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TERMS, $2 PER ANNUM IX ADVANCE. iT’ SECOND YEAR, NO. lfi-WHOLE NO. 60. i sewiiii fMsm wbmi,. —mmm fe uT&MmwA, w mn mb mm. mb m wwml mmimm. 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