647. TALENTS ALWAYS ASCENDANT. | as unavailing, as would a human effort "to Talents, whenever they have had a suitable quench the stars."-Wirt.

648. RICH AND POOR MAN.

theatre, have never failed to emerge from obscurity, and assume their proper rank in the So goes the world;-if wealthy, you may call estimation of the world. The jealous pride of power may attempt to repress, and crush This, friend, that, brother; friends and brothers all; them; the base, and malignant rancor of im-Tho' you are worthless-witless-never mind t: potent spleen, and envy-may strive to em-You may have been a stable-boy-what then? barrass and retard their flight: but these ef-Tis wealth, good sir, makes honorable men. forts, so far from achieving their ignoble pur- You seek respect, no doubt, and you wı: find it. pose, so far from producing a discernible obfiquity, in the ascent of genuine, and vigorous talents, will serve only to increase their momentum, and mark their transit, with an additional stream of glory.

When the great earl of Chatham-first made his appearance in the house of commons, and began to astonish, and transport the British parliament, and the British nation, by the boldness, the force, and range of his thoughts, and the celestial fire, and pathos of his eloquence, it is well known, that the minister, Walpole, and his brother Horace, from motives very easily understood, exerted all their wit, all their oratory, all their acquirements of every description, sustained and enforced by the unfeeling" insolence of office," to heave a mountain on his gigantic genius, and hide it from the world. Poor and powerless attempt! The tables were turned. He rose upon them, in the might, and irresistible energy of his genius, and, in spite of all their convulsions, frantic agonies, and spasms, he strangled them, and their whole faction, with as much ease as Hercules did the serpent Python.

Who can turn over the debates of the day, and read the account of this conflict between youthful ardor, and hoary-headed cunning, and power, without kindling in the cause of the tyro, and shouting at his victory? That they should have attempted to pass off the grand, yet solid and judicious operations of a mind like his, as being mere theatrical start and emotion; the giddy, hair-brained eccentricities of a romantic boy! That they should have had the presumption to suppose themselves capable of chaining down, to the floor of the parliament, a genius so etherial, towering and sublime, seems unaccountable! Why did they not, in the next breath, by way of crowning the climax of vanity, bid the magnificent fire-ball to descend from its exalted, and appropriate region, and perform its splendid tour along the surface of the earth?

Talents, which are before the public, have nothing to dread, either from the jealous pride of power, or from the transient misrepresentations of party, spleen, or envy. In spite of opposition from any cause, their buoyant spirit will lift them to their proper grade. The man who comes fairly before the world, and who possesses the great, and vigorous stami1a, which entitle him to a niche in the temple or glory, has no reason to dread the ultimate result; however slow his progress may be, he will, in the end, most indubitably receive that distinction. While the rest, "the swallows of science," the butterflies of genius, may flutter for their spring; but they will soon pass away, and be remembered no more. No enterprising man, therefore, and least of all, the truly great man, has reason to droop, or repine, at any efforts, which he may suppose to be made, with the view to depress him. Let, then, the tempest, of envy, or of malice howl around him. His genius will consecrate him; and any attempt to extinguish that, will be

sire

But, if you are poor, heaven help you! tho' your
Had royal blood within him, and tho' you
Possess the intellect of angels, too,
"Tis all in vain;--the world will ne'er inquire
On such a score:-Why should it take the pains?
"Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.
I once saw a poor fellow, keen, and clever,
Witty, and wise:-he paid a man a visit,
And no one noticed him, and no one ever [is it?"
Gave him a welcome. "Strange," cried I, "whence
He walked on this side, then on that,
He tried to introduce a social chat;
Now here, now there, in vain he tried;
Some formally and freezingly replied, and some
Said, by their silence-"Better stay at home."
A rich man burst the door,

As Cræsus rich; I'm sure

He could not pride himself upon his wit,
And as for wisdom, he had none of it;
He had what's better;-he had wealth.

What a confusion!-all stand up erect--
These-crowd around to ask him of his health;
These-bow in honest duty, and respect;
And these-arrange a sofa or a chair,
And these-conduct him there.
"Allow me, sir, the honor;"-Then a bow-
Down to the earth-Is 't possible to show
Meet gratitude-for such kind condescension f―
The poor man-hung his head,
And, to himself, he said,

"This is indeed, beyond my comprehension:"
Then looking round,

One friendly face he found,
And said, "Pray tell me why is wealth preferred,
To wisdom?""That's a silly question. friend!"
Replied the other-"have you never heard,

A man may lend his store
Of gold, or silver ore,

But wisdom-none can borrow, none can lend?”

THE ABUSE OF AUTHORITY.
O, it is excellent

Te have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.
Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet:
For every pelting, petty officer, [thunder.
would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but
Merciful heaven!

Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,
Split the unwedgeable and gnarled oak,
Than the soft myrtle.-O, but man, proud man,
Drest in a little brief authority;
Most ignorant of what he 's most assur'd,
His glassy essence,-like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As make the angels weep; who, with our spleena
would all themselves laugh mortal.-Shakspeare

649. THE MANIAC; MAD-HOUSE.
Stay, jailor, stay-and hear my woe!
She is not mad-who kneels to thee;
For what I'm now-too well I know,

For what I was-and what should be.
I'll rave no more-in proud despair;
My anguage shall be mild-though sad:
But yet I'll firmly-truly swear,

I am not mad-I am not mad.
My tyrant husband-forged the tale,
Which chains me-in this dismal cell;
My fate unknown-my friends bewail;
Oh! jailor, haste-that fate to tell;
Oh! haste-my father's heart to cheer:
His heart, at once--'twill grieve, and glad,
To know, though kept a captive here,
I am not mad;-I am not mad.
He smiles-in scorn, and turns-the key;
He quits the grate; I knelt in vain ;
His glimmering lamp, still, still I see--
'Tis gone, and all is gloom again.
Cold--bitter cold!-No warmth! no light!
Life, all thy comforts once I had;
Yet here I'm chained,--this freezing night,
Although not mad; no, no, not mad.
"Tis sure some dream,-some vision vain;
What! I,-the child of rank-and wealth,
Am I the wretch-who clanks this chain,
Bereft of freedom,-friends and health?
Ah! while I dwell on blessings fled,

Which never more-my heart must glad,
How aches my heart,-how burns my head;
But 'tis not mad ;-no, 'tis not mad.
Hast thou, my child-forgot ere this,

A mother's face,-a mother's tongue?
She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss,
Nor round her neck-how fast you clung;
Nor how with me-you sued to stay;

Nor how that suit--your sire forbade ;
Nor how--I'll drive such thoughts away;
They'll make me mad; they'll make me mad.
His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled!

His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone!
None--ever bore a lovelier child:

And art thou now forever-gone } And must I never see thee more, My pretty, pretty, pretty lad?

I will be free! unbar the door!

I am not mad ;-I am not mad.
Oh! hark! what mean those yells, and cries?
His chain--some furious madman breaks;
He comes,-I see his glaring eyes;

Now. now-my dungeon-grate he shakes.
Help! help!-He's gone! Oh! fearful wo,
Such screams to hear, such sights to see!
My brain, my brain,-I know, I know,
I am not mad, but soon shall be.
Yes. soon-for, lo you!-while I speak--
Mark how yon Demon's eye-balls glare!
He sees me; now, with dreadful shriek,
He whirls a serpent-high in air.
Horror-the reptile-strikes his tooth-
Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad;
Ay. laugh, ye fiends; I feel the truth,

650. THE ALFS.

[eye:

Proud monuments of God! sub ime ye stand
Among the wonders of his mighty hand :
With summits soaring in the upper sky,
Where the broad day looks down with burning
Where gorgeous clouds in solemn pomp repose,
Flinging rich shadows on eternal snows:
Piles of triumphant dust, ye stand alone,
And hold in kingly state, a peerless throne!
Like olden conquerors, on high ye rear
The regal ensign, and the glittering spear:
Round icy spires, the mists, in wreaths unrolled,
Float ever near, in purple or in gold:
And voiceful torrents, sternly rolling there,
Fill with wild music, the unpillared air:
What garden, or what hall on earth beneath,
Thrills to such tones, as o'er the mountains
breathe ?
[shone,
There, through long ages past, those summits
Where morning radiance on their state was
thrown;

There, when the summer day's career was done,
Played the last glory of the sinking sun;
There, sprinkling lustre o'er the cataract's shade,
The chastened moon, her glittering rainbow
made;

And, blent with pictured stars, her lustre lay,
Where to still vales, the free streams leaped away.

Where are the thronging hosts of other days,
Whose banners floated o'er the Alpine ways;
Who, through their high defiles, to battle, wound,
While deadly ordnance stirr'd the h'ights around?
Gone; like the dream, that melts at early morn,
When the lark's anthem through the sky is borne:
Gone; like the wrecks, that sink in ocean's spray,
And chill oblivion murmurs; Where are they?

Yet, "Alps on Alps" still rise; the lofty home
Of storms, and eagles, where their pinions roam
Still, round their peaks, the magic colors lie,
Of morn, and eve, imprinted on the sky;

And still, while kings and thrones, shall fade,

and fall,

And empty crowns iie dim upon the pall; [roar;
Still, shall their glaciers flash; their torrents
Till kingdoms fail, and nations rise no more.

ADHERENCE TO TRUTH. Petrarch, a celebrated Italian poet, who flourished about four hundred years ago, recommended himself to the confidence and affection of Cardinal Colonna, in whose family he resided, by his candor, and strict adherence to truth. A violent quarrel occurred in the household of this nobleman; which was carried so far, that recourse was had to arms. The Cardinal wished to know the foundation of this affair; and that he might be able to decide with justice, Your task is done!-I'm mad! P'm mad! he assembled all his people, and obliged them Here didst thou dwell, in the enchanted cover, to bind themselves, by a most solemn oath Egeria! thy all heavenly bosom beating, on the gospels, to declare the whole truth. For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover; [ing, Every one, without exception, submitted to The purple moonlight vail'd that mystic meet-brother to the Cardinal was not excused. this determination; even the Bishop of Luna, With her most starry canopy, and, seating Thyself by thine adorer, what befell? [ing This cave was surely shaped out for the greetOf an enamor'd goddess, and the cell Haunted by holy love-the earliest oracle! Children like tender scions, take the bow, And, as they first are fashioned-al ways grow.

Petrarch, in his turn, presenting himself to take the oath; the Cardinal closed the book, and said, "As to you, Petrarch, your word is sufficient."

'Tis done, and since 'tis done, 'tis past recalls And since 'tis past recall, must be forgotten Never purchase friendship by gifts.

651. MODERN REPUBLICS. Where are the republics of modern times, which cluster'd round immortal Italy! Venice, and Genoa exist, but in name. The Alps, indeed, look down upon the brave and peaceful Swiss, in their native fastnesses; but the guaranty of their freedom is in their weakness, and not in their strength. The mountains are not easily crossed, and the valleys are not easily retained. When the invader comes, he moves like an avalanche, carrying destruction in his path. The peasantry sink before him. The country is too poor for plunder; and too rough for valuable conquest. Nature presents her eternal barriers, on every side, to check the wantonness of ambition; and Switzerland remains, with her simple institutions, a military road to fairer climates, scarcely worth a permanent possession.

We stand the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last experiment of self-government by the people. We have begun it, under circumstances of the most auspicious nature. We are in the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been checked, by the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions have never been enfeebled by the vices, or luxuries of the old world. Such as we are, we have been from the beginning; simple, hardy, intelligent, accustomed to self-government, and self-respect. The Atlantic rolls between us, and any formidable foe. Within our own territory, stretching through many degrees of latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many products, and many means of independence. The government is mild. The press is free. Knowledge reaches, or may reach, every home. What fairer prospect of success could be presented? What means more adequate to accomplish the sublime end? What more is necessary, than for the people to preserve, what they themselves have created?

Already has the age caught the spirit of our institutions. It has already ascended the Andes, and snuffed the breezes of both oceans. It has infused itself into the life-blood of Europe, and warmed the sunny plains of France, and the lowlands of Holland. It has touched the philosophy of Germany, and the North, and, moving onward to the South, has opened to Greece the lessons of her better days.

Can it be, that America, under such circumstances, can betray herself? that she is to be added to the catalogue of republics, the inscription upon whose ruins is-"They were, but they are not." Forbid it, my countrymen; forbid it, Heaven!-Story.

652. RAZOR SELLER.

A fellow, in a market-town,

Most musical, cried razors, up and down,
Ard offered twelve-for eighteen-pence;
Which, certainly, seem'd wondrous cheap,
And, for the money, quite a heap,

That every man would buy, with cash and sense.
A country bumpkin the great offer heard;
Poor Hodge, who suffer'd by a broad black beard,
That seemed a shoe-brush, stuck beneath his nose.
With cheerfulness, the eighteen-pence he paid,
And, proudly, to himself, in whispers said-
This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.
"No matter, if the fellow be a knave,
Provided that the razors shave;

It certainly will be a monstrous ɔrize."

So home the clown, with his good fortur.e went,
Smiling,--in heart and soul content,

And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes.

Being well lathered, from a dish or tub,
Hodge now began, with grinning pain, to grub-
Just like a hedger, cutting furze :
'Twas a vile razor!-then the rest he tried ;-
All were impostors. "Ah!" Hodge signed,
"I wish my eighteen-pence was in my purse."
In vain, to chase his beard, and bring the graces
He cut and dug, and whined, and stamp'd, und

swore;

Bro't blood, and dane'd, olasphem'd and made wry
And curs'd each razor's body,o'er and o'er.[faces,
His muzzle, formed of opposition stuff,
Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff;
So kept it-laughing at the steel, and suds.
Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws,
Vowing the direst veng'nce, with clench'd claws,
On the vile cheat that sold the goods.

"Razors: a vile, confounded dog!-
Not fit to scrape a hog!"

Hodge sought the fellow-found him-and begun,
"Prhaps, Master Razor-rogue! to you, 'tis fun,
That people flay themselves out of their lives.
You rascal! for an hour, have I been grubbing,
Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing,
With razors, just like oyster-knives.

Sirrah! I tell you, you 're a knave,
To cry up razors that can't shave."
"Friend," quoth the razor man, “I'm not a kırave.
As for the razors you have bought,--
Upon my soul, I never thought

That they would shave."

"Not think they'd share? quoth Hodge, with

wond'ring eyes,

No

And voice, not much unlike an Indian yell, "What were they made for then, you dog?" he cries "Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile, " to sell." 653. UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION. 1 speak-in the spirit-of the British law. which makes liberty commensurate with and inseparable from, the British soil,—which proclaims, even to the stranger and the sojourner, the moment he sets his foot upon British earth, that the ground on which he treads-is holy, and consecrated-by the ge nius of UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION. matter in what language-his doom may have been pronounced; no matter what com plexion-incompatible with freedom, an In dian, or an African sun may have burnt upon him; no matter in what disastrous battle--his liberty may have been cloven down; no matter with what solemnities-he may have been devoted-upon the altar of slavery; the first moment-he touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altar, and the god, sink together in the dust; his soul walks abroad in her own majesty; his body swells beyond the measure of his chains, that burst from around him, and he stands redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled, by the irresistible genius of UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION.-Grattan. When breezes are soft, and skies are fair, I steal an hour from study and care, And hie me away-to the woodland scene Where wanders the stream with waters of green As if the bright fringe-of herbs on its brink 1 Had given their stain, to the wave they drink.

Erin, my country, though sad and forsaken,
In dreams, I revisit thy sea-beaten shore!
But alas! in a far distant land I awaken, [more'
And sigh for the friends, who can meet me c
O, hard, cruel fate, wilt thou never replace me,
In a mansion of peace.where no peril exchase me!
Ah! never, again, shall my brotherə enibrace ine,
They died to defend me, or live 13plore!

But yet, all its fond recollections suppressing,
One dying wish-my lone bosom shall draw:
Erin, an exile bequeaths thee his blessing,

Land of my forefathers, ERIN GO BRAGH! Buried and cold, when my heart stills its motion, Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean, And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devo[tion, O, ERIN MA VORNEEN, ERIN GO BRAGH!