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For Richard*’ Weekly Qazette.
RETURNING.
TLis Poem was printed surreptitiously in the
I-adies’ Garlaiul. It was written for Graham's
Magazine, at a stipulated price, but not appear
ing in that work, after several months, the au
thor wrote to the publisher to recall it. Receiv
ing no answer, he supposed that it might have
been lost, and thought little more of it, until he
accidentally encountered it in a stray volumo of
the Garland, where it appears as an original con
tribution- The piece is hardly worth this long
explanation, but it will serve to expose either an
intentional, or strangely accidental, piece of in
justice.—[Editor.
Weary and sad the months have passed, uncheer
ed by thee, my love,
Liko the long night of gloom which hangs the
polar seas above;
For thy sweet smile has eorac to be the sunlight !
of my lot,
And darkness shrouds my path where’er that sun- :
light falleth n< t.
I have not lived 3ince thou didst go, for living is 1
delight,
And now for many tiresome months I've sorrow’d j
day and night;
Thero has not been in earth or sky their wonted
loveliness—
Their beauty, in its thousand shapes, ne’er moved ,
my spirit less.
I have been joyless at the dawn, to miss thee from
my side,
Where, through the vision’d hours of night, I ,
thought thou didst abide ;
And all unwelcom'd to my eyes wero bright Au
rora’s beams—
That banish’d from my aching heart the solace j
of its dreams.
I have been sad at eventide, to miss thee at the
door,
When all the business of the day, and all its cares,
were o’er;
And 1 have griov’d that they should cease, since
sadder thoughts would come
To mo, amidst the loneliness of Love's deserted
home.
I have been very sorrowful at the sweet hour of
prayer—
To miss thee from the holy place, that refuge
from all care;
Where thou wert ever wont with me, in humble
faith to bow.
And daily to “ our Father” pay our offering and
vow!
Oh ! how my heart has yearned for thee, when it
has felt the wo
That from tho hcartlessness of man, and his un
fealty, flow ;
When some rude shock has swept its strings and
waked the notes of pain—
One touch of thy beloved hand had sweetly
changed the strain.
My aching head has often drooped, with trouble
overtasked,
And sometimes, when my lips have smiled, tho
smilo was anguish masked ;
Oh, then how keenly have I felt the neod of thy
fond love—
The only talisman on earth that could my pain
remove!
Cut blessed be our God, who gives the sunshine
with tho shade,
And who for every earthly pang somo soothing
balm has made ;
That o’er the gloom of absence now the bow of
Hope appears,
Its radiant hues the brighter far through Sorrow’s
falling tears.
By those bright hues I know that soon my exile
will bo o’er,
Nor tempest-beaten mariner o’er longed for friend
ly shore.
Nor desert-pilgrim ever pined for the tall palm
tree’s shade,
As I, upon thy faithful breast, to lay my weary
head.
The slow, sad time, that I have spent in exile
from thy arms,
Will add new rest to our delight, and heighten
all its charms;
And when to this (juick-bcating heart l fold thee
once again,
I shall forget, in one sweet hour, of weary months
the pain.
1 come to thee on wings of love—l chide each
hour’s delay;
I would not ta=te one cup of joy while yet from
thee nway:
For every bliss that Earth can give will soon be
mine in thee;
And tlieo denied, Earth could not give ono drop
of bliss to me !
W. C. Richards.
INDISCRETION OF LOVE.
Epigram, from tho French of Ma'amselie Doshou
liere*.
Vainly would true love hide
Tho secret in her breast;
By sighs that speak, by tears,
Tho passion is confess’d :
Too late, when in the soul,
Lovo sways with power complete,
Would prudence then control: —
l ove still is indiscreet■ NEMO.
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
SONG OF THE SMITHY.
Blow ! blow! strike ! strike !
Sons of the forge’s glow !
All arts that bless man’s helplessness,
To us their being owe.
The plough that mellows the fruitful earth,
The sickle that reaps the grain—
’Neath our hammer's blows they sprang to
birth,
’Midst a shower of fiery rain.
Hammer and hatchet, chisel and saw,
Lever, and vice, and screw—
Tho implements of every trade,
On our forge and anvil grew.
Then blow ! blow ! &c.
Clang! cling! as our hammers ring
On the anvil’s shining front;
The red iron grows, beneath our blows,
To some useful implement.
We make the tools for every craft,
And studious and thoughtful men
Aro debtors to us, for the keen-edged blade
That sharpens the mighty pen.
Then blow ! blow ! &c.
Fulton, and Watt, and a thousand more,
Ilad studied and dream’d in vain,
Had not our arm given shape and form
To the figures of their brain :
Creatures of i:on muscles-and limbs
In our forge's glow have birth,
That do the work of a thousand men,
And girdle with strength tho earth.
Then blow ! blow ! &c.
Athene, July, 1849. Y.
*iriaiS[a®!iM!i!!®B!a.
■
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
NORA LIVINGSTONE’S HEROISM.
A Sketch for Women of the 19th Century.
BY MRS. JOSEPH C. NEAL.
“ Dost deny
Thy woman's nature with a manly scorn,
And break away the gauds and armlets worn
By weaker women in captivity ?
Ah ! vain denial!
Beat truer heart, and higher.
Till God unsex thee on the spirit-shore;
To which alone unswerving, hore aspire.”
Miss Barrf.tt.
‘Beautiful! beautiful!’ murmured young
Nora Livingstone. ‘This is indeed a glo
rious truth!’
There was hut one other occupant of
that dainty little mormng-room—a quiet,
middle-aged lady, who looked up with a
glance of wonder from the volume she was
perusing. Her calm eyes rested fondly for
a moment on the young girl before her—
and no wonder, for she was very lovely.
Already her tall form had assumed the
grace of womanhood, and its full outlines
were not concealed by the muslin dress
which fell carelessly about her. She half
reclined upon a sofa that had been drawn
near the open window, and her hair, black
as midnight, was tossed back from her face,
which, though usually pale, was lighted
with an enthusiastic glow, as she dwelt
upon the pages of the book before her.
‘What is a glorious truth, my dear?’
asked Mrs. Carrol, mildly.
‘Oh! aunt, I have at last found the ut
terance of a voice that has long haunted
my soul. lam a woman , and not a slave;
I will bow to prejudice no longer.’
‘We should scarcely mistake you for
Violet,’ said Mrs. Carrol, good-humoredly,
as a dark face looked in upon her young
mistress for a moment. ‘ But how have
you made this important discovery ?’
‘This precious little volume has at last
given me an insight into my own nature.
It has shown me what I am, and what I
should be. It tells me what is demanded
of woman in the nineteenth century. We
must arise and assert our rights ! we have
been bound too long!’ and the young girl’s
eyes flashed proudly, as she unconsciously
drew her tall form to its utmost height.
‘ And what would you claim for woman,
my dear ?’
‘ Nothing short of equality with man—
nothing less than to stand side by side with
him, in the great social struggle: to bear
the banner of progress in our own hands.
We are created alike in God’s image—why
should we be denied action, and the right
of toil ? Oh ! the time is at hand, when
woman will be in truth what she was cre
ated for—the friend, and not the servant,
of man !’
‘ She was created as a ‘ help’ to man, we
are expressly told, and we have few in
stances in partriarchal times, of her assu
ming anything more.’
1 But those were dark ages, dear aunt—
ages of war and bloodshed. Man was in
a savage state, and oppressed all weaker
than himself ; it was woman’s misfortune
to be in that position, physically at least.’
1 Then you grant that woman is physi
cally weaker than man, and, of course, she
must be unfitted for severe toil.’
‘lt is only the effect of education. ‘Train
a girl from her cradle, as you would your
I son,’ ’ said Nora, quoting from the volume
! she still held, “and the physical strength
; of the one will be not a whit less than that
of the other.’ ’
I ‘Of course—granting that proposition—
j you would expect her to grow proportion
| ally robust, and coarse in person. A race
of Amazons, then, women of the nineteenth
century should become. I doubt if you
would be willing to part with the purity of
complexion, and the delicacy of form that
have always distinguished Nora Living
stone, for the strength and prowess of which
her brother Cnthberl boasts. Those hands
would be sadly out of place in masculine
toil.’
Mrs. Carrol glanced at the taper fingers
that were impatiently thridding ‘the bright
glory of her hair.’
‘And you could part with those tresses
with complacency, I have no doubt,’ she
continued. ‘They would be sadly in the
way on a battle-field ; despite Col. May’s
experiment, you would find them trouble
some in a charge.’
Nora did not half like the tone which
the conversation had assumed. She thought j
this bantering was unfit for so grave a sub- :
ject. For an instant she was silent, and |
glanced almost disdainfully at those dear i
little hands, as if she scorned them for their
very delicacy.
‘But, aunt’.’ she exclaimed, with re
newed warmth, scarce a moment after, ‘ 1
would choose intellectual strength. So
many great minds have been linked to frail
bodies. Mine should not be the contest of
the battle-field, yet I would be not the less
a patriot! In this age, revolutions are not
effected so much by armies, as by thought.
There was one Napoleon—so there lias
been a Joan d’Arc ; hut my ambition rises
no higher than a Lamartine! Glorious
name!’ said she, turning to a portrait of
the French patriot, in a magazine that had
lain upon the table near her: ‘and a glo
rious face he has, too! Let me be a pa
triot!’
‘ And in the present state of society, are
there not honors, legitimately our right,
which come within the sphere which you
I so despise ?—honors as great, though, per
| haps, not so widely spread, as that which
i you would seek. Would it not content
\ you to be the mother, wife, or sister, of one
i who had been a blessing to his country,
i and rewarded by her praise 1 You, who
aie a Carrol by birth—l, who am one by
adoption, and the mother of one —have we
nothing to be proud of ?’
Unconsciously the speaker's eyes filled
with tears, for there came the lecollection
j of her noble son, who was even then with
J the army of his country, exposed to the
! deadly climate and hostile bands of Mexi
! co. Perhaps the young girl shared in the
emotion : her eyes were also downcast, for
she was the betrothed of the absent one,
and loved him with the extreme devotion
of her high nature. But this mood lasted
scarce a moment, and she said, pettishly—
‘ Pray don’t bring up those old Greeks
and Romans; 1 know what will come next,
and I was tired of Cornelia, the mother of
those remarkable twins, and the wife and
parent of Coriolanus, and all tne rest of
them, while I was at school. I hate the
j very names.’
‘Nay, my gracious little lady, I will go
j no further back than your favorite, Lamar
| tine, and the parcel of new books that has
I just arrived from the city. Why do you
| particularly choose Lamartine from the
i band of noble minds that now guide the
j helm of state in Franee V
‘Why! is he not the noblest of them
all 1 the most unselfish, the boldest and
truest in his patriotism ? It is France for
whom he has struggled—France for whom
he forfeited rank, life, everything. Al
phonse Lamartine ! There is not a tinge
of egotism in all that he has done or utter
ed ; and with this beautiful forgetfulness of
| self, this strong principle of right, there is
j blended an almost religious fervor.’
‘ Bravely answered : and where do you
| suppose he acquired all this nobility of
j thought and principle ?’
‘ It would seem to have grown with his
’ growth, and strengthened with his strength.’
‘And you are right there; but the germ
I was planted and fostered by a mother's
hand.’
Nora looked grave. ‘ But how do you
know this, aunt 7
Mrs. Carrol opened the hook she had
j been reading, when Nora's exclamation
! had so startled her.
‘You have been so intent on your new
treasure,’ said she, ‘that you have not
: vouchsafed a glance at the other volumes
which came with it. lam reading a trans
lation of Lamartine’s ‘ Souvenirs, impres
sions, pensees el paysages pendant un voy
age en Orient.’ Let me read you a pas
sage from its very commencement. His
mother was accustomed to reward him for
a good reading lesson in the Bible, by the
| sight of the engraving, that occupied half
‘ the page, and she explained to him its con
i nexion with the history lie had just read.’
‘ She was endowed by nature with a
mind as pious as it was tender, arid with
: the most sensitive and vivid imagination ;
; all her thoughts were sentiments, and eve
[ry sentiment was an image. Her beauti
ful. noble and benign countenance, reflect
ed radiantly all that glowed in her heart,
all that was painted in her thoughts; and
the silvery, affectionate, solemn and impas
sioned tone of her voice, added to all that
she said, an accent of strength, grace and
love, which still sounds in my ears, after
six years of absence.’
‘Howaffectionate!’ murmured Nora, half
unconsciously.
‘And, again,’ said Mrs. Carrol, ‘just af
ter a similar noble tribute to that mother—
the love for whom seemed a part of his
very being—we find the prelude to his
later thoughts:
‘ ‘The hour is at hand, when the light of
the pheros of reason and morality will
pierce through our political tempests, and |
we shall frame the ever-social code which j
the world begins to foresee and to under-,
stand—the symbol of love and charity
amongst men—the charity of the Gospel.
I do not at least leproacli myself with ego
tism in this respect.’ ’
‘And he never has had occasion to,’
chimed in the sweet voice of the listener.
‘No wonder,’ said Mrs. Carrol, pausing,
1 that men said, when listening to this pre
diction, ‘ Behold, the dreamer cometh!’—
Who could have believed that it would
have been fulfilled so speedily and so noise
lessly, for the beloved country of the pro
phet 1 One more extract, and I have fin
ished :
‘ ■ The person who would have best shar
ed and comprehended my happiness at this
moment, was my mother. In all that hap
pened to me of joy or sorrow, my thoughts
involuntarily turn towards her. I think I
see her, hear her, talk to her, write to her.
A person on whom we dwell so much, is
not absent; that which lives so complete
ly, so powerfully, within ourselves, is not
dead to us. I commune with my mother,
as during her life I was wont to communi
cate all my impressions, which became so
soon and so entirely her own, and grew
warmer, higher colored, and more beauti
ful in her imagination, which was always
the imagination of youthful sixteen. I
seek her in idea, in the tranquil and pious
solitude of Milly, where she brought us
up, and where she thought of me during
the vicissitudes of my youth, which sepa
rated us. I see her waiting for, receiving,
reading, commenting on, my letters, more
intoxicated than myself with my impres
sions. Vain thought! she is no longer
there—she inhabits a world of realities;
our fugitive dreams are no longer anything
to her ; hut her spirit is with me, it visits
me, it follows me, it protects me; my con
versation is with her in the regions of eter
nity.’ ’
‘And now need we ask,’ continued Mrs.
Carrol, closing the volume, ‘to whom is
France indebted for the patriotic sentiments
that have burned in the bosom of Lamar
tine, until he stretched forth his hand for
her release V
‘ But I had rather have been Lamartine
himself,’ murmured the half convinced
young girl. ‘lt must be so delightful to
say —“My hand hath done this thing.’’
* Still inclined to be a female politician ;
still longing for the cabals and intrigues of
a public life. Let me sketch a portrait for
you : and first, I will preface it with an
observation I once heard from the lips of a
young and delicate-minded girl— * Power,
power—l thirst for strength 1 I could say
with Milton’s fallen angel, were it not blas
phemous—
“ Butter to roign la hell, than servo in heaven.”
I would rather be George Sand, than any
woman I know of—than a dozen of your
prosy Hannah Mores. Well does Miss
Barret call her ‘large-brained woman and
large-hearted man.’ ’
Nora blushed deeply, for she knew that
her aunt was repeating words she herself
had spoken.
‘ Some two years since, continued Mrs.
Carrol, ‘ I found that same young lady in
possession of a volume, in which she seem
ed deeply interested. She had brought it
; from the North, where she had been at
school for several year . The title pleas
ed me also—‘Consuelo.’ We all need
consolation, and I commenced its perusal.
There was no grossly immoral principle
inculcated, or upheld, yet the general tone
of the work was bad; besides, the spirit
which it aroused was a morbid, unhealthy
craving for mental and physical excite
ment; and several of the scenes, delineated
with a master hand, brought a blush to my
cheek as 1 read. It was by the celebrated
George Sand—Madame Dudevant: and
while I admired the strength of mind which
the book displayed, I could but regret that
it had been so perverted.
‘Nay, do not attempt to defend your fa
vorite ‘Consuelo.’ I have heard all you
would urge. Now see this restless, per
turbed spirit, roused in this recent political
struggle. One can almost imagine her hat
ing herself that she is a woman, that her
sex prevents her rushing at once into the
broad political arena. But her pen is at
work—she, too, thirsts for power—she
joins the conspirators, and the next time
we hear from Madame Dudevant, we find
her sitting on the grass, in a small court
yard, smoking with Ledru Ilollin! Is not
this a beautiful mirror to hold before our
sex? an example for all pure-minded mo
thers and wives! And then, so turbulent
have the citizens become, that she is in
formed her presence is no longer needed in
Paris. The chief of the police invites her
to a county retirement. Now, for the
choice, would you still be Madame Dude
vant, pitied by her own sex, and despised J
by the other; or is the mother of Lamar-;
tine, in the tranquil retirement of Milly,
teaching her son those principles of truth
and morality, that are now becoming a
bleeding to hia nation to ho moot 1’
1 A humdrum existence, contrasted with
a life of action; an apostle of progress,
placed side by side with a domestic non
entity,’ said the young girl, scornfully.—
‘We must nurse the children, and scold the
servants, to keep alive our mental powers,
—promising to obey at the very outset of
married life: while, to our masters it is giv
en to lead on the armies of their country,
to speak in the senate chamber; aye, and
to die there, gloriously!’ she added, as her
eye fell upon a portrait of the patriot Ad
ams, that was suspended near them.
‘ Indeed, Nora, I grieve to see this wil
ful, unholy spirit—for so I must call it.
This is the effect of your favorite course of
reading, and I fear your correspondence
with Gertrude Myers does you little good.
But since you have spoken of Adams, you
have hut cited another proof for my argu
ment. I have just finished reading the life
and correspondence of his mother, and need
no other voice to tell me who guided that
noble mind aright.’
‘lt is my wish that you should listen,’
said Mrs. Carrol, firmly but not unkindly,
as her niece rose impatiently.
Nora bit her lips with vexation, but her
aunt did not seem to heed it, but turned
over the pages of a volume that had been
lying in the broad window-seat, and then
commenced reading in a clear, silvery voice.
‘ ‘ My anxieties, my dear son, have been,
and arc still, great, lest the numerous tempt
ations and snares of vice should vitiate
your early habits of virtue, and destroy
those principles which you are now capa
ble of reasoning upon, and discerning the
beauty and utility of, as the only rational
source of happiness here, or foundation of
felicity hereafter. Placed as we are, in a
transitory scene of probation—drawing
nighcr and nigher, day after day, to the
important crisis which must introduce us to
anew system of things—it ought certainly
to be our principal concern to become qual
ified for our expected dignity.’ ’
‘And again, when speaking of his resi
dence, under different systems of govern
ment— ‘ Let your observations and compar
isons produce in your mind an abhorrence
of domination and power, the parent of
slavery, ignorance, and barbarism, which
places men upon a level with his fellow
tenants of the woods.
‘ A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty,
Is worth a whole eternity of bondage.’
“You have seen power in its various
fuiiiia—a benign deity, when exercised in
the suppression of fraud, injustice and ty
ranny, but a demon, when united with un
bounded ambition—a wide-wasting fury,
who has destroyed her thousands. (Mark
this well, Nora.) Not an age of the world,
but has produced characters, to which whole
human hecatombs have been sacrificed.
******
1 Glory, my son, in a country that has
given birth to characters, both in civil and
military departments, which may vie with
the wisdom and valor of antiquity. As an
immediate descendant of one of these char
acters, may you be led to an imitation of
that disinterested patriotism, and that no
ble love of your country, which will teach
you to despise wealth, titles, pomp and
; equipage, as mere external advantages,
which cannot add to the internal cxcel
; lence of your mind, or compensate for the
, want of integrity and virtue. May your
mind be thoroughly impressed with the ab
| solute necessity of universal virtue and
goodness, as the only sure load to happi
| ness; and that you may walk therein with
* undeviating steps, is the sincere and affec
tionate wish of your mother.’ ’
| ‘ You see, my dear Nora,’ said Mis. Car
| rol, as she finished the extract, ‘that I have
! not brought up your dreaded Greeks and
Romans. I have but appealed to instances
suggested by yourself, in the course of our
conversation. I leave the conclusion to
: your own natural good sense —is it not as
\ noble for a woman thus to train patriots
and statesmen, as to thrust herself eagerly
forward—to use your own favorite term,
‘an apostle of progress;’ and is she not as
truly effecting her share in the regeneration
of nations, while so doing, even though
i her name is never heard, save from the
grateful lips of the son who delights to do
her honor ?’
‘But,aunt,’ said the relenting Nora, - we
cannot all be mothers of great men ; and,
besides, it is so noble to become a martyr
for one’s principles—so great to lead the
I van in this vast enterprise.’
I ‘ Yes, we have not all the honor of which
; we have spoken, but we have not even al
‘ hided to the quiet influence for good, which
; the wife and sister may exert. And tell
me, how would you commence the great
work, in which you so eagerly claim a
share ?’
Nora looked puzzled. It was delight
ful to contend for a theory ; she had not
thought of its result.
‘You say,’ continued Mrs. Carrol, ‘that
a martyrdom would be glorious—that you
long to be ‘a hero in the strife.’ Even
now, there is an opportunity, if you wish
it. Do not look so astonished, —I am but
speaking the truth. If you will but raist
j the paper your leet are so unmercifully
i treading down, you will see a report of a
society that has recently been established,
for the purpose of sending female teachers
to the great West. They go, oft times, in
defiance of opposition—for there are those
blind enough to oppose such a scheme; —
they leave behind the comforts and luxu
ries of refined society, indeed of civiliza
| tion. Exiled for the time from home, friends,
j kindred, they are striving for the morality
! of the nation, and laboring for its prosper
| ity, in the only sure way—by instilling
i into the n.inds of those who will hereafter
I govern its vast territory and promote its
true interests, principles of religion and mo
rality, while they lay the foundation of the
education that is to fit them for their re
sponsible stations. Is Nora Livingstone,
with her boasted heroism, prepared for this ?
Will she, reared in the very lap of luxury,
shielded from every rude breath of fortune
—will she, with her beauty and brilliant
talents, leave the friends of her childhood,
the betrothed husband, who counts every
: hour until he shall be restored to her—and
Igo forth to a life of self-denying toil? Ed
ucation is not lacking; she has declared
] herself ready to leal the van of noble en
terprise; and truly ‘the harvest is large,
I but the laborers are few!’ ’
Nora did not look up for some moments
j after her aunt had finished speaking, and
! then her eyes were heavy with tears.-
How did her boasted heroism vanish, be
fore the picture thus plainly drawn! How
j did her ideal of woman’s true sphere fade
with those earnest tones. She felt that un
trained ambition, rather than a holy desire
for human happiness, had been the syren
voice to which she long had listened, and
she was humbled before this new self
knowledge.
Mrs. Carrol drew the young girl tender
ly to her heart, and did not try to check
the low sobs that broke from her crimson
lips. She felt that Nora’s future happi
ness would not now be marred with the
evil spirit thus kindly exorcised. Her son
would receive his bride, at the hands of his
mother, free from the false philosophy that
has, of late, crept like another serpent to
the Eden of domestic life.
Scarce a month has passed, dear reader,
since we were bidden to the bridal of Nora
Livingstone. No sooner was peace pro
claimed, than the young officer, Herbert
Carroll, hastened to claim a reward far
dearer to him than the laurels his bravery
had won. And Nora, in the purity of her
bridal attire, was far more beautiful, with
i the subdued and quiet expression that dwelt
\ like a smile of peace upon her face', than
! when her proud eyes were lighted, and her
cheeks flushed, with the fires of a false en
thusiasm.
A demure smile played about the sweet
mouth of Mrs. Carrol, as she heard the
dreadful word ‘obey’ pronounced clearly
by our heroine; hut it faded as quickly,
for she did not choose then, to recall to No
ra's mind the humiliating lesson she had so
lately learned.
Tii:-, ! j‘i;;.
For Richard*’ Weekly Gazette.
A VINDICATION
OT
THE PROFESSION OF LAWYERS.
BY HON. B. i'. PORTER.
Lives op the Loru Chancellors. By John
Lord Cainp'ioll. Lea & Blanchard. 1847.
Lives of Eminent English J cooes. By W.
W. Welsliy. J. &J. W. Johnson. 1819.
O eat.ii:u. Komanomim Fkao.mk.nta. By Mey
er. 1812. Zurich.
Between the different classes of persons
engaged in the different professional and
artistic pursuits, there has been, always,
more or less of jealous crimination. But
against the Bar, we believe they have all
united in violent animosity. The few in
stances of bad men, presented in the long
line of illustrious Jurists, have been taken
to identify the whole class; and with the
great body of the people, the name of Law
yer has been, and, in a certain measure,
continues yel, to he synonymous with chi
canery and injustice. The cause of this
unmerited denunciation of a body ol men,
who have been, in an eminent degree, the
guardians of the rights of man, is, princi
pally, the exclusive nature of their profes
sion. Men of every other vocation have
sumt ann.f.j • •*- r - r —*
of each other. The artizan purchases his
materials from a producer —the producer
deals with the mechanic. There is a ne
cessary connexion between their industry
and employments. Each learns something
of the trade and business of the other.—
There is consequently a sympathy between
them, which keeps up a tie between them.
But with the Lawyer it is different. There
is no relation whatever, uniting his voca
tion with that of any other in society. His
trade is one which no other person learns.
The first rudiments of it are excluded even
from the schools, with singular jealousy.
His increase of knowledge is unnoticed, be
cause merely intellectual. A brawny arm
is not in his office seen raising powerful
weights, or striking heavy blows. Poring
over his books, notwithstanding how his
mind and body faint under the mental toil
which robs nature of repose, he is suppos
ed to live a life of ease, and to profit by the
labor of others, without laboring himself.
In this way, a hitter jealousy springs up.
He gets no credit for years of intellectual
work, which, at the expense of pleasure
and health, enable him, by a dash of the
pen, or by a word, to save the results of
the industry of a whole race, who, but for
his knowledge, might he swept of the rights
both of person and of property. He gets
no credit for the thousands spent in the ac
quisition of knowledge and in the purchase
of a library, by which he may secure these
essential rights. Denounced by men, he
gets into public life. It is immaterial that
his jealous eye delect every covert invasion
of principles of law and liberty, which is
made by ignorance or corruption. He is a
lawyer, and his suggestions are to be taken
with caution. He secs a security, guaran
tied by the Constitution, about to give way
under some excited legislative action. lie
secs local prejudices tearing down the ven
erated pillars of the law, and a single act
generated in a spirit of hostility to Law
yers. upsetting long-established precedents,
and justly adjudicated principles. He warns
men of the consequences: his warning is
unheeded, because he is a member of the
Bar. Some ignorant demagogue rises, and
enlists all the meaner feelings of the mind
against him. He belongs, he says, to the
honest yeomanry of the country ; he tills
the soil; he has no notion of encouraging
those who foment difficulties:, who promote
litigation, who frame laws to incite law
suits. A little reflection will show the in
justice of those allusions. To whom is
the country member so much indebted for
the peace and security of his heme, as to
that race of men whose lives are spent in
asserting the principles of law, which are
only principles of justice and common
sense ?—men who have the power in so
ciety for the vindication of the work ? who
take up the defence of the miserable out
law, whom all have abandoned to his fate *
! who boldly prosecute the villain, at the
risk ortiis bloody vengeance, and thus se
cure society from murderers and robbers ’
who, in the dark troubles of society, array
themselves on the side of popular rights, and
