rail-roads, on which she is so wisely expending such vast treasure, will confer prosperity and happiness, and sustain a constantly increasing, thriving, and intelligent population throughout all her borders, making her most secluded valleys and remotest mountains smile under their fostering influence, while the colliseum continues to crumble into ruins— while the once fertile plains of Syria and Babylon remain but the haunts of the hyena and dragon—while the mouldering columns of the Parthenon look down upon the mud-hovels of semi-barbarous hordeswhile the sand-storms of the desert sweep over the gigantic pillars of that once flourishing Palmyra, which might have controlled to this day, the trade of the East, and sustained her ancient splendor, by a canal to the Mediterranean at one half the costs of her useless temples; while, in short, desolation, poverty and wretchedness, brood in gloomy silence over the cities and plains of the empires of the East, and may, perhaps, finally embrace those of Europe in their train, and the sculptured tomb, and fretted arch, and towering column, alone remain, to attest the existence of the countless myriads that once thronged the busy streets, but shrunk away under the withering influence of endless wars, continued oppression, and persevering neglect of improving man's moral and physical condition, and establishing his true happiness and glory.

'Tis pleasant, in the joyous spring, the forest bowers to tread,
Where shadows of the living leaves dance lightly o'er the dead,
And ever, as we wander on, gleams forth some beauteous thing --
The sparkle of a bubbling fount, the glancing of a wing.

Here weaves some blossomed parasite its richly-blushing woof
About the wild-wood's rugged shafts and through its waving roof,
While, nestling softly in the moss around the giant stems,
The little starry flowrets lie, like vegetable gems.

And then the glimpses which we catch of sky, and stream, and glade,
Where stretches to the forest's verge the natural arcade,
How sweetly through the twilight gloom breaks in the sunny scene,
Like imaginings of Eden, through the shadows of a dream.

Sweet is the green wood minstrelsy-oh! ne'er can key or string
Vie with the wingéd melodists whom Gop has made to sing;
And e'en the locust's whirring beat, the hornet's buzz and drone,
Seems music in these still retreats, so beautiful and lone.

I love in some green hiding place, to sit without a sound,
Till come the forest denizens all gambolling around,

While through the crashing underwood the stag unconscious stalks,
And gracefully the squirrel bounds along the forest walks.

The scarlet-tufted woodpecker again his hammer plies,
And bird to bird, through all the woods, in every tone replies,
The while the subtle mocking-bird, with ever-varying call,
Sits laughing on the chesnut bough, the echo of them all.

How often 'mid such peaceful scenes, for hours I've sat and mused -
My setter crouching at my feet, my fowling-piece unused;

"Till, loving every living thing, I softly crept away,

Afraid to fright the timid ones I came intent to slay.

Who loves not the autumnal woods, when summer's leaves are sere,
When mantles of a thousand hues the woodland monarchs wear,
And still some crimson giant towers in triumph o'er the rest,
Like warrior fresh from slaughter, with its tint upon his crest.

When winter's tempests are abroad, oh! what sublimer sight,
Than when the broad-armed forest oaks, in unapparelled might,
Stand, like embattled skeletons, upon the storm's dark path,
And toss and writhe their groaning limbs beneath its howling wrath!

The towering pine-trees, still the same in every change of scene,
Alone remain to tell that earth once wore a robe of green,

Like hostages of Nature, left with us till she bring

Back from her Southern pilgrimage the fairy-footed Spring.

Amid the leafy solitudes I roam not as of yore;

The busy world's distracting crowd is round me with its roar,
But oft in Sabbath quietude, within God's holy pile,

I see, in thought, the living arch that shades the forest aisle.

Though proudly swells the circling dome up from the pillared hall,
Give me the foliated roof, the greenwood's flow'ry wall;
God's spirit seems to consecrate the shadows cool and dim,
And in their voiceful loneliness 't is good to worship HIM.
New-York, July 6, 1836.

B.

DIARY OF COTTON MATHER.

WHO has not heard of Cotton Mather? There is not a more familiar name in the history of New-England; and yet who knows any thing of the life of Cotton Mather, except that he was the author of the Magnalia,' and some hundred works beside? His writings show, that he was a man of unexampled industry and learning, and, at the same time, indicate pretty distinctly that the learning might have been of better quality, had it so pleased him, and the industry employed in works more useful and lasting. He is known, too, as the great antagonist of the powers of darkness in former days, though there is some reason to doubt his glory and success in this warfare: some wise men at the time, believed that his prowess in resisting those preternatural visitations was but a poor compensation for his agency in bringing them down. Cotton Mather was a curiosity in human nature a solitary specimen of the kind. Having lately had occasion to search for information respecting him, I have found the remnants of his diary scattered in various hands. It was written in books, each containing the history of a year and these unlucky annals are dispersed, some in the possession of the Historical Society, in Boston, about as many in the Antiquarian Hall, at Worcester, some few in the hands of individuals, and others irrecoverably lost.

--

One of the most peculiar traits of his character, as drawn, unintentionally, by his own hand in this diary, was his religious devotion. With a most sacred sense of obligation, and a disposition to do every thing to express it, he was not merely earnest and instant in prayer, but feeling as if the ordinary manifestations were not sufficient, he sought out unusual ways to excite and express such emotions. Beside praying several times a day, in his family and in his study, he deter

mined to try the experiment of passing whole nights in devotion. After the first of these vigils, he was so well satisfied of their utility, that he determined to pursue them, so far as the sixth commandment would allow.' On these occasions, he tells us that he was often rewarded by sweet and reviving impressions, or by direct information communicated to him concerning matters in which he was interested, relating either to himself, his children, or the public welfare. He does not relate, perhaps was not able to define, the manner in which these communications were made: sometimes he speaks of a voice from Heaven; at others, he seems to mean nothing more than a divine suggestion to his soul. But he relied firmly upon these prophetic revelations, however made; and in one or two instances, where the event did not perfectly correspond with the prediction, he seems bewildered by the fear, lest his faith should be no more than fancy, particularly in the sickness of his first wife: he was assured that she should recover from her decline; but the disease proved fatal at last.

Immediately after her death, finding himself beset with various temptations to despondency, and other self-indulgent feelings, he says, that he made it his particular request that God would kill him, sooner than allow him to fall into sin. Shortly after, he felt sick upon which he says, with an expression of some alarm, I thought the Lord was going to take me at my word,' and he evidently wishes that he had considered the subject more, before the petition was made. But the symptoms soon passed away thereupon he says, with a laudable candor, I perceived that the complaint was nothing but vapors.' At the time, he was indeed beset with a temptation, or rather a trouble, of an unusual kind. A young lady, whom he describes as quite remarkable for her talents and attractions, waited upon him, and told him, that since his widowhood, she had thought much of the subject, and was convinced that it would be for the interests of her soul, if she might be personally united to him and though this was the only consideration she had in view, still his charms were such that she was quite ready to walk in the path of duty. To an offer so direct and flattering, it was difficult to frame a suitable reply. It was not altogether to his taste, but with his old-fashioned politeness, how could he say so to her? All at once a bright thought struck him ; by way of discouragement, he told her of his austere life, and the intense devotions which his wife would be expected to share. Instead, however, of being daunted, she replied with great composure, that this was the very thing of all others which she desired. After that, he could only obtain a reprieve: but he dismissed her, saying that he hoped he should by all means make her the bride of Heaven, if not his own. After this, she pressed her liberal offer till he was almost ready to die, and borrowing resolution from despair, entreated that he might not be killed by hearing of it again. This put an end to the affectionate persecution; and he intimates that such a termination was under all circumstances not to be deplored; since her reputation turned out to be less snowy than would have been desirable in the wife of a minister of the gospel.

His impression was, with respect to devotion, that every blessing might be had for the asking. On one occasion, he upbraids himself with the death of one of his children. It was sick, and he neglected to pray for it as earnestly as he ought; in consequence of this omission,

the child died, and he evidently felt as if this melancholy event was one for which he was responsible. At another time, hearing that a large number of books were to be sold at auction, he submitted the affair to Heaven, intimating that he had no very decided wishes upon the subject, but that if it were for the interests of religion to put him in the way to secure them, the favor would be quite acceptable to him. The result was, that a gentleman, who had formerly been unfriendly to him, hearing of the sale, insisted upon it that he should accept from him a sum of money sufficient to make the treasure his own. When his great work, the Magnalia,' was completed, and sent to London to be published, the booksellers turned from it in dismay. He prayed that the undertaking might not fail; and thereupon an individual stepped forward, who said that he was willing to publish it, though at certain loss, because he believed it would be of service to the cause of his Master. One case of this kind exceeds belief, though the wonder is, not that it should have happened, so much as that he should have recorded it; but he was one of those who, as Miss Edgeworth says, 'have no perspective in their views of things; all appear equally near, and equal also in magnitude and importance. He states that he was tormented with a heart-burn, which nothing would cure, and which had afflicted him till it made his life almost a burden. In reflecting on the subject, one day, it occurred to him, that there was this among the evils with which his Master was afflicted,' and he prayed 'that for the sake of the heart-burn endured by the Saviour, he might be delivered from the other and lesser heart-burn wherewith he was troubled.' Immediately it flashed across his mind that he had one of Sir Peter Paris' plasters in the house, and by applying it to the part affected, he was soon healed of his malady. His journal abounds in similar examples. Nothing in modern times will compare with this confidence, except perhaps that of Huntington, the sinner saved, who tells us that when his clothes were ragged, or resources drained, the defect was immediately supplied, on his making the proper representations.

But this high privilege was attended with one serious abatement; which was, that whenever he had been permitted to enjoy some peculiar manifestations of kindness from above, the blessing was immediately followed by some sign of malice from the great adversary of man. Some vexation on earth, either bodily illness, or popular clamor, or some Satanic buffets, immediately followed. One day, after an unusual enjoyment of this kind, he says that he anticipated some evil. Accordingly, when I was preaching on the day following, one of my chimneys took fire, and my own house with my neighbors' were endangered, and a great congregation ran out of the meeting-house unto the relief of my house, and I was thus marked out for talk all over town.' One would have thought that this was quite a harmless piece of revenge; and that to fire the chimney, instead of the house, was rather a blessing than a trial. But the truth was, that according to his system some trial was to be expected about that time: and as there was no other event which could possibly be deemed an infliction, this circumstance of the burning chimney was compelled to do duty; since, though not an irreparable misfortune, it was the best that could be found, on the spur of the occasion.

The most remarkable part of his personal history is that connected

with the witchcraft delusion. He is well known to have been exceedingly active on that occasion, and to have urged on the proceedings against the unfortunate victims, with more violence than became his character or profession. At the execution of a clergyman, Cotton Mather addressed the crowd in such a manner as to stifle their compassion, and even to make them ferocious against a dying man. It was not easy to account for this exasperation, in a man who, though excitable enough, was in general kind and liberal to others. A passage in his diary seems to explain the mystery in a most satisfactory manner. The whole affair was a personal quarrel between himself and the Prince of Darkness; no wonder, therefore, if in the contest with such an adversary, he lost his self-command, and became unduly excited.

He says that he had labored long, assiduously, and with good success, to induce his fellow-men to enter into covenant with the Lord. He had preached, prayed, and distributed numberless little books, to recommend and enforce this duty. It was suggested to him by some judicious persons, to whom it occurred, before he thought of it himself, that it was to take revenge for his exertions that Satan descended with such malice and power. This explanation was perfectly satisfactory; and since he had been the instrument of bringing such visitations upon the country, he felt bound to exert himself to the utmost to rescue souls from infernal hands.

While this quarrel raged, he evidently thought it was a pity to spoil it by any explanation. But the public mind grew weary of persecution, and those who had been foremost in the chase, finding that their arms might be turned upon themselves, retreated from the field; thus the people had a breathing time, to contemplate what was done; and never was there a change more thorough, from wrath and exultation to remorse and shame. Not so with Cotton Mather. He persevered in his delusion, and lamented that the public feeling should go down. Moreover, he had the happiness to see that the visitation of darkness, though it had subsided elsewhere, still continued to follow him. One Margaret Rule, a girl of his society, was afflicted with fits, which were ascribed to witchcraft; indeed, she declared that she saw her preternatual tormentors, though with their faces covered; by which disguise they evidently wished to prevent her testifying against them. In his description of the case, he throws a gleam of light, though quite unconsciously, upon the subject, by saying that these malignant spirits tried to starve the poor girl, and only permitted her to swallow occasionally a little rum. But those were not the days of Temperance Societies, and he would have scorned any one who pretended to see any connection between the rum in question, and the spirits by which she was afflicted. As a specimen of the times, it may be mentioned, that six men testified under oath that they saw her raised from her bed, by an invisible power, till 'her body touched the ceiling of the chamber, where she remained suspended so firmly that it required their united efforts to pull her down.'

This diary contains a curious exhibition of feeling toward the college. His father had been president of that institution for years, and he, from his acknowledged ability, and unequalled learning, naturally expected to succeed him: but his defect of judgment was so generally known, that the people considered it wise to select a man of more practical good sense, though inferior in learning. In 1707 a vacancy took place: it was immediately filled by the appointment of Judge Leverett, a choice