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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