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POETRY.
From the Southern Literary Messenger.
CIION-NE-LAR,
THE CREEK MAID EX —WHO REFUSED TO EMIGRATE.
By Henry Thompson, A M.
Child of the Eagle-Chief! why lingercst thou here ?
No lov’d one is with thee—no warrior is near.
Like a bird from its flock, that is soaring alone,
With plumage unsullied, o’er mountains its own.
Thou wand'rest dejected, all lonely dost roatn.
Heart-broken to answer —“l'm on exile at home /”
And wretched, forsaken 1 I would be forgiven,
And repose in the earth decreed us by heaven,
And part not forever from the home I revere;
But roam till I perish o’er the graves that are here.
For a brother now sleeps in this hallowed spot!
A son of the forest! O awaken him not!
O awaken him not —nor his loved one despoil,
Or thy blood, Esta-hat-he* will crimson the soil.
For the Creek is abroad ! ah! yet unsubdued,
And the eye of the eagle is still on his brood.
By yon lake, now thine own from which we are wean’d,
Our fathers in council, have often convened ;
But the torchlight is out —and the wa r-song is o'er!
To the voice of Afa-na-teat we listen no more.
But the whoop, and the yell, and the games of the hill,
Are lingering too sadly in memory still!
But the young bird I lov’d, from his eyrie hath flown,
And left his Chon-ne-lar, to wander alone !
Never more to return to the land of his birth,
Nor to tread the green haunts of this beauteous earth;
Nor come with the Wampun.t aflection arrayed,
To lean on his rifle—when Chon-ne-lar is laid
With her dead, by the stream, where the waters will curl
Their murmuring eddies o’er the desolate girl.
Who wanders dejected in the land of the Creek,
’Mid a language discordant, her tongue cannot speak !
But ’tis well! she is here in her own native place,
And forsaken, will perish— the last of her race!
♦White man —pronounced East-tu-hat-ke.
tHcnd Chief—pronounced Min-nor-way.
t A worked belt: a maiden’s gift to her warrior lover.
MIS CELLANY.
JUVENILE COURAGE AND PATRIOTISM,
Instanced in Canada, during the disturbances
at the close of the year 1837.
Times of peril and strife are not without
their uses. It is at suclt periods that the more
sublime virtues are elicited, serving at once to,
•nnoblethe human character, and to stimulate
those wini come after to an equally honorable
course, when their duty to tiieir country re
quires their exertions. It is true, likewise,
that suclt periods bring to view the darker
portions of our nature ; the base passions and i
selfish devices of the heart are developed, as
well as those which appertain to the better
part of our being; and times of commotion;
may truly he said to exhibit beacons to shun,
as well as models for imitation. The lollow
irtg brief narrative contains instances of both ;
tlie good, however, I icing the subject matter,,
and the bad incidentally, ft consists of well
authenticated facts, and, whilst the conduct of
the high-spirited damsels is worthy of all |
praise, it must be evident that local chivalrous
feelings must have pervaded the hearts of the]
parent from whom they have learnt so noble
• bearing in difficult emergencies.
Clinrlotte and Cornelia are the daughters of
Cajit. P. De Grasse, a military officer of long
expei ience and tried loyalty, residing in a re
tired situation a few miles distant from the
city of Toronto ; and it will be seen that the
same patriotic feelings which animated his bo
som were carefully cultivated in the hearts of
his children. On the memorable 10th of De
cember last, Capt. De Grasse having acciden
tally heard that the rebels purposed to possess
themselves of Toronto, he felt himself called
upon promply to leave all domestic ties and
comforts ; and, confiding the protection of his
family to the Arm which is mighty to save, he
proceeded, at 11 o’clock at night, to the city,
ia order to take up arms in its defence. If is
daughters, the elder of whom had not com
pleted her fifteenth year, resolved to accom
pany him and see him safe to the city, that
they might relieve the anxiety of their mother;
and, with some difficulty obtained his permis
sion to execute so perilous a design.
It was a beautiful moonlight night when
they commenced their journey, a considerable
portion of which was through the bush, or un
cleared country. Between Hallowed and
Bennett, they fell in with the notorious Mat
thews and his party, forty-two in number,
who were advancing in two files. Capt. De
Grasse was now in imminent danger, from
which he would hardly have escaped, hut the
presence of mind of Charlotte saved them,
■''he suddenly took to the left file, and by pad
dling through the mud she came in contact
with Matthews’ foot tracks, and attracted his
notice, by which means Capt. De Grasse and
his other daughter passed unobserved. Char
lotte was allowed to pass without obstruction.
At length, about one o’clock, the party ar
rived at Toronto, where they found all ii
alarm and commotion; guns were heard
firing in all directions, and all the preparations
for immediate hostilities were at hand. Not
withstanding these omens of danger, the
youthful heroines determined to return home,
even at that untimely hour of the night. The
moon continued to give her light, until they
reached Arthur's Distillery, after which they
had to encounter all the terrors of darkness,
and the fears of falling into the hands of re
bels known to be disseminated in all direc
tions of the vicinity. All these, however, they
escaped, and reached home about 4 o’clock in
the morning.
On the following day (Tuesday) the sisters
went to Toronto, carrying with them informa-;
tion of the proceedings of the rebels at the
Don, and they returned in the evening after!
having inquired for their father. On Wednes
day they aga’n succeeded in crossing the
dreadful bush which separated their home from
the city. Their father was that day on duty
at the Parliament house; but someone had
told Corneliii that he was at the advanced post,
at the turnpike in Yonge street, where, indeed,
he would have been, had it not been for the
temporary indisposition of Col. M , which
made the alteration necessary. Cornelia,
not finding her father at the post described,
and perceiving the general terror on every
countenance, in consequence of the report that
BY F. C. PENDLETON.
V OL. 11.
the rebels were 5000 strong, she resolved to
proceed alone to Montgomery Tavern, their
head.quarters, and ascertain the truth or falsi
ty <>f the rumor. As she passed through the
rebel lines, all seemed amazed at seeing a lit
tle girl, on a fiery coming fearlessly
among them, and she could hear them in
quiring of eaclt other who she was. Titus she
reached the wheelwright’s, adjoining Mont
gomery, without molestation; and after in
quiring the price of a sledge of particular di
mensions, and promising to give the wheel
wright an answer the following day, she was
about to return to the city, when suddenly
three or four men seized her bridle, exclaim
ing, You are our prisoner!” By these men
she was detained nearly an hour, waiting for
the return of M’Kenzie. All at once a gene
ral huzzaing was heard, and M’Kenzie appear
ed, apparently elated. He cried “ Glo
rious news; we have taken the Wt stern
Mail!!” Then followed the coachman and
passengers, prisoners. The congratulations
of the rebels and their crowding round their
captives, caused some confusion, and relaxed
the vigilance of her guards, and Cornelia,
taking advantage of the opportunity, whipped
her pony and made her escape, although pur
sued and fned at several times.
After ridding herself of tins party, she was
again fired at from Watson's, and was sum
moned to surrender, but this seemed only to
give additional strength to her resolution, and
at length'she reached the city, bringing the
news of the robbery of the public mail, and
describing the numbers of the rebels to be
greatiy exaggerated, many of them to be more
boys, armed with club sticks, few possessing
guns or ritles, chiefly carrying long poles with
spikes on the ends, and the people having lit
tle or no ammunition.
In the meantime, the other sister, Charlotte,
had been detained by the loyal party at the
market-house, when one of the officers begged
of her to have the kindness to take a despatch
of the greatest consequence for the safety of
the town, as they had not a horseman to send
out. She complied with the request, and car
ried the despatch some distance on the Kings
ton rond, where she met the picquet, and re
turned with the answer to the city. After
which she set out on her return home, itt the ;
evening. When near the corner of the bush, j
before Sinclair’s clearance, a large party of j
rebels fired at her and wounded her. Her j
pony also was wounded, and the poor beast
jumped over the fence, and never stopped till
lie reached the chapel. Immediately after the
first fire of this party, one of the cowardly ruf
fians ran across the angle of the bush, and,
upon coining in front of her, fired in the noble
girl's face! !
Cornelia arrived safely at home that night,
about 11 o’clock, without having seen her fa
ther. She, therefore, crossed the bush again
on Thursday morning, and followed the loyal
troops to Yonge street, where she was seen,
perfectly composed and fearless, near the
thundering of the cannon and the heat of the
fire. As she was leaving the city that morn
ing, she was met by the excellent Chief Jus
tice, who intreated her to lei him know all the
intelligence she could collect in Yonge street,
being extremely anxious to hear the issue of
the attack against the rebels. This the cou
rageous and loyal hearted girl undertook to do.
Siic was returning home to inform her mo
ther of the events of the day, when, upon her j
arrival at t c Don Bridge, she discovered that
Matthews had set it on fire. Instantly, she
returned to the city, and gave the alarm. Then,
unable to pass the bridge on her pony, in
consequence of the great damage it had re
ceived, she left the animal in the city, and j
proceeded on foot at 11 o’clock at night,,
though the district was filled with dispersed \
rebels.
All who were witnesses of the conduct of
those extraordinary girls, spoke of it in terms I
of unqualified admiration. They became the ;
topic of conversation, and were pointed out as j
bright examples of loyalty and courage. It j
has not yet transpired that any testimonial of
the service performed by them has been given,
but “the times are out of joint,” men’s minds
are too deeply engaged in warding oIF present
dangers, and it can only be in hours of eom
paritive leisure that individual instances of he
roic virtue and determination can be dwelt
upon at large. But these young ladies and
their parents have their own rewards. The
proud conviction that, in the hour of danger,
they did not confine their patriotism to pas
sive wishes and hopes for the cause of loyalty;
but, braving danger to its very teeth, perform
ing services at the moment of emergency,
when alone they could be such, casting off the
timidity of their age and sex, for the glorious
purpose of saving their country, and the duti
ful one of giving case to the hearts of those
they loved, they have a fund of consolation
and happiness within their own bosoms of
which nothing external can deprive them.
It is but a small justice, yet to refuse it
would be an injury to the subjects of these
anecdotes and to the world at large, to give
the account to the public. To the good and
active, it may stimulate to further exertions,
and to the supine it may furnish a spark of
noble sentiment, and a desire to “go and do
likewise.” N.Y. Albion.
How many ought to feel, enjoy, and under
stand poetry who are quite insensible to it!
llow many ought not to attempt to create it
who waste themselves in the fruitless enter
prise! It must be a sickly fly that hath no
palate for honey. It must be a conceited one
I that tries to make it.
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MACON, (Ga.) SATURDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 3, 1838.
From the Southern Literary Messenger.
MEMORY.
ADDRESSED TO STUDENTS.
Mentoria eicolendo augclur.
In limine, we beg of the youthful reader of
the Messenger, who, for the sake of pleasure, j
rambles through its pages, which, like a par- j
terre, are strown with the choicest flowers of
literature, not to start back from the perusal]
of this article, under the apprehension that it j
is to be very analytical or metaphysical; on
the contrary, even if we werecndowol with
the power of analysis, we would, for the sake
of utility, make our observations of a practical
character.
We are no advocates of a lorn equality of
mind, or rather, in more correct language, as
we think, of an equality of mental .susceptibili
ty at birth, chiefly because we never yet saw
a mother who believed it, and her opinion is
entitled to as much weight, as that of the mere
speculative philosopher, since she is capable of
letting herself down—of becoming herself
i once more a child—for the purpose of con
j versing with and amusing the nascent mind
of the infant prattler. The senses are the
'conductors of ideas to the mind,and without]
their existence there could be no ideas; but]
the senses do not act until birth; therefore,
anterior to birth there is no mind, or rather no
ideas as yet impressed upon it, and as the
major includes the minor, or the whole of the
pait, of course no memory ; hut the inference
that is sometimes drawn from this, that every
infant starts into life, with a mental apparatus
equally qualified for success, and that, with
the same system .of culture, it will always re-1
main the same in every individual, is notaj
fair inference, for each individual may com
mence his education with a different degree off
susceptibility, and it is immaterial to our pur
pose whether this difference dates its exist- j
ence anterior to, at. or subsequent to birth. ]
Dr. Franklin, and others, have compared the]
mind, before the reception of ideas, to a blank\
piece of paper; now, it is evident that one in- j
dividual may have a broader sheet or tablet |
than another, or, to use the technical language]
of the printer’s art, one may have a more re- j
ccptive, another a mote tenacious paper. —
Again, in farther illustration, take two ntea-j
sures, one a bushel and the other a half bushel
measure, both empty; though they be empty, ]
they are nevertheless measures, and no person;
will say that, because they ate empty, they
have the same capacity.
However strong tlie argument may be
against any existence, or at least any exercise
of mind before birth, it applies with stronger
] force to the memory, for memory relates to
j things past, and implies experience: how
then can there be a memory of that which
has been neither heard, seen, touched, tasted
nor smelled ? There seems also to be less
disparity in the susceptibility or capability of
memory, in different individuals, than in -any
other mental function ; this appears probable
from its very great degree of teachableness, its
quality of receiving mechanical, or arbitrary
helps, which indicate that it is less dependent
on original constitution for excellence than its
sister functions of mind. It is related of
Woodfall, the publisher of the Letters of Ju
nius; that, about the last quarter of the eigh
teenth century, he reported the speeches de
livered in the British Parliament, from memo
ry only. Mere auditors have frequently been
known to repeat correctly from memory long
speeches, some time aftei they had heard them.
In Germany, a young Jew has brought his
memory to such a degre: of excellence, that
he is now' astonishing several of the European
capitals by reciting from it the seven folio
volumes of the Talmud, from beginning to>
end, and afterwards from end to beginning.
Indeed, whatever may be the speculations of
mankind on this subject, they act. as if they be
lieved the truth inferred from the preceding
paragraph ; for whilst they resent, as an in
sulting imputation, any reflection on their other
mental powers, because it would imply that
God had given them less of these qualities
than to other men, thgy not only receive good
humoredly any impeWhmcnt of their memory,
but even sometimes take a delight in railing
against it themselves. \\ e infer from the
premises, that if memory do not exist anterior
to birth ; if the degree of its susceptibility or
impressibility be the same or nearly the same
in different individuals; if it be docile beyond
the other faculties, no person need despair of
making his memory all that is desirable.
We now proceed to vindicate the dignity
and importance of memory in the intellectual
system. It is not our intention to resolve all
or several of the components of mind into
memory, but adopting the admitted truth that
all the divisions of the states of which mind is
capable, are closely connected with and de
pendent upon each other, to show that if it
be not the foundation stone or the sustaining
arch, it is someth.ng more than an embellish
ment of the mental fabric, and as such cannot
bo neglected without greatly weakening that
reciprocal strength and beauty which the seve
ral parts receive from each other- The pro
judice against the importance of memory, and
Seven the belief that a high degree of it is incon
jsistent with the strength of the kindred facul
; ties, are not confined to the ignorant, but have |
sometim is made their appearance in books of
! merit. The wise ancients thought not thus.
They made Mnemosyne, or Memory, the mo- j
Ither of the Nine Muses, or the Arts, of which
they are the presiding deities—the severe one
of history, the stately one of the epic, the
laughing one of comedy, and the weeping one
of tragedy.
Felieesque vocat pariter atudaque loriqiie
Mnemonidas. Ovid, Lib. I'., lab. IV.
Plato seems to make all knowledge consist in
remembrance, and Diodorus Siculus ascribes
to memory the art of reasoning. An exami
nation of the process of ratiocination will
show that there is some truth, as well a* poe
try, in this latter opinion, viz: the rcasoner
proposes to prove something which is com
monly distant from his premises, and to do it
by a series of arguments, which, as they arc
mutually connected and dependant, are com
pared to the links of a chain. The danger
is, that in the order or confusion of the process,
he may omit, transpose, or repeat some of the
links ; from this nothing can protect him but
memory, which sits by, a faithful prompter,
and preserves to him the collocation which he
has elaborated in his closet, or other circum
stances of leisure.
If memory lie so necessary to the mathe
matic.- 1 or philosophical inquirer, it is still
more so to the orator; for, besides its use in
eliminating his argument, it has to him still
additional and important uses. Reason, stern
and severe, perhaps acts the more important
part; she presides at the helm ; but memory
stands by, a faithful servitor, and hands over
to her the stubborn statistics, the apposite
quotation, and beautiful allusion ; she never
dt set ts her post, not even when he is in the
most inflamed state of feeling or highest de
gree of mental exaltatii n, of which his mind is
capable. She kindles and strengthens with
the orator’s rising ard.tr, until she seems to
embrace upon her chart the whole broad ex
panse of the past; and, gathering up almost
in one moment of inspiration the garnered w s
dom of more than six thousand years of expe
rience, she presents it, to be wielded in the
cause of truth and justice. Hence it is evi
dent that, of two orators, ceteris paribus, the
one who has the readier and better stored
memory, will possess an immense advantage.
Innumerable examples might lie adduced illus
trative of this position ; we will, however, only
refer to the case of an ex-p resident of tl e
| United States* who frequently overthrows a
finely constructed argument, or breaks the
force of an eloquent appeal, by the quotation
of a formidable array of authorities and stub
born facts from that inexhaustible treasury —
his memory.
It is a thought whjch we do not remember
to have seen prominently set forth, and one
which may aid ns in placing a proper estimate
upon this noble faculty, that it snatches from
annihilation one third of the domain of time —
the past; but for it, we should be left with the
unsatisfying present, and the inexplorable fu
ture. It is to this wonderful capability of the
human mind, that we are indebted to what
ever of wisdom or warning, virtue or valor, is
afforded in the history of tiie past, and which,
without it, would have perished in the very
moment of their exertion. In vain for us,
would the inspired bard of “Scio’s rock)
isle” have arranged his thoughts in beauty,
and uttered them in music—in vain would the
noble Socrates, the ken of whose mind almost
supplied the want of revelation, have invited
us to virtue by his matchless colloquial elo
quence, mid the sweetly attractive current of
his lift-—in vain for us. woul I the first Brutus,
standing over the corpse of beauty and chas
tity, for his altar, have uttered the first vow,
and struck the first blow for rational and re
gulated liberty—if tradition, the dependant
offspring, or rather another name for memo
ry, had not preser ed the recollection of these
events, until a writer arose, received the pre
cious charge, and bequeathed it, in perpetuity
of possession, to all coming time. But for
this conversion, this reproduction of the past,
for the wants of the present, it is evident we
should bo condemned to a stationary state;
but, by its help, each succeeding generation
stands upon the heads of the preceding, and,
by the elevation of their station, command a
more extended horizon, and see as much fur
ther down the stream of time, as the one is
higher than the other. As the means of pre
serving materials for history are so abundant
at the present day, in exhibiting the connec
tion between tradition and memory, it is not
intended to claim for the former, that degree
of importance which it had in the infancy of
society, when it was the most common and
useful source of history. In tracing out this
connection, it is hoped we have avoided the in
ference of perfect identity of the two. There
seem to be several circumstances which dis
tinguish them. Memory relates to indie -
duals, tradition to the aggregation of mankind
into generations—there can he memory with
out tradition, but no tradition without memory.
In nations destitute of the means of preseiY
ing records, the memory of one generation,
handed down to the succeeding, becomes tra
dition.
Memory assumes no less importance, con
sidered in its connection with experience.
Such is the high estimate placed upon this
mental possi ssion, that it has been called the
mother of wisdom. We define experience to
be the memory of past occurrences, mixed
with that [lower of turning them to advantage,
which arises from a careful observation and
collation of them. The power of careful ob
servation and comparison is wanting in many
persons—from which it would appear that
there may be memory without experience, but
no experience without memory.
If the young enthusiast after knowledge has
accompanied us thus far, we hope that, like our
selves, he has been impressed with a desire to
; improve this noble faculty. Obviously the
j best mode of improving the memory, is by
j properly exercising the attention, on which it
mainly depends, and the strong or weak ex ir
! tion of which accounts for the various degrees
| of memory, which we observe in ditlerent indi
C. R. HANLEITER, printer.
viduals, rather than any difference of suscepti
bility at birth. When we hear that everlast
ing complaint of the young, “ I have a bad
memory—l have no inducement to study any ;
thing, fori cannot remember it,” we are apt to j
inquire into their habits of attention—which in
jquiry commonly results in the knowledge that
attention is considered as an affection of the
mind, that is scarcely worthy of education.
We will now, alter the fashion of nostrum
: venders, give a sovereign recipe for the forma,
ition of a good memory, and the cure of a bad
• one : —Direct the attention upon the beginning]
and continue it throughout the delivery of
every sermon, speech, lecture, and recitation, j
made in your presence, however abstruse the
subject or dull and uninteresting itsexpounder.
It is objected that a discourse of the nature
; supposed in the apodixis of the foregoing sen
tence, produces an insupportable irksomeness;
wel', we do from the bottom of our heart pity
the luckless wight who is doomed to the
merciless infliction of some articulate savage,
who redeems his cruelty with no perspicuity of
reasoning, no eloquence of diction, no flash of
fancy, or sparkling of wit. But into such
bloody hands every one is liable to fall, and is
not. compliance with the advice just given the
best slave ? For when the mind is closely
engaged in the subject, it cannot suffer greatly,
whatever may be the faults of hint who han
dles it; besides, pcrseverence in tlie course
recommended, gradually diminishes the neces
sity of painful effort, until it results into habit]
of attention; and it i-t to us one of the kindest
arrangements of tlie benevolent Being, that
our habits beguile much of our toil and minister j
to our virtuous pleasures. Labor ipse votvp
tus. Authorities, no less than reason, sustain ]
the views taken of attention. Many of the
luminaries of the world have left it on record |
for the benefit of youth, that much of the
superiority which is attributed to genius, be
longs to a proper exercise of the power of at.
tendon. The mind of the man who has ac
quired the power of fixing in at all times and
places, and under all circumstances, never
flags—it becomes the slave of the possessor;
let him will it any particular duty, and the per
formance easily follows the act of volition.
With such a mind, he can turn his thoughts
inwnd, concentrale his ideas, shut out the ex
ternal world, or, at least be but little affected]
by its distractions, marshal his powers for ac
tion, and bring them to bear like a Macedonian
phalanx upon tlie positions of his adversary.
There is no error more common or injurious
than this of the young student, who supposes:
that when lie has prepared the subject of a re
citation or lecture, he has no farther interest in
giving bis attention to the instructor in his
elucidation of it to others. Hence results the
inability in after life to accompany a close !
piece cf reasoning through all its stages, and a
wretched imbecility and servile dependence of I
mind. It follows From the rule just given, that
all translations and nigh cuts to the lesson;
must be avoided, since these render close and!
long continued attention unnecessary.
The connection of several of tiie states of.
the mind with memory, and their partial do-1
pcndence upon it, have been traced. We will '
now close with i few observations upon the!
pleasures of memory, and, under this head, its'
connection with some of the moral emotion will j
be pointed out. The exercise of conscience ]
implies a recollection of our past acts with a!
feeling of approval or disapproval of them, in
proportion its they are comfortable or uncorn- 1
fbrtable to the standard of right: how then j
could there be this review and judgement upon j
our past acts, if they found no abiding place in;
the memory? If they did not, we could not j
preserve the “ mens conscia sibi recti," which
as a good angel, enables a man to bear up un
der the abandonment of friends and fortune,
the impeachment of his motives, and the as
sault of his character. This is the only re
ward which thousands ofthc unappreciated and
unrequited virtues ever obtain. The bad i
man considers it a poor remuneration, but it is j
a richer possession than Alexander or Bona- j
parte ever knew, since theresuhinghappiness;
is extended through this life and renewed in
eternity. It is true, another office of conscience
is prospective in its operations, as when we!
say, “ my conscience will not let me do so and j
so.” But still this enlightenment ofconscience:
which enables us to decide correctly on the
propriety or impropriety of a contemplated
action, has been taught or at least improved!
by the feeling of condemnation or approbation j
consequent on our past acts : ex. gra. a mo
ney lender lends a sum for usury, without any;
conviction of impropriety at the time ; but a
sense of guilt subsequently arises ; and when a
proposition is again made to lend money on
similar terms, his conscience, as men say, will
not let him do it. In this restraining con
science, nothing more is discerned than a pain
ful recollection of the first transaction acting
on his viituous sensibilities.
Gratitude, the least alloyed of human vfr
tiles, equally with conscience, seems to have a
dependant connexion with memory. Indeed,!
gratitude has been beautifully called the
memory of the heart ; but, in more correct
language, it is a vivid recollection of past kind
ness, with an emotion of love to its author, as
its consequent. It is memory, then which
preserves this heavenly, pure feeling—fre
quently the only requital which the destitute
can make to the clother of his nakedness, the
feeder ofhis hunger, and the eulightencr ofhis
ignorance. But for this the recipient might be
depressed by an overwhelming sense of the
irrepayable weight of bis obligation ; but with
this emotion gushing in perennial streams
I from the fountains of the heart, he feels that he
I is not altogether unworthy, or destitute of every
power of requital. A good man will never
desire any other reward for his alms, and thus
it is that charity blesseth him wlio gives and
him who takes.
The pleasures of hope have often been ana
lyzed by tlie philosopher and sung by the poet,
whilst tlie more chastened and unobtrusive
pleasures of memory have seldom been a theme;
but hope was not the only boon that remained
behind in Pandora’s box: the domain of memo
ry—the past —is more emphatically ours, than
that of hope—the future.
Who that is contending with a slanderous
and envious world, does not feel that it is his
purest pleasure to send his mind back along
the track which he has thus fur described in
his pilgrimage ? In this retrospective journey,
each retraced step shows more lovely and
bright than the position which has just been
left ; all along the path of retrogression arises
some remembered and innocent joy, until the
mental traveller arrives at the only elysium
known on earth—the virtuous home of child.
Itood. Here then the weary wrestler has
arrived at a point, when love and hatred and
ambition had never agitated bis breast—nor
selfishness and deception poisoned his philan
thropy—when he scarcely suspected the exis
tence of vice in the world, because he found
none in his own home. Here he fondly but
dimly calls lip the beloved forms of the hoary
sire—the care-worn mother—the laughing
-sister, and the fond brother. None but he who
is capable of such a retrospection dare say, that
memory is not a friend to virtue, and therefore 2
to happiness. Even the recollection of those
sad events, which have been engraven on our
mental tablets with the iron stylus of ajjliction,
is softened and mellowed by the lapse of time,
as distance of space takes away from objects
their rugged points of revolting features. Os
all our mental faculties, it is probable, that we
shall carry memory with us in the greatest per
fection into the eternal world. Hope will be
swallowed up in fruition—for, bow can there
he any hope where such is the fulness of glory
and happiness that nothing is left to lie desired ?
We have imagined that, when this earth shall
have been rendered once more without form
and void, the beautified spirit will delight, by
the help of memory, to revisit the scene of its
probation, remembering each drop ofwaterthat
it put to the parched lip, and each wanderer
that it pointed to the road of bliss.— Haec olitn
meminesse juvabit.
University of North Carolina.
NO. 2.
THE PRINTER.
“ You are young”—such was the opening
of a letter received by me some years since,
written by one of the ablest and most expe
rienced pillars of the Press—“you are young
and have chosen a path for your feet, which
from my knowledge of your character, I knew
you would select, lam sorry for it ; for of
what profit is it to print or be a Printer—or
of what profit arc talents ?” 1 laughed at the
querry then, but in sober seriousness do I
again read the letter of my honored friend.
He has put a question which experience an
swers with soi row, and yet there is some con
solation to lie gained from the pardonable
vanity of regarding the position of a public
journalist. His motives are noble; his aim is
to advance tlie intellectual standard and place
it high over the heads of his couritryu en. Ho
is the schoolmaster who dares to exhibit error
in its ghastly rottenness, and point out the
advantages that communities derive from
knowledge. He is one of the number of
watchful sentinels, who guard the dearest in
terests of a people, while that people slumber
unthinkingly in their tents. And is this noth
ing? Is not this position a proud one? Fore
most in the ranks of reform, the first to discov
er danger and ever fearless in combatting it,
the Printer shrinks not from the post of peril
while there is a principle in jeopardy, or an
honest doctrine to substantiate. When trea
son winds itself snake-like about the liberties
of a nation, the Printer launches his anathemas
at the dangerous invader: and quails not be
fore the eye of the despot, whose frown is but
the announcement of the dungeon or the scaf
fold. Is not all this verified in the history of
tlie present century? The pioneer in the march
of civilization, the Printer plants himself within
the shadow ofbarbarism, and while the echo of
the emigrants axe startles tlie hitherto untrod
den forest, the echo is answered by the clink of
the type and the lively roll of the printing
press.
But the category of my friend remains yet
unanswered. “ What profit to print, or to
be aPi inter?” Well, no matter. The pub
lic journalist goes down to bis resting place,
with the fact to cheer his last moments, that
he has done his duty. As to his patrons —
hut 1 will not go on.
young men, head this.
A scene from “Clement Falconer."
Mr. Crabbe entered his office late one eve
ning, after having passed from the grave to the
gay, in his usuual manner at the table of a
friend, and throwing himself into his own chair,
“Clem,” said he, “ lay aside that book, and let
us talk.” And the volume being deposited on
the table, he continued : “ I have turned out
of my office a number of very clever, and a
few very distinguished men, and whether you
are to go in advance of your predecessors, or
to fall behind them, must depend, in some
measure, upon nature, to he sure, but mainly
upon yourself. I was sitting in this place one
morning in the fall of the year, when in stepped
a long, lank, limber young Yankee. llis.cane
was thrown over his shoulder, from which de
pended down his back a bandana handkerchief,
containing all the worldly goods and clothes
lie possessed besides those he had on. He
wore a slouched beaver, a thread-hare coat,
I nen pantaloons, and coarse shoes, and had
j travelled afoot from the mountains of New
Hampshire, on his way to the West. But it
had occurred to him that morning, as he said,
that before he arrived in the new States, he
would like to study the law, and requested
permission to liegin his studies forthwith, in
my office, desiring me to state, at the same
time, what was the customary student’s fee in
these parts. Somewhat startled at the appa
rition, I had thoughts at first of not receiving
him ; but there was something in the quiet
j determination of his eye, and the confident
i business air with which he threw down his
j bundle, and opened the subject of his wishes,
j and still more in the hardy enterprizc and firtn
! ness of purpose implied in the whole conduct
! of the young man, that pleased me exceeding-