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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Yale Literary Magazine (Vol. I, No. 6, August 1836) - -Author: Students of Yale - -Release Date: December 12, 2021 [eBook #66935] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: hekula03, sf2001, and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from - images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE (VOL. -I, NO. 6, AUGUST 1836) *** - - - - - THE YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE. - - CONDUCTED BY THE - =STUDENTS OF YALE COLLEGE=. - - [Illustration: “Dum mens grata manet, nomen laudesque Yalenses - Cantabunt Soboles, unanimique Patres.”] - - NO. VI. - - AUGUST, 1836. - - NEW HAVEN: - HERRICK & NOYES. - - MDCCCXXXVI. - - - - - Contents. - - - Page. - Turkey and Greece, 209 - Thoughts on the Death of an Aged Friend, 214 - The Omnibus, 216 - Epigram, 227 - The Coffee Club, No. IV, 228 - What is Bitter, 241 - The Reason of Animals not the Reason of Man, 242 - De Lopez, the Brave, 246 - Mr. Willis, 249 - Greek Anthology, No. VI, 252 - “Our Magazine,” 256 - - - - - THE - YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE. - VOL. I. AUGUST, 1836. NO. 6. - - - - - TURKEY AND GREECE. - - “There is a connection [_verbindung_] among men, in - which no one can work for himself without working for - others.”--_Fichte._ - - “The tie of mutual influence passes without a break from - hand to hand, throughout the human family. There is no - independence, no insulation, in the lot of man.”--_Natural - History of Enthusiasm._ - - -There is a tendency to regard the commotions of society, which have -taken place of late years, as the results of modern diplomacy, or of -notions concerning human rights, which have received birth and risen to -their present vigor within the last fifty years. Hence, it is argued, -there is a liability to reaction. The bright lights may go out, and -despotism triumph in the moral and political degeneracy. Yet this view -of the matter is very superficial. It is regarding the trunk as the -origin of the tree, overlooking the seed and the root. The truth is, -the principles now developing have their origin with society. For, -all sound political principles have a common foundation--the rights -of man. His selfishness, especially his thirst for sway, aided by -ignorance, has kept through force and fraud the true principles of -human government from being understood and adopted. Still the ancient -kingdoms, the world-empires and all, though now in their tombs, left -inscriptions on their head-stones of diamond worth to the science of -government. They are beacon-lights for the modern statesman. Their -wisdom and their folly, both aid him to discover the true rules for -human government, which have been buried up and concealed by folly -and passion since the days of the Patriarchs, from whom all civil -authority had its rise. Added to this light of experience, collected -by by-gone nations, are other influences of a physical nature. The -application of the magnet to purposes of navigation, was one of those -master thoughts, which, from its vast importance, we are almost tempted -to regard as an idea of directly divine origin. The influence of this -on the whole family of man, can be best estimated by suffering one’s -self to think what the state of the world would of necessity be, were -it entirely unknown. Again, the application of steam to machinery, is -not only changing the aspect of things in the New World and Europe, -but this invention was a positive act for the moral and physical -renovation of Asia and Africa--an act of such power as must hasten -their new birth by centuries. British steamers are already on their -way to explore the Niger. It is the operation and display of this vast -physical force, which is to be a great means of starting into action -the stagnated mind of this part of our race. These discoveries, it will -readily be allowed, can never cease to operate. Entwined with political -experience, they stand firm barriers to any relapse in the general well -being of the human family; while, year after year, to these and others, -which cannot be mentioned in the limits of a single article, are added -the discoveries of physical and political science, as they occur, until -their increasing light reveals to the common eye, one and another, -and another, of the rights of man, which designing men, “tyrants, or -tyrants’ slaves,” have striven to conceal. Almost every nation of the -earth has had some of its dark places pierced by these accumulating -rays. Despotic powers have been forced to yield up some part of the -prerogatives of the crown, or to surround them with stronger guards. -Constitutional governments have been compelled to adopt measures of -reform, and to pursue a course of policy more uniformly liberal. - -Amid these commotions, no nations have more attracted the attention of -all classes, than Turkey and Greece. The politician has watched with no -little anxiety the rapid dismemberment of that power, which has so long -stood the great barrier between the East and West. The scholar has felt -a new hope that the mother-land of mental light may be herself again. -While the Christian is assured that the Almighty is thus shaking the -nations for the accomplishment of his own high ends. He is but making -straight the path of his servants. - -The history of the Turks is remarkable and instructive--in the sudden -rise of their empire--in its long continuance--and precipitate fall. -The wild region of Mount Taurus and Imaus was their cradle. At once -the most barbarous, the rudest, and the most enterprising of all the -Saracen tribes, they penetrated to the banks of the Caspian Sea, and -serving as mercenaries under the Caliphs, acquired great reputation -for military prowess, and soon subjugated the contending Caliphats -to their own sway. Palestine, with its capital Jerusalem, fell into -their hands. Near the middle of the fourteenth century, they crossed -into Europe, and possessed themselves of Adrianople. In a few years -subsequent to this event, the city of Constantine, to adorn which -he had lavished the treasures of his realm, was doomed to see their -triumphant banner floating above her walls. Epirus soon suffered the -fate of Constantinople; and the land of the orator and philosopher, -which built a bulwark against Xerxes, received their chains. They -marched victorious even to the walls of Vienna; but were finally driven -back as far as Greece. European arms could avail no farther. In other -directions this remarkable people were uniformly successful; until, -in the sixteenth century, the Sultan was lord of thirty kingdoms, -containing not less than eight thousand leagues of sea coast, and -some of the fairest portions of the world. Not only those regions -which have been rendered famous as the homes of the great masters of -sculpture, song and philosophy, but the land of the Patriarchs, where -were exhibited the thrilling scenes of the accomplishment of the -covenant of God with man--Baghdad, the court of the science-loving -Caliphs--Egypt--and the countries of Asia Minor, whose luxuriance not -even Turkish thraldom and indolence has sufficed to destroy. - -But this great empire was in itself radically defective. The government -depended on extortion for its revenue--on physical force or a degrading -imposture for obedience; neither of which, whatever may have been -the case in other days, could be safely trusted, in the light which -is breaking over the human family, and over the Turks as a part of -it. The present Sultan found himself in the dilemma between reform -on the one hand, in accomplishing which his throne, and perhaps his -life would be jeopardized, and certain destruction on the other. In -choosing the least of these evils, Greece, Egypt, and Palestine, were -severed from his empire. Mahomet Ali would have attacked him in his -capital, but for the interposition of the Tzar, who was fearful of -losing a prize which has ever been the object of Muscovite ambition, -the throne of Constantine. But while the black Eagle of Russia spread -his wings as a shelter for the Turk, he coolly seized in his talons the -keys of the Dardanelles; thus rendering any further interposition on -the part of England, who has so often balked the Tzar in his darling -project, entirely futile. Since which event, the fall of Turkey has -been pronounced as certain by all. What is to be its precise effect -on the politics of Europe, is a question which only a Talleyrand or -a Metternich could answer with any probability of truth. Yet the -foregoing remarks exhibit facts from which consequences of high -importance must follow. - -They exhibit the empire of the Ottomans as once occupying a proud -station among the greater powers--as forming a boundary and preserving -a balance between the East and West--as a firm check on Muscovite -ambition--and as, from her consequence, possessing great weight in the -councils of nations; and it is apparent that she cannot fall without -important political consequences. - -They exhibit her with a religion, which has ever been a bane to all -nobler sentiments or aspirations of the soul, brooding like night over -some of the fairest portions of the earth, blasting by the baleful -influence of her institutions the legitimate effect, both on mind -and body, of her naturally fair plains, rich vallies, and brilliant -skies, which, in other times, produced models for an Apollo Belvidere -and a Venus de Medici, and nourished men who were masters of the earth -and of mind; and it is evident that she cannot fall without important -consequences to the beaux Arts and Literature. - -They exhibit her, as the main support and promoter of the debasing, -sensual tenets of Mahomet, in countries where the Apostles, and even -Christ, toiled and suffered. They exhibit her, as the systematic -opposer of the message of the Prince of Peace, to her distracted -provinces--the only balm for their wounds--the only physician for their -souls; and the effect of her fall on the highest of interests cannot be -unimportant. - -What then is to be the influence of the prostration of the Ottoman sway -in these cradles of early knowledge, upon literature, science, and the -beaux arts? - -Winklemann, in his history of sculpture, assigns as a principal reason -of the superiority of the Greeks in that sublime art over other -nations, the circumstance of their inhabiting a land so surpassingly -endowed by nature; and with much truth. Their bodies, neither chilled -nor contracted by the long winters of the north, nor softened into -lassitude and effeminacy by the tropical sun, but continually moving -and breathing in the purest air, under the mildest and most brilliant -of skies, whose loveliness was constantly exciting in the mind the most -agreeable trains of thought, attained, in their fair proportions, to a -harmonious keeping with the beauty around. - -Close observation must convince every candid mind, that there is some -truth in the grand outlines of Phrenology. Forms such as aided in the -conception of those master pieces of ancient statuary, were never, and -never will be, inhabited by inferior or grovelling spirits. Vitiated -they may be by extraneous circumstances. Their noble faculties may be -turned to unworthy purposes. Corrupted by long intercourse with the -morally debased, they may, like the modern Greek, suffer the imputation -of being worse than their examples. But this is the proof of the -position. They are bad, but like Lucifer they are greatly so. - -How long is this to be the case with Greece? Emphatically no longer. -Already by the aid of the missionary and foreign science, she is -realizing the fable of the renascent phenix; already are those whose -beauty of person long years of servitude have been unable to destroy, -renewing the moral beauty of the spirit within; already are they -turning those powers which made them remarkable in depravity to their -proper channels. And he, whose love for the human family, or reverence -for the classic scenes of Greece, has led him to peruse the late -accounts from thence: if he has observed the avidity with which they -seek instruction, when they once taste of its sweets: if he has noticed -their teachable spirit, rapid improvement, exhibitions of ingenuity -and taste: his bosom has exulted in the sober certainty that Greece -will be herself again. But why has this fair morn at last dawned over -this singularly illustrious land? The answer is plain. Mahometan -despotism and ignorance no longer hold sway within her borders. If this -be so, what is to be the effect of the removal of Turkish intolerance -and misrule, and the establishment of an enlightened and responsible -government over the shores of the Levant, in the same parallels of -latitude? Are the fields of Anatolia less rich than those of Greece, or -her harbors less promising for commerce? or are the Greeks, scattered -through those regions, who at least double the number of those in their -father-land, less capable of moral improvement? Is the conclusion drawn -from unfair premises, that the day of the deliverance of this country -is near--that the angel of knowledge will again spread his wings over -Anatolia, Palestine, Arabia, Egypt, her ancient home? The conclusion is -not, can not be false. The same physical influences operate now as in -days of old, though the misrule of man may have marred their effects. -The same high cast of mind is there which won immortality for their -fathers: and why may not spring up in those regions, under a wiser -government, and a purer religion, a people, in arts and science even -superior to the ancients? Why may there not arise, under the auspices -of virtue and wisdom, new models for a Venus or an Apollo? Why may not -the Parian marble there rise into temples of as fair proportions as -that of Olympus or of Minerva, reared for nobler purposes, dedicated to -a far higher and holier worship? - -The influence of the subversion of the greatest rival of the Christian -church, is a subject replete with interest. When the mere politician, -unswayed by the fond hope which might influence the Christian’s -decision, publishes to the world as certain the prostration of -Turkey--when the disciple of Jesus may at length point the startled -infidel to the tottering fabric of Mahometanism, which he has impiously -dared to name as co-enduring and co-equal with the pure Christian -faith, and bid him look on, as column after column is torn away from -the crumbling structure, as Immanuel is triumphing where Mahomet -ruled--when the finger of the Almighty is writing as palpably the -sentence of this unparalleled imposture as when it traced on the wall -the doom of Babylon--what heart does not glow with deeper gratitude, -overflow with more fervent thanksgivings, and pray with strengthened -faith? - -The time is to be when “nations shall be born in a day:” and from the -ardent character of the east, it seems not improbable that it is to be -witness of this latter as it was of the former triumphing of the cross. - -It is an especial appointment of providence, that nations more -advanced in civilization must necessarily labor for the improvement of -those which are less so. So the East once labored for the West. Now -the nations of the west, with their Institutions of Learning--their -Presses--their Forges--their Dock Yards--working together for the -perfection of human knowledge, and for facilitating its diffusion--pour -light of constantly increasing brightness over the East. Still greater -commotions must soon follow in these early inhabited regions. Their -renovation must advance rapidly and steadily. There may and doubtless -will be times of apparent retrogradation, but it will be like the -flood-tide waves, which roll back from the shore only to mount still -higher on their return. It may be said that these things are uncertain, -because they are future; but it is not necessarily so. The diffusion of -sound political principles, and the rising of the Sun of Righteousness -over these nations, seem as clearly heralded by these events, as is the -coming of the material sun when morning is breaking in the east, the -night-damps leaving the earth, the clouds decking themselves in gold -and purple, and all nature waking for the duties of a new day. - - - - - THOUGHTS ON THE DEATH OF AN AGED FRIEND. - - - I stood beside his death-bed, and a smile, - Like the last glance of the departing sun, - Played on his features; life was ebbing fast, - And death was creeping o’er him stealthily-- - And yet he smiled, as the last hour came on. - - We gathered round him, and his eye grew dim, - And his voice faltered, and the shortening breath - Came through his parted lips convulsively-- - The last faint accents of a murmured prayer: - And then we turned us from his couch, and wept - That the dear ties were severed, which had bound - Our hearts in kindred intercourse:--We grieved - That he whom we had loved so tenderly, - Should pass away with the forgotten dead. - - Oh, there is something saddening in the thought - Of death, whene’er it comes. To stand beside - The death-bed of a dear and cherished one; - To mark the tristful pangs, the hopes and fears, - To see the perishing form of loveliness, - And hear the last fond parting word--_farewell!_ - And then to gaze upon the lifeless form, - To part the damp locks from the marble brow, - And wipe the death-dews which have gather’d there; - To lay the sleeper in his narrow house, - And leave him with the cold and listless dead,-- - Oh, it is saddening!--and the tide of tears-- - The warm, warm tears, that gush from feeling hearts-- - Oh, they are holy!--And there is a bliss, - - When the heart swells with anguish, and when grief - Chokes up the spirit in its agony-- - Oh, there is something--and ’tis like the dew - Which evening sheds upon the summer flower, - And weighs it down, until it bows itself, - And pours the bright drops from its secret cell. - - Oh, holy is the fountain of those tears, - And pure their gushing. ’Tis a holy thing - To weep at such an hour. ’Tis manliness - To yield the heart to feeling, and to loose - The shackles that so cramp its energies, - And bind it down to the unfeeling world. - - Yet why thus mourn for those who die, when age - Has made existence but a weariness? - Why grieve that they should cast aside the coil - That binds them to the earth and wretchedness? - - We do not weep at Autumn; when the leaves - Lie in the valleys--mortals never weep - When the tree casts its fruitage, or when flowers, - Blooming through the mild months, all fade away - In their appointed season: Then why weep - For those whose years have passed the destined bourne - Of man’s existence.--Rather let us weep - For the young flower that blossometh and dies, - Ere it hath seen the noon-day. Rather mourn - For those, the sweet and beautiful of earth, - Who die in youth’s bright morning. - - Tears for the flowers, and the young buds of hope, - That wreathe Death’s altar:--let us weep for them. - But let us dash away the sorrowing tear, - That falls upon the aged sleeper’s grave; - And joy that he has left this sinful world, - And sought a purer and a happier sphere, - Where sorrow never comes, and where no care - Blanches the cheek, and makes the spirit sad; - Where sin hath never entered, to pollute - The perfect sense of happiness; where all - The great and good of earth for ever dwell, - In the soft sun-shine of _Eternal youth_. - - H. - - - - - “THE OMNIBUS.”[1] - -[1] An “Omnibus” (this explanation is one of pure politeness on our -part, and for the sake of the uninitiated) is a substitute for an -Album; in which, any thing, every thing, and nothing, are quartered -heterogeneously, and made good friends--supposing all this time that -the thing be kept within the pale of proprieties. They are with, or -without covers--written in black or red ink--up or down--crossways or -otherwise, just as it happens. They were first got up by a certain -_coterie_ of ladies, who had sense enough to see that “Albums” are very -sentimental and very ridiculous, owing to the extreme nicety with which -a man must scribble for them; and that by introducing a little more -latitude in this respect, the evil might in a measure be remedied. The -result, ’tis thought, has shown their wisdom. - - - I. - -“Come, write in my ‘Omnibus,’” said a sweet girl to me, with an eye -that made one’s heart bump, and a lip that made him dream dreams. I -looked into that eye, and at that lip--they almost unmanned me, yet I -shook my head. - -She looked imploringly. - -“Can’t,” stammered I at last, though it choked me to say so. - -“Pray do,” and she laid her soft white hand on mine. Heavens and Earth! -how the touch of that little hand thrilled through me--burnt along my -arm--then down into my heart. Yet I remembered my resolution--I made -it the day before--I swore by my happiness I’d never touch pen again. -Still, there lay that hand--the long tapering fingers--I counted -them one way, then t’other--how pretty they looked! I tried to look -away--I looked at the four corners of heaven--some how or other, my -eyes came right back again. Then I felt a soft pressure, those fingers -contracted, they clasped--it was all over with me--the grasp of -Hercules were nothing to it. - -The first thing I did was to kiss them--the next, find my senses. She -blushed, I fidgeted. - -“Think out something”--the sound was like a brook in summer. - -So I thought, and thought, and thought-- - -Thought I was by the ocean. Every body has stood by the ocean. Every -body loves the ocean. They love it because ’tis beautiful. They love it -because ’tis terrible. Who that could ever tell his passions, as he has -seen the giant rouse himself--the black sky split by the thunder-bolt, -and so brazen and fiery that it seemed crisping, and “about to roll -away with a great noise”--the driving wind--the bellowing thunder--the -crashing deck--the rattling cordage--the death shriek of the -sea-shipped wretch as the wave went over him--the horror-like eye’s -last glance upon you! But I don’t mean such an ocean. It wasn’t such an -one that I was standing by. It was a pretty considerable, magnificent, -almighty, great sheet of water as far as the eye went, with a sky above -that made one’s heart leap to look at it--its depth of blue seeming -to stretch away and away, field after field, without a mist or cloud -in it to mar its beauty--one unbounded, unshadowed sweep of glory and -magnificence. The winds, soft and balmy, went whirling and whimpering -along its surface, curling and crinkling it into small white waves, -that, racing and capering up the beach, sparkled and turned into -bubbles, and were caught up by the sun beams. Here and there the waters -break. The huge porpoise went plunging, and sousing, and weltering -along his blue path, flapping his huge tail into the air, and grunting -his happiness--the bright light refracted from his surface, came to -the eye like a rainbow. Here and there the flying fish slipped from -his element, and went careering away over the far waters, till with a -light dash or slap, his white wings dipped again into the ocean. The -distance had one sail, a single one, right on the horizon’s edge--type, -methought, of a being shut from the world--a human heart cut loose from -sympathy--on the black desert of man’s pilgrimage. Such was the scene. -I felt it. I rose, and stood, and shouted, and-- - - - II. - -Thought I was down in the ocean--right on the bottom. Whew! what a -place it was!--saw all sorts of things, living and dead--all colors, -good and bad--all shapes, hateful and fascinating. Here I wandered -through endless groves of coral. Aloft went the light shafts tapering -away into the blue distance, then branching forth into a glorious -canopy, through which came the broken light with a mellowed beauty, -not unlike the sun’s beams through a polished fresco-worken slab -of alabaster. The waves swung backwards and forwards through this -submarine forest, and their rush made the tall shafts quiver like -aspen boughs in the tempest wind; and the light coral twigs, here and -there detached by the waters, fell thick and fast like star showers -in wintry nights. Nor should I forget the sounds of those waters as -they tossed up the shells which were scattered there, and witched from -them a music, that tripped and tilted through the brain, like Mab -and her melodies in moonlight vision. It changed! I was in a desert! -Rocks and barren surfaces above, beneath, around me! Wild cliffs--rent -fastnesses--deep chasms--yawning and gaping like the cleft jaws of -Hell! They had wrecks, and ruins, and dead men, and skeletons, and -skulls in them. Here were fragments of those mighty tenements, that -once rode in triumph on the wave’s surface. There were those black -engines, wont to belch forth “their devilish glut,” and flame, and -thunder. Here were skeletons--some hugging in mortal conflict. They -were grappled together, as when death overtook them--their jaws yet -apart, as the last curse dwelt on them, the moment the bolt came. -There were friends too, parent and child, husband and wife, lover and -maiden--laid as they died, locked heart to heart, each on the other’s -breast, the two a unity. I sickened, shuddered, gasped-- - - - III. - -Thought I was in a forest--a bright, a green, a glorious forest. My -heart ached, and I had turned from the heated world and its miseries, -and where the lofty branches had intertwined and woven a pleasant -twilight dwelling place, I sat me down to meditate. Then I scribbled -and scribbled--and thus, I scribbled-- - - This is indeed a sacred solitude, - And beautiful as sacred. Here no sound - Save such as breathes a soft tranquillity, - Falls on the ear; and all around, the eye - Meets nought but hath a moral. These deep shades-- - With here and there an upright trunk of ash - Or beech or nut, whose branches interlaced - O’ercanopy us, and, shutting out the day, - A twilight make--they press upon the heart - With force amazing and unutterable. - These trunks enormous, from the mountain side - Ripp’d roots and all by whirlwinds--those vast pines - Athwart the ravine’s melancholy gloom - Transversely cast--these monarchs of the wood, - Dark, gnarl’d, centennial oaks that throw their arms - So proudly up--those monstrous ribs of rock - That, shiver’d by the thunder-stroke, and hurl’d - From yonder cliff, their bed for centuries, - Here crush’d and wedged--all by their massiveness - And silent strength, impress us with a sense - Of Deity. And here are wanted not - More delicate forms of beauty. Numerous tribes - Of natural flowers do blossom in these shades, - Meet for the scene alone. At ev’ry step, - Some beauteous combination of soft hues, - Less brilliant though than those which deck the fields, - The eye attracts. Mosses of softest green, - Creep round the trunks of the decayed trees; - And mosses, hueless as the mountain snow, - Inlay the turf. Here, softly peeping forth, - The eye detects the little violet - Such as the city boasts--of paler hue, - But fragrant more. The simple forest flower, - And that pale gem the wind flower, falsely named, - Here greet the cautious search--less beautiful - Than poets feign, though lovely to the eye. - These with their modest forms so delicate, - And breath of perfume, send th’ unwilling heart - And all its aspirations, to the source - Of Life and Light. Nor woodland sounds are wanting, - Such as the mind to that soft melancholy - The poet feels, lull soothingly. The winds - Are playing with the forest tops in glee, - And music make. Sweet rivulets - Slip here and there from out the crevices - Of rifled rocks, and, welling ’mid the roots - Of prostrate trees or blocks transversely east, - Form jets of driven snow. Soft symphonies - Of birds unseen, on ev’ry side swell out, - As if the spirit of the wood complain’d - Harmonious, and most prodigal of sound; - And these can woo the spirit with such power, - And tune it to a mood so exquisite-- - That the enthusiast heart forgets the world, - Its strifes, and follies--and seeks only here - To satisfy its thirst for happiness. - - - IV. - -Thought I was on an island--the brightest thing ever dancing in a -poet’s vision, a perfect Eden-spot, an Elysium-- - - Ye of the pure heart, come to me! - List to a tale of Poesy; - List--for, for it, ye may better be-- - So scorn not the minstrel’s minstrelsy. - Ye with a brow like the broken wave’s drift, - With an eye whose light is the first star of even, - When it streameth afar through the sky’s red rift, - The only and loveliest thing in heaven;-- - Ye with a cheek like the marble fair, - Ye with a lip like the bright summer dew, - Ye with a softness and loveliness there - That Fancy never drew;-- - Whose hands and whose hearts have been ever lent, - As spirits of mercy from Heaven sent:-- - Ye have the pure heart--come to me! - List to a tale of poesy; - Give me your ear--give me your smile-- - List to the lay of ‘The happy Isle.’ - - That Isle--so beautiful to view! - No poet’s fancy ever drew; - He had not dreamed of such a thing, - With all the beauty he could bring. - It lay upon the open sea, - It lay beneath the stars and sun-- - A thing, too beautiful to be, - A jewel, cast that sea upon. - The winds came upward to the beach-- - The waves came rolling up the sand-- - Then backward with a gentle reach, - Now forward to the land, - Sparkling and beautiful--tossing there, - Then vanishing into the air. - The winds came upward to the beach-- - The waves came upward in a curl-- - Then far along the shore’s slope reach, - There ran a line of pearl. - And shells were there of every hue-- - From snowy white, to burning gold-- - The jasper, and the Tyrian blue-- - The sardonyx and emerald; - And o’er them as the soft winds crept, - A melody from each was swept-- - For melody within each slept, - Harmoniously blended; - And never, till the winds gave out, - And ceased the surf its tiny shout, - That melody was ended: - Morn, noon, and eve, was heard to be, - The music of those shells and sea. - The winds went upward from the deep-- - The winds went up across the sand-- - And never did the sea winds sweep - Over a lovelier land. - The northern seas, the southern shores, - The eastern, and the western isles, - Had rifled all their sweets and stores, - To deck this lovely place with smiles: - And mounts were here, and tipp’d with green, - And kindled by the glowing sun; - And vales were here, and stretch’d between, - Where waters frolic’d in their fun: - And goats were feeding in the light, - And birds were in the green-wood halls; - And, echoing o’er each hilly height, - Was heard the dash of waterfalls: - O! all was beauty, bliss, and sound; - A Sabbath sweetness reigned around; - All was delight--for every thing - Was robed in loveliness and spring-- - Color, and fragrance, fruit, and flower, - Were here within this Island bower. - - But purer, sweeter, brighter far-- - Brighter than Even’s earliest star, - Was she, the spirit of the place, - The mortal with an angel’s face. - A form of youthful innocence, - With love, and grace, and beauty rife-- - As erst, from ocean’s tossing foam, - Fair Venus sparkled into life. - Around her pale and placid brow, - By long and auburn ringlets hid, - A radiant flame ran circling, - And o’er her face a lustre shed. - Her eye, so full--a spirit nursed, - So blue--it seem’d a part of heaven, - So light--it was the sudden burst - Of meteors mid the stars of even. - A robe of azure pale she wore, - Her matchless symmetry concealing; - Save where her bodice oped before, - Her soft and snowy breast revealing. - And in her hand (her arms were free) - She bore a reed from ocean’s side; - Her feet were bare-- * * * - * * * * * * * - - - V. - -Thought I was in love. Heavens! what a creature she was! Her form -was like a fairy’s; and her face, about which the flaxen ringlets -fell long, and soft, and silky, was at once so arch and sweet, it -witched the very soul out of me before I knew it. Her picture is -before me.--Her head like Juno’s, when she walked before the Olympic -Thunderer, and yet a woman’s; her brow, high, and white, and pure; -eyes of heaven’s own coloring, and bright, and ustrous, and large, -and full, in whose crystalline depths slept a soul such as--as--you -must guess at, reader, I can’t think of a comparison; a cheek, the -eloquent beauty of which melted away so gradually into the pure -transparency of her temples, that the eye lost it, and was wandering -away, up, and around them, before it became aware of its own vagaries; -and her mouth--Heavens and Earth! it was altogether and absolutely, -the sweetest, prettiest, pouting, come-kiss-me, little mouth, I ever -looked at; and her voice--her voice--how clear and musical--there was -nothing like her clear, happy laugh--it rung like an instrument--like -the silvery bell in the Faery Tale; and when she prettily bade me sit -at her feet, and look up into her clear bright eyes--pooh! I might as -well have attempted to knock Destiny on the head at once, and steer -the boat of life myself, as keep from doing her bidding; and her -form, robed as she was in her white cymar, with a single rose in her -hair--the neck--the full bust--the rounded arm--the graceful curvature -and wavy sweep of her folded dress, as it swelled from her glittering -zone and fell to her feet--dear me! dear me--I--but this will do for a -description. - -Her name was Fan. - -One beautiful twilight--I shan’t forget it soon--one twilight, as the -sun went, and right over his glorious resting place, the clouds of -evening, like an enormous sweep of woven chrysolite, hung pinned by a -single star to the blue wall of heaven--I sat and gazed at that star, -then into her eyes; now into her eyes, and then at that star again; -and--I grew silly. - -Says I, “Fan!” - -Says she, “Frank!” - -“You are very pretty,” says Frank. - -“You are very impudent,” says Fan. - -She shook her head at me, and drew her mouth into the queerest pucker -imaginable. - -“Fanny,” said I seriously. - -She sobered. - -Some how or other, I got hold of her hand--’twas a pretty hand! I -kissed it. - -“Don’t be silly;” and she gave me a cuff that made me see stars. - -“Fanny, I”-- - -She looked softly at me. - -“Dearest Fanny, I”-- - -She pouted. - -“I--I”-- - -She blushed. - -“I--love you.” - -She sprang into my arms. - -Bending back her head, and shaking her long locks from her pretty brow, -our lips-- - -Hillo! reader, you are not getting sentimental, are you? Don’t now; for -I’ve no sympathy with you--no more sentiment than a horse. - -But stop; here’s a bit, and written when things were tremendous. _Ecce -signum!_ - - O Fanny, sweet Fanny, - I cannot tell why, - But I live in the glance - Of thy witching blue eye-- - In the light of the spirit - And loveliness there: - O! I cannot tell why - I so love you, my fair! - - It is not--it is not - Its mild beaming--far, - Far excelling each lonely - And dim gleaming star; - It is not the beauty, - The sweetness of face, - The form of perfection, - The movement of grace! - - It is not, thou lovest me-- - For ere I had heard - Thy low sweet confession - As murmur of bird; - Ere thou told’st me, my beauty, - Thy dreams were all mine; - I cannot tell thee why-- - But I knew I was thine. - - A charm floats around, - And I feel while with thee, - Though a poor silly captive, - No wish to be free; - O! thus to be bound - In a thraldom like this-- - Though a thraldom indeed, - ’Tis the sweetest of bliss! - - I am thine, dearest Fanny, - Yea, thine and forever-- - No dark storm of sorrow - Our young hearts shall sever; - We’ll live, dream, and sigh, love, - Till time is no more; - And when death comes, we’ll fly, love, - To a sunnier shore! - -I suppose I felt considerably relieved after this Ætnæan effusion. -’Twould have cooled the furnace where they put Shadrach, Meshach and -Abednego. But hear the sequel! We pouted, quarreled, parted. - -After our first pout, I scribbled as follows-- - - O! girls fantastic creatures are, - Vexing us--teasing us; - Now they’re here, now they’re there, - Perplexing us--pleasing us; - See you here a soft blue ee, - O! beware--O! beware; - For it melteth but to be - For a snare--for a snare. - - I have loved a gentle girl; - How I loved--how I loved-- - Witness it, my bosom’s whirl - When she moved--when she moved; - Life, soul, feeling, all sincere, - Bound up in her--bound up in her; - She has left me, and I’m here, - A wound up sinner--a wound up sinner. - - Left me, and without a smile, - Save a cold one--save a cold one; - Not a word there fell the while, - Save some old one--save some old one; - My heart about to burst, and chain’d - As by a spell--as by a spell; - She could falter, unconstrained, - Fare thee well--fare thee well. - - O! I loved her; (may I be - For it forgiven--for it forgiven;) - Rather, than a thing of clay, - As a thing of Heaven--a thing of Heaven; - Feelings, none I had but went - Straightway there--straightway there; - When I prayed, her image blent - With my prayer--with my prayer. - - When she went, there was I, - Like her shade--like her shade-- - When she call’d, I was by, - And there I staid--there I staid; - If her soft eye sadden’d seem’d, - I could smile--I could smile-- - Till that soft eye gladden’d seemed, - As erewhile--as erewhile. - - I presented her a ring, - Which she took--which she took; - And her words fell murmuring, - Like a brook--like a brook; - Soft her eye’s glance fell upon me, - Even there--even there-- - When its gentle meanings won me - Like a prayer--like a prayer. - - She has left me, and I’m here, - Desolate--desolate; - She has left me, nor a tear - For my fate--for my fate: - O! to be thus coldly parted, - Nor relief--nor relief-- - And to be thus broken hearted, - This is grief--this is grief. - - Yet, I love her--I confess it, - More than ever--more than ever; - Love’s a stream--you can’t repress it, - Mine’s a river! mine’s a river! - Life, soul, feeling, all are given, - All my store--all my store; - In her, round her--there’s my Heaven, - I want no more--I want no more. - - - VI. - -Thought I was with my mother. Mother! reader, hast thou a mother? not -a mere nominal parent--one who brought thee into the world, and then -left thee to struggle in’t--one who gave thee but a moiety of her -tenderness? Nay, nay; I do not mean such. But I mean, one whose very -life was wrapp’d up in thee, one whose eye moistened with thine, whose -voice faltered with thine, whose heart reflected every shadow which -passed over thy heart, even as a lake the summer clouds, that idle -above its bosom. Such an one I mean--hadst ever such? I had--and how I -loved her. Did I not?--the following verses prove it. - - - - - MY MOTHER: - - (_In two Sonnets._) - - - I. - - Dew to the thirsty flower, a rosy beam - Of sunshine, or the melodies to Spring-- - Sounds to the sick man’s ear, a running stream, - A humming-bird, a wild bee on the wing; - Joy--to the earth-scorn’d soul, when all remote - Is happiness and e’en Hope’s lamp is dim; - Light--to the dungeon wretch, when the last note - Comes through his grate of the sweet forest hymn; - Her first-born’s breath that the young mother feels, - When her dimm’d eye falls on her little one-- - A maiden’s priceless faith that love reveals, - When heart meets heart in holy unison;-- - Than these--than all--O! sweeter far to me, - Mother! are thoughts of home, of my sweet home, and thee. - - - II. - - Virtue--with the first dawn of infant mind, - Falling from lips that made it holier seem; - Goodness--when deeds with precept were combined, - To show the world--“religion is no dream;” - Tears--when my heart was all too sad to weep them, - Cares--when affliction press’d me bitterly, - Watching--when none but love like thine could keep them, - Rebukes--yet with a blessing in thine eye; - An eye that watch’d me and would never sleep, - A well-timed word to keep me in the way, - A look, that made me go from thee and weep, - A faith, that made thee watch, and kneel, and pray-- - These, these are thine--O! sweet are then to me, - Mother! the thoughts of home, of my sweet home, and thee. - -Thus I valued her. But she’s in her grave now, and I often go there to -watch and weep, and please myself with the vain fancy, that her spirit -is bending over me. I always feel holier after it--as if I had come -from another world--had been beyond the grave--had unravelled the great -mysteries of life and death, and could now look upon life unsway’d by -that natural Atheism which ever clings to humanity, and mingles in all -our aspirations for the future. Watching and prayer ever better us. But -by the grave of a loved one, there are still holier influences. We see -them through the mirror of feeling. If they had faults, they have them -no longer; and their virtues, we canonize them--they are relics--they -are talismans which we lay on our hearts, and they are holier for the -contact. - -Earth’s thoughts come not to the grave’s side. The idle, the giddy and -gay, they do not jest here--the song of triumph ceases, the unfinished -quip dies on the lip that made it. The famed, the haughty, the -ambitious, they bring not their proud thoughts with them--they tread -its holy precincts, and their schemes are forgotten. The school boy’s -whistle is lower here, and the butterfly he chases so eagerly, scales -the white palings and escapes--he will not follow him. The very flowers -that bloom here, the osiers that swathe the grave of that little one -and twine about the head stones--they teach us by their freshness, and -our thoughts stir up the fountains in us, and the heart is hallowed by -it. - -Come hither, thou parent--a father perhaps. This was thy heart’s pride -and passion. Hope and promise were his. You had already marked his -path. Here were the flowers--there the thorns. You saw him in fancy, -out of his boyhood--the youth--the young man--his cheek glowing for the -contest. Death came--and you laid him here. - -Come hither, thou parent--a mother perhaps. This was thy first born. -You bore him on your heart; you nursed him; you hung over him; you wept -and prayed for him as mothers only can do; and _you_ too, have laid -him here. The little form you decked so--the locks that swung over a -brow of silver--the face with its beauty, and light, and sweetness, and -all the innocency of happy childhood--the clear silver shout of his -joy--the step that ran to thee--the lip that pouted for the morning and -evening kiss--aye! here they are--look at them. - -And who art thou, mourner?--thou that lookest not up to the glorious -sky, or abroad on the fair face of the creation of God; but, wrapped in -the selfishness and solitude of thy grief, standest here like a lone -monument of dead men’s histories--who art thou? Thine eye is on that -slab there; ’tis a maiden’s. Thou lovedst her perhaps; her heart beat -to thee; her lip was free to thy wooing. She was decked for a bridal; -the rite had sealed her thine; and death strewed thy bridal couch with -rosemary, and rue, and the gloomy cypress. - -And what do these here? They come here to weep, for it sanctifies them. -They come from the roar, and bustle, and heartlessness of life, and -they would listen awhile to the eloquence of the shrouded dead. O! -the dead are eloquent! The voice is low, yet louder than that of many -waters! They tell us that our loved ones were not ours! They tell us -that they were lent to us, and have now been reclaimed! They tell us, -that though saddening, ’tis sweet to think of them, for they tie us and -our souls to the purity of Heaven! - -Some men shudder as they look into a grave; and well they may, some of -the world. But the heart is wrong which feels thus. Does the sight of -land give pain to the shipwrecked? is the hope of freedom unwelcome -at the dungeon? does the sound of waters please in the desert? does -the thought of sleep annoy us when weary? does the hope of oblivion -give pain when the heart aches? Why then should the thought of what -is greater gain than all these come to our hearts, but to waken their -holiest emotions? - - O! ’tis because there is a power within, - Whisp’ring of good neglected--ill preferred-- - Duties cast off, and faculties misus’d! - It is, because the mortal triumphs, while - The purer passions, crushed or rooted out, - Leave him to be enslaved,--and thus in moments - When meditation, like a vestal waits - Upon his heart, the buoyancy and peace - Which should be his, give place to heaviness, - And indefinable wretchedness of soul. - O! could the heart be school’d--could it be made - True to its nature--to the impress graved - Upon it by the hand of Deity-- - Could it be made to balance good and ill, - With purpose to be wise--could it but choose - The pure, and love it for its purity-- - How blissful then, were thoughts of death and Heaven! - - * * * * * - -There--young lady! I’ve _thought_ for your “Omnibus,”--pray, what do -you think? - - * - - * * * * * - - - EPIGRAM, - - ON MR. ----, A BAD SINGER. - - The song of Orpheus and yours are one, - Both caused mankind and beast to run, - Only--_in different ways_; - _To_ him they went like wild deer freed, - _From_ you they go with equal speed, - To shun your “awful lays.” - Z. - - - - - THE COFFEE CLUB. - - No. IV. - - “Authors who acquire a reputation by pilfering all their - beauties from others, may be compared to Harlequin and his - snuff, which he collected by borrowing a pinch out of every - man’s box he could meet, and then retailed it under the - pompous title of ‘_tabác de mille fleurs_.’” - - _Fitzosborne’s Letters._ - - “If the work cannot boast of a regular plan, (in - which respect, however, I do not think it altogether - indefensible,) it may yet boast that the reflections are - naturally suggested always by the preceding passage.” - - _Cowper’s Letters._ - - -_No est tan bravo il leon, como se pinta_--the lion is not so fierce -as his picture--says the Spanish proverb, and such will doubtless be -your exclamation, fair, gentle, indulgent, or judicious reader, (by -whichever title you may please to be addressed,) when you discover that -the heroes of the Coffee Club, invested by your scrutinizing sagacity -with so many fictitious attributes, whether of honor or of dishonor, -are in truth but cognate atoms with yourself in making up the mass of -our small and secluded community. Nor will your self-satisfaction be at -all enhanced, by the remembrance of the astute conjectures, ‘positive -certainties,’ ‘perfect convictions,’ and ‘confidential informations,’ -which have afforded you matter of exultation for a season, but are, by -the revealment of the truth, shown to be unfounded, and if cherished -with vanity, ridiculous. Each, however, may soothe his chagrin, with -the assurance that no one was wiser than himself, and that the secret, -which baffled his endeavors, not even the talismanic power of woman’s -curiosity could elicit. - -It is the eve of the farewell exercises of the class, and the last -meeting of the Coffee Club. Tristo had thrown gloom upon our spirits, -by a mournful _epitaph_ upon the pleasures and the duties, now buried -in the past--but Pulito has reversed our feelings by a brilliant -_epithalamium_, for our coming bridal day, on which we are to wed the -_world_. So is it in life--we shed one tear over the past, and hasten -on to catch the future. - - “Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats - Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.” - -In such a mood, the thoughts of all naturally reverted to the time when -first we entered upon that stage in the journey of life, which we -have now completed. As we traced our progress onward, and recalled our -errors and our follies, our hopes and disappointments, our attainments -and our short-comings, the desire of sympathy, of consolation, and -encouragement, led to a full and free expression of our thoughts and -feelings. Apple, however, as his cigar wreathed forth its exhalations, - - ‘Upward and downward, thwarting and convolved,’ - -and puns and quips unceasing shot through their obscurity, like -lightning through a cloud, seemed at first to be in no mood for the -pathetic, or the serious. Pulito, too, after a brief and apparently -regretful abstraction, broke forth in a strain half querulous, half -laughing. - -_Pulito._ “Well, ‘gentlemen commoners,’ however discourteous the remark -may appear to you and your society, I must ne’ertheless regret that I -am not this evening where I might have been, in a certain far-famed -street, and gazing upon a certain lovely face, whose owner’s name -’twould be profanity to mention. I may say with the stricken Cowper, - - ‘Farewell to the _elm-tree_, farewell to the shade - And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade.’” - -_Nescio_, (smiling.) “‘Lugete oh! Veneres Cupidinesque!’ As an old -dramatist has it, - - ‘Your soul, retired within her inmost chamber, - Like a fair mourner, sits in state with all - The silent pomp of sorrow round about her.’” - -_Pulito._ “Yes, and to borrow from the same play, The Rival Ladies, I -think, - - ‘Oh she is gone! methinks she should have left - A track so bright, I might have followed her - Like setting suns that vanish in a glory.’” - -_Nescio._ “For the sake of quoting beautifully, you quote without -application.” - -_Apple_, (in a voice of thunder.) “Who in the name of heaven is it -about whom you are making all this ‘tempest in a tea-pot?’ Girls, -girls, girls, for ever and eternally! I wonder what you see in them! -weak and shallow! It maddens me, Pulito, to see you, a fellow of some -small sense, ‘bowing the knee in worship to an idol,’ a minion-queen, a -painted doll-- - - ‘A pagod thing of flirting sway, - With front of brass, and feet of clay.’” - -_Pulito._ “Why, Apple, from your fierceness, I suspect you have lately -met with a rebuff from some fair damsel.” - -_Apple._ “No, indeed I have not; I was afraid I should though, and -did not give her a chance. I was acquainted with some of them once, -and endeavored to patronize, instruct, and even please them. But they -had neither the acuteness to perceive the point of my puns, nor the -complaisance to laugh at them, even when I led the way. In fact--the -fiends scorch their pictures!--I believe they laughed _at_ instead of -_with_ me. ‘Flattery is nectar and ambrosia to them.’ They drink it in -and enjoy it like an old woman sucking metheglin through a quill.” - -_Pulito._ “I allow that - - ----‘if ladies be but young and fair, - They have the gift to know it.’ - -But this is chargeable upon us, who are accustomed to lie to them about -their charms, as a matter of course.” - -_Apple._ “Then, too, if beautiful, they can scarce be good. For, -‘honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar.’” - -_Pulito._ “How! Is what is fair at surface necessarily foul at heart? - - ‘Why what a world is this, where what is comely, - Envenoms him that bears it.’” - -_Apple._ “And how wide is their information, scientific, literary, -political, moral! Their wits ‘are dry as a remainder biscuit after a -voyage.’” - -_Pulito._ “Well, Apple, I should think you had exhausted Shakspeare and -yourself for terms of reproach: yet it still remains true, that they -are the dearest, sweetest things ‘_in rerum naturâ_,’ and - - ‘Should fate command me to the farthest verge - Of the green earth,’ - -I shall still love them one and all.” - -_Nescio._ “Yes. - - ‘Dulcé ridentem Lalagen amabo - Dulcé loquentem.’” - -_Tristo._ “I am no ladies’ man. I am too grave for their society. Yet -I am willing to acknowledge that, together with their influence, they -are half that makes life valuable. They are the purifying and refining -ingredient in the seething caldron of society. Their perceptions -are more rapid and acute than ours, and if deceitful, it is from -_necessity_, which you know is the mother of _invention_.” - -_Pulito._ “For my part, the absence of those pretty faces, which I have -been wont to see in my ‘walk and conversation,’ will greatly deepen my -regret at leaving this delightful place.” - -_Apple._ “Pooh! couldn’t you sentimentalize a bit? ‘_Pone me pigris ubi -nulla campis, Arbor æstivâ recreatur aurâ_,’ &c. Turn me adrift in New -England, New Guinea, or New Zealand, and let me have good meats, good -drinks, good _kapniphorous_ cigars and a dozen comedies, and I don’t -care a rush.” - -_Pulito._ “Oh! what an _animal_! Why, Dumpling, do you suppose you have -a _soul_, or are you a mere lump of flesh, a ‘congregation of skin, -bone and spissitude,’ to use one of your own ridiculous phrases?” - -_Apple._ “Yes, Pully, I suspect I have such a thing as a soul -somewhere--but I cannot determine its _locale_--neither do I fash my -beard thereanent, since it is the only _immaterial_ thing about me, ha! -ha!” - -_Nescio._ “That’s Apple, through and through, to circumvent truth by a -quibble.” - -_Pulito._ “But have you no sympathy with this verdant city and its -lovely scenes? Why, this very evening, - - ‘When the sweet wind doth gently kiss the trees. - And they do make no noise,’ - -is a copy of Paradise.” - -_Apple._ “Yes! the ‘Paradise of fools.’” - -_Pulito._ - - “‘On such a night - Stood Dido, with a willow in her hand, - Upon the wild sea-banks, and waved her love - To come again to Carthage.’” - -_Apple._ - - “‘On such a night did young Pulito strive - T’ unseal the fount of feeling in his heart, - And be poetic--_but he could not do it_.’” - -_Pulito._ “The air is like the breath of birds.” - -_Apple._ “Such birds as caged pullets and mousing owls, probably, ha! -ha!” - -_Pulito._ “And then the cemetery, and these streets high-overarched -with their verdant walls of inwoven shade.” - -_Apple._ “Poetical, i’faith! _My_ only amusement in the -_burying-ground_, as an unsophisticated gentleman like myself would -call it, is to read the queer old epitaphs.” - -_Nescio._ “And mark how not even the ear of Death is secure from the -poison of flattery.” - -_Apple._ “Pretty fair! I approve of that remark. As for these streets, -strip them of their green guardians, and they would be dry enough to -choke the wave-washed throat of Neptune himself. How can fellows walk -over all creation for fine prospects--my best prospect, as a kindred -spirit once said, is the prospect of a good dinner.” - -_Pulito._ “Surely, the view from East Rock is delightful.” - -_Apple._ “Undoubtedly, if there be two or three mountain nymphs hanging -affectionately on your arm. Oh! triple horror! To toil through two long -miles of dusty barrenness, and crawl _a la quadrupede_ up a mountain -of shifting sand and triturated stones, to view a few houses included -between shoal water and furze hills.” - -_Nescio._ “Methinks only a few weeks since, _you_ escorted thither some -twelve or thirteen of these same mountain nymphs.” - -_Apple._ “To be sure I did, and therefore I can speak from experience. -But it argues an unkind disposition in you, to fling a man’s errors -and misfortunes in his teeth. I did perpetrate that act, and as I -hope forgiveness, I am contrite therefor. We set off one morning, -when it was so hot that the very clouds _smoked_, though _I_ could -not--for what would Jonathan Oldbuck’s ‘_woman-kind_’ say? ‘The ladies -be upon thee, Sampson,’ thought I. I could not laugh, though there -was enough that was ridiculous, for I had corns. So I went sweating -along under a load of milk-and-water refreshments, like a man carrying -his own gibbet. I climbed up the hill like another Sisyphus, with a -train of Sirens behind me. When there what saw we. Why, through a -cracked spy-glass, I saw _Nescio Quod_ here, my own chum, coming out -the bookstore--wonderful, thrilling, soul-stirring prospect! Then, -lo! we had left the pine-apples a quarter of a mile from the foot of -the mountain, where we had stopped to browse. Nothing would do--one -lady was faint, and must have a little pine-apple juice--another -sweet nymph, in an unguarded moment, said that her principal object -in coming, was the pleasure of eating the pine-apples--and another -rosy-cheeked, and not very sylph-like figure, remarked, that if Mr. -Dumpling would be so good as to go after the basket, he should have the -pleasure of her arm down the mountain. The devil of a pleasure, thought -I; the sweet creature must have ‘gane daft, clean daft,’ or she would -never have offered such an inducement--better for me ‘that a millstone -were hanged about my neck,’ &c.--but down I must come, and down I came, -and when I got down, I stayed down. I ate the pine-apples myself, and -laid down under the shade till evening, when I slunk home, leaving -the ladies to their other beaux. I had some excuse though, for, while -‘midway between heaven and earth,’ I stumbled over a sweet-brier, and -wrenched my ankle so excruciatingly, that Pope’s line occurred to my -mind with some solemnity-- - - ‘Die of a _rose_ in aromatic (_a rheumatic_) pain.’ - -You take, do you? I managed, however, to reset the _luxed_ but by no -means _luxurious_ joint, and grateful for my escape, I have forsworn -the ladies, and pray for grace to keep my vow.” - -The laughter, long and loud, that succeeded the story of Apple’s -tribulations, was a sort of clearing-up shower, and left the moral -atmosphere in a temper more consonant with the seriousness of the hour. -After a short breathing-space, the conversation broke forth anew, and -in an entirely different channel. The sad peculiarity of our situation -gave to our views, and possibly to our remarks, a tinge of bitterness -and satire. - -_Pulito._ “Well, fellows, ‘our course is run, our errand done’ within -these walls, and we are to leave them for ever--and why not bid -farewell with a light heart and bounding hopes. To be sure, the vexings -of the world will be rather uncomfortable. A gentlemanly air, and a -languid intimacy with the ‘tricksy pomp’ of literature, will not make a -man a President or a _millionaire_.” - -_Apple._ “The prospect is somewhat discouraging. I should have felt no -misgivings at starting in the literary world a century ago, when the -noble art of punning was duly appreciated and rewarded, as witness the -celebrity of that great man, Dean Swift. Or I could have been content -to have ruffled it with the quibbling, conceit-loving cavaliers, who -basked in the smiles of Queen Bess. But now the principles of taste -are sadly perverted, and this noble art, this sole distinctive mark of -genius, has sought and found refuge only beneath the classic shades of -College. It is truly sad to me, to think of leaving this last strong -hold of wit and sentiment.” - -_Nescio._ “Why, Apple, your grief bewilders your mind. You began with -talking about _punning_, and ended with wit and sentiment. Where is the -connection?” - -_Apple._ “At least as close, Mr. Quod, as between your real and -expressed opinion, when you speak so despitefully of this innocent and -dignified amusement. But now we are on the subject, what is wit?” - -_Nescio._ “To which question I might reply, as Democritus did to him -that asked the definition of a man--‘_tis that which we all see and -know_.’ Such is the language of Barrow, the celebrated divine; I read -it this very day. I however would admit no definition, that could -possibly include a _pun_.” - -_Tristo._ “You go to an extreme there, Nescio. A mere play upon -words, a mere coincidence of sounds, makes but a poor jest, and a -ready facility in discovering and thrusting into conversation these -‘imperfect sympathies,’ gives one but slight pretensions to the -reputation of a wit. But there are some witticisms, which depend for -their force upon a _pun_, but yet including also a racy humor, deserve -the praise of true wit. I will read you an instance from Hazlitt:--“An -idle fellow, who had only fourpence left in the world, which had been -put by to pay for the baking of some meat for his dinner, went and -laid it out to buy a new string for a guitar. An old acquaintance, on -hearing this story, repeated these lines out of L’Allegro-- - - ‘And ever against _eating_ cares - Lap me in soft Lydian airs.’” - -Here the point of the jest lies in the pun upon _eating_, yet who does -not acknowledge it as highly humorous. There are not many puns so -refined and pure as this, but they sink in infinite and imperceptible -gradations. You cannot draw a bold line between ‘the wit of words and -wit of things.’ ‘For,’ as is said of Wit and Madness, ‘thin partitions -do their bounds divide.’” - -_Pulito._ “Very true, and I detest that squeamishness, which would -refuse the praise of wit to any thing approaching to a pun, and -sympathize most heartily with poor Apple for his many rebuffs. But -nevertheless, Apple, ‘a joke’s prosperity lies in the ear of the -hearer,’ Shakspeare says, and one should not complain if his pet -witticisms are not received with applause and answered with laughter. -If the jest is worthless, he deserves ridicule--if it does contain the -essence of wit he has only himself to blame for giving it an utterance, -where it could not be appreciated. Think you that Addison would have -displayed his delicate humor for the amusement of crabbed and adust -bookworms, or Voltaire sported his sarcasms to tickle the ear of -clowns? Let their example encourage and instruct you, my dear Apple, -and if you cannot equal their fame, you may, at least, attain the -celebrity of Joe Miller.” - -_Tristo._ “You will allow, however, Pulito, there is too often -manifested a disposition to decry and disparage, when approbation would -have been more natural. Censure is too often heard from lips, from -which praise would have been more graceful, or silence more becoming. -There are too many among us, who seek to rise upon the fall of their -rivals--too many ‘frosty-spirited knaves,’ of whom it may be said, in -bitterest truth, ‘not to admire is all the art they know.’” - -_Pulito._ “I have, however, been accustomed to regard such characters -with more of pity than severity. I have regarded them as defrauded by -nature of the just proportions of humanity. I have been vexed by their -perversity, but no more inclined to resent it, than to chastise the -ceaseless annoyances of a child or an idiot.” - -_Nescio._ “You underrate their _intellect_, that you may relieve -their _heart_ from the imputation of baseness. True, he who is always -searching for faults, without paying any attention to beauties, affords -strong grounds for the conclusion, that he has no perception of the -latter, and in his own experience is conversant only with the former: -and he who is ever detecting plagiarisms, and starting resemblances, -gives reason for the suspicion, that his acquaintance with the -fountains of these stolen waters, is not so purely accidental, or -so honorably gotten, as he would have us imagine. But deficiency of -taste and weakness of mind are not the sole causes of such conduct. -The _prompter_ of the whole is envy,--envy, the meanest passion of the -human heart--the only one in which there is not some shade of honor, -some trace of nobility. Ambition may be laudable--hate become a virtue -from the loathsomeness of its object--covetousness acquire dignity from -the excellence of the thing coveted--but the baseness of _envy_ is -enhanced by the purity and splendor against which it is directed.” - -_Tristo._ “Not only is envy so mean a passion in itself, but it -exerts a most debasing influence upon the intellect and whole -character. Indeed, if we may believe Coleridge, the cherishing of it -is incompatible with the existence of genius. His language is solemn; -would that all the fosterers, or rather the _victims_, of this worst -vice, to which we are by our situation exposed, might listen to his -warning. ‘Genius may co-exist with wildness, idleness, folly, even with -crime; but not long, believe me, with the indulgence of an envious -disposition. Envy is both the worst and justest divinity, as I once saw -it expressed somewhere in a page of Stobæus; it dwarfs and withers its -worshippers.’” - -_Apple._ “To recall your attention, Tristo, to the subject from which -we passed so suddenly to a more serious one, what think you of those -who ‘wit-wanton it’ with things sacred, who at every breath break over -the bounds of modesty, and outrage our sympathies with the true and -the beautiful, for the sake of a momentary, and not unfrequently a -shame-faced laugh?” - -_Tristo._ “Such persons do themselves and others more injury than -they think. Their incessant insults to all refinement and delicacy -of feeling, if unresented and unguarded against, at length deaden -and efface these sentiments. Bulwer says well of such, ‘Their humor -debauches the whole moral system--they are like the Sardinian -herb--they make you laugh, it is true, but they _poison you in the -act_.’” - -_Nescio._ “It is disgraceful that impurity should be an unequivocal -characteristic of college wit. But it will be so, until some one shall -demonstrate by his own example that there is no necessary connection, -but rather an essential hostility between real humor and obscenity. But -so long as it is easier to swim with the current than to buffet its -dashings--so long as it is pleasanter to excite a hearty laugh, than -encounter a cold sneer--so long as indolence and vacillation continue -to be _descriptive marks_ of a student’s character--we need not hope -for a change.” - -_Pulito._ “Whoever would attempt to effect one, should remember the -aphorism, ‘He ought to be well mounted who is for leaping over the -hedges of custom.’” - -_Tristo._ “If this license on the part of some deserves severe -reprobation, the chilling churlishness of those, who can feel no -sympathy with _pleasure_, be it ever so innocent--whose minds can -admit but the single idea of the _useful_, and reject as trifling -the elegant and refining--who, swallowed up in their admiration of -moral beauty, lose sight of or depreciate intellectual symmetry, -(forgetting that moral excellence, though it resemble in its value the -priceless diamond, is not like it advantaged by a dull and roughened -setting)--such, I say, must not pass without their share of censure, -for they are in no slight degree the occasion, I will not say the -cause, of the opposite vice in others.” - -_Pulito._ “Such illiberality frustrates the praise-worthy exertions -of all who indulge in it. It places them out of the circle of -influence--their efforts can no more reach those whom they desire -to affect, than (to use a magniloquent simile) the perturbations of -the moons of Uranus can sway the Earth’s satellite in its orbit. -But beside the unfortunate reaction of such principles, is not this -cutting off, ‘at one fell swoop,’ all amusements, this tying down -to one staid rule of _formal observance_, youth of every variety of -taste, talent and temperament, and brought up under every complexion of -circumstances--this curbing of all tastes and inclinations, not within -the _lawgiver’s_ capabilities--is it not based upon error of judgment, -and directed by something of inquisitorial arrogance?” - -_Apple._ “I never listen to a specimen of such frosty philosophy, -without recalling an anecdote, much to the point. It is found, -originally, I believe, in one of Pope’s letters to Swift, though I read -it somewhere else. ‘A courtier saw a sage picking out the best dishes -at table. ‘How,’ said he, ‘are sages epicures?’ ‘Do you think, Sir,’ -said the wise man, reaching over the table to help himself, ‘do you -think, Sir, that God Almighty made all the good things of this world -for fools?’” - -_Tristo._ “The sage must have belonged to the sect _Deipnosophoi_, or -‘Supper-wise,’ whom D’Israeli mentions. His principles, however, will -apply in their full extent, I think, to the purer pleasures of taste -and wit and literature.” - -_Pulito._ “Talk not to them of the ‘purer pleasures of taste, and -wit, and literature,’ for these are their utter abomination--snares -for the youthful mind--idle perversions of talent. Speak to them of -the grand display of moral power in Shakspeare’s dramas, and for -an unanswerable answer, they will point to a gross expression--and -consistently enough too, for theirs is the morality of _words_. They -cannot perceive that the _scope_ of all his principal plays is purely -and symmetrically moral, or even religious--that they seldom violate -the modesty of nature, though they may overstep the prudishness of an -age when, ‘_La pudeur s’est enfuie des cœurs, et s’est refugiée sur -les lévres._’--Modesty has fled from the heart, and taken refuge on -the lips. They cannot admire the _overruling providence_, by which -his untutored genius, apparently so wild and uncontrollable, has been -unerringly directed to conformity with truth and virtue. In their -esteem the pious Cowper would have been more worthy, had he devoted his -talents to the _practical_ duties of ‘the clerk of the Commons,’ rather -than have _wasted_ them in the unproductive pursuits of poetry.” - -_Nescio._ “Well, let them enjoy their opinions, provided they do not -meddle with others in the gratification of their taste, or profess -to judge in matters which they so virulently decry. The nightingale -may not quarrel with the discordant braying of the ass, till the -‘long-eared’ either attempt to ‘discourse sweet sounds’ himself, or -criticise the melody of others.” - -_Pulito._ “‘Aye, there’s the rub!’ None are more prompt in criticising, -none more forward to condemn, than these same individuals.” - -_Apple._ “Nothing ruffles the placidity of my temper so much, and so -frequently, as the confidence with which some fellows, whose ignorance -is absolute, pass judgment upon works of literature and taste. There -are those, who cannot tell for their lives whether Walter Scott wrote -Waverly or the Commentaries, or whether the author of Hudibras, the -Reminiscences, and the Analogy, be not one and the same, who yet issue -their unblushing firman upon any stray volume of poetry or romance, -they may have chanced to pick up and gape through. I heard one, who -could not count beyond ten, declare solemnly that he had no opinion -of James, or Bulwer, and that J. K. Paulding could write better than -either. Another, who had never seen a book, save the Family Bible, -before he came to College, averred that Sterne, Smollett, Fielding, and -Richardson united, never wrote any thing fit to be read by a man of -good morals, or sound sense; and thought, moreover, that _Campbell’s_ -Thanatopsis was far inferior to _Bryant’s_ Pleasures of Hope! And still -another affirmed that the plays of Shakspeare even, were ruinous to the -interests of morality, and that all the other dramatists of England -ought to be buried under the ruins of the stage they support. Upon -sifting the fellow, however, I found he had never read a play, saving -the Tempest, Comedy of Errors, and a couple of diluted operas in the -London stage!” - -_Pulito._ “And yet these are they, who sit in daily judgment upon -what they have neither the sense to comprehend, nor the delicacy to -appreciate. These are they, who stigmatize every thing beautiful as a -_rush_, and all that is novel to their narrow knowledge, as extravagant -and wild. ’Tis a Bœotian criticising the dialect of Athens; a Scythian -carping at the figures of Praxiteles. Shall the home-bred rustic, who -thinks the middle of the sky directly above his head, and supposes that -a walk of a day would bring his feet to the ‘blue concave,’ attempt to -teach the life-long traveller the principles of society, and decide -upon the manners and customs and wonders of the world? And yet it would -be as reasonable to the full as the conduct of him, who, when his -knowledge is confined to _particulars_, attempts to play the critic--a -part, which, in its very nature, implies _generalization_ of the widest -kind.” - -_Tristo._ “How can the poor catechumen, who has not yet donned the -robes of his novitiate, nor raised his eyes to the vestibule, much -less stood in his sacrificial garments by the High Altar in the -Temple of the Muses, presume to decide upon the value and lustre of -the treasures its _adyta_ conceal? It is as if the puny whipster, who -fumes and gesticulates upon the academic stage, and whose thoughts and -language are ‘a combination of disjointed things,’ should attempt to -span or analyze the harmonious vastness and sweeping magnificence of an -Edmund Burke.” - -_Pulito._ “There is likewise a species of grave wiseacres--sober fools, -who are quite as senseless and less amusing than fools of the more -fantastic turn. They think that wisdom dwells only upon sealed lips, -and that strength of mind and sobriety of purpose, is _evidenced_ by -nothing but a rueful face. These fellows (to use the old Greek phrase) -‘lift the eyebrows’ with a dull forthshowing of meditative wisdom, and -a countenance - - ----‘of such a vinegar aspect - That they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile, - Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.’ - -Oh rather give me a whole-hearted fool, with his eternal grin, than one -of these sombre _unimpressible_ concretions of torpedo-stricken clay.” - -_Nescio._ “There are here, likewise, even as every where, many who -can stop at no medium, but carry reasonable freedom to unwarrantable -license. Because it is both pleasant and right to spend some time -in general, and above all, in female society, some therefore, in -their society fling away all their time, and, with their time, fling -away character, and knowledge, and happiness, and worth. Because it -is not well to be always bending over the learning of the present, -and listening to the eloquence of the past, some therefore, double, -wheel, march, and countermarch through these dusty streets during the -long hours of a summer’s day, and when they catch a glimpse at the -shadow of a female form, they experience a momentary heaven. Others, -remembering that it is irrational to crucify the senses, and mortify -the flesh, smoke, eat, and sleep, continually. Others, hearing that as -well profit as delight may be reaped from the inspection of fancy’s -fairy finger-work, are on the tiptoe of panting expectation for each -miserable novel that falls lifeless from the press. And thus it was, -thus it is, thus it will be.” - -_Pulito._ “But idleness--idleness is the student’s bane. It is -astounding how we throw away our time, and our best time--our -spring-hour of life. Time is the medium of acquisition, and, losing -_that_, we lose all. I am no Utopian in theory, nor visionary in -practice: neither am I free from the follies I deplore. But the strides -which _might_ be made in our collegiate course, would be mighty and -amazing.” - -_Nescio._ “I agree with you. Every ordinary mind, by more judicious -application, might accomplish double what it does. I do not mean that -just twice as much would be read, or acquired; but that the _mind_ -would be twice as far advanced. It would not only have received twice -the strength, and twice the beauty, from the studies it had actually -traversed, but would be doubly fitted to grasp, conquer, and improve -whatever might afterwards occur. The progress of the mind is in -geometrical ratio. Every new and liberal idea, that is gained by a boy -of twelve, is a capital which will return with yearly and enormous -interest. It is analogous to the gaining of worldly wealth, where you -must _hew_ your slow and narrow path from nothing to competence; but -from competence to opulence, the road is broad and easy.” - -_Pulito._ “I cannot divine the _modality_ (as the schoolmen might -say) of some minds--the manner, in which they operate. For I know of -those, who for four years have toiled with desperate firmness, and -are what they were. They seem to have pursued a mill-horse track, -without the remotest conception that there was aught else of value in -the universe beside. Now I complain not of the rigor or of the nature -of our course. Stern application is our only hope, and the course of -authors we peruse, is perhaps as good as could be devised; but it is -the _spirit_ with which they study. They consider what they here gain, -not as a _mean_, but as an _end_. Every man, who would be ‘aut Cæsar, -aut nullus,’ and whose eye goes forward to the ‘immensum infinitumque’ -of Tully, _must generalize_--_must_ view things _relatively_--_must_ -consider every thing, not as a whole, but as a part. If one possess -this generalizing spirit, I care not how undivided be his attention -to the college course; for I believe that there is in the books of -the first three years, beauty and grandeur and weight, sufficient to -justify, nay _demand_, almost _entire_ attention. For instance, to -gain a perfect intimacy with Horace--not an intimacy with his words -merely, and sentiments--but an intimacy with his beauties--with his -_soul_--would require one month of the severest study; and yet such an -intimacy is requisite to justify studying him at all: for if he is not -to be appreciated--if that evaporating something, wherein he differs -so widely from a dull Latin proser, is not to be seen and felt--you -might as well have been reading Cato upon gardening, or Vitruvius upon -architecture. But these fellows in studying a foreign tongue, give the -general sense in hap-hazard English, without gaining any insight into -the philosophy of mind, or the theory of language.” - -_Apple._ “I think, moreover, that we ought to be more conversant with -the sciences. Some of the details may, perhaps, be superfluous; but -surely no one can claim to be a liberally-educated _gentleman_, without -a general acquaintance with all, and a perfect knowledge of some of -those departments. Whatever may have been my former obliquities, or -short-comings in these studies, I am determined to retrieve them all. -I have begun with attempting to square the circle, upon which great -problem I have employed two weeks.” - -_Nescio._ “Ha! Ha! do you approach the goal!” - -_Apple._ “I cannot say that I do very rapidly; but I feel increased -acuteness of perception. I think I might discover this grand secret, -could I hit upon some method of reducing the circle to linear -measurement. My nearest approximation is to make a circle of a string, -and then quadrate its sides by the introvention of a square surface -of board. Of course, I have the perimeter and square contents of the -board, and if I could fit the latter accurately to the string, the work -is done, and I am Apple the Great. But ‘hic labor, hoc opus est.’” - -_Pulito._ “Ha! Ha! Be not wearied in well doing, Dumpling; you have -opened on the right scent, (_erige aures, atque dirige gressus_.)” - -_Tristo._ “But there is a more serious view to be taken of this matter, -and one to which we must all open our eyes sooner or later, and well -will it be for us if we take counsel while the storm is yet lowering, -rather than look back with despairing, remorseful eye when ruin is -in the retrospect. The day will come when he, who has squandered his -abilities, and perverted his passions, will ‘begin to be in want,’ when -mortified pride and conscious inferiority will ‘bite like a serpent, -and sting like an adder’--a day, when the busy idleness, the trifling -engagements, and the languid excuses, which now lull all suspicion -of an _actual waste_ of time, will be forgotten, and nothing but the -results will be visible. Then, one hasty, reverted glance, without any -minute calculation, will inform us, that by our thriftless expenditure, -when we might have economized to some purpose, we are _compelled_ to be -idle and insignificant; when we _feel_ idleness to be a _disgrace_, and -insignificance a _torment_. And why are not we alive to all this? Why -do we not feel it, and _show_ that we feel it, by our actions, when we -can thus in theorizing, ‘put on the spectacles of age?’ The melancholy -maxim of the ancients explains it-- - - ‘Quem Deus perdere vult, prius _dementat_.’ - -Who would have the punning epigram upon the Cardinal De Fleuri, true of -him? - - ‘Floruit sine fructu, - Defloruit sine luctu.’ - -There is a merry jingling in the sound, but under it is conveyed a -mournful meaning. Yet it shall be written of all, who, either trusting -to their native genius, or destitute of honorable ambition, flutter -away their existence in mimicry of the tiny circlets of the silly -fly, instead of pluming their wings and nerving their energies, for -a bold, a steady, and a deathless flight. Youth gives its stamp to -life, and life to immortality--time is a type of eternity. I have -somewhere seen the vastness of the latter illustrated by the image of -a huge chronometer, of which the starry heavens were the dial-plate, -its pendulum swinging in cycles of ten thousand years, and ringing to -myriads of ages.” - -In such and similar discourse, did they consume the lagging hours of -night: now changing ‘from grave to gay, from lively to severe,’ and -glancing over all the subjects and circumstances in which a student -might feel a personal or an associated interest. They talked of silly -affection, and of scheming selfishness, and condemned alike that -vanity, which could exult in a new pair of gloves, or be elated by that -‘_shadow of a thing_,’ yclept a reputation; and having in view this -one position, that what one _is_, and not what he _seems_, forms his -character and moulds his destiny, - - ‘Still they were wise whatever way they went.’ - -And now, Reader, we have done. If from this rude, incongruous heap, -which, in the throwing together, has afforded us both pleasure and -profit, you have been able to extricate any thing of either, we are -satisfied. If by our unworthy portraiture of cheerful mirth without the -taint of vicious excitement, a single heart, sick of the _hollowness_ -of dissipation, shall be seduced from its enticements--if one mind, -till now swallowed in the vortex of current opinion, and dead to the -merits of any save _fashionable_ authors, should be led to the study -of chaster models, and the formation of a purer taste--if one soul, -whose fountains have been sealed to the thousand springs of written -or unwritten _poetry_, gushing up all around him, has been opened to -their influences--or if any individuals of the various classes which -we have ventured to describe, shall, by the image of their deformity, -be frighted, ‘if not into greater goodness, at least into less -badness’--_it is enough_. - - Ego. - - - - - WHAT IS BITTER. - - - ’Tis _bitter_ when beneath the midnight moon - We wander near the graves of those we love; - The lone heart sinks, and sighs for the bless’d boon - Of rest above. - - When wearied age, with retrospective view, - Sees in the record of departed years - A tale of blighted hopes--he reads it through - With _bitter_ tears. - - ’Tis _bitter_ when our days are almost done, - To feel for wasted talents vain regret, - And see, with guilty fear, our life’s last sun - In sorrow set. - - ’Tis _bitter_ when revenge, with hellish art, - Lights in the breast her ever-scorching flame, - Stirs passion’s depths, and forms the tiger-heart, - No power can tame. - - And _bitter_ is the heart, nay more, undone, - That finds long-cherished hopes in ruin end, - Crushed by the cruel treachery of one, - It deemed _a friend_. - - Eta. - - - - - THE REASON OF ANIMALS NOT THE REASON OF MAN. - - -The organic kingdom seems to be little else than a system of means, -resisting for a short period only the laws which govern inanimate -matter, and then yielding to their power. Wherever the contemplative -mind turns among the innumerable tribes of animals, which have been -revealed by the scrutiny of man, it beholds them all struggling a -little while for a sentient existence, and then sinking down, to form -a part of that mingled mass, which has given them, and continues to -give their successors, sustenance. It is not however animated matter -only which thus for a moment attracts, and then passes from our -observation. In each individual of all this numberless multitude, we -behold the glimmering of intelligence, and in some species it seems -to fall but little below the uncultivated reason of man; nay more, in -their architecture, in their fabrics, in their modes of subsistence -and defence, many are known to rival the utmost stretch of human -ingenuity. This intelligence also, and this ingenuity, vanishes from -before us. The theory has indeed been formed, that this appearance of -reason, wherever found, or however feeble, is but the commencement of -an immortal existence; but it is not thus that the mass of mankind view -the subject. They are accustomed to look upon the whole animal kingdom -as progressing to a period, when, not only the sensations of their -bodies will cease, and their organs be left, without exception, to -decay, but when all their intelligence and skill also will be swallowed -up in annihilation. If then the reason of brutes is the reason of man, -how strong, how complete the analogy, and how natural the conclusion, -that the mind of man too, with the decease of his body ceases to exist! -Living therefore as the most intelligent of these animals do, in the -midst of us, and seeming to think and reason every day as really as -ourselves, reason itself seems to be constantly persuading us that -our end is the same. Indeed, if man differs from the brute only in -the degree of intellect which he possesses, it is almost demonstrably -certain, that annihilation or immortality alike await us. That animals -are immortal, however, it is impossible to believe; for if this may be -predicated of one individual, it may be predicated of every species in -which animal life can be proved to exist. From the highest intelligence -which exists among them, to the meanest insect that crawls in the dust, -or the dullest inhabitant of a shell that clings to a rock, there -is not a point where the line of separation can, with any degree of -plausibility, be drawn, and we might almost extend the chain to the -plant that shrinks from the touch, and the flower that follows the sun. -This theory therefore we reject as unnatural and absurd. Hence we are -reduced to the necessity of allowing, either that man is not immortal, -or that his reason is different, not only in degree, but in its nature, -from that of brutes. Although if the latter be true, it does not follow -that the former is false, yet one of the most powerful arguments in -support of it falls to the ground, and leaves other evidence to produce -a conviction of the truth of its opposite. It is then an object of no -little importance to discover, if possible, whether there is sufficient -difference between the faculties of men and animals, to justify the -conclusion that their destinies are so different. - -In endeavoring to accomplish this object, we propose to consider -brutes, in the first place, as they exist in their natural state, and -afterwards, as they are when trained by man. Let us go, then, to the -forest where the bird sits upon her nest, and the beast rests in his -lair in undisturbed repose--or rather, if you please, where air, earth -and water, teem with countless multitudes, all alive with activity, -and all closely devoted to the peculiar employments for which Nature -has fitted them. Compare now this busy scene, with that where the -same elements groan under the burden imposed upon them by man, in his -highest state of cultivation. Mark the aerial artist as she proceeds in -the construction of her edifice, which in its execution and adaptation -to its situation, defies all imitation by man. Without a model, and -without instruction or experience, she fabricates a nest, which, in -materials and construction, as near as circumstances permit, resembles -those of all her predecessors. Where there is no possibility of a -communication, precisely the same process is followed, and the same -result is produced in every instance. Neither does age, observation -or experience, produce the least improvement, but it more frequently -happens, that the first product of this instinctive skill excels all -that succeed. The same appears to be true of every species of the -brute creation as we find them in the wilds of nature. All come into -existence endowed with a species of intellect; a practical ingenuity, -apparently far superior to any thing which man possesses, previous to -observation. - -If, therefore, the mental endowments of brutes are to be estimated by -the readiness with which they arrive at certain practical results, man -sinks below them. Among the whole human race, we find not a single -instance of such instinctive knowledge. Man springs into existence -of all animals the most helpless, and the most ignorant of the means -of his support or his happiness. He is compelled to learn and direct -every step of his course by observation and experience. He is left -to deliberate and choose without any previous bias of the mind, and -hence arises that vast diversity of manners and customs, scarcely -greater between the most civilized and the most barbarous people, -than between those who are buried in an equal depth of barbarism. -On the other hand, throughout each particular species of the brute -creation, all appear to be guided by one mind, and urged on by some -irresistible power to the same definite ends. In the state in which we -are now considering them, there is no variation in their habitudes, -and seems to be no possibility of their choosing a different course -from that so universally pursued. It is as natural to them as to live; -as involuntary as their breath. This is instinct--a faculty to man -denied--a pilot whose absence leaves him to the winds and waves of -circumstances, while its presence impels as well as guides the animal -creation in all their intricate manœvres. - -There are traits, however, in which man and the most intelligent of -other animals closely resemble each other. Present, for instance, -a pleasing object to the eye of man, and the countenance will -involuntarily kindle into a smile. Present to the half-famished -wanderer an article of food, and the flowing saliva and the beseeching -look, will testify, in spite of him, his eagerness to receive it. -Tear from the fond mother her darling offspring, and plunge into its -unprotected breast the glittering steel, and an agony unutterable will -give her wings to fly to its rescue, and a thousand tongues to call for -aid, or drive her to madness with despair. - -This is a species of action, exhibited to an actual extent, perhaps, -though in different ways, by both animals and men. It evinces a power -which it is not in the nature of man wholly to resist, and under the -full operation of which we use neither deliberation nor judgment. Such -seems to be the power which gives rise to a large part of the actions -of the most intelligent animals. It differs little in its nature from -that instinct which guides them in their mechanical labors, and, in -connection with it, is sufficient to account for all the phenomena -which, as sentient beings, in their natural state, they exhibit to -us. It is the influence of the passions--the feelings--the heart. In -brutes, apart from instinct, (if this be not considered instinct,) it -holds universal sway. The objects which excite the passions, and give -rise to action, may not, indeed, in all cases be present. They may be -called up by circumstances in all the vividness of reality, through -the powerful memory with which brutes are endowed, yet the motives of -the action are the same as if the real object supplied the place of -the imaginary one. The principle is the same, and the result is still -produced by the influence of the animal feelings, excited by sensible -objects. But in man there is displayed a moving power which exists -independently of instinct, of love, or hate, or hope, or fear, and -which is capable of exercising a control over all, unless it be the -very strongest of human passions. In the exercise of it, the passions -are, as it were for the moment annihilated, and the intellect rises -into a sphere where all tangible, sensible objects, vanish, and the -mind converses with objects beyond the reach of mere animal perception. - -The question may now arise, how are we to account for all that variety -of movement and action, which animals acquire under the instruction -of man? If instinct and passion are the only influences to which -they are subject, we should reasonably suppose that their actions -would be as invariable as the motives from which they originate. Had -they never been subject to a higher order of beings, this would be -found universally true. But that class of animals which we denominate -domestic, and indeed almost all upon which the hand of man has laid its -controlling influence, exhibit a species of action, which indicates -a capability of improvement, and for which it would be impossible -to account upon the principles which have been considered. There is -another principle which is seen alike in animals and man, and might -with propriety be denominated an artificial instinct. It is habit--a -state in which we are led to act with reference to definite ends, and -yet act involuntarily. By a frequent repetition of some motion of the -hand, the foot or the whole person, we come at last to do the same -unconsciously, and it is by this means that we perform so readily -many of the intricate processes which the arts require. It is this -which explains the secret of attachment to places and things. Even the -prisoner, after a long-continued confinement to a gloomy cell, finds, -at his departure, a magic charm binding him to the dreary habitation. -The tender threads of affection have become entwined around the objects -so constantly before him, and he is obliged to summon his reason, -to break through the silvery web that is formed around his heart. -Observation teaches us that animals are subject to the same influence. -After a period of confinement and familiarity with man, the door of -their enclosure may be opened, and almost without exception, they will -leave it, only to return again of their own accord--not because a -judgment teaches them that such a condition is preferable, but because -a new influence is thrown over them which they cannot shake off. It is -obviously upon this principle that they perform all the manœvres, and -answer all the purposes, which they are made to do by man. - -These three causes--instinct, passion, and habit, are believed to be -sufficient to account for all the varieties of action exhibited by -animals. We no where discover any of that power of origination, that -freedom of thought and action, which renders man capable of endless -improvement, and worthy of presiding over the brute creation. Nor any -where do we find that power of abstraction, by which, from evidences of -design which are displayed among terrestrial and celestial objects, we -are able to reason our way up to an Infinite Being whom we have neither -seen nor heard. These are the characteristics of man, which render him -an accountable being--give him a conscience, and stamp him with the -impress of immortality. - - S. - - - - - DE LOPEZ THE BRAVE. - - “The age of chivalry is gone.”--_Burke._ - - - I. - - In days of yore, when minstrel song - Ne’er swell’d ‘to please a peasant’s ear,’ - But ladye fair, and knightly throng, - Were pleas’d his gentle harp to hear; - There liv’d in Spain, a knight of fame-- - His deeds as gallant as his name-- - De Lopez--stainless arms he wore, - Those arms his peerless fathers bore; - And many a goodly rood of land, - And castle fair were in his hand; - And many a serf ‘with buckled brand,’ - Rode to the fight at his command. - A braver knight ne’er strode a steed, - Or couch’d a lance in rest; - A stalwart knight was he at need, - His war-spear was no coward’s reed; - In mercy he was best. - But he was now to bid adieu - To scenes he lov’d full well; - He had vow’d, as loyal lord and true, - To follow his king the crusade through, - To lands o’er which the simoom blew, - Till the Moslem crescent fell. - Now, in the castle hall he stood, - His ladye on his arm-- - He waited there, before he rode, - Trusting his lovely bride with God, - To shield her from alarm. - “Now bless thee, dearest,” cried the knight, - “God keep thee safe and true; - My life, my love, ah, cruel right! - That blasts our day of love so bright - And o’er it spreads the sable night, - A night of deadly hue.” - So spake De Lopez, gallant knight, - On parting at the castle gate, - He in his glittering arms bedight, - She mourning o’er her hapless fate. - And then she plac’d a bright red rose - Among his waving plumes; - Ah, hapless bride! she little knows - What fearful fate it dooms. - - - II. - - No more the charger paws the ground, - Nor snuffs the fresh’ning air, - No more the faithful vassals round, - Impatient for the bugle sound, - Await--their lord is there. - He gave his pennon to the gale, - His bugle echo’d far, - O’er distant forest, plain and dale, - The fearful notes of war. - Then spurr’d their furious steeds amain, - And soon they cross the lengthen’d plain. - But, lo! from yonder lofty tower, - The ladye keeps her lonely watch, - And there has spent a long, long hour, - Spying her lord thro’ plain and bower, - Wherever she a sight can catch. - And now, in the blue distance far, - The pennon fades away; - Or, like some ling’ring, morning star, - That shines with doubtful ray, - ’Tis now in view, now lost to sight, - As slowly wanes the yielding night. - Their gleaming helms and waving crests, - Their spear-heads tipp’d with silv’ry light, - Their flashing shields and steel-clad breasts, - That sparkle with a sheen so bright, - Grow faint and fainter to the sight. - - - III. - - Why course the drops down Mena’s cheek? - Why leaves she now the lonely height, - The ladye of the heart so meek, - The ladye of such gentle might? - She sees no more her own brave knight, - She hears no more his bugle-wail; - The dark’ning shadows of the night, - Shrouding the forest, plain and dale, - Conceal him from her sight. - And now she hastens to her bower, - And now the chief pricks on his way; - Behold, around him march the power, - Of vassal bold in long array; - For they are bound to Palestine, - With shield, and spear, and sword, - Their blessed Saviour’s tomb to win - From ruthless Moslem horde. - - - IV. - - Among the suitors of the land, - That sought fair Mena’s lily hand, - There was a dark-brown baron bold, - That dwelt secure in massive hold; - Men seldom cross’d his stone threshhold, - For many a tale, the country round, - Their feet and tongues in terror bound. - ’Twas said he practic’d gramarye, - And that in wild, tempestuous nights, - The lurid lightning one might see, - Flashing around his castle heights; - While the deep-mouth’d bellowing thunder, - Shaking the massive keep, - Would seem its rocky walls to sunder, - Then straightway forth would leap - A dazzling, quiv’ring, noiseless flame, - And the black pall of night again - Enshroud the heaven’s starless steep. - This baron hath sworn a fearful oath, - ‘By heav’n and all its saints,’ - That be the ladye never so loth, - Despite of love’s restraints, - She yet shall deck his bed and board, - And gladly own him her liege lord. - Now, Holy Mother, shield her well, - From all the fiendish plots of hell. - For, well I ween, this baron bold, - His mightiest spells will not withhold. - - - V. - - What gleaming light, - Shoots forth its beams, - Through the deep night? - Say, what this means? - All else is still - On the castle hill, - Save the warder’s cry, and the deep clock’s chime, - That warns the pale ghost of his passing time. - That ray from the baron’s window gleams, - And, as far down on the lake it streams, - Three spirits cross its path. - (God shield us from their wrath!) - By blackest art they’ve laid to sleep - The warder ’neath the deep black lake, - There too they’ve made the ban-dog keep - His lone watch, lest the warder wake; - The smould’ring brands of the watch-fire bright, - They plunge ’neath the wave, as well they might. - For such foul arts of gramarye, - No mortal eye may ever see. - ’Tis not for such as me to tell, - What did they in the baron’s cell. - ’Tis said that voices loudly groan’d - Around the turret’s height; - And e’en the graves in churchyard moan’d, - With many a restless sprite; - That then in cloud of flame and smoke, - These spirits their departure took. - - - VI. - - Why swims pale Mena’s heavy eye? - Why walks she with a falt’ring step? - Why heaves she now the sudden sigh? - Has not her gallant lover kept - His knightly word? or, can it be - That he has fall’n beyond the sea? - She had last night a fearful dream, - ‘A spirit woke her,’ (it did seem,) - ‘And with a finger gory red, - Pointed her to a bleeding head; - Upon a city’s gate ’twas plac’d, - With dust and clotted gore defac’d;’ - She shriek’d not--but her heart’s hot blood - Mounted in gushes to her brain, - This cannot be--oh, gracious God! - Is this her luckless lover slain? - But the foul spirit by his power, - Sustain’d her through her trying hour. - Yet once again - The vision came. - ‘She sees a gallant knight, - And a ladye fair flit by; - They move like forms of light, - And stately onward hie; - The knight--he was the baron bold! - Herself the ladye fair! - The hour of one the clock now told, - The spirits melt in air.’ - - - VII. - - Now round the altar high they stand, - In sooth, a gallant, goodly band; - On high the torches flash and wave, - Showing pillar and architrave, - And arch and gothic window fair, - And, hanging high in the cold night air, - Pennon and ’scutcheon that glisten’d there. - But who are these, at dead of night, - That would perform this holy rite? - Who, I pray, but the baron bold, - And the fair Mena, deck’d in gold? - For missals foully forg’d have said, - (Rest him!) her gallant knight is dead! - And then, her father’s stern command, - And many a ghostly spirit band, - Have sent her mad;--she cannot know - The full extent of all her woe. - - - VIII. - - The priest in robes of stainless white, - Does now beside the altar stand, - And now beneath the dazzling light, - The baron takes the ladye’s hand. - Jesu Maria! what muffled form, - Breaks through the crowd like a mighty storm? - His helm is gone, but a lifeless rose - On his steel-clad bosom finds repose. - ’Tis wither’d and faded quite away, - Still lies it there; as, in former day, - It shone a terror to his foes. - The baron breathes convulsively, - He knows the stranger knight - That aims at him so manfully; - Oh, shield the luckless wight! - Now flash their falchions in mid air, - May “God defend the right!” - Oh, who had seen that man would swear - His was no mortal might. - But, ah! he’s down--it cannot be: - His mighty soul for aye has sped! - Draw near--oh, horrid sight to see - De Lopez number’d with the dead! - With idiot eye and childish stare, - Poor Mena bends before him there, - His bloody, wasted hand she takes; - The flower her sad remembrance wakes. - Her brain is fir’d; in vain she tries - To shed a tear!--so soon, alas! - The secret springs of feeling fail, - When wrongs the anguish’d heart assail, - And burning sorrows o’er it pass. - - - IX. - - With mournful step and fun’ral wail, - They bear the baron bold; - No more he’ll need his war-proof mail, - No more his massive hold. - De Lopez did not fall in vain, - For, as he fell, with might and main, - While yet in death he fainter grew, - He thrust the bloody baron through. - They lay the baron by a running stream, - Nor moon nor stars e’er shine upon the spot; - But, it is said, a bluish, noiseless gleam - Surrounds him; such, the dreaded wizard’s lot. - - A monument of marble pale, - Marks where De Lopez fell; - For him arose no kindred wail, - He lies secure from fiendish spell. - And they have carv’d a gallant knight, - Stretch’d on that tomb so pale, - Still in his stainless arms bedight, - Still clad in marble mail. - ’Tis said, when the moon, with palish ray, - Shines on the spot where the brave knight lay, - A saint-like spirit you may see, - With marriage robe, and bended knee, - Kneel o’er his lowly sepulchre. - Awhile she’ll kiss the marble face, - And shed a lonely tear, - Then look to heav’n--to ask the grace - That was denied him here. - - R. - - - - - MR. WILLIS. - - -When so many mouths are full of Mr. Willis, and pamphlets and -periodicals are alternately lauding and lashing him--and, moreover, -since he has so lately passed through this city, (the city of his -Alma Mater,) and with him, his very lovely trans-Atlantic lady--it -is certainly proper that this magazine (the deputed organ of Yale’s -literary notions) break its dignified silence. Criticism, it is true, -of right belongs to older heads--but since such numbers have apparently -forgotten this in the community at large, we shield our presumption -under their greater impertinence. Impertinence! That the thousand and -one notions put forth here and there to the detriment of Willis, are -impertinent, lies on the face of them. What right have they to find -fault with his coat, or the fit of his breeches? “Ah! but he don’t pay -for them!” Prove that, rascal--perhaps your prejudice then will be less -apparent. But stop a moment. - -Of course--we are not seated to make out an analysis of Willis’ -mind--nor to criticise thoroughly his poetry--nor to meddle -particularly with his morals--nor to read him furiously a -Chesterfieldian lecture--nor to tell him whether he shall or shall -not curl his hair--whether he shall or shall not have his carriage, -his horses, his dogs, _et cetera, et cetera_. No! nothing of this, -save incidentally--we leave this to others. Besides, ’tis too late for -it--they have been treated on, and his new work has not yet come to us. -But our purpose is, to scribble a rapid, running, off-hand article--to -trouble, somewhat, some of the defamers of Willis--to give our own -opinions as may be about this or that--to say just what we have a mind -to--to say it how we have a mind to--and (of this, reader, be certain) -to enjoy our own opinions. - -Whether we are capable of this, of advancing an opinion--of that, -reader, you must judge. Thus much we _dare_ say--our prejudices will -not trouble our judgment. We have alike objected to the indiscriminate -laudatory efforts of the friends of Willis, and the pitiable swellings -and puny malice of his enemies--we have made ourselves alike familiar -with his prose and with his poetry--(what man of taste has not?)--we -have never shut our eyes on his faults, or suffered a jaundiced vision -to distort, discolor, or otherwise interfere with his excellencies--we -have often censured and praised him--fought for him and against him--in -short, been placed exactly in those circumstances, which are favorable -to a proper appreciation of his merits--supposing all this time, that -we possess a moderately good share of judgment in these matters. Thus -much we dare say. - -The most troublesome things to be met with now-a-days, are your -_echoing_ gentlemen.[2] Mr. Willis has done thus and so, says one--Mr. -Willis has written thus and so, says another. Now we don’t say Mr. -Willis has _not_ done or written thus and so--perhaps he has--nor would -we be understood exactly in this free government, as interdicting -the expression of opinions, even supposing these young gentlemen -harmless, and as entirely innocent of a capability to judge as they -really are--but we do say that, in this hot weather, and especially -as dog days are coming on, every buzzing, barking, or otherwise -troublesome creature, should be heard as little as possible, and that -it is altogether too much of a tax upon the easiness of modest men, -and too much of a tax on the patience of sensible ones, when with -all their exertions and cooling appliances, (such as ventilating, -dressing thin, and going under the College pump,) they can scarcely -keep themselves comfortable. He’s a puppy, says one. What do you mean -by “puppy,” say we. Why, he’s an exquisite--a dandy. Now, hang your -ignorance! for your charge proves you a clown. _We_ have seen Mr. -Willis (we have no acquaintance with him) sitting and standing--we -have seen him in company and out of company--we have seen him hat on -and hat off--we have seen him walking and talking--and _we_ declare, -that there’s nothing about him but an air of high society, and a well -bred gentleman. The charge of being a dandy, might be laid any where -with equal propriety--the urbanity of his deportment, considering his -publicity, is worthy of high praise. - -His publicity, his English reputation--this is another thing his -enemies turn against him. Witness the slighting method of the -Quarterly--witness the cool handling of the Edinburgh--witness his -annihilation in the Metropolitan, say they. Annihilation! murder--what -a term is this--here’s a tax--here’s a sweep--here’s a pull on our -credulousness. Have these gentlemen forgotten the admitted principle in -physics, that you cannot annihilate matter? But--’tis of a piece with -the rest of their absurdities. - -As for the attacks of those great organs of English sentiment, the -Edinburgh and Quarterly, it only needs a glance at the _acknowledged_ -reason of those attacks, to show it altogether complimentary to the -_talents_ of Willis. His stories publishing successively in the London -New Monthly--he was bowed through England with an assiduity and -politeness well worthy the English nation, and of which any American -might be proud. The first ranks welcomed him to their circles--their -first literary men were pleased with his acquaintance, (aye! the very -men who afterwards smote at him)--and the first critic of England, -or of the world even (North, we mean,) has estimated his power, -and written him--no common genius. This were praise enough, in all -conscience. The indiscretions of Willis--and such he has, and we -blame him--these it was called forth those harrowing, ripping, raking -articles, so eagerly cited against him now; and with these _facts_ -before us--shall we take _their_ estimate of his intellect, and North -on our side into the bargain? Out on him who does it! But the first -men of the age have been placed precisely as Willis has--some of the -Reviews one side, some on the other. Byron was thus placed. To the -last day of his life he was horridly mauled by some of them, whenever -that great lion turned flank and exposed himself to the enemy. He has -been called ridiculous, affected, a narrow though great mind, and a -plagiarist, by one of their first Reviews; and others of their great -men have run the gauntlet, and after the same fashion. There’s nothing -new in it--what, then, is the worth of the argument? - -Of the article in the Metropolitan, nothing need be said--’twas -personal _pique_, as every one knows. The fact that a single sentence -of Willis’ condemnatory of Marryatt called forth that article, is -a high proof of the estimation in which he was held, and speaking -in no ordinary tone. Policy should have kept Mr. Willis from saying -it--this no one doubts, whether it was true or not. If true, however, -he deserves less censure; and now we call upon every admirer of Capt. -Marryatt, and demand if it is not true, that there are passages in most -of his novels we read with disgust--that we would not read in good -society, or before a sister--and if he has not come into a dangerous -proximity with that point, where he deserves all that Willis says of -him? _We_ assert that he has--let Capt. Marryatt’s admirers disprove -it. And the Willis and Marryatt correspondence too! little need be -said here, than that those letters went to show Marryatt a bullying -blackguard, and Willis _the_ gentleman. These things we assert--and yet -professing ourselves admirers of Marryatt. He is doubtless one of the -geniuses of the age. But we will not let our admiration distort facts, -when such distortion is injurious to one of our countrymen. - -These echoing gentlemen talk much of Mr. Willis’ ephemeral -reputation--of his fame’s dying with him. Lo, and behold these Solomons -in literature--witness these wise men of Gotham,--these “Daniels’ come -to judgment!” Have these gentlemen to learn, that men never tolerate -each other’s weaknesses?--have they to learn that Willis has been -indiscreet?--have they to learn that such numbers of young and old, -high and low, rich and poor, as have pitched upon him, have done so -_for_ this--and that it follows necessarily, his genius is undervalued. -Whether they have or not--men of sense admit it all over the world. -Men’s follies die with them. We don’t bring hatred to the grave’s -side--unless to throw it in there and bury it. The smouldering earth -we lay over them hides their defects--we put their virtues in our -hearts. So it is with men whose follies tarnish their genius. Genius -is in itself, a living principle--you can’t annihilate it--you can’t -lessen it--you can’t depress it. You _may_ undervalue it--you may rail -at it--you may affect to despise it. But it never was heard and it -never will be, that genius, however manifested, has not sooner or later -regained its splendid birth-right. So will it be with Willis--would we -admit what his enemies ask, that the community as a body are against -him. He has genius--a noble, lofty, and original one--(we wish time -permitted to show this by references)--his follies stand betwixt the -light and his merits--let him die, his follies die, and the world at -once acknowledges this merit. Such is the process--if we admit, as just -mentioned, that the community are against him. - -We have already transcribed our limits--we therefore, pause. Before -doing so, however, let us and the reader understand each other. Let us -not be ranked with the mad admirers of Willis--we are none such--he -has too many follies for that. But we cannot forget, either, how very -very brilliant are many very many of his productions, and with what -unmitigated pleasure we have always perused them. And, if our humble -voice might be heard so far, we would counsel Mr. Willis that he no -longer--if he has done so--discredit the fine genius that God has given -him--that he tax well, and long, and arduously, that mind of his--that -he by some noble effort so engrave his name on this age, that the rust -of after years shall never eat it away. - -[2] By echoing gentlemen, we mean such as carry their chins high--walk -with canes--retail opinions pilfered from English papers, and call them -their own. - - - - - GREEK ANTHOLOGY.--No. VI. - - -Civilization, among all the changes it has effected in the character -and habits of its subjects, has wrought none more remarkable than that -in the condition of woman. In savage countries, the degraded slave -of continual oppression--in barbarian nations, the dormant medium of -sensual felicity--among the semi-civilized, the ignorant and secluded -object of idol affection--it was reserved for the refinement of a purer -age to reinstate her by the side, and in the heart of man. No longer -his passive minister to pleasure, she has risen to share with him -the rights and the enjoyments of rational existence. From the object -of occasional devotion and general contempt, she has become, in the -world where her claims are acknowledged, a guide-star of benign and -sanctifying influence.----Pish! sentimentalizing, and on a subject -trite as an almanac!----But why not? In my last number, as well my -own assertions, as the _inconsecutive_ form of my conceptions, might -have been proof convincing that the solstitial airs had pervaded mind -and body with their enervating breath. Since then, and while the -sun was riding in his more northern tropic, my energies fell before -his potent presence with a still lowlier prostration. Yet, as utter -oppression will drive even the weakest to resistance, so does trampled -Nature rise rebellious against the tyrant, and stand upright even -before his summer-throne. The cold airs of the morning send a vigorous -life through the limbs, which the toils of yesterday exhausted; and a -_post-prandial_ siesta followed by a light repast “of meats and drinks, -nature’s refreshment sweet,” prepares the mind for an evening of quiet -thought, or rational enjoyment. - -This morning is of the loveliest. Each gentle flower turns her fair -face to the god of her idolatry, and, like a grateful bride, repays -the warmth of his caresses with the perfume of her breath. It would -seem as if the wing of relenting Time had dropt a freshening essence on -his vassals, as he passed, and atoned, in the face of Nature and the -hearts of her children, for the ravages of years. ’Tis not the sacred -awe, that falls like a shadow from the stars of midnight, and wakes in -the soul an unutterable yearning for a holier home--’tis not the sad -solemnity of evening, that fuses into one pervading thought the hopes -of the future, and the sorrows of the past, whilst our gaze follows -far into his nightly pavilion the golden footsteps of the retreating -Day--’tis the freshness, that dwells in the pinion of the eagle, when -he springs from his dew-cold aerie in the mountains, and soars, with -eye turned direct and unblenching on the morning sun. But to return to -the women. It is a lamentable fact--‘horresco referens’--that the old -heathen, and the Greeks among them, did not prize very highly these -interesting objects. It is true that the exquisite delicacy of female -beauty, excited in their breasts a natural thrill of pleasure, and -now and then a Sappho or an Aspasia by the united power of wit and -loveliness threw a spell of enchantment around the wisest, and bravest, -and proudest of their time. But these were exceptions. There is many -a smart bit of satire, and many a dull growl of defiance at the sex, -scattered through the pages of the Anthology--and these I have hitherto -neglected to translate, well knowing that the ladies are not so perfect -as to bear sarcasm with patience, and that a portion of their anger -might be diverted from the Greeks to me. Whether their being created -second entitles them to be considered _second-best_, it is not my -province to decide. At any rate I see not how we could _get along_ -without them, and I am perfectly willing to add my experience to that -of Mungo Park, and testify that, where they are suffered to have their -own way, I have found them uniformly generous and obliging. - - - _A Paraphrase from Palladas the Alexandrian._ - - Woman, thou busy, meddling, curious thing, - What endless evils from thy presence spring! - For thee, forth-sailing from the hills of Greece, - Bold Jason wandered for the Golden Fleece. - Thou, and thy paramour, the beauteous boy, - Brought woe and ruin to the gates of Troy. - Achilles’ anger for a while delay’d - Th’ event occasion’d by the faithless maid; - And then, when Ilion’s consecrated wall - Had shook, and reel’d, and nodded to its fall, - Who but a woman, on the foaming brine - Held wise Ulysses, and transformed to swine - His brave companions, and employ’d each wile - To chain the hero to her magic isle? - And is not woman’s love, or woman’s rage, - Ground of each plot upon the tragic stage? - Quick to perceive, and headlong to resent, - Thy kindled anger never can relent. - So mild in love, so terrible in hate, - The soothing balm, and tri-thonged scourge of Fate; - Thou sure wert born to trouble and perplex, - Involve and puzzle the diviner sex! - Have we a secret? Keep it, as we may, - Full soon it passes from our grasp away. - Has any thing occurred? “Who, which, what now? - “Come, tell me quick, the why, when, where, and how!” - Yet art thou lovely as the gentle light, - That falleth dew-sprent from the orbs of night; - And, wert thou fled, this world of ours would be - Dark as the Fates, and barren as the sea. - When wise, and kind, and generous, and mild, - Thou rul’st us, as a mother rules her child. - But when thy passions take their headlong way, - We scorn thine empire, and defy thy sway.-- - Must, then, a pretty, peering, prying wife, - Soothe, vex, enliven, and distract my life? - I’ll cling to thee for better, and for worse, - Our joy, our grief, our blessing, and our curse. - -Let those who are not satisfied with this mixture of compliment and -sarcasm read the following, and see with what yearning anguish a Greek -could mourn over the grave of a loved one, who had passed what was, to -the ancients, with emphatic truth “the valley of the shadow of death.” -It is by Meleager, one of the most delicate and affectingly simple of -all the Greek poets. - - To thee, transported by that cruel Power, - Who waves his sceptre over all that live, - Tears wept in darkness at the midnight hour, - Oh! Heliodora! bitterly I give. - Thy home’s low roof with ceaseless tears I wet, - In deep, and wild, and passionate regret. - - Oh! Heliodora! I have known thee long, - And loved thee deeply, and bewailed thee well; - But what avails the tear, the sigh, the song, - To thee, thus sleeping in thy narrow cell? - Alas! my lovely flower is senseless clay! - My budding rose the Grave has torn away! - - To thee, oh earth! then let thy mourning son, - O’er whose glad heaven this cloud hath early past, - Whose day is darkened ere its morn be run, - Lift one appeal--his strongest, and his last-- - Take her, oh! take her to thy gentle breast, - And lull her softly to her evening rest! - - - _To the Tettix._ - - Thou noisy thing, intoxicate with dew, - Thou desert-babbler, with thy rustic lay, - Who sittest idly, where the green leaves through - On thy _cranked_ limbs bright slants the solar ray, - Whilst from thy little frame with hue of fire, - Comes forth the mimic music of the lyre-- - - Oh! friendly songster, to the Sylphid Maids - ‘Discourse sweet music,’ with thy tiny tongue, - And unto Pan, who habits in the shades, - And roves the mountains and the fields among. - Then, freed from love, my noontide sleep I’ll take, - Beneath the shadow which the plane-trees make. - -And now, dear reader, thou hast gathered with me a few of the many -wild-flowers, which bloom in the Anthology, but are known only to -the student, and appreciated only by the scholar. If thou art not -interested in them, it is either because thou art not gifted with a -love for the simple and the beautiful, or else because that simplicity -and beauty have perished in the medium through which thou hast seen -them. I am no man-worshipper, and, I hope, no nation-worshipper. Yet I -love, admire, and venerate the Greeks; and though I might in liberality -allow that there have been minds more mighty than any of the Grecian -race, yet it might be shown by the strongest of moral proof--the -sentiments of nations, and the evidence of facts--that they were the -brightest, simplest, and most _classic_ nation on the earth. I say, it -might be shown, and should occasion serve, I will show it. Meanwhile -I will content myself with the hope that you may be blessed with an -_Attic reduplication_ of wit, a _temporal augment_ in the riches and -honors of this world, and a _spiritual aspiration_ after all that is -beautiful in knowledge, and all that is generous in deed. - - Hermeneutes. - - - - - “OUR MAGAZINE,” - - -Is doing very well--but might do better. It has hitherto -had subscribers enough to support it--it has never lacked -communications--it has never been so unfortunate as at one and the same -time to displease _every body_--it has been constantly sustained by -the countenance of able friends, and the attacks of weak enemies--its -general character has been approved by the ‘leading prints’--many -articles have been copied from it, not without the most gratifying -compliments--even the editors have not lost their meed of praise. - -So much for the first part of our remark, that the Magazine is -‘doing well’--now for the less pleasing adjunct, ‘that it might do -better.’ We might have _more_ subscribers--and all our subscribers -might pay as they engage to--our articles might be more varied and -more excellent--and by an increase of patronage, we should be enabled -to enlarge the size, and improve the mechanical appearance of the -work--and, in a word, make it more worthy of the institution from which -it takes its name, and which it is our especial delight to honor. - -All subscriptions were considered as made for one year, and will be so -charged by the Publishers. Subscribers at a distance are reminded that -their _money_ is due. - - - - - TO CORRESPONDENTS. - - -“On the study of human nature in the works of the imagination,” and -“Honors to the illustrious Dead,” two essays, are accepted, and shall -be inserted soon. - -“A curious incident” is under consideration. - -J. B.’s communication, resembles in its form and general character the -Coffee Club too much to appear with advantage after that series. - -A patriotic poem, entitled “July 4, 1836,” was received too late for -insertion in the last number, when only it would have been appropriate. - -“Fair Wishes,” and “The Spirit of the Winds,” are declined. - -“Amor non convinciabitur,” (we are not responsible for the Latin,) -“Lines on a youthful Poet, laboring under disappointment,” and “The -sailor’s lamentation for his departed loved one,” are rejected. - -“Morning at the mast-head,” possesses considerable poetic merit, but -all the rules of metre are grossly violated. - - - - - PROSPECTUS - OF THE - YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE. - TO BE CONDUCTED BY THE STUDENTS OF YALE COLLEGE. - - -An _apology_ for establishing a Literary Magazine, in an institution -like Yale College, can hardly be deemed requisite by an enlightened -public; yet a statement of the objects which are proposed in this -Periodical, may not be out of place. - -To foster a literary spirit, and to furnish a medium for its exercise; -to rescue from utter waste the many thoughts and musings of a student’s -leisure hours; and to afford some opportunity to train ourselves -for the strife and collision of mind which we must expect in after -life;--such, and similar motives have urged us to this undertaking. - -So long as we confine ourselves to these simple objects, and do not -forget the modesty becoming our years and station, we confidently -hope for the approbation and support of all who wish well to this -institution. - - * * * * * - -The work will be printed on fine paper and good type. 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