Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Those who took part in our revolutionary struggle were too much enlightened not to foresee these consequences, and therefore deserve immortal credit for their disinterested opposition to Great Britain. Had they been aristocrats instead of the purest republicans, they would surely have thrown their weight into the opposite scale. We do not estimate enough the merit of the rich men of that day. The danger is now past--the mighty guerdon won--the storm is gone over, and the sun beams brightly: but though bright our day, it was then a dark unknown--dark as the hidden path beyond the grave--and it was nobly dared to risk their all in defence of liberty. They knew that freedom spurned a vain parade, and would not bow in homage to high-born wealth; yet their splendid possessions were staked upon the desperate throw, and the glorious prize was won. Such were not the anticipations of the _founders_ of these establishments; but such was surely the merit of their sons: and it is painful to think how few, of all who engaged in that noble struggle, have been handed down to fame. Many a one, whose name has been loudly sounded through the earth, would have shrunk from such a sacrifice, and clung to his paternal hearth; and yet these modern Curtii, who renounced the advantages of birth, and leaped into the gulf for their country's sake, have not won a single garland for their Roman worth.

There is a scene in the county of Lancaster, where these reflections pressed themselves very forcibly upon my mind. Imagine an ample estate on the margin of the Rappahannock--with its dilapidated mansion house--the ruins of an extensive wall, made to arrest the inroads of the waves, as if the proprietor felt himself a Canute, and able to stay the progress of the sea--a church of the olden time, beautiful in structure, and built of brick brought from England, then the home of our people. Like Old Mortality, I love to chisel out the moss covered letters of a tombstone; and below I send you the result of my labors, with a request that some of your correspondents will take the trouble to give you a faithful translation of the Latin inscription. The only difficulty consists in a want of knowledge of the names of the officers under the colonial government. The epitaph will show by whom the church was built, and the motive for its erection. In the yard are three tombstones conspicuous above the rest, beneath which repose the bones of the once lordly proprietor of the soil and his two wives. How vain are human efforts to perpetuate by monuments the memory of the great! The sepulchre of Osymandus is said by Diodorus to have been a mile and a quarter in circumference. It had this inscription: _"I am Osymandus, King of Kings. If any one is desirous to know how great I am and where I lie, let him surpass any of my works."_ With more propriety might he have said, _let him search out my works_; for we are left to conjecture the very site of his tomb. It would be easy to extend this narrative, but perhaps what struck me as interesting would be unworthy a place in your Literary Messenger.

THE EPITAPH. TRANSLATION.
H. S. E. HERE LIES

Vir honorabilis Robertus Carter, Robert Carter, Esquire; an
Armiger, qui genus honestum honorable man, who exalted his
high
dotibus eximiis, moribus birth by noble endowments and pure
antiquis illustravit. Collegium morals. He sustained the College
of
Gulielmi et Mariæ temporibus William and Mary in the most
trying
difficilimis propugnavit. times.

Gubernator, He was Governor,
Senatus Rogator et Quæstor, sub Speaker of the House and
Treasurer,
serenissimis Principibus under the most serene Princes
Gulielmo, Anna, Georgio 1 mo. et William, Anne, George the 1st and
2 do. 2d.

A publicis consiliis concilii Elected Speaker by the Public
per sexennium præses, plus annum Assembly for six years, and
Coloniæ Præfectus cum regiam Governor for more than a year, he
dignitatem tam publicum equally upheld the regal dignity
libertatem æquali jure asseruit. and public freedom.

Opibus amplissimis bene partis Possessed of ample wealth,
instructus, ædem hanc sacram In honorably acquired, he built and
Deum pietatis grande monumentum, endowed at his own expense this
propriis sumptibus extruxit. sacred edifice, a lasting monument
of his piety to God.

Locupletavit.
In omnes quos humaniter incepit, Entertaining his friends with
nec prodigus, nec parcus hospes. kindness, he was neither a
prodigal
Liberalilatem insignem testantur not a thrifty host.
debita munifice remissa.

Primo Judithum, Johannis His first wife was Judith,
daughter
Armistead Armigeri filiam, of John Armistead, Esquire; his
deinde Betty, generosa second Betty, a descendant of the
Landonorum stirpe oriundam sibi noble family of the Landons, by
connubio junctas habuit. E whom he had many children--
quibus prolem numerosam
suscepit.
On whose education he expended a
In qua erudienda pecuniæ vim considerable portion of his
maximam insumpsit property.

Tandem honorum et dierum satur At length, full of honors and
cum omnia vitæ munera egregiæ years, having discharged all the
præstitisset obiit Pri. Non. duties of an exemplary life, he
Aug. An. Dom. 1732 Aet. 69. departed from this world on the
4th
day of August, 1732, in the 69th
year of his age.

Miseri solamen, viduæ The wretched, the widowed and the
præsidium, orbi patrem, ademptum orphans, bereaved of their
comfort,
lugent. protector and father, alike lament
his loss.

STORY FROM VOLTAIRE.

We hope to have the pleasure of delighting our readers frequently with the chaste and classic pen of our correspondent M. By a curious coincidence, about the time he was translating the subjoined story from Voltaire, a correspondent of the Richmond Compiler furnished the Editor of that paper with another version, which was published. Without disparagement to the latter however, the reader of taste will find no difficulty in awarding the preference to the one which we insert in our columns.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

Below, is a neat and sportive little story of Voltaire's, never before translated into English, that I know of; though containing sufficient point and good sense to make it well worthy of that honor. No one who has ever sorrowed, can fail to acknowledge the justice of {11} styling TIME the "Great Consoler." The balm he brings, has never failed sooner or later to heal any grief, which did not absolutely _derange_ the mind of its victim. By one part of the tale, the reader will be reminded of the philosopher in Rasselas, who, the morning after he had eloquently and conclusively demonstrated the folly of grieving for any of the ills of life, was found weeping inconsolably, for the loss of his only daughter. Whether Dr. Johnson, or the French wit, first touched off this trait of human weakness, is not material: it may be set down as rather a coincidence than a plagiarism. So much of the region of thought is _common ground_, over which every active mind continually gambols, that it would be wonderful if different feet did not sometimes tread in identical foot prints.

M.

From the French of Voltaire.

THE CONSOLED.

The great philosopher, Citophilus, said one day to a justly disconsolate lady--"Madam, an English Queen, a daughter of the great Henry IV. was no less unhappy than you are. She was driven from her kingdom: she narrowly escaped death in a storm at sea: she beheld her royal husband perish on the scaffold." "I am sorry for her;" said the lady--and fell a weeping at her own misfortunes.

"But," said Citophilus, "remember Mary Stuart. She was very becomingly in love with a gallant musician, with a fine _tenor_ voice. Her husband slew the musician before her face: and then her good friend and relation, Elizabeth, who called herself the Virgin Queen, had her beheaded on a scaffold hung with black, after an imprisonment of eighteen years." "That was very cruel," replied the lady--and she plunged again into sorrow.

"You have perhaps heard," said her comforter, "of the fair Jane of Naples, who was taken prisoner and strangled?" "I have a confused recollection of her," said the afflicted one.

"I must tell you," added the other, "the fate of a Queen, who, within my own time, was dethroned by night, and died in a desert island." "I know all that story," answered the lady.

"Well then, I will inform you of what befel a great princess, whom I taught philosophy. She had a lover, as all great and handsome princesses have. Her father once entering her chamber, surprised the lover, whose features were all on fire, and whose eye sparkled like a diamond: she, too, had a most lively complexion. The young gentleman's look so displeased the father, that he administered to him the most enormous box on the ear, ever given in that country. The lover seized a pair of tongs, and broke the old gentleman's head; which was cured with difficulty, and still carries the scar. The nymph, in despair, sprung through the window; and dislocated her foot in such a way, that she to this day limps perceptibly, though her mien is otherwise admirable. The lover was condemned to die, for having broken the head of a puissant monarch. You may judge the condition of the princess, when her lover was led forth to be hanged. I saw her, during her long imprisonment: she could speak of nothing but her afflictions."

"Then why would not you have me brood over mine?" said the lady. "Because," said the philosopher, "you _ought not_ to brood over them; and because, so many great ladies having been so miserable, it ill becomes _you_ to despair. Think of Hecuba--of Niobe." "Ah!" said the lady, "if I had lived in their time, or in that of all your fine princesses, and you, to comfort them, had told them my misfortunes, do you think they would have listened to you?"

The next day, the philosopher lost his only son; and was on the point of dying with grief. The lady had a list prepared, of all the kings who had lost their children, and carried it to the philosopher: he read it, found it correct, and----wept on, as much as ever. Three months after, they met again; and were surprised to find each other cheerful and gay. They caused a handsome statue to be reared to TIME, with this inscription:

"TO THE GREAT CONSOLER."

ORIGINAL POETRY.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

I have been permitted to copy the original verses which I send you, from a young lady's album. They were written by a gentleman of literary merit, whose modesty will probably be somewhat startled at seeing himself in print. I could not resist the opportunity however, of adorning the columns of your first number with so fine a specimen of native genius. According to my poor taste, and humble judgment in such matters, these lines are beautiful. They are tinged with the deep misanthropy of Byron, and yet have all the flowing smoothness and vivacity of Moore. Shall it be said after reading such poetry, that the muses are altogether neglected in the Ancient Dominion--that there is no genuine ore in our intellectual mines which with a little labor may be refined into pure gold? Shall it be longer contended that we are altogether a nation of talkers, and that politics, summer barbecues and horse-racing are our all engrossing and exclusive recreations. In truth, is not this the very land of poetry! Our colonial and revolutionary history is itself fruitful in the materials of song; and even our noble rivers--our lofty mountains--our vast and impenetrable forests--and our warm and prolific sun, are so many sublime sources of inspiration. With respect to the belle passion,--_that_ has in all ages, climates and countries, constituted one of the strongest incitements to poetical genius. The imagination, warmed by impressions of feminine beauty and innocence, at once takes wing, and wanders through regions of thought and melancholy--investing the object of its idolatry with attributes and perfections which more properly belong to a purer state of being. Whether the philosophy of the subjoined stanzas is equal to their harmony, I leave to your readers to decide. The voluntary sacrifice {12} of the heart at the shrine of prudence is doubtless heroic; but there are few lovers, and especially of the poetic temperament, who are willing to submit to "brokenness of heart" rather than encounter the hazard of sharing with a beloved object the "cup of sorrow." Whether, moreover, the ingenious author was actually breathing in eloquent earnestness his own "private griefs," or amusing himself only by the creations of fancy,--I am not prepared to determine. One thing I do know, however--that the charming nymph in whose album these lines were written, though not "too dear to love," possesses a heart both "warm and soft," and is in every respect worthy of all the admiration which the most romantic lover could bestow.

H.

_Lines written in a Young Lady's Album._

_Air_--"The Bride."

I'd offer thee this heart of mine,
If I could love thee less;
But hearts as warm, as soft as thine,
Should never know distress.
My fortune is too hard for thee,
'Twould chill thy dearest joy:
I'd rather weep to see thee free,
Than win thee to destroy.

I leave thee in thy happiness,
As one too dear to love!
As one I'll think of but to bless,
Whilst wretchedly I rove.
But oh! when sorrow's cup I drink,
All bitter though it be,
How sweet to me 'twill be, to think
It holds no drop for thee.

Then fare thee well! An exile now,
Without a friend or home,
With anguish written on my brow,
About the world I'll roam.
For all my dreams are sadly o'er--
_Fate_ bade them all depart,--
And I will leave my native shore,
In brokenness of heart.
S.

Our young correspondent "M'C." will perceive that his poem has been altered in some of its expressions, and perhaps not altogether to his liking. Our object has been, not to damp the aspirations of genius, but to prune its luxuriance. The ardour of youth too often betrays into extravagance, which can only be corrected by cultivation and experience. We hope that he will persevere in his invocations to the muse,--believing that the time will come when she will amply reward him by her smiles.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

SERENADE.

Sweet lady, awake from thy downy pillow!
Moonlight is gleaming all bright on yon billow,
Night-flowers are blooming,--south winds are blowing
So gently, they stir not the smooth waters flowing.

Wake lady! wake from thy gentle slumber,
Heav'n's gems are all sparkling, uncounted in number,
How calm, yet how brilliant those beautiful skies,
Which the wave glances back like the beam of thine eyes.

Wake, dearest! wake thou, my heart's fond desire!
All trembling these fingers sweep over the lyre,
This bosom is heaving with love's tender throes,
And my song, like the swan's last, is wild at the close.

Yet thou wilt not list to me,--then lady, farewell!
My lyre shall be hush'd with this last mournful swell;
All lonely and desolate,--onward I roam;
My bosom is void!--the wide world is my home!
M'C.

It is with much pleasure that the publisher is enabled to present in the first number of the "Messenger" the following poetical contributions, not heretofore published, from the pen of Mrs. Sigourney, of Hartford, Connecticut. There are few literary readers on either side of the Potomac, who are not familiar with some of the productions at least, of this accomplished authoress. The purity of her sentiments, and the strength and mellowness of her versification, will remind the reader of the highly gifted and almost unrivalled Hemans.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

COLUMBUS BEFORE THE UNIVERSITY OF SALAMANCA.

"Columbus found, that in advocating the spherical figure of the earth, he was in danger or being convicted not merely of _error_,--but even of heterodoxy."--_Washington Irving_.

St. Stephen's cloister'd hall was proud
In learning's pomp that day;
For there, a rob'd and stately crowd
Press'd on, in long array.
A mariner, with simple chart
Confronts that conclave high,
While strong ambition stirs his heart,
And burning thoughts, in wonder part
From lip and sparkling eye.

_What hath he said?_--With frowning face,
In whisper'd tones they speak,
And lines upon their tablets trace,
That flush each ashen cheek:
The Inquisition's mystic doom
Sits on their brows severe,
And bursting forth in vision'd gloom,
Sad heresy from burning tomb,
Groans on the startled ear.

Courage, thou Genoese!--Old Time
Thy brilliant dream shall crown;
Yon western hemisphere sublime,
Where unshorn forests frown,
The awful Andes' cloud-wrapp'd brow,
The Indian hunter's bow,
Bold streams untam'd by helm or prow,
And rocks of gold and diamond, thou
To thankless Spain shalt show. {13}

Courage, world-finder!--Thou hast need!--
In fate's unfolding scroll,
Dark woes, and ingrate-wrongs I read,
That rack the noble soul.
On!--On!--Creation's secrets probe,
Then drink thy cup of scorn,
And wrapp'd in fallen Cesar's robe,
Sleep, like that master of the globe,
All glorious,--yet forlorn.
L. H. S.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

INTEMPERANCE.

Parent!--who with speechless feeling
O'er thy cradled treasure bent,
Every year, new claims revealing,
Yet thy wealth of love unspent,--
Hast thou seen that blossom blighted,
By a drear, untimely frost?
All thy labor unrequited?
Every glorious promise lost?

Wife!--with agony unspoken,
Shrinking from affliction's rod,
Is thy prop,--thine idol broken,--
Fondly trusted,--next to God?
Husband!--o'er thy hope a mourner,
Of thy chosen friend asham'd,
Hast thou to her burial borne her,
Unrepentant,--unreclaimed?

Child!--in tender weakness turning
To thy heaven-appointed guide,
Doth a lava-poison burning,
Tinge with gall, affection's tide?
Still that orphan-burden bearing,
Darker than the grave can show,
Dost thou bow thee down despairing,
To a heritage of woe?

Country!--on thy sons depending,
Strong in manhood, bright in bloom,
Hast thou seen thy pride descending
Shrouded,--to th' unhonor'd tomb?
Rise!--on eagle-pinion soaring,--
Rise!--like one of Godlike birth,--
And Jehovah's aid imploring,
Sweep the Spoiler from the earth.
L. H. S.

The following beautiful lines have been very generally ascribed to the pen of the Hon. R. H. Wilde, a member of the present House of Representatives from the State of Georgia. We do not know that Mr. W. has ever confessed the authorship, but we think that they would not discredit even their supposed origin. We have had the pleasure to read some of Mr. Wilde's brilliant speeches in Congress, and we are confident that they are the emanations of a mind deeply imbued with the spirit of poesy. Not that we thence necessarily infer that these lines are the genuine offspring of his muse--but merely allude to the character of his parliamentary efforts, in connexion with the common opinion that the poetry is from the same source. One of our present objects is to give what we conceive to be a correct version of these admired lines; for in almost all the copies we have seen, we have been struck with several gross errors, alike injurious to their sense and harmony. Not the least remarkable of these errors has been the uniform substitution of _Tempè_ for some other word,--thereby imputing to the author the geographical blunder of converting the delightful and classic valley of Greece, into a desert shore or strand. We have no doubt that _Tampa_ is the word originally written by the author, there being a bay of that name in Florida sometimes described on the maps as the bay of Espiritu Santo.

MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE.

My life is like the summer rose
That opens to the morning sky,
And ere the shades of evening close,
Is scattered on the ground to die;
Yet on that rose's humble bed
The softest dews of night are shed
As though she wept such waste to see,
But none shall drop one tear for me!

My life is like the autumn leaf
Which trembles in the moon's pale ray,
Its hold is frail, its date is brief,
Restless;--and soon to pass away:
Yet when that leaf shall fall and fade
The parent tree will mourn its shade,
The wind bemoan the leafless tree,
But none shall breathe a sigh for me!

My life is like the print, which feet
Have left on Tampa's desert strand,
Soon as the rising tide shall beat
Their trace will vanish from the sand;
Yet, as if grieving to efface
All vestige of the human race,
On that lone shore loud moans the sea,
But none shall thus lament for me.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER EVE.

_By Mrs. D. P. Brown._

Fair little flow'r, may no rude storm
Impair thy early bloom,--
No cank'rous grief that smile deform,
Or antedate its doom.

In soul be ever as thou art
Mild, merciful, and kind,
Date all enjoyments from the heart,
All conquests from the mind.

The body is an empty thing,
Frail, worthless, weak, and vain;
The _mind_ alone can pleasure bring,
Or soothe the bed of pain. {14}

What is the gaudy casket, when
The priceless jewel's gone?
Such to the eyes of noble men,
Is beauty's charm _alone_.

Fashion may decorate the brow,
Fortune the eye allure,
But nothing _worldly_ can bestow
Those treasures which _endure_.

Then fix, my child, thy hopes above;
All earthly joys deceive:
Rest solely on a Saviour's love,
My gentle daughter _Eve_.

_Philadelphia._

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO MY CHILDREN--ON NEW-YEAR.

_By Mrs. D. P. Brown._

Another year has wing'd its flight,
And left us where it found us,
In health, affection, and delight,
With every charm around us.

The overseeing Eye of Heaven
Has guided, guarded, cheer'd us,
Its bounteous hand has freely given,
Its bounteous love endeared us.

Time shall roll on, and still each year
Enhance our mutual pleasure,--
Tho' fortune frown on our career
The _heart_ shall be our treasure:

And when at last stern Fate's decree
Our kindred souls shall sever,
In regions of eternity
They'll join in joy forever.

_Philadelphia._

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

MUSINGS--_By the Author of Vyvyan._

A patchwork of disjointed things--
Of grave and gay imaginings.--_The Visionary._

My thoughts resemble scattered leaves,
Which Fancy, like the Sybil, weaves,
Just as may suit her wayward whim,
Into a many colored dream.

* * * * *

A tablet resteth on my knee--
The gift of one most dear to me;
Upon its fair unwritten face
My pencil now and then may trace
The flitting visions of my mind,
Like cloud-forms varying in the wind--
Too incoherent, wild and roving,
To weave into a song of loving--
Such as might suit the gentle ear
Of one--I wish to heaven were here.

All things breathe loveliness--the sky
Looks on me like my lady's eye,
Clear--beautiful as crystal blue
And darkling in its own bright hue.

The faint air, sighing from the south,
Steals sweetly o'er my cheek and brow,
As late I felt and _fancy_ now
The breath of her own rosy mouth
When, in her eagerness to look
Into the pages of my book
She stood by, o'er my shoulder leaning,
In innocent but simple meaning.

* * * * *

Amid the voiceless wild
Of the ancestral forest,
I feel even as a child,
Whose pleasure is the surest
When most by wonderment beguiled.
A lovely lake before me sleeps,
Whose quiet on my spirit creeps--
Around and o'er me, solemn trees
Of the eternal forest, dart
Their wildly straggling boughs athwart
The sky--with their rich panoplies
Of varied foliage. Here and there
A withered trunk by storms laid bare,
Spectre like--whitening in the air,
Spreads wide and far its skeleton limbs,
Where, up the creeping verdure climbs,
And wreathes its draperies, ere they fall,
In festoons so fantastical.

* * * * *

Here moves the Genius of Romance,
With lofty mien and eagle glance--
No plumed casque adorns his brow--
No glittering falchion does he wield--
Nor lance bears he, nor 'scutcheoned shield.
Nor among fallen columns low,
Behold him crouch and muse upon
The shattered forms of sculptured stone--
Fair classic marbles, which recall
The glories of an ancient time--
Its pride--its splendor and its fall--
Such things belong not to our clime.
The Genius of our Solitude
Stalks forth in hunter's garb arrayed,
A child of nature--wild and rude--
Yet not averse to gentle mood:
The same high spirit, undismayed,
Amid the stormy battles roar,
As when he wooes his dusky maid,
Beside some dim lake's lonely shore;
Or paddles his skiff at eventide,
O'er Niagara's waters wide.

* * * * *

'Tis sweet to sit alone, and muse
In such a spot as this--
Thus imperceptibly to lose
In dim, imagined bliss,
The vulgar thoughts and cares that shroud
The spirits of the busy crowd--
That chain their grovelling minds to earth
And wretched things of little worth.
Years seem not many, since a child,
I loved to haunt this pathless wild,
And wearied lay me down to rest
Upon some broad rock's mossy breast,
Lulled by a dreamy listless thought,
From loneliness and quiet caught-- {15}
Or, prying with most curious eye
Into dark hollows, to descry
Some robber haunt or hidden grot,
Where haply it might be my lot,
Like Alla-Ad-Deen, to find a treasure
Of gems and jewels without measure.
But what a change is wrought since then!
I've mingled with the world and men,
Who scoff at boyhood's guiltless joys,
Yet scorn them but for _greater_ toys.
Well--let them mar their health for fame,
And waste their days, to gain a name,
Built on the rabble's wretched praise,
Whose voice awhile may sink or raise,
But cannot rescue from the lot
Old Time, the despot, hath assigned
Impartially to all earth's kind.
Such record vain I envy not,
Nor burn with mightier men to mate--
The followers of a fiercer fate,
Who trample on all human good
To win awards least understood.
Such is renown reaped with the sword--
Such glory! Empty, fatal word,
That lures men on through fire and flood--
Through scenes of rapine, crime and blood,
To write in history's page, a tale,
O'er which their fellow man grows pale.
Could half the tears they cause to flow
Bedew that page--how few could read
The blotted record of each deed,
Which laid the brave by thousands low
And broke more living hearts with wo,
That ONE might be what good men hate,
And fools and knaves miscal "THE GREAT."

ORIGINAL LITERARY NOTICES.

INAUGURAL ADDRESS, DELIVERED BY THE REV. STEPHEN OLIN, President of Randolph-Macon College, on the occasion of his induction into office, 5th March, 1834. _Richmond: Nesbitt & Walker._

Randolph-Macon College is a new institution, in Mecklenburg county, Virginia; and President Olin, we believe, is a late comer into the state: at least we are so ignorant as not to have heard of him before. If we are permitted to judge from the "inaugural address," we congratulate the commonwealth upon the acquisition of an instructor of solid endowments, sound practical views, and elegant taste. He treats the subject of education like one who had thoroughly mastered the philosophy upon which it is founded--and who evidently prefers to be guided by the safe lights of experience, rather than by the specious but uncertain theories which acquire a transient popularity--but which cannot bear the test of sound investigation and analysis. President Olin, we think, combats with effect a very popular error, to wit: that education ought to be so directed as to subserve a particular profession or pursuit; in other words, that the profession or pursuit of a young man ought to be previously selected, and the course of instruction made to conform accordingly. Now nothing, in our view, can be more preposterous; and we concur entirely with the President in the opinion, that _one of the objects of education it to develop the intellectual aptitudes and moral qualities_, and that these when developed, should entirely control the preference or choice of a profession. Not that if these aptitudes and qualities when manifested, should point in an evil direction, they should therefore be indulged. By no means. The primary object of education should be--the highest development of morals and intellect. In the pursuit of this great object however, if the course of instruction is rightly ordered, the predominant aptitudes and qualities will appear--and then is the time for the judicious parent or guardian to co-operate with the wise indications of nature.

In conformity to this view of the subject, the President urges the choice of such studies in a collegiate course, as have a tendency to _enlarge_, _invigorate_ and _discipline_ the mind. To the mathematics he assigns a high rank. "They habituate the mind to protracted and difficult efforts of attention, and to clear and lively perception of truth, and at the same time furnish it with principles and facts of inestimable value in many of the departments of useful industry and philosophical research."

Nor does he attach less importance to the study of the Greek and Roman languages. In the opinion of President Olin they "give useful employment to the intellectual faculties at a period when they are incompetent to more abstract and severe occupations. They call up the attention to such short and easy, but repeated efforts, as are best calculated to correct its wanderings and increase its energies. The mind is accustomed to analysis and comparison, and its powers of discrimination are improved by frequent exercises in declension, inflexion and derivation, and by the constant necessity that is imposed upon it, of deciding between the claims of rival definitions. The memory is engaged in the performance of such tasks as are precisely fitted for its development, and the judgment and other reasoning faculties find ample and invigorating employment in the application of grammatical rules, and the investigation of philological principles." We wish we had space for the whole of Mr. Olin's remarks upon classical learning. He considers the growing scepticism in reference to its utility and importance as an evil omen.

Next to pure and mixed mathematics and the learned languages, the President is inclined to give a place to intellectual philosophy. "It familiarises the student with the laws and the phenomena of mind, and with such efforts of subtle analysis and difficult combination as are best fitted to enlarge and fill the grasp of the highest intellectual capacities." He also recommends as subordinate, but highly important studies--composition and eloquence--moral and natural philosophy--chemistry--the French language--and geology and mineralogy.

Mr. Olin opposes with much force the excessive multiplication of studies without a correspondent prolongation of the collegiate term. "The industry which was profitably directed to a few, may be divided amongst a multitude of objects; but it will incur the inevitable penalty of fitful and dissipated intellectual exertion--superficial attainments and vicious intellectual habits." In what is denominated the art of {16} education, the President is not inclined to set as high a value upon the lecture system as upon the mode of frequent recitations from well digested text books. From the history of the two universities, and of the literature of Scotland and England for the last century, he is led to draw the conclusion that the "lecture system is more favorable to the improvement of the professor, and the reputation of the university--whilst the opposite method has been more productive of thorough and accomplished scholars."

Upon the subject of moral restraint and college discipline, Mr. Olin is forcible and interesting. With a mind well organized for the clear perception of truth, we take the President to be fearless in proclaiming his convictions, without stopping to calculate the strength of opposing prejudices and opinions. He does not hesitate to come up boldly to the mark, and to advocate the only rational system by which our erring nature, and especially our youthful nature, can be brought to a just sense of what is due to its own interests, as well as to the requirements of society. Upon this subject, however, we prefer that the President should speak for himself.

"In proportion as virtue is more valuable than knowledge, pure and enlightened morality will be regarded by every considerate father the highest recommendation of a literary institution. The youth is withdrawn from the salutary restraints of parental influence and authority, and committed to other guardians, at a time of life most decisive of his prospects and destinies. The period devoted to education usually impresses its own character upon all his future history. Vigilant supervision, employment, and seclusion from all facilities and temptations to vice, are the ordinary and essential securities which every institution of learning is bound to provide for the sacred interests which are committed to its charge. But safeguards and negative provisions are not sufficient. The tendencies of our nature are retrograde, and they call for the interposition of positive remedial influences. The most perfect human society speedily degenerates, if the active agencies which were employed in its elevation are once withdrawn or suspended. What then can be expected of inexperienced youth, sent forth from the pure atmosphere of domestic piety, and left to the single support of its own untested and unsettled principles, in the midst of circumstances which often prove fatal to the most practised virtue! I frankly confess that I see no safety but in the preaching of the cross, and in a clear and unfaltering exhibition of the doctrines and sanctions of christianity. The beauty and excellence of virtue are excusable topics, though they must ever be inefficient motives, with those who reject the authority of revelation; but in a christian land, morality divorced from religion, is the emptiest of all the empty names by which a deceitful philosophy has blinded and corrupted the world. I venture to affirm, that this generation has not given birth to another absurdity so monstrous, as that which would exclude from our seminaries of learning the open and vigorous inculcation of the religious faith which is acknowledged by our whole population, and which pervades every one of our free institutions. Our governors and legislators, and all the depositaries of honor and trust, are prohibited from exercising their humblest functions till they have pledged their fidelity to the country upon the holy gospels. The most inconsiderable pecuniary interest is regarded too sacred to be entrusted to the most upright judge or juror, or to the most unsuspected witness, till their integrity has been fortified by an appeal to the high sanctions of christianity. Even the exercise of the elective franchise is usually suspended upon the same condition. The interesting moralities of the domestic relations--the laws of marriage and divorce--the mutual obligations of parents and children--are all borrowed from the christian scriptures. The fears of the vicious and the hopes of the upright--the profane ribaldry of the profligate, no less than the humble thanksgiving of the morning and evening sacrifice, do homage to the gospel as the religion of the American people. Our eloquence and our poetry--our periodical and popular literature in all their varieties--the novel, the tale, the ballad, the play, all make their appeal to the deep sentiments of religion that pervade the popular bosom. Christianity is our birthright. It is the richest inheritance bequeathed us by our noble fathers. It is mingled in our hearts with all the fountains of sentiment and of faith. And are the guardians of public education alone 'halting between two opinions?' Do they think that in fact, and for practical purposes, the truth of christianity is still a debateable question? Is it still a question whether the generations yet to rise up and occupy the wide domains of this great empire--to be the representatives of our name, our freedom and our glory, before the nations of the earth, shall be a christian or an infidel people? Can wise and practical men who are engaged in rearing up a temple of learning to form the character and destinies of their posterity, for a moment hesitate to make 'Jesus Christ the chief corner stone?"

It is not to be supposed, however, that Mr. Olin is in favor of subjecting our public seminaries to the control of any particular religious denomination, or that the faith of the student is either to be influenced or regulated by sectarian views. On the contrary, he considers that such a course would be a manifest violation of the principles of free government. His remarks upon the internal discipline of a college are sound and excellent. He is decidedly opposed to that "multitude of vexatious enactments," and those frivolous and arbitrary regulations which too often disgrace our seats of learning. In the administration of such wise and salutary laws, however, as experience has proved to be necessary, President Olin refers to the co-operation of parents and guardians as absolutely essential. We wish that conviction on this subject was more general than it is, and that all who are in any wise responsible for the intellectual and moral training of youth, whether at colleges, academies, or private schools, would consider the importance of sustaining, by parental authority, the just and wholesome government of the teacher. A weak or capricious parent, who from false tenderness, countenances the wayward inclinations of a child in opposition to school authority, is not only inflicting upon it irreparable mischief, but is doing equal injury to others by the encouragement of a bad example.

A DISCOURSE ON THE LIFE AND CHARACTER OF WM. WIRT, late Attorney General of the United States; pronounced at the request of the Baltimore Bar before the Citizens of Baltimore, on the 20th of May, 1834, by John P. Kennedy. _Baltimore: Wm. & Joseph Neal._ 1834.

Mr. Kennedy is favorably known as an eloquent lawyer and literary writer of distinction. The task therefore of delineating the character and genius of Mr. Wirt, could not have been confided to abler hands. We have read his oration with great pleasure; a pleasure it is true, alloyed by the reflection that the country has sustained a bereavement so afflicting and irreparable. There is a mournful satisfaction in recalling the eminent {17} virtues, and matchless accomplishments of the deceased,--in dwelling upon his bright example, and retracing the incomparable graces and excellencies which adorned his public and private character. Mr. Kennedy has touched with the hand of a master, the sad but brilliant theme, and has poured forth in "thoughts that breathe and words that burn"--a most eloquent tribute to the memory of one of the brightest and purest spirits of the age. Mr. Wirt, though a native of Maryland, was in truth a Virginian, by all the endearing ties of social and domestic life. He spent the prime of his youth and manhood among us, and it was here in the Metropolis of the Old Dominion, that he reared that enduring fabric of illustrious talent and virtue which placed him first among his equals--and which will long be embalmed in the recollection of his contemporaries. Hundreds in this city, still remember those surpassing triumphs of his genius as an orator and advocate, achieved in the celebrated trial of Burr;--how he depicted in colors glowing and beautiful the enchanting island of Blennerhassett--the misery of his disconsolate wife--and the wiles of that evil genius who entered the Paradise of the Ohio, and withered forever its enjoyments. Hundreds here and elsewhere have hung with ecstasy over the rich pages of the "British Spy" and "Old Batchelor"--have listened to the magic of his voice both in public and colloquial discourse--and have been constant eyewitnesses of the "daily beauty" and sublime morality of his life. Proudly and sacredly however as his native and adopted states ought to cherish his memory--the fame of such a man as Wirt, must be regarded as the property of the whole nation. His great and commanding genius illustrated and adorned the age and country in which he lived, and thousands and tens of thousands of American bosoms have exulted at the thought that _he was their countryman_.

In one respect especially, Mr. Wirt was an uncommon man. Most persons distinguished for their moral and intellectual qualities, have at some time or other, been the objects of illiberal censure. Greatness is almost invariably the mark of envy, and envy gives birth to detraction. The deceased however, it is believed, lived and died without an enemy. His manners were so bland and gentle--his purposes so pure--and his life so blameless--that even malice had no nourishment left whereon to feed. In the language of Mr. Kennedy "he possessed, in a remarkable degree, that trait which has been called simplicity of heart--it was single mindedness, straight forward candor. His manners had the wayward playfulness of a boy, that won upon, and infected with their own buoyancy every class of his associates, from the youngest to the oldest--from the humblest retainer about his person, or casual stranger, to the most eminent and most intimate."

In analyzing the intellectual qualities of the deceased, Mr. Kennedy is inclined to the opinion, that powerful as was his legal acumen, and almost unsurpassed his eloquence, yet, that if circumstances had permitted an exclusive devotion to literary pursuits, his fame might have become still more brilliant. We cannot forbear to extract from the oration, the whole passage which illustrates this idea.

"In taking this survey of the chief productions of Mr. Wirt's pen, I am tempted to pause for a moment, to express my regret that the pursuits of his life had not been more decidedly applied to literary labors, than either circumstances or his own choice seem to have permitted. He was remarkably qualified by the character of his mind, and, I think I am warranted in saying, by his inclination, to attain great distinction in these pursuits. A career, in a larger degree, directed to this end would certainly have been not less honorable to himself, nor less useful to his country, and, I would fain persuade myself, not less profitable,--although the consideration of gain be but an unworthy stimulant to the glorious rewards which should interest the ambition of genius. He had, however, a large family around him who depended upon him for protection; and it may be that, surveying the sad history of the gifted spirits who have lighted the path of mankind with the lamps of their own minds and made their race rich with the treasures of wisdom and science, he has turned distrustfully from the yearnings of his ambition, and followed the broader and more certain track that led to professional fame and wealth. I can excuse him for the choice, whilst I lament over the dispensation of human rule by which the latter pursuits should have such an advantage.

"As a literary man he would have acquired a more permanent renown than the nature of professional occupation or the exercises of the forum are capable of conferring upon their votaries. The pen of genius erects its own everlasting monument; but the triumphs of the speaker's eloquence, vivid, brilliant and splendid as they are, live but in the history of their uncertain effects and in the intoxicating applause of the day:--to incredulous posterity they are distrusted tradition, the extravagant boasting of an elder age prone by its nature to disparage the present by the narrated glories of the past. So has it, even now, befallen the name of Patrick Henry, whom not all his affectionate biographer's learned zeal has rescued from the unbelieving smile of but a second generation. The glory of Cicero lives more conspicuously in his written philosophy than even in his speeches, which, although transmitted by his own elaborate and polished hand, may rather be assigned to his literary than to his forensic fame.

"Mr. Wirt had many inducements to the cultivation of letters. He might have entered upon the field, in this country, almost without a rival. Our nation, young in the career of liberal arts, had but few names to reckon when asked, as she has sometimes been in derision, where were the evidences of her scholarship. Her pride would have pointed to a man like William Wirt with a peculiar complacency. His comprehensive and philosophical mind, acute and clear-sighted, was well adapted to master the truths of science: it was fruitful and imaginative and full of beautiful illustration. He had wit and humor of the highest flavor, combined with a quick and accurate observation of character: his taste, sensitive and refined, delighted in the harmony and truth of nature: his full memory furnished him abundant stores of learning: his style, rich and clear, like a fountain of sparkling waters played along a channel of golden sands and bright crystals and through meads begirt with flowers. Above all, the tendency of his mind was to usefulness: he indited no thought that did not serve to inculcate virtuous sentiments, noble pursuits, love of country, the value of generous and laudable ambition, trust in Heaven, or earnest attachment to duty. He has embellished and vivified the grave experience of age with all the warm enthusiasm of youth, and has taught his countrymen the most severe and self-denying devotion to purposes of good, in lessons of so amiable a tone, as to win many a young champion to virtue by the kindness of his persuasion. His sketches of character are pleasantly graphic, and leave us room to believe that, either, in the drama or in that species of fictitious history which the great enchanter of this age has made so popular a vehicle for profound philosophy, he would have attained to an exalted fame. In short, there are {18} but few amongst us who, in scholarship, learning, observation or facility and beauty of expression, may claim to be ranked with William Wirt."

Our readers must not be denied the pleasure of another quotation in which Mr. Wirt's powers of oratory are sketched with a graphic pencil.

"He was a powerful orator, and had the art to sway courts and juries with a master's spirit. The principal traits of his eloquence were great clearness and force in laying the foundations of an argument, and the steady pursuit of it through the track of logical deduction. He was ingenious in choosing his position, and, that once taken, his hearers were borne to his conclusion upon a tide almost as irresistible as that which wafts the idle skiff upon the Potomac, downward from the mountains to the last cataract that meets the ebb and flood of the sea. In this train of earnest argumentation the attention of his auditory was kept alive by a vivid display of classic allusion, by flashes of wit and merriment, and by the familiar imagery which was called in aid to give point to his demonstrations, or light to what the subject rendered obscure to the common apprehension. He sometimes indulged in satire and invective, and, where the subject called for it, in stern denunciation. Many have felt with what indignant power these weapons have been wielded in his hand. His utterance, in early life, was said to have been confused and ungraceful. Practice had conquered these defects, and no man spoke with a more full, effortless and unobstructed fluency. His diction was scrupulously neat, and might have often deceived an audience into the opinion that his speeches were prepared in the closet. His manner was remarkably impressive. Endowed with a commanding figure, a singularly graceful carriage and with a countenance of manly and thoughtful beauty, that struck an instant sense of respect into all that looked upon him, he was pre-eminent in that most significant trait of an orator, action. We can all remember the rich and flowing music of that voice which was wont to stir the inmost souls of our tribunals and bring down the loud applause of delighted bystanders; the dignity with which we have seen his majestic person dilate itself before the judgment seat; the ineffable grace that beamed upon the broad expanse of his brow, and the kindled transport of his fine face, in those wrapt moments when his mind was all in a blaze with the inspirations of his own eloquence. These were the rare gifts that imparted a charm to his oratory, which often wrought more powerfully for the success of his cause than even the efficacy of 'right words set in order.'"

We shall conclude with one more passage, in which the man who filled so large a space in the public eye--whose eloquence placed him on the highest pedestal of fame, and whose writings have charmed by their richness and beauty so many thousand readers--is exhibited in a light more attractive and enduring than the highest human attainments are able to bestow. Mr. Wirt looked far beyond the narrow bounds of earth for his reward. He saw that neither wealth, nor power, nor fame, could satisfy the immortal cravings of the mind--and he lifted up his thoughtful eye to another and more permanent state of being.

"Lastly, he was a zealous and faithful christian. In such a mind as his, so inquiring, so masterly, so discriminating, religion was the child of his judgment, not the creation of his passion. It was an earnest, abiding sense of truth, and showed itself in daily exercise and constant acknowledgment. With the sublime system of revelation resting ever in his thoughts, the christian law hung like a tablet upon his breast, and duty ever pointed her finger to the sculptured commands that were graven there to serve him as a manual of practice. He loved old forms and old opinions, and, with something like a patriarch's reverence, he headed his little family flock on their Sunday walks to church: morning and evening he gathered them together, and on bended knee, invoked his Father's blessing on his household; and at the daily meal bowed his calm and prophet-like figure over the family repast, to ask that grace of the Deity, on which his heart rested with its liveliest hope, and to express that thankfulness which filled and engrossed his soul. Such was this man in the retirement of his domestic hearth, and thus did his affections, in that little precinct, bloom with the daily increasing virtues of love of family, of friends, of his country and of his God."

We hope that Mr. Kennedy's discourse will be extensively circulated and read. We confess that we rose from its perusal much wiser, better, and happier than before. It not only gave play to the imagination, but it distilled precious dews of thought and feeling, the memory of which is still delightful.

A LETTER TO HIS COUNTRYMEN. By J. Fenimore Cooper.--_New York: John Wiley._ 1834.

Mr. Cooper's letter is partly private and controversial, and partly political, and therefore any thing like an extended notice or review of it does not fall within the range which has been prescribed for the "Southern Literary Messenger." We cannot but express our regret, however, that Mr. Cooper should have suffered himself to be seduced into the arena of party politics. Upon that theatre he will meet with many distinguished rivals--whereas he had none or few to contend with on his favorite ground of romantic fiction. Is it possible that Mr. Cooper will suffer himself to be driven from the field on which he has earned so many enduring laurels, by the criticisms or even illnature of a few newspaper editors? Why, if we had been fortunate enough to write the "Red Rover," or even the "Bravo," we would have good humoredly defied the whole fraternity from Maine to New Orleans. Mr. Cooper forgets that there are thousands, who form their own opinions of literary works, without ever once thinking to turn over the pages of a daily or semiweekly instructor in order to learn its opinion. What if some of his finest romances have been criticised? Is there any human production which can be said to be perfect? Even Walter Scott acknowledged that his "Monastery" and probably some of his other works were total failures. We hope to spend many a long winter night yet in reading some of Mr. Cooper's new novels.

DIARY OF AN ENNUYEE. _Boston: Lilly, Wait, Colman & Holden._ 1833.

We opened this book, we confess, with some reluctance. The reading world has been so completely surfeited, especially in late years, by works of the same description,--by the diaries and letters of travellers and tourists,--and many of them have been so obviously designed to encourage the art of _book making_, rather than to impart solid instruction or intellectual pleasure, that we had almost resolved to proscribe altogether that branch of literature. France, Switzerland and Italy, have, moreover, been so often described, that neither the theatre of Napoleon's glory, nor the {19} sublimities of Alpine scenery--nor the classical antiquities of the "Eternal City"--could impart any longer, it was supposed, the grace or freshness of novelty to the sketches of a new adventurer. Fortunately for us, however, we did not carry our resolution into effect, until we looked into the charming volume whose title is at the head of this article. For rich and powerful thought,--for glowing and beautiful description,--for chaste composition and elegance of taste, we have seldom or never seen it surpassed. It is, too, the production of a lady,--an Englishwoman of rank and fortune, who seems to have visited the sunny clime of Italy in order to restore a constitution wasted by disease, and if possible, alleviate some secret misery which was "feeding on her damask cheek" and withering her heart.--Notwithstanding her efforts to conceal her wretchedness, enough is told to excite the reader's sympathy and impart a melancholy interest to the narrative. She finally fell a victim to her sufferings, and found at the age of twenty-six, a premature grave at Autun, in France, on her return to her native England.