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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. DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, INTERNAL IMPROVEMENT. COMMEROS, AGRICULTURE, FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC NEWS, AMUSEMENT, &c. &c. terms: three dollars, in advance —four dollars, after three months. 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-