Newspaper Page Text
the cheeks of women a glorious glow ot
emotion, which the term blush cannot
adequately measure; as far superior to
it as is the splendor ol a sunset to the
bloom of a peach.
lord bvron.
Purpose, therefore, in its genuine sim
plicity, and quiet deep sincerity, was
wanting in Byron’s chaiactei. -n
this greatly accounts tor the wreck
which he became ; and for that misery
-a misery which was wonderful, pass
ing the woof man which sat down
upon his spirit. Many accounts have
been given of his grief. Macaulay says
that he was a spoiled child. Shelley
declares —
The thought that he was greater than his kind
Had struck, methought, his eagle spmt hhnd
By gazing at its own exceeding light.
But the plain prose and English of it
lay in his union of intensity ot power
with the want of intensity of purpose.
He was neither one thing nor yet anoth
er. Life with him was neither, on the
one hand, an earnest single eyed effort,
nor was it, could it he, a mere display.
He believed, and trembled as he be
lieved, that it was a serious thing to
die, but did not sufficiently, it at all,
feel that it was as serious a thing to liv e.
He would not struggle: lie must shine;
but could not hecontent with mere shin
ing without struggle. And hence, ill
at ease with himself, aimless and hope
less, “ like the Cyclops —mad with
blindness,” he turned to bay against so
ciety’—man—and his Maker. And
hence, amid all that he has said to the
world —and said socJoquently, and said
so mournfully’, and said amid such w ide,
and silent, and profound attention
he has fold it little save his own story.
(flip Urtiiftnrr.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
LIVING AUTHORS OF AMERICA.
BY J. A. TURNER.
FIRST PAPER.
The Living Authors of America. First Series.
By Thomas Powel, author of the “ Living
Authors of England,” &c. New York:
Stringer & Townsend. 1850.
Mr. Powel takes three pages to tell
an anecdote to the following effect: A
Mr. Blank, (1 write it thus instead of
thus, Mr. ,) was invited by Bul
wer to a grand dejeuner. The said Mr.
Blank, not having the knowledge of
fashionable French before his eyes, mis
construed the meaning of this word,
and, after having had his appetite whet
ted by a three weeks’ notice, sat down
to a feast of fripperies and knicknacke
ries, as well calculated to meet the de
mands of the gastric juice as the fol
lies of N. Parker Willis are to satisfy
the mental appetite of a personage,
whose intellect demands something
solid.
There was one particular dish on the
table of Sir Edward, which our author
shall describe in his own words. It was
a “tureen of palish, green-looking water,
where there were a few diminutive new
potatoes, swimming for their lives and
trying to escape, which they did with
ease, from the abortive efforts of our
friend, (Mr. Blank,) who, with a ladle,
was doing his best to capture one to
satisfy the cravings of his appetite.”
Mr. Powel compares, and very justly
too, the w citings of the Home Journal
dandy, to the feast of Bulwer generally.
My mind discovers a great similarity
between his own book and the particu
lar dish (of potatoes) he has so graphi
cally described. \ou find nothing solid
—not even a potato—in the writings
ot the appendage of Baron Regis de
Trobiand, while you do find in Mr.
Powel’s “tureen of palish, green-look
ing water, “a few diminutive new po
tatoes,
—ran nantes in vasto gurgite.
Mirabile dicta, you do find in Mr.
Powel’s book a few solid ideas.
I had read the “Modem British Plu
tarch,” “Home’s New Spirit of the
Age,” &c..and, not having a knowledge
of Mr. Powel’s capacity before my
eyes, sat down to the “ Living Authors
of America” in the expectation, or
hope at least, of finding something
worth perusing. Unfortunately, I had
mistaken, like Mr. Blank of dejeuner
memory, the meaning of words, and
my appetite was unappeased. I found
Mr. Powel s book a mass of egotism,
badly r told anecdotes, inaccurate lan
guage, common-place generalizations,
and inapt quotations, interspersed here
and there, with a vigorous thought and
a dash at philosophy, whose appear
ance would have been unaccountable,
had not our author furnished us an ex
planatory kcv. These good ideas ap
pear like so many Berkshires in a pen
of land-pikers, and to account for their
being in the pen, is an object of inquiry.
Mr. Powel very candidly tells us how
they came there. “ Accustomed for
many years, says our author in the
introduction, “to associate with the
most distinguished men in English lite
rature, the conclusions we (that is Mr.
Powel) have formed upon various sub
jects may rather be considered theirs
than our own.” Where Mr. Powel’s
memory has been good, he has present
ed us something worth reading—where
he speaks in propria persona —and I
don’t mean to be rude—he tells us
more about Mr. Powel than the author
of whom lie treats. As the mouth
piece of “the most distinguished men
in English literature,” candour compels
me to admit that Mr. Powel, so far as
he goes, and so far as he can see, has
pretty correct ideas of the characters he
seeks to portray.
The reader can gain some idea of
who Mr. Powel is, and his own sense of
abilitv to perform the task before him,
by the following extracts from his in
troduction. It will be seen that he
bases his pretensions upon the facts,
among others, that his ■“ Poems anc
Plays have been well received by the
English public, and favourably review
ed in the leading journals of London,
and that he helped Wordsworth, Leigh
Hunt, and Horne, to “modernize”
Chaucer. But to the extracts :
“We do not seek by this plea,” (the
plea of having associated with the most
distinguished men in English litera
ture,) “to shelter ourselves, or to ex
pect that it will secure to the views set
forth in this book, any deference not
justly due to the opinions themselves.
We merely make this avowal to ac
count for the fact of our having pre
sented these critical judgments to the
public. With regard to the manner,
we have not aimed at anything beyond
a conversational style, which has no
pretensions to challenge comparison
with a professed author.
“Independently of this consideration,
we may perhaps be permitted to state
that our Poems and Plays have been
well received by the English public,
and favourably reviewed in the leading
journals of London,among others by’ the
Neiv Quarterly , Athenaeum , &c. We
may likewise refer to the publication
of Chaucer Modernized,” in which un
dertaking our friends Wordsworth,
Leigh Hunt, Horne, &c., cheerfully
allowed us to partake.
“We think it due to the American
public to make this statement, lest we
should be accused of a certain pre
sumption in thus critically considering
the Authors of America. It must, how
ever, be borne in mind, that possibly’
an Englishman familiar with their
writings, is capable of arriving at a far
juster estimate of their relative merits
than one of their own countrymen who
may be swayed by personal or politi
cal bias.
* * * *
“We presume that the right to give
an opinion cannot be disputed, seeing
that it is assumed and exercised by
every newspaper critic in the world.
“We trust to the indulgence of our j
readers for this egotistical statement
which has been forced from us by sun
dry* parties connected with the Ameri
can press, who have questioned our
ability to form a literary opinion at
all. We do not name this out of de
ference to that class of journalists, but
chiefly as an apology for venturing to
speak ex cathedra.'''’
“We trust to the indulgence of our
readers,” says Mr. Powel. Now should
the readers of our author grant him
that indulgence which he seeks for his
egotism, they would be as much to
blame as a priest who should make
sale of an indulgence to save his soul
from purgatory to a man who wished
to commit the crime of suicide. To
grant Mr. Powel the indulgence which
he craves for being egotistical, would
be becoming aiders and abettors to the
literary suicide on which he seems
bent, by means of the weapon ego ,
which he is pleased to style nos; and
the said aiders and abettors would not
be guiltless, in the eye of the law, of j
murder in the first degree. They would
be furnishing the ego-maniac with a
halter ready noosed for his neck, and
though it would be only Mr. Powel
who would be hung, yet as much of a
hanging would take place, as if some
body dangled between heaven and
earth.
Mr. Powel complains that his ego
tistical statement has been “ forced
from him by sundry parties connected
with the American press,” who—
strange to tell!—have had the impu
dence to “question his ability to form
a literary opinion at all!” Hoping
that I do not resemble our author in
any other of his bad qualities, I will
imitate him by telling an anecdote of
two honourable American Senators.—
The incident occurred only a few
months ago. Some resolution, if I re
member correctly, had been passed in
one of the Northern States censuring
some act of Mr. Hale. This brought
out a speech from that gentleman be
fore the Senate. General Foote, of
Senator castigating notoriety, stated
that he thought the resolution referred
to had been the cause of the infliction
of a speech upon impatient listeners.
Mr. Hale retorted by conjuring the
letter writers and press generally to
desist from their attacks upon General
Foote, (who has more newspaper squibs
fired at him than any one else,) for the
reason why that gentleman so unceas
inglv bored the Senate with his long
speeches, had just been made apparent
by the General’s own intimation. Now
what I have to beg of the American
press is, that it will not force any
more “egotistical statements” from
Mr. Powel, by “questioning his ability
to form a literary opinion at all.”
But Mr. Powel does not care for the
American press. He does not make
his “egotistical statement / “out of de
ference to that class of journalists, but
chiefly as an apology for venturing to
speak thus ex cathedra .” He “pre
sumes that the right to give an opinion
cannot be disputed, seeing that it is as
sumed and exercised by every newspa
per critic in the world.” No body will
dispute our author’s right to “give an
opinion,” and should any one be dis
posed to censure him for speaking ex
cathedra , let it be remembered that he
has been “ accustomed, for many years,
to associate with the most distinguish
ed men in English literature” —that
“his Poems and Plays” (so he says)
have been well received by the English
public, and favourably reviewed in
the leading journals of London”—
that he is “an Englishman familiar
with the writings” of American authors
—let the censurer remember these
facts, made apparent by Mr. Powel’s
statement, and hold his peace, Who,
in consideration of these things, can
doubt our author’s right to speak ex
cathedra?
Our author lacks analysis in the first
place, and system in the next. Indeed
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
we can hardly expect the latter without
the former. lie has strung together at
random what he candidly tells us are
the opinions of distinguished literati
with whom he has associated. The
American press is right in questioning
his ability to form a literary opinion
at all. He cannot appreciate the char
acter of the writings of those whom he
reviews, because it is evident he has
no insight into what is requisite for the
formation of a good writer, either in
poetry or prose. Yet, as 1 have said,
so far as he goes, and so far as he is
able to see, the opinions he presents us
are frequently just and discriminating,
simple because, I suppose, they are the
opinions, not of Mr. Powel, but of
knowing men. 1 shall give some of
the best extracts from the book before
me as the opinions of the “most dis
tinguished men in English literature”
across the waters, concerning “Living
American Authors,” remarking that
the interstices between these extracts
are filled up with the egotisms of the
compiler. It may here lie remarked
that the author can make his future
volumes more popular and interesting
by giving personal sketches of the au
thors of whom he treats.
The first author which Mr. Powel
brings under review is Cooper. “Air.
Cooper,” says lie. “who is considered
by many as the head of American lite
rature, was undoubtedly the first whose
writings gave it a prominent position
in the eyes of Europe, his works hav
ing been translated into several of the
continental languages.” He likes Air.
Cooper because he is so American, so
republican in his writings. Contrasting
the author of the “Spy” with Wash
ington Irving, he says the latter must
be regarded more as an “English clas
sic than an American author.”
Speaking of Air. Cooper’s constant
theme of the Red Indian, our author
says:
“Os late years, Mr. Cooper’s novels
remind us of Air. Canning’s illustration
of Brougham’s incessant advocacy of
reform, which the facetious statesman
said was ever brought forward as a
nostrum for all evils. Was there an
epidemic? Try reform in Parliament
cried Air. Brougham! Was there an
earthquake ? It was all occasioned bv
the aristocracy, in refusing reform to
the people!”
Now, Air. P owel intends to say, that
on whatever subject Cooper treats,
whether of an earthquake or volcano,
whether of an American forest or a
Venus de Aledici, his theme is still.
“ Lo the poor Indian!”
Only he paints his last Red Indian a
little redder than preceding ones, just
as the painter did, who, having a num
ber of pictures to make, made them
all Red Lions, only he made each suc
ceeding one redder than the preceding.
“ The greatest charm about Cooper’s
novels, is the perfect truthfulness of
their forest scenery; there is nothing
artificial in a single word. The very
trees seem to grow around you. It is
not scene painting—it is nature.”
“ Even in the very worst of his no
vels, there are glimpses of nature so
exquisitely painted as to justify the
highest praise it is possible to bestow.”
Air. Powel says that Cooper is more
popular with Europeans than with
Americans, because his descriptions of
Indians and forest scenery arc some
thing new to the former, while, to the
latter, seeing every day the originals of
what the author of the “ Spy ” seeks
to paint, his details become cloying in
the extreme. Our author thinks that
all of Cooper’s faults arise from his
overweening disposition to paint Red
Indians, some redder than others. He
thinks the reason he does not excel in
other departments of fiction, is because
he will not —not because he cannot.
“Emerson is certainly one of the
most original writers the New World
has produced,” says Mr. Powel. “He
writes least like an American of any
author we have read.” Now, a year
or two ago, when Emerson went over
to England to give John Bull a taste
of Yankee pabulum, Blackwood an
nounced that the old gentleman consi
dered the lecturer as the most Ameri
can, perhaps the only American author,
that belonged to Uncle Sam’s family.
Which is entitled to speak u ex cathe
dra,” Blackwood or our author?”
Air. Powel thinks that although
Emerson resembles Carlyle, he is not
a follower of the English author. And
going on to excuse both these writers
for their affected and nonsensical style,
he says:
“ It is absurd to expect an author to
express himself in the old style, and in
the stale formula) of the past. Fresh
and deep thinkers invent a form of
conveying the thought as well as the
thought itself.”
Now it is disgusting to see how in
cessantly a class of English authors
and journalists urge this reason as a
vindication of Carlyle’s fooleries, for
which fooleries he deserves the execra
tions of all true lovers of the English
tongue, in its purity and propriety.
You can hardly take up an English
book or magazine without finding the
stereotyped excuse for Carlyle’s run
mad manner of expressing himself;
and every petty scribbler endeavours
to surpass every other one in express
ing his admiration of the hidden and
mysterious beauties of Carlyle’s style,
as an evidence that he can see as deeply
into a millstone as any one else.
Air. P owel gives Emerson excellence
both in poetry and prose. Indeed, he
makes him superior to one who has
long stood as a giant, if not the giant,
in the field of intellect. If the follow
ing is the opinion of the “most distin
guished men in English literature.” it
is a little remarkable:
“Bacon, the great Lord Bacon, sinks
to a mere politician alongside Emer
son. But we do not, nevertheless, un
dervalue Bacon; he was a great man in
his time, and exercised a wide influence
upon his age, and ages after. But he
was neither so deep-seeing nor so true
spoken as Emerson.”
N. Parker Willis is next taken up.
Though there is nothing new in the fol
lowing extract, yet it is all true:
“There is a want of naturalness in
Air. Willis’s writings, which will inevi
tably affect their continuance, and we
have doubts whether any of his numer
ous prose works will remain permanent
portions of literature.”
I must confess to but little doubt on
this subject myself.
Air. Powel is afraid “lest his estimate
of so popular an author as Air. Willis
should be considered harsh or unjust.”
He consequently manoeuvres a good
deal around the point without coming
to it. It is evident, however, that our
author thinks lmt little of the “man
milliner,” either as a poet or a prose
writer. As to Air. Willis’s being a
poet. 1 would as soon expect to see
fire struck from an ice-berg as to see
sparks of poesy escape from this gen
tleman. Let it be remembered, how
ever, that no other author the world
has ever produced has been so fortu
nate as Mr. Willis in having a perfume
called after him. The fact that there
is such an essence used amongst dan
dies as the “ Esprit WilUsianaf is am
ple compensation to Afajor Morris’
editor for not being very highly praised
by oife who professes to speak the
sentiments of the “most distinguished
men in English literature.” But that
Mr. I ’owel well understands how to
atone for any sin. either of omission or
commission, against Mr. Willis, is evi
dent from the douceur which he offers
in the close of his remarks to that
gentleman’s beau-ideal of honour and
glory:
“In person, Air. Willis is tall and
elegantly made. Ilis manners are
courteous, and he has the polish of high
breeding; his hair is light brown; and
altogether he leaves the impression of
the English gentleman,refined by travel
and observation, lie is an elaborate
dresser, and is estimable in his private
relations.”
It is evident Air. Powel understands
how to tickle the vanity of the “elabo
rate dresser,” from the fact that he says
nothing about the personel of any other
author whom he considers. If he had
only added that the “elaborate dresser”
was permitted to enjoy “the society”
of that cast off lordling of Parisian
fashion, Baron Regis de Trobiand, his
fortune would have been made — in the
eye of Mr. Willis!
Dripttl I'nrfri}.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
A LOVE SONG.
TO .
0, my dear little Fay,
I would come to thy bower,
As in gardens of May,
Coines the dew to the Hower;
I would bring thee a blessing,
I would woo thy caressing,
On thy bosom would rest—
On thy fair bosom rest.
Life’s guerdons are naught,—
Its best promise is broken,
If each day is not fraught
With some love-hallowed token, —
If no message it bringeth,
From the sweet bird that singeth
In my lady-love’s bower—
Singeth sweet in her bower.
O, my dearest and best,
I am weary and lonely,
And my head can find rest
On thy fair bosom only ;
Though the bright sun is shining,
Still in darkness I’m pining,
For the warm light of love, —
For the light of thy love.
Bid me come now, I pray—
Bid me haste to thy bower,
O, thou light of my day,
O, my sweet-scented flower!
Still I pine for thy blessing,
Still I woo thy caressing,
O, thou joy of iny heart—
Thou dear joy of my heart!
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
FLIGHT, NOT FREEDOM.
Is it freedom, —speeding lonely,
Relt of all that being brought,
O’er life’s oceans, brooding only,
On the sad resource of thought;—
This is surely freedom, —steering,
Loose from every tie and stay,
With the currents wildly veering,
Little heeding where they stray ;
With the thought as little caring,
If the billows serve or sway.
Ask the cloud, when sadly drifting,
With the rising storm it goes—
As the billow, wildly lifting
Into terror from repose ;
Ask the meteor, sudden gushing
Into darkness from the light;
Or the streamlet, hopeless rushing.
Into ocean from its height;—
Ask of these, whom Fate is hushing,
Il‘ ’tis freedom follows flight.
ILLAN.
Charleston , 1850.
FRAGMENTS FROM METASTASIO.
SILENCE.
Silence herself is eloquent; and he
May sometimes, in his answer, say too mnch,
Who suffers her to speak.
FAITH.
If Faith be guilt, the crime upon my head !
Lead me to death. To die for such oflence,
Makes proud my spirit.
APPROVING CONSCIENCE.
He with firmness dies,
Who, in the parting agony, looks back,
Nor blushes to behold, of his past life,
The long and various history.
Why is Father Mathew like the
Mississippi river ? “Do you drap it ?”
Because he never stops at a bar.
Why is Father Alathew not like the
Mississippi river ? “Do you give it
up ?” Because he never gets “ high.”
(Original (Bssags.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE SENSUAL, THE INTELLECTUAL,
AND THE SPIRITUAL.
We live in a world where all these
three have a domicil, and that world is
within our own bosoms. The first is
connected with, and entirely dependant
on, the limit which we give to our pas
sions, and has a baser, or more elevated
character, as the more degrading and
degraded, or chaster and purer ones are
cultivated.
If we give a loose rein to the passions
of revenge, hatred, malice, envy, pride
and inordinate ambition —desires and
gratifications of a degraded character:
mere sensuality —we become the bound
en victims of their evil tendencies, and
may he truly termed the slaves of the
first, groping about in darkness, and
dwelling in the deep shadows of death.
We have taken the lowest and most
unworthy domical, and shall find our
selves fast sinking into the slough of
despair.
If we indulge in a passion for music,
external nature, the beautiful and the
elevating in art, in the sciences, and the
order and perfection of God’s works
around us, and above us, we are culti
vating the intellectual and opening the
way for the admission of the spiritual.
And if we proceed to make all these
last a study, to arrive at a high sense
of duty towards our Creator, and joy
fully improve every opportunity for its
accomplishment, we are sowing seed
that will spring up into the spiritual,
draw forth its fountains of living wa
ters, and advance us to a more elevated
position here, and prepare the way for
a cheering progression in the life to
come.
To attain the commanding position
secured by the latter, we must not only
bear it in mind, that all the influence of
the world around us, and much of that
within us, are to l>e met and conquered,
but that a victory gained is not a vic
tory secured. Vigilence is necessary
to keep the city, and a confident and
trusting reliance on the leading hand
and sustaining arm of our Creator, are
our only true support and stay, our
mailed armour, and our citadel of de
fence.
Let, then, our morning orisons rise
up to His throne with the sweet savour
of confident truthfulness; our daily
progress be in virtue and purity of
life; and our evening acknowledgments,
ascend in freshness from a heart attuned
to Ilis will, and seeking his kindness,
care and protection. P.
FOR THE SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
EGERIA:
Or, Voices from the Woods and Wayside.
NEW SERIES.
XXXI.
Great Names. No doubt a nation
suffers quite as much from the prescrip
tive superiority of certain great names
among her people as from any defects
of character or infirmities of the peo
ple themselves; and yet, but for this
general inferiority of the whole, the
rank or distinction of the individual
could never have become so oversha
dowing as to have wrought the nation
any mischief.
XXXII.
Censure. We complain that the
censure of our neighbour does us in
justice. How much greater should be
our grief were his judgment just!
XXXIII.
How to Enjoy. 1 am honoured in
what I spare. The rose which I leave
upon the bush affords me a pleasure
which I should not enjoy were it pluck
ed and buried within my bosom. That
is a wretched selfishness which destroys
when it would enjoy.
XXXIV.
Credulity. It is only an ignorant
that is a credulous people. But not to
believe readily, may be quite as much
a proof of arrogance and presumption
as of wisdom. A people, like an indi
vidual, may know a great deal, yet be
ignorant of the one thing needful. A
certain amount of acquisition, mingled
with a large quantity of selfishness, in
variably results in destroying all faith
in our fellow. People, thus distin
guished, end in believing nothing but
themselves.
XXXV.
Dramatic Pictures. Grouping in a
picture implies action; yet how com
monly do painters attempt dramatic
subjects, and give us groups who seem
to have no object. Why should men
come together unless there is some
thing to be done? Dramatic pictures
require all the higher qualities of the
artist; but the design is the vital re
quisite, which, to a certain degree, may
dispense with all the rest. At least,
the story may be told in chalk; and the
first object of the Dramatic painter is
to tell his story.
XXXVI.
Relations in a Group. The action
in a group should be always single, and
the figures should tend to a common
centre. The eye of the spectator should
never be suffered to wander oft’ to the
mere auxiliaries. These are required
to be there, as dependencies of the
hero; we should only not be made con
scious of their absence; but it will not
do, if Thersitis is allowed to conflict
with Agamemon or Achilles in our
regards. For such an offence, the
painter would deserve to share in the
chastisement of the buffoon.
XXXVII.
Reason. To be a reasoning animal,
does not necessarily imply a capacity *
to reason. This faculty is really held
by very few among the many. It is
an original possession, and though im
provable, like any other faculty, by
training, is yet one with which no
course of education can endow the in
dividual to whom it has been denied by
nature. It is a gift —implying powers
of invention and combination—quali
ties which, united to imagination and
fancy, make the Poet and the Painter.
The reasoner, like the poet, is born, not
made.
XXXVIII.
Enthusiasm and Experience. En
thusiasm, without experience and study,
may be likened to a ship with great
sails spread hut without ballast, and
| topheavy by its own lightness. But as
| all the cargo in the world, however
j valuable, and all the seamanship, how
i ever skilful, would do nothing for the
j progress of the ship without her sails,
so all knowledge and experience are
equally dead and valueless, crammed
away in the brain that lacks enthu
siasm.
•fUrarrllatnt.
From the Southern Literary Messenger.
JOHN C. CALHOUN.
1 L*ta viro gravitas, ac mentis tunabile pondus,
! Et sine tristitia virtus: none ille rigoris
Ingratas laudes, nee nubein frontis aniabat;
Nec famam laevo quaerebat limite vitae.
In the last agony of Jerusalem, her
woes and her kite were foretold long
beforehand in solemn and mysterious
forebodings by the last prophet which
was vouchsafed to the doomed people
of God. The seer was, however, spared
j the misery of witnessing the calamities
jhe had so long predicted. Death smote
j him at his post, as he went his rounds
on the ramparts of the fated city; and
a kind Providence snatched him away
j as the evil days were breaking, which
I it had been his destiny to foresee, and
his dread mission to announce.
So died Cnlhoun—the warrior in his
( harness—the sentinel at his station—
, the patriot in the performance ofhisdu
| ty —and the single statesman of his
wide country whose eyes were notblind
| ed by ambition, interest, or the desire
of applause, but were sufficiently puri
fied from the delusions of worldly weak
; ness, to rend with prophetic understand
j ing the signs of the Heavens, and the
| terrible miseries of the impending
night.
What his far-reaching sagacity dis
covered, he had the boldness and the
honesty to proclaim. His la*t speech
—denounced, misconstrued; misappre
hended at the time of its delivery—is
already a voice from beyond the tomb.
At the hour of its composition it was
irradiated by that instinct of inspira
tion, which is breathed into the soul of
man by the hallowing touch of the An
gel of Death. Beneath the shadow of
those sombre wings, the confused and
intricate jugglery of worldly passions,
the dark labyrinths of political intrigue,
the hollow semblances of terrestrial
plausibilities, and the curious play of
confuting interests become transparent;
and, as the mists of human error are
lifted from before our sight, the horizon
expands, and the future is revealed in
proportions more distinct than the
fleeting features of the passing time.—
As the glory of the rising sun, before
the descending revolution of the globe
has brought his orb to light, gilds the
summits of the lofty mountains, so even
before the hand of Death has struck,
the radiance and celestial wisdom of the
future world rests at times upon the
great minds of earth which are hasten
ing thither. It is with this feeling that
the last speech of John C. Calhoun
should now be read; and then it may
be potent to avert the ruin which other
wise it might have only foretold. And
so, let us hope, it will be regarded by
his countrymen, for thus his country
may be saved by the costly oblation,
as Rome was redeemed by the volun
tary sacrifice of Decius.
w e cannot but trust that this great
and immeasurable loss may be the
means of our national safety. When
we see Clay and Webster, his great co
evals, and the rivals of his fame, forget
ting the animosities of political warfare,
and the deep differences of long party
opposition, and vicing with each other
in offering earnest and cordial homage
to the magnificent proportions of that
mighty intellect which is eclipsed for
ever, and to the stainless integrity of
that pure heart which beats no more—
we must indulge the hope that section
al jealousies and the strife of factions
will be freely sacrificed as the most
grateful hecatomb to the manes of the
illustrious dead. The keys of a con
quered city, which had been won under
the auspices of the corpse of Betrand
du Guesclin, were laid upon his coffin
—the last and most precious honour to
a departed hero. May a more price
less trophy—the union of a divided na
tion—constitute the last homage to Cal
houn : then may his bereaved country
have a deeper and juster pride in her
dead son, than she can have in any of
her living ones.
Calhoun's race was run and well run.
Ilis task was ended—his work done—
and his brilliant career was rounded
off with a symmetrical perfection which
has left no deficiency behind. His Trea
tise on the Constitution had received
the finishing touch of his hand—and
will remain for our instruction, the lega
cy of a patriot and statesman to his
countrymen, which renders all posteri
ty the inheritors of his profund wis
dom. Ilis last speech was the full out
pouring of his sagacity and love of
country : it was the last word of a states
man, which left nothing further to be
said or done, until the nation had prof
ited by that solemn warning, Had he
lived, his countrymen might have turn
ed a deaf ear to its instructions—cheat
ed themselves into a dangerous disre
gard of its prophetic truth—and lulled
themselves into a delusive security by
the imputation of petty motives to their
adviser, or the still more beguiling fal
lacies of party opposition. Now, it is
the voice of one speaking almost in the
presence of his God, and dying in the
service of his country.
There is a singular harmony in the
close of the career of the truly great
men who are so rarely vouchsafed to
earth, and more rarely estimated attheir
just value until death has sanctified
their career, and bereft us of their aid.
Through all changes and dangers they
are preserved almost by miraculous in
terposition till their great work is fully
accomplished; but the moment they
have placed the coping stone to the
structure, that moment Death, so long
importunate in vain, steps in to claim
his prey.
Doubted and denied as it may hon
estly be by many, Calhoun has been for
a long series of years the great and al
most sole bulwark between the Union
and its dissolution. He stood between
the living and the dead, and for a time
arrested the plague. He could have
done so no longer,—and he is gone.—
The will remained,but the means were
denied him by the angry commotion
of the times. His death may induce
sobriety and moderation, and thus avert
the doom which he apprehended, or at
least will spare him the pang of wit
nessing the rupture of that noble fabric
to which he clung with such fond tenac
ity, even while advocating a still more
sacred cause.
But at a solemn hour like this, we
will not venture into the troubled wa
ters of political contention. In the
Senate Chamber, his own peculiar are
na, in the midst of his ardent friends
and his bitter foes, the voice of party
was hushed over his coffin; and ail
should imitate the touching observance
of that solemn and stately forbearance.
The page is sacred to the memory of
Calhoun, and we will not disturb his
ashes by the grating sound of political
discord.
Os Mr. Calhouns’s life and career it
is needless to speak here in detail.—
They were exhibited to the w hole coun
try with exquisite grace and compre
hensive brevity by his distinguished
colleague in the Senate. lie had been
long in public life, and had held the
highest offices but one in the gift of the j
people. His elevation to the only one
denied him could not have increased his
dignity or reputation, though it might
have afforded a wider field for his ser
vices to the nation. In every public
function which he discharged, and the\
w ere various, he rather brought a fuller
complement of glory to his office, than
derived additional lustre from it. He
was acknowledged equal to every duty !
before he was called to its perform
ance : in its exercise he was recognized
to be superior to it. Each new digni
ty only proved of how much greater he
was capable. From the commence
ment of his long public life to its clos
ing scene, he enjoyed and merited the
full confidence of his State, and w as re
tained as a perpetual Senator by her
unsolicited but unabating admiration
for his wisdom and integrity. From
his entrance into Congress until his
death, during a period of forty years,
his name is connected, and almost iden
tified by imperishable links with the
history of that country, which is large
ly indebted to his counsels and guid
ing hand for its rapid growth intogreat
ness.
The moral and intellectual attributes
of Mr. Calhoun consorted well with his
lofty pre-eminence. To the innocence
and purity of a child he added the wis
dom of a consummate statesman, and
the far-reaching sagacity of a prohpet.
Ilis mind was vast and comprehensive,
and his acute reasoning powers were ex
ercised upon an immense array of val
uable acquisitions. He was more of a
political philosopher than of a politician.
His acquaintance with men was per
haps limited, but his knowledge of the
springs and processes of national and
social development was exact and uni
versal. The love of truth, of justice,
of freedom, and of his country, consti
tuted his ruling passions, and were ac
companied by a thorough scorn of ev
erything grovelling and base. He had
possibly too little indulgence for human
weakness, though he was not unforgiv
ing to human error. His deportment
is characterized as singularly cheerful,
amiable and fascinating, i lis tempera
ment was ardent, and his whole soul
was wrapped up in the cause to which
his life and energies were devoted. His
pow ers of generalization were very con
spicuous, yet his logic was as keen and
as nicely tempered as a Damascus
blade, and it was as strictly and mi
nutely concatenated as the” chain of
proofs in mathematical demonstration.
But his intellect was too clear and un
clouded not to shoot far beyond the
range of inferior minds—and what mind
was equal to his own ! Ihe ciigle may
gaze with unsheltered eye on the meri
dan sun, but weaker eyes can rest on it
only in its decline. Thus Mr. Calhoun
was ever so tar in advance of his age
and countrymen, that he never could
retain, as he never desired, a party. —
His political deductions possessed the
prophetic character of exact science;
but they were so rapid and spontane
ous as to require some interpreter be
tween him and his” fellow citizens. —
Truth which appeared in its naked sim
plicity to his clear vision was not recog
nised without some outward garniture
by others. The only adequate inter
preter of his wisdom was the slow in
struction and verification of time.—
Hence Mr. Calhoun's most profound
and valuable suggestions were frequent
ly presented at a premature and unsea
sonable moment, when the country was
not yet prepared for them, and rejected
by those who could not recognize their
bearing or appositeness. It is an error
which could only occur to an intellect
of the highest order, but it is frequent
with truly great minds, and is the last
from which they can completely extri
cate themselves. On this principle the
supposed vacillations and changes of
Mr. Calhoun become intelligible as the
regular processes tn the orderly devel
opment of a great mind. The discov
ery of to-day was merely the stepping
stone for the conclusions of to-morrow,
which in their turn served as the scaf
| folding to a further and equally rapid
advance. But others toiled slow ly and
; painfully after him, and when they had
j reached his first position, they charged
| to inconsistency the still existing and
j even widened discrepance which in re
ality was due to his own more rapid
progress. But we will not prolong this
analysis of the character of Mr. Cal
houn : his great qualities were summed
up by Mr. Winthrop with such truth
of sentiment, such grace of language,
and such condensed felicity of expres
sion that it is better to repeat his words.
“ There was an unsullied purity in
his private life, there was an inflexible
integrity in his public conduct; there
was an indescribable fascination in his
familiar conversation ; there wasa con
densed energy in his formal discourse;
there was a quickness of perception, a
vigour of deduction, a directness and
devotedness of purpose, in all that he
said, or wrote, or did ; there was a Ro
man dignity in his whole Senatorial de
portment, which together made up a
character which cannot fail to be con
templated and admired to the latest
posterity.”
A tribute to Mr. Calhoun no less
just than beautiful ? We would fain
linger over this melancholy subject, for
we seem thus to prolong our acquaint
ance with him in despite of death, but
we have paid our feeble homage and
our last farewell, and must close by
suggesting as an inscription for that
monument which *his adored and ador
ing South Carolina should and will
raise to his memory, these noble lines;
Omnia cursus
-Eterni gecreta tenens, mandique futuri
Consci'is ac populis sese proferre paratus,
Lontactusque ferens hominis, magnusque po
tensque,
Sive canit tatum ; sen quod jubet ipse canendo
Fit fatum. * * *
f’lir latrrii Jtltnr.
SABBATH MORNING.
Now along the morning gale,
Tolls the Church-bell soft and slowly
And o’er mountain, wood and vale
Sleeps the Sabbath silence holy.
Not a human voice is heard—
Voice of labour or of pleasure,
Mingling with the tuneful bird,
As it thrills its early measure.
Now the youthful and the old,
Now the cheerful and the weeping
Tread along the tiowery mould,
Where the kindred dust is sleeping.
Now the pious spirit glows,
Now the holy psalm is singing,
Bringing thoughts of long repose,
Thoughts of endless glory bringing.
[.Yetc York Tribune.
Lesson for Sunday May 27th.
THE CHIEF SHEPHERD.
“And when the chief Shepherd shall appear, ye shall
receive a crown of glory that fadeth not away.—” 1 Pet.
! v. 4.
This passage refers principally to
ministers, but will apply to all believers.
Mark
The illustrious character intro
duced. “ The chief” Shepherd ;” that
is, the Lord Jesus Christ. Think of
The interest he takes in his flock.. —
He makes them to lie down in the green
pasturesof Divine ordinance,leads them
beside the still waters of the sanctuary,
and takes an interest in all that con
cerns them.
The patience he exercises. When
the sheep wander from his fold, how he
bears w ith their infirmities, and brings
them hack again.
The superiority he claims. There
are many uhder shepherds whom he
employs, but he is designated by wav
of eminence the chief Shepherd; all
others are his servants, act under his
direction, and bow to his authority.
The future appearance expected.
There are several appearances he has
already made. He appeared to our
forefathers as the angel of the covenant,
and in human flesh, in the fulness of
time ; he now appears in the ministry
of the Gospel and the influence of his
Spirit; he shall appear at death to con
duct his floek safely over Jordans
stream into Canaan’s happy land, w here
he shall feed them and lead them by
living fountainsof waters; and he shall
; appear at the last day in glory and
majesty, to judge the world in righte
ousness.
The glorious reward anticipated.
“A crown of glory that fadeth not
away.” A crown, unlike the garlands
presented to the successful racer or
wrestler in the Grecian games, which
were made of dying leaves, and soon
lost their beauty. This is a purchased
crown. By sin the crown has fallen
from our heads, by grace it is restored.
An unmerited crown. The believer s
is not a hard-earned living, hut an in
heritance. He deserved the curse ra
ther than the crown A crown of glo
ry. No stain can tarnish its lustre, no
imperfection diminish its worth. A
crown unattended w ith cares. Earthh
crowns often sit uneasy on the brow of
the monarch, vexations attend royality,
and misery is found in a palace. An
incorruptible crown. It fadeth not
away. Be it my highest ambition to
wear it.
Jay and the Ang el. —When the Ed
ward Irving mania raged, a man calling
himself ail “ Angel of the Church.” pro
ceeded from Bristol to Bath, on a spe
cial mission to William Jay. The
grave, thinking old man, was in his stu
dy, and when the “ Angel,” a man with
a dismal countenance, a white cravat,
and rusty black trousers, appeared, Mr.
Jay asked him his business. “1 am
the Angel of the Church,"’ said the man.
“ What church ?” asked Mr. Jay “The
Irvingite church at Bristol,"’ replied the
angel. “Take off your coat,” said Mr.
Jay. The angel took off his coat, and
Mr. Jay quietly rubbed his shoulder
blades. “ What are you doing ?” ask
ed the angel. “ Looking for your
wings,” was the cool answer of William
Jay.
The Negro’s Advice. — A young
minister received a call from tw o differ
ent societies at once, to become their
pastor. One was rich, and able to give
him a large salary, and was well uni
ted ; the other was poor, and so divi
ded that they had driven away their
minister. In this condition he applied
to his father for advice. An aged ne
gro servant who overheard what they
said, made this reply : “ Massa, go
where there is the least money and the
most devil.” He took the advice, and
was made the happy instrument of uni
ting a distracted church, and converting
many souls to Christ.
Dk. Beecher’s Sermon to one Hear
er. —Dr. Beecher once engaged to
preach for a country minister on ex
change, and the Sabbath proved to be
one excessively stormy, cold, and un
comfortable. It was in mid-winter, and
the snow was piled all along in the
roads, so as to make the passage very
difficult. Still the minister urged his
horse through the drifts, put the aninwu
into a shed, and went in. As yet there
was no person in the house, and attei
looking about,the old gentleman— then
young —took his seat in the pulpity”
Soon the door opened, and a single in
dividual walked up the aisle, looked
about, and took a seat. The hour came
for commencing service, but no more
hearers.
Whether to preaeh to such an audi
ence, was a question—and it was one
that Lyman Beecher was not long de
ciding. He felt that he had a duty t*
perform, and he had no right to refuse