceived it; his hand before its breast: every door, and portal, and brought it into action. Beginning his opera- avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all, tions in New York, he associates with him, who choose it, enter. Such, was the state of men, whose wealth is to supply the neces- Eden, when the serpent entered its bowers. sary funds. Possessed of the mainspring, The prisoner, in a more engaging form, windhis personal labor contrives all the machine-ing himself into the open and unpracticed ry. Pervading the continent from New-York | heart of the unfortunate Blennerhassett, found to New-Orleans, he draws into his plan, by but little difficulty, in changing the native every allurement which he can contrive, men character of that heart, and the objects of its all ranks, and all descriptions. To youth-affection. By degrees, he infuses into it the ful ardor he presents danger and glory; to poison of his own ambition; he breathes into ambition, rank, and titles, and honors; to av-it the fire of his own courage; a daring and des arice, the mines of Mexico. To each person perate thirst for glory; an ardor, panting for whom he addresses, he presents the object all the storm, and bustle, and hurricane of life. adapted to his taste: his recruiting officers are In a short time, the whole man is changed, appointed; men are engaged throughout the and every object of his former delight relincontinent: civil life is indeed quiet upon the quished. No more he enjoys the tranquil surface; but in its bosom this man has con- scene; it has become flat, and insipid to his trived to deposit the materials, which, with taste; his books are abandoned; his retort, the slighest touch of his match, produces an and crucible, are thrown aside; his shrubbery explosion, to shake the continent. All this in vain blooms, and breathes its fragrance uphis restless ambition has contrived; and, in on the air-he likes it not; his ear no longer the autumn of 1806, he goes forth, for the last drinks the rich melody of music; it longs for time, to apply this match. On this excur- the trumpet's clangor, and the cannon's roar; sion he meets with Blennerhassett. even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, no longer affects him; and the angel smile of his wife, which hitherto touched his bosom with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now unfelt and unseen. Greater objects have taken pos session of his soul-his imagination has been dazzled by visions of diadems, and stars, and garters, and titles of nobility: he has been taught to burn with restless emulation at the names of Cromwell, Cesar, and Bonaparte. His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse into a desert; and, in a few months, we find the tender, and beautiful partner of his bosom, whom he lately "permitted not the winds of" summer "to visit too roughly," we find her shivering, at midnight, on the winter banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears with the torrents, that froze as they tell. Yet, this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest, and his happiness-thus seduced from the paths of innocence, and peace-thus confounded in the toils, which were deliberately spread for him, and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit, and genius of anotherthis man, thus ruined, and undone, and made to play a subordinate part in this grand drama of guilt and treason-this man is to be called the principal offender; while he, by whom be was thus plunged, and steeped in misery, is comparatively innocent-a mere accessory. Sir, neither the human heart, nor the human understanding will bear a perversion so mon strous, and absurd; so shocking to the soul, so revolting to reason. O! no sir. There is no man who knows anything of this altair, who does not know that to every body concerned in it, Aaron Burr was as the sun to the planets, which surround him; he bound them in their respective orbits, and gave them their light, their heat, and their motion. Let him not then shrink-from the high destination, which he has courted; and having al ready ruined Blennerhassett in fortune, char acter, and happiness, forever, attempt to fin ish the tragedy, by thrusting that ill-fated man between himself and punishment. The royal bee, queen--of the rosy bower, Collects her precious sweets-from every flower.

Who is Blennerhassett? A native of Ireland, a man of letters, who fled from the storms of his own country to find quiet in ours. His history shews, that war is not the natural element of his mind; if it had been, he would never have exchanged Ireland for America. So far is an army from furnishing the society, natural and proper to Mr. Blennerhassett's character, that on his arrival in America, he retired, even from the population of the Atlantic states, and sought quiet, and solitude, in the bosom of our western forests. But he carried with him taste, and science, and wealth; and "lo, the desert smiled." Possessing himself of a beautiful island in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and decorates it with every romantic embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery, that Shenstone might have envied, blooms around him; music that might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs, is his; an extensive library spreads its treasures before him; a philosophical apparatus offers to him all the secrets, and mysteries of nature; peace, tranquillity, and innocence shed their mingled delights around him; and, to crown the enchantment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be lovely even beyond her sex, and graced with every accomplishment, that can render it irresistible, had blessed him with her love, and made him the father of her children. The evidence would convince you, that this is but a faint picture of the real life.

In the midst of all this peace, this innocence, and this tranquillity, this feast of the mind, this pure banquet of the heart-the destroyer comes-he comes-to turn this paradise—into a hell-yet the owers do not wither at his approach, and no monitory shuddering, through the bosom of their un fortunate possessor, warns him of the ruin, that is coming upon him. A stranger presents himself. Introduced to their civilities, by the high rank which he had lately held in his country, he soon finds his way to their hearts, by the dignity, and elegance of his demeanor, the light and beauty of his conversation,

648. RICH AND POOR MAN.

sire

647. TALENTS ALWAYS ASCENDANT. as unavailing, as would a human effort "to Talents, whenever they have had a suitable quench the stars."-Wirt. theatre, have never failed to emerge from obscurity, and assume their proper rank in the estimation of the world. The jealous pride So goes the world;-if wealthy, you may call of power may attempt to repress, and crush This, friend, that, brother; friends and brothers all; them; the base, and malignant rancor of im- Tho' you are worthless-witless-never mind t potent spleen, and envy-may strive to em- | You may have been a stable-boy-what then? barrass and retard their flight: but these ef-Tis wealth, good sir, makes honorable mer. forts, so far from achieving their ignoble pur-You seek respect, no doubt, and you w. find it. pose, so far from producing a discernible obfiquity, in the ascent of genuine, and vigorous But, if you are poor, heaven help you! tho' your talents, will serve only to increase their moHad royal blood within him, and tho' you mentuin, and mark their transit, with an ad- Possess the intellect of angels, too, ditional stream of glory. Tis all in vain;--the world will ne'er inquire On such a score:-Why should it take the pains? "Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains. I once saw a poor fellow, keen, and clever, Witty, and wise:-he paid a man a visit, And no one noticed him, and no one ever [is it?" Gave him a welcome. "Strange," cried I, "whence He walked on this side, then on that, He tried to introduce a social chat; Now here, now there, in vain he tried; Some formally and freezingly replied, and some Said, by their silence-"Better stay at home." A rich man burst the door,

When the great earl of Chatham-first made his appearance in the house of commons, and began to astonish, and transport the British parliament, and the British nation, by the boldness, the force, and range of his thoughts, and the celestial fire, and pathos of his eloquence, it is well known, that the minister, Walpole, and his brother Horace, from motives very easily understood, exerted all their wit, all their oratory, all their acquirements of every description, sustained and enforced by the unfeeling "insolence of office," to heave a mountain on his gigantic genius, and hide it from the world. Poor and powerless attempt! The tables were turned. He rose upon them, in the might, and irresistible energy of his genius, and, in spite of all their convulsions, frantic agonies, and spasms, he strangled them, and their whole faction, with as much ease as Hercules did the serpent Python.

Who can turn over the debates of the day, and read the account of this conflict between youthful ardor, and hoary-headed cunning, and power, without kindling in the cause of the tyro, and shouting at his victory! That they should have attempted to pass off the grand, yet solid and judicious operations of a mind like his, as being mere theatrical start and emotion; the giddy, hair-brained eccentricities of a romantic boy! That they should have had the presumption to suppose themselves capable of chaining down, to the floor of the parliament, a genius so etherial, towering and sublime, seems unaccountable! Why did they not, in the next breath, by way of crowning the climax of vanity, bid the magnificent fire-ball to descend from its exalted, and appropriate region, and perform its splendid tour along the surface of the earth?

Talents, which are before the public, have nothing to dread, either from the jealous pride of power, or from the transient misrepresentations of party, spleen, or envy. In spite of opposition from any cause, their buoyant spirit will lift them to their proper grade. The man who comes fairly before the world, and who possesses the great, and vigorous stamiJa, which entitle him to a niche in the temple of glory, has no reason to dread the ultimate result; however slow his progress may be, he will, in the end, most indubitably receive that distinction. While the rest, "the swallows of science," the butterflies of genius, may flutter for their spring; but they will soon pass away, and be remembered no more. No enterprising man, therefore, and least of all, the truly great man, has reason to droop, or repine. at any efforts, which he may suppose to be made, with the view to depress him. Let, then, the tempest. of envy, or of malice howl around him. His genius will consecrate him; and any attempt to extinguish that, will be

As Cræsus rich; I'm sure
He could not pride himself upon his wit
And as for wisdom, he had none of it;
He had what's better;-he had wealth.

What a confusion!--all stand up erect-
These-crowd around to ask him of his health;
These-bow in honest duty, and respect;
And these-arrange a sofa or a chair,
And these-conduct him there.
"Allow me, sir, the honor;"-Then a bow-
Down to the earth-Is 't possible to show
Meet gratitude-for such kind condescension --
The poor man-hung his head,
And, to himself, he said,

"This is indeed, beyond my comprehension:"
Then looking round,

One friendly face he found,
And said, "Pray tell me why is wealth preferred,
To wisdom?"-"That's a silly question. friend!"
Replied the other-" have you never heard,

A man may lend his store

Of gold, or silver ore,

But wisdom-none can borrow, none can lend ?"

THE ABUSE OF AUTHORITY.

O, it is excellent

To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.
Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet:
For every pelting, petty officer,
would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but
[thunder.
Merciful heaven!

Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,
Split the unwedgeable and gnarled oak,
Than the soft myrtle.-O, but man, proud man,
Drest in a little brief authority;
Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
His glassy essence,-like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As make the angels weep; who, with our spleena
Would all themselves laugh mortal.- Shakspeare

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