Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

- 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£<*