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- Vol. Vl.]
LITERARY.
THE DREAM OF LOVE,
By Charles Ludlow , of Richmond, Fa.
M.-TM following is copied from tfife “ New York
Mirror and Ladies’ Literary published
Hi Now York, by George P. Morris. It is the
pri*r Essay, entitling its author to the reward of
30 dollars, offered some time since by Mr. M. as
a premium, to the writer of the best essay for hjs
valuable, and interesting Miscellany. Eight es
says were accepted by the committee appointed
of their merits, and award the premium,
f have seen a bubble blown info its ctr
calar and indescribable beauty; on its bril
liant surface were painted the most iuirnila
ble pictures of light & life; grateful clouds
floating in the bosom of (be mimick sky ; *
tuff sun irradiated the little world, and cast
alfthe magick of light and shade over a
landscape of roost bewitching splendour.
A creation, bright as a poet could imagine,
glowing befoitft me ; but a wave of the air
broke the spell of its transitory, but beauti
ful existence,and it wa* gone.—lt was like
a dijani oflove. If there is one happy be
jog in creation, it is the lover in the luxury
of his visionary aspirations—if there is a
single blissful moment, lijje a star sparkling
in the shadowy Armament of life, it is that
which discovers a long nourished affection
to he mutual.
The moon, as she rides on through -her
infinity of space, has not a greater effect
upon the ocean fide than has the passion
of love upon the tide of human thought—
now permitting it to settle down into a stale
nf temporary tranquility—again bidding it
heave and swell, by the magick of its view
Jess power. Without if, what would be
the world? Asa creation without light;
yet, possessing it, as we do, how does it
discompose the soberest plans of reason ?
How do the loftiest- bulwarks of stern phil
osophy bow down and disappear before th
fragrance of its breath ? It is the poetry of
thought, when reason slumbers on her
stately throne, or wanders away in happy
dreams. It is scarcely to lie defined, for it
seems a perpetual halo ofsoft light, which
dazzles while it fascinates the mind's eye.
It is to the spirit what sun shine is to the
flower—luring the fragance from its bo
som, and bringing out all the energies of its
young nature, or as the hand of beauty
to (be slumbering lute passing over the si
lent chords, till “ it doth discourse most el
oquent ronsick.”
I had a young friend, just riitfng into man
hood—fiery and unsettled as the warrior
steed m battle, bis career was unguided by
prudence or thought. A never failing fioiv
of spirit* made him always agreeable—was
full of *ense and frolick. He could bring
a tear into your eve, before the smile
had left your lip—he was all hope and hap
pines*
Suddenly he stood before me an altered
being—hi* eye had grown melancholy
and full of meditation. Its moisture whs
♦Men succeeded bv a Ha*h ; and its fire
agi’in extinguished in the trembling tear.
Jlelshuoned the rude clamour of the bu-t
and would steal away into some
solitary recess, and in the still shade of
the fc-ret ponder On the sweetness of his
ownsorrow. His mind became almost a
world of itself, and thousands of visions rose
obedient, at the cail of creative thought;
ni* soul, lifted high on fancy’s wing, would
explore, in its wild and beautiful career, the
fathomless region* of imagination, through
all the variety of its magnificent domain.
He loved—deeply,devotedly.—lt wa* more
than lore; it was adoration. -The object
of his passion was all that woman could be.
There i no object, in all creation, half so
splendid as such a being—the charm* that
are diffused through the whole universe
seemed gathered together'in her.
When the sun is going down in the west,
M leaves behind him a track of bright
light, but it is insipid when compared to
the light of her eye. The fragrance of
Iho rose was not so delicious as the warmth
n! her breath—mu*irk could wake no me!
wly bite the thrilling tones of. her voice.
Her runt in was more graceful than the
heave of the sea, or the change of the cloud,
and the magick of mind gleaming through
all her words, nnd looks, and actions, shed
around her a charm more grateful than
Arabian incense.
No wonder my hero bowed down before
her; no wonder that the sound of her
votce was always in his ear, that her image
wa- before him in bis daily occupations, ami
hare a part in the mysterious changes of
his dream. Thpre was no affectation in
her nature, and *he loved him—they seem
ed created for eirck other—Bnd who would
have believed I heir fate—but I am di
gressing.
There is something very melancholy in
e reflection that any woman can die ; but
•oAt/n that she should perish was the agony
despair.— He had left her for a few days,
Wending when he returned to have asked
her hand. On the morning of his return,
he sprang into the stage coach, in a most
delicious reverie. He held no discourse
*hh his fellow passenger#, but wrapped
•imself np n a rich dream olWpticipation.
heart was full of happiness. He
I though; himself, as he entered bis bouse,
so happy for a mortal man —He was pre
jpwiog to Pay fier the first visit, and'dwell-
THE missionary.
ing in his mind on her pleasing welcome,
when her brother come to see him—he did
not observe any thing peculiar about him
a ‘ j* r *VM* not till the warm, affectionate
shake of the hand was over, did he notice
that his eyes were filled with tears, and a
dismal, gloomy, black crape hung from his
u He started, and in a hollow voice,
that bad a desolate dreariness in every
tone he said, J
“ Elizabeth is dead !”
first he was not comprehended.
A vacant horrid laugh, that echoed strange
ly through the was his ooly an
swer, then he repeated the words, and the
features of my friend became pale aud mo
tionless as marble—then he sat down in a
chair, and covered his face with his hands,
but not a word-a breath broke the silence.
I here was something alarming in his calm
ness,: it seemed like the silence of the hea
vy black cloud just before it launches its
destructive lightning from its bosom.—He
beckoned and wished to be alone.—He was
est in solitude. I would not profane the
* object by any attempt at describing his
feelings, lbere was a dark, horrible con
(usion in his mind, like some accursed dream
glaring around him, and the night rolled
away its long hours of sleepless agony.
Ihe next day was the funeral; and when
the sun rose in his same glory, and all the
II pomp and circmvMonce” of .la v began to
beam upon the face, of nature, and the rner
ry voice of men sometimes came upon the
breez-, an d thw carls rattled rudely along,
and all around was business, and adventure!
unaffected by the great event that had
come like an ocean of scorching fire upon
ihe paradise of hi* heart—he recollected,
and he Said, “to day is her funeral ?’’ Hi*
ber.mnbe<A mind <l*velt upon the words, buy
Jhe re was something undefined, and al.no*i
incomprehensible in them. She was to be
buried at five in the afternoon. The clock
struck four— he put on his,hat and went
steadily to her house. He thought twenty
time* lie heard her sweetly toned, laughing
voice, a.- he passed along. He turned Ws
head once or twice to see if she - was not
at his shoulder, but there was nothing, and
he walked on. He saw the house, and his
eye sought every window—hut Elizabeth
was not there. He rung the bell-—the ser
vant come, weeping—he looked at him &
walked on—-be passed into the pat lour—
the chair which *he had occupied, when he
was there -before was standing in the very
same place—and there was her piano—be
almost thought be heard musick—he listen
ed. a sob from the next room came like ice
upon his heart, and he sat down. Her
mother came into the room—her face was
serene in grief, hut the first burst was
over, and she was comparatively calm.
She asked him if be would look at the
corp*e. He knezo she was dead, but the
blunt question shook every nerve in his
fiame and seemed to breathe death upon
his soul.—He arose and followed the be
reaved mother. There was the air of
death in the apartment; and a varnished
coffin was on the table, a white cloth .flung
carefully at the head; a few friends sal
and wept in silence, inuing on (he beau
ties and virtue* of the being they were
about to consign to the cold earth. He
walked up to the table, and stood as still,
and pale, and motionless, as the form that
lay stretched before him. He would have
torn away the veil that covered that lace,
but he could not—he felt that he might as
well have attempted to heave a mountain
from it* rocky base. r Fhe mother saw—
she felt—a mother can feel—and she silent
ly uncovered that beautiful countenance.
It broke upon him in all its lovliness. There
was the same white forehead—the sleeping
eye—the cheek that he had kissed so fond
ly—the lips that had spoken such sweet
sounds—he gazed at her corpse with inten
sity of thought. Her living image was be
fore him—he saw her smiling—he beheld
her in the graceful motion—now her figure
passed before him, beautiful in (he mazy
dance—and now he gazed into her full
black eye*, and read unutterable thing*.
He bad a ring on his finger, a preent from
her—he tried to speak—he looked at the
ring, theo at her—agony swelled his heart;
he gave one long gaze—and looked no
more * *
He knew not how, but he stood by her
grave; and they were bearing the coffin
toward the dark narrow pit—a heap of fresh
earth was piled - at its side. Someone said,
“ Where are the cords?” He heard the an
swer, ‘here they are and then the coffin
was gradually let down into the bottom of
the grave—it sat firmly on the ground, and
be beard a voice say, ‘ there, that is right
—draw up the rope.’ Then there was the
sound, as if the orders were obeyed—in the
act of doing it a few grain* of sand and peb
ble dropped npon the coffiff—then all was
still—-then a handful of soft, damp, heavy
clay, was shovelled dowo. Oh, that sound
that solemn, dreary sound of niter desola
tion! It broke the horrid spell that kept
his voice silent and his eye dry—his lip
*began to quiver—a sob heaved his aching
breast—large tears gushed from bis eyes
—he stretched out his hand* io an agony
of weeping—and grasped an old qtiafcer
gentleman’s nose in fboMogv coach, where
he was sleeping, and gave occasion for Oba
dish ip obdrteV , /i y ‘
Os all the depositions and ?■!’ W °r. d ’ ? nd preach lb * ® o, P el to eve 'J creature.-jr e *, Christ.
■ and habits which lead to political prosperity, Religion and Morality are indispensable supports.- Washington.
MOUNT ZION, (HANCOCK COUNTY, GEORGIA,) MONDAY, FEBRUARY 7, 1825.
4 Verily, friend, when thou has sufficient
ly amused thyself with my nose, perhaps
thou wilt return it to its rightful own
er.*
The whole horrible creation of his fan
cy passed away like a mis!; his heart bound
ed within him, and he soon took sweet re
venge upon those wicked lips that had been
so cold and still, yet so beautiful, in the
darkness of his dream.
—■wxxr-sr.xx**—--
DR. PALEY
We quote from Mr. Verplanck’s “ Evidences,”
several just, though somewhat severe strictures,
on the doctrines of Dr. Paley, in reference to the
.oimdation and authority of morale. The easy
and lucid style of this author, his strong sense,
and his power of happy illustration, have given to
.]• ’IS™ 9 a ® ons 'dwable degree of popularity.
His Moral Philosophy is a text book in the great
er part of the American Colleges; notwithstand
ing that a considerable portion of its contents is
fitted rather to make a student familiar with the
political and religious institutions of England,
with those of his own countrv. The Doc
tor’s theory of moral obligation is -unsound ; and
the results to which it carries even him, sndicieiit
ly sho w its dangerous tendency. — Col. Star.
From Verplanclc's “Evidences.’”
I feel a reluctance to censure any thing
from She pen of so wise and worthy a man
as Dr. Paley. Indeed, these plain old Eng
lish adjective*, wise and worthy,are,l thiuk,
singularly expressive of his character as a
man and an author. Rut his scheme of
inmate, founded on a peculiar modification
ot the. theory of utility, combining the two
doctrines of sell-love as the motive, and
universal good as the rule ol all moral ac
tion, and rejecting all consideration of the
nature of right and wrong, founded in the
immutable character of the Deity, and per
ceived more or Ipss clearly by reason, as
well as all regard to the sentiment of moral
beauty, is a very imperfect, though not
wholly erroneous view of the ground and
*ar.ctions of moral obligation; ant} it lead*
him towards conclusions foil of danger.
From these he is in the main preserved,
when he conies lo apply his theory to the
actual business and conduct of life, by his
good sound sense, and his sincere respect
for revelation. Sul! the tendency has been
lo lower the tone of his morality, both in
iligaity ot motive, and in consistency and
simplicity of action. When I read his chap
ters on lie*, oaths and subscription*, in the
first part of his Moral Philosophy, and then
turn to the chapters -on s httnsriiy and troth,
in Godwin’s Political Justice, I blush to
compare the too flexible ethicks of the
Christian divine, with the nobler and more
bracing morality of the eloquent skeptick.
These same defects, tboogh more prom
inent in his Moral Philosophy, may be oc
casionally traced in his chapter on the Mo
rality of the Gospel, in his work on the
Evidences, mixed with much that is every
way excellent.
There is in his argument upon this point,
an indistinctness and confusion very rare in
any thing from Dr. Paley’* pen. In the
main, however, regarding all virtue as a
matter of calculation, in which good sense
balances the amount of personal or general
good to be attained by any given course of
action, be is naturally led to underrate the
originality of the revealed morality; and
the main conclusion which he draws from
its excellence, as confirming the revelation
which contains it, is, that it is such as to re
pel (he idea of its being the tradition of a
barbarous age, or of an ignorant people, of
the religion being founded in folly or in
craft, or being (be effusion of eoihusiasm;
but on the contrary, that it proves the good
sense of those to whom it owes its origin,
and that some regard is doe to the testimo
ny oPsnch men when they declare their
knowledge that the religion proceeded
from God, and when they appeal for the
truth of that assertion, lo miracles which
they wrought or had witnessed. In the
course of this discussion, higher views of
the internal evidence of the Christian eth
icks, seem to have forced themselves upon
hi* notice, but being less in harmony with
hi* theory of morals, he has not unfolded
(hem, nor insisted upon (hem, with his usu
al perspicuity and talent.
In another respect this chapter is, I think,
still more faulty. The extensive popolari
ty of the work will be a sufficient apology
for a few remarks upon a subject which is
intimately connected with the consideration
of the Evidences of Christianity.
I cannot conceive how so acute and dis
tinguishing a reasoner, could have adopted,
without a much more distinct qualification,
Soame Jenyus’ peculiar view of the Chris
tian morality, although they may be made
to harmonize sufficiently well with his own
scheme’of general utility.
He states from Jenyns,in rather stronger
and more unqualified terms than Jenyns had
himself used, (he following proposition*:
That the Gospel omits some qualities which
have naturally engaged the praises and ad
miration of maokiad, but which, in reality,
and in their general effect have been pre
judicial to human happiness. And then
exemplifies this general proposition by the
instances of Friendship, Patriotism, and ac
tive. Courage, io the sense in which these
qualities are usually understood, and the
conduct which they ofjeu produce and
There is cerlainly, to most minds, some
thing very startling and paradoxical in this
position, and not o littfc revolting to our
natural and instinctive impressions of char
acter and conduct;
It is, 1 grant, very true, that these quali
ties, especially those nf patriotism and cou
rage, do frequently produce, and have
produced conduct not consonant with Chris
tian ethicks.
These were,doubtless,the inspiring prin
ciples of actiou of many an old Roman Se
nator, as the elder Cato, for exainpiefcoo
stantly exciting him to build up the
Populism late regem , belloque superbum;
and to trample down by force, fraud, and
unconquerable perseverance, the liberties
of the rest of the world.
Let us suppose,bowever.that the courage
and patriotism of Cato had been otherwise
directed. Let us suppose it exerted to pre
serve the peace of Italy—to diffuse the arts
of civilization—to put an end to the fero
cious amusements and grosser vices of his
counlrymen—to correct,to soften, to puri
fy their morals—that all this had beeo the
animating principle and great object of his
life—that in this cause he had braved dan
ger, and endured obloquy—would these
qualities be then “prejudicial to human
happiness?” Gr would they not rather have
been such as “Paul himself would approve
and own ?”
To me it is quite clear, that the Gospel
morality agrees with the common and natu
ral notions of mankind, in representing
friendship and patriotism not precisely as
virtues, but as natural and laudable affec
tions, congenial to the true nature, and ca
pable of developing the best qualities of
man; and active courage as being ao admi
rable and valuable gift of Heaven, whether
it be of the physical kind, inwrought in tbs
constitution, or of a moral nature, created
by the energies of a strong mind and pow
erful emotions. They may, of course, all
be ill directed, turned to vile uses, mixed
with baser passions; but so far from being
omitted in the Gospel, they are there ex
hibited in their noblest altitudes and most
vivid colours.
What shall we say of the strong breath
ings of St. Paul’s friendship to his youthful
colleague aud companion ?—What ofjhis ar
dent aspirations of personal affection
toward* his erring Corinthian converts?
When he reminds them of his labours and
hardships in his Master’s cause, what higher
examples can we have of active courage,
than are found in hi animated recital of
his past life, ol his labours, of his dangers,
of his dariog ? “In journeyings often; in
perils of water; in perils of robbers; in
perils by mine own countrymen ; in perils
by the heathen; in perils in (he city; in
perils in Ihe wilderness; in perils in the
sea ; in perils among false brethren,” &c.
The calmness with which the Apostle
contemplates these dangers, and the reso
lution with which he endures them, are not
to be considered as mere passive courage ;
they are something more than patieoce,and
resignation, and cheerful submission under
unavoidable calamity. If the resolutely,
and firmly, and voluntarily encountering
known danger for the sake of a worthy ob
ject; the exercise of ail the powers of the
mind and the body, to subdue and avoid the
evil as far as it may be right and expedient;
the meeting and facing the evil whenever
duly bids, instead of waiting for it ; if this
be not active courage,(ben we must confine
that appellation to the brute valour of the
ferocious combatant, who plunges into dan
ger from mere animal impulse.
The exclusion of patriotism from Ihe
list of Christian virtues, is still more m con
tradiction to the exhibition of character,
manifested by the great apostle. Where
is there in the eloquence of classical anti
quity, or of modern liberty, so glorious and
intense a burst of patriotick feeling as that
io the Epistle to the Romans, when he
mourns over the incredulity and punish
ment of his beloved, rejected, yet
still favoured countrymen, pouring forth his
great heaviness and continual sorrow of the
heart for his “ kinsmen according lo the
flesh, who are Israelites, to whom pertain
eth the adoption, the glory, and the cove
nants, aud the giving of the law, and the
service, and the premises,” &c.
The supposed opposition of patriotism to
the Christian precppls of expanded and
universal benevolence, arises wholly from
false views of the nature and objects of love
of coon try —from notions of it which are as
unsound io reference to political wisdom,as
they are hostile to the mild spirit of Chris
tian morality. It arises from considering
patriotism as necessarily impelling us (to
use the words of Soame Jenyns) “ to op
press all other countries to advance the
imaginary interests of our own.” It may
indeed do so, and we know that it ha* often
done so. But this was because that it was
as blind to the true interest* and happiness
of its own country, as regardless of those
of others.
Parental affection, or filial duty,may lead
lo the same results, and we know that they
frequently do so. They, too, in blind en
deavonrs to promote the supposed welfare
of those whom it is oor duly to love or hon
our, btv* led maoy to invade the rights of
tbeir neighbours, by fraud or violence. But
the true itfteresls of every couotry, and its
lasting happiness and pal glory, have no
connexion ,witb tyranny or conquest, any
more than the real welfare of a family jbae
[Price $3 50 per arm ,
with the means of graiifyiog ostentatious
pride, acquired by fraud and rapine.
This attempt to thrust patriotism from
that seat by the throne of true virtue,which
the common consent of mankind has always
assigned to it, is not peculiar to a few mo
dern Christian writers, (for it should be re
marked that it is a refinement of Thick
Christian antiquity never dreamed) but re
ally comes from a very different school. It
has been a favourite doctrine of not a few
skeptical and licentious moralists, who have
designed to shake oor faith in all moral ex
cellence, by showing some necessary con
tradictions betweer. our most palpable du
ties.
“To be a good patriot, says Voltaire,one
must Often become the weiny of all the
rest ot mankind. To be a good citizen, is
to wish your city to be enriched by com
merce, or to become powerful by arms.
Rut it is clear that no country can gain with
out some other losses, and that it is impos
sible to make conquests without making
many wretched. Such is the condition of
humanity ; to wish for grrthtness for our
selves is to wish evil to our neighbours.
He who wishes that his own country should
never be greater, smaller, richer or.poorer
than it now is, is ufene the (me citizen of
the world.”
How perfect and bow beautiful is the
harmony of all truth ! How intimately con
nected are the duties of man with his best
and moat immediate interests ! Wherever
the ingenuity of a licentious morality or a
skeptical or paradoxical philosophy et
tempte t© array our duties against each oth
er, or in opposition to the pure and warm
sentiments which approve themselves as
right to the untaught consciences of think
ing men, whatever logical plausibility may
at (he first view appear in the argument,
we may rely upon it, that this contradiction
is not, and cannot be real. In this particu
lar instance, the refutation is furnisher? not
the lessons of a sound political sa
gacity, than it is by the quicker suggestions
of the spirit of real Christian benevo
lence.
An enlightened philosophy sees in the
honourable and regular profits of com
merce, not the pickpocket gains of the
gambler or swindler, who (as Voltaire says*
ot the. commercial nation) can rfever gain
except some other person loses; but the
communication and interchange between
district* or nations, of that which, in the
lavish abundance of some particular gift of
nature, is superfluous to each,for that which
increases ite comforts or pleasures; an ex*
change, in which the increased wealth and
happiness of each nation adds to the wealth
of all, by augmenting their means of en
joyment, by opening new markets for their
productions, and by affording an additional
stimulus to their industry.
An enlightened patriotism contemplates
the power of the country of our affections,
not as the instrument of tyranny ar.d ag
giession, but as bestowing the ability to
stretch out (he strong arm of protection
over (he heads ot each of its citizens,shield
ing his rights, bis home, and his happiness,
from injury or insult. Far from wishing
that such a country should never beepme
greater, the patriot will rightly mourn over
every imperfection in her civil government
or external relations which dwarfs her
growth and cramps her energies. He will
look with an exultation unmixed with any
selfish feeling, upon the peaceful triumphs .
of her arts and her industry, aod will joy i©
see liberty,, and enterprise, and education
subduing (he wilderness or the and
spreading over the waste places, a more
lasting empire than military ambition ever
grasped in its wildest dreams.
The good man and (he wise man joys in
all this, because he known well (hat true,
and lasting national greatness is never pur
chased at the expense of others, but that it
is built up by that well directed talent and
enterprise, by that freedom sod virtue,
which, while they cover bis own land with
lustre, must at length tend forth the rays of
their tnild and cheering warmtb to the re
mote ends of the earth.
Knowing and feeling this, he whose heart
beats truly and warmly for his native land,
needs not the lessons etf Smith, Say, or Ri
cardo, to teach him, that whenever the
love of country arrays itself against the ex
panded philanthropy which Christianity
enjoins, it tbeo becomes blind, and doting,
and false to its own real interests.
From the Family Visitor.
THE NEW YEAR.
Another year has rolled away/ Its plans
and pursuit#, its desires and aversions, its
hopes and fears, its joys and sorrows hare
passed and can oever be recalled, as its
hours have glided rapidly and silently
along! Obedient to the ordinance of Heav
en, the earth has performed her annual re
volution, the seasons have walked their
wonted round, inanimate nature has appear
ed verdant in the freshness of youth, glow
ing with the vigor of molority, and wither
ing abd sinking in the decrepitude of age,
All things earthly bare espanded and arisen
towards their perfection, or have gradually
declined and tended to dissolution. Mao
has not been stationary. The Supreme
Kuler of the. Universe has superintended
t all the concerns of ow world, and mdl£<*