Thus year by year

Hast thou been witness to the sweet return
Of the gay Summer; thus over thee have passed
The seasons in their grateful interchange,

With song, and bloom, and tempest. Thou hast seen
The snows of Winter whitening the far hills,
When the fierce North hath cast upon the woods
His cold and darkness; and when Spring hath come
Down on the wakening wilderness, with song,
And light, and blossom, and the early flowers
Have scented the wood-thickets, by the marge,
Seated among the reeds, hast thou beheld
The savage, decked with war-paint and gay beads,
Sharpening his tomahawk. Far through the woods,
In the hush noon-tide of the summer's day,
Oft has thou heard his war-whoop ringing loud
And long from the dense wilderness. Beside
Thy waters he hath stooped to wash his knife,
Red with the blood of tender infancy,

And youth, and sturdy manhood. Thou hast seen
The forms of belted warriors, gray-haired chiefs,
And maidens with their tresses decked with flowers:
Yet all have passed away! These massy trees,
In whose green roofs the winds of noontide play,
Gaze on their sports no longer. Fragrant airs,
Freshening the woods in the sweet summer months,
Still ripen the red berries, and the snow,
Driving before the wintry wind, still falls
Bright o'er the forest, and the birds come back
In the gay spring-time: but that noble race
Who dwelt upon thy borders, they who built
Amid these hills their birchen villages,
Alas! they cannot boast a sepulchre !

I look around me, and I mark the change

Which thus hath stricken them. The settler's axe
Hath done its office, and the mighty trees

Which filled thy borders with their leafy gloom,

Retreating to the upland, now look down

On cultured fields and snow-white cottages;
Boys whistle by the road-side, and the swain
Sings at his labor; mirrored in thy face,
The sable crow, beating the summer air

With his long glossy wings, floats from the wood
On to the neighboring corn-field. In the sweet
Soft wind which stirs the blossoms in the grass,
I hear the bustle of the crowded mart
That murmurs by thy waters. On thy smooth
Dark current I behold inverted spires,

With their green shutters, and bright weather-cocks
Catching the pleasant sunshine. Now a leaf,
Shaken by wild birds from the boughs o'erhead,
Breaks the bright picture, and a solemn frog
Comments below upon my reverie!

H. W. R.

It is impossible to foretel what result the improvements of the present day are to bring about. They tend to something; either a higher state of enjoyment or a deeper state of unhappiness. The existing chrysalis state cannot continue forever. A change is to take place in the moral world, which reflecting minds are awaiting with the greatest solicitude. The momentum which the intellect has acquired in this era of the world, in consequence of certain inventions, is surprising. And the confusion which it has created in the moral world is such, that in certain quarters it would almost seem that 'Chaos had come again.' If this be the case, and mankind shall pursue the course usual to them when thrown off their bias, the rapid strides with which it will encompass this fair earth will be wonderful indeed. That the reader may more fully understand us, we will give him some account of a scene recently enacted in an ancient emporium' of an Eastern empire, known as the CITY OF THE SAVANS. Wise beyond comparison; proud of their inexhaustible wealth, of their splendid palaces, and magnificent gardens; of their just laws, and the equable administration of them; of their vast libraries, and above all, of the great names that adorn their annals; the inhabitants of this city were once accustomed, indirectly, to give laws to the empire. The impress of profound wisdom was so visible in all their transactions, and the confidence in them so great, that they were generally followed without much examination; and this continued to be the case until the commencement of the present age; when, from some erratic conduct of which they had been guilty, confidence began to diminish; and now, in mind and manners, if not in wealth, they have found the common equilibrium, although they labor under the false impression that their ancient influence still continues, to its full

extent.

In this city there have for many years existed orders and classes, which, although composed of men of great knowledge, have held various and conflicting opinions touching certain matters to which they attach vast importance. Among the later of these classes are the NOODLES, OF LATTERLIGHTS, who separated themselves entirely from all other orders, whose doctrines they condemned unconditionally, and maintained that theirs was the only true order. As they held that their souls were in every respect equal, and formed one community, after they were separated from the earthly clogs with which they were connected, they thought that by similitude' they should have their lands, goods, and bodies, in common also. And it is not strange, such is the propensity of the human family to social existence, that the ranks of this clan swelled to quite a formidable

extent.

But, although this class called themselves Latterlights, they were not the last lights which were to illumine the City of the Savans. Another class - if they have a sufficiently distinctive character to entitle them to be called a class has recently made its appearance, which bids fair to create a moral revolution in the city, such as has not before been dreamed of. This class is composed of individuals who have separated themselves from all other classes and clans, as well as of many who belonged to no particular order. They are all odd specimens of human nature, and are doggedly determined to exercise their opinions unfettered. They at first undertook, each one by himself, to exert an influence upon the community, apparently without being aware that there were others of diverse sentiments operating in the same way. But at length, finding that their exertions were not attended with much success, and finding too that there were adverse influences in their way, they sought to ascertain what they could be, and finally learned the important fact, that they were opposed by persons who had two ideas in common with them, one of which was, that individual effort was the only kind of effort which should be exerted in a free city; that it was the only democratic effort; whereas associated effort was tyrannical: and the other was, that all existing institutions were useless and intolerable.

When this discovery was made, it produced a little effervescence of feeling among them; but they thought it best to stifle their anger, and see if some mode might not be adopted by which they could unite their efforts, and still retain their individuality. At length they agreed to call a CONVENTION of all who were disposed to discuss the utility of the institutions of the city; well aware that discussion would unsettle the public mind on questions which for ages had been at rest; and well aware too that they should obtain as much and perhaps more notoriety, as individuals, in a convention where there was perfect freedom, than they could separately in the broad city.

The convention was at length assembled; and as much pains were taken to secure a large attendance, the temple where it was appointed to be held was early filled with an expectant multitude. Its novelty was attractive to the curious and gratifying to the skeptical. After it was organized, the chairman stated its object to be the free discussion of diverse questions which involved the propriety of the continuance of certain existing customs, which, although having the sanction of antiquity, were alleged by many to have had their origin in an age less enlightened than the present, and therefore were not binding upon us.

Before the chairman had fairly concluded, a short, squab, restless, red-haired gentleman, with peaked features, and gray, twinkling eyes, sprang upon his feet, and hurriedly stated that he had a resolution to offer. The chairman, who was evidently a courteous man, endeavored to smooth over this forced conclusion of his remarks in the best manner possible, and calmly bade him offer it. The short, squab man, then read to this effect:

6

RESOLVED, That priests are nuisances; that they are useless, unnecessary, expensive appendages to useless, unnecessary, and expensive institutions, and ought to be abolished.'

He then proceeded to support his resolution somewhat after the following fashion:

'Mr. Chairman: I shall contend that this resolution ought to pass, for several substantial reasons, Sir. The order of priests was established by an ignorant people, Sir, who required instruction, Sir; and it being more convenient that—that the burthen of their support should fall upon many, Sir, while each - each individual could receive the same benefit as if he had a priest by himself, Sir, whole classes contributed to the support of one, Sir. Thus, Sir, the order arose, and the reason why it has been so long perpetuated is, that the expense expense to the people has been, though heavy, too light to make a fuss about, Sir, because it was so ancient an institution, Sir. What reason is there, Sir, that this City of the Savans, which is the most enlightened city on the face of the globe, and is more learned than any other city can be, Sir, what reason is there, Sir, that we should be at such an expense for nothing, Sir? I ask - ask you that — eh, Sir, eh? Why these priests, Sir, are an idle, presumptuous, money-getting set of men, Sir, who imagine — imagine, Sir, that they are above their race; yes, Sir, above us, Sir! It is high time that they were abolished, Sir!'

This speaker having thus enthusiastically concluded, another arose, and stated that although he was not a member of the convention, he would make a remark in reply to the gentleman last up, as he understood that every one had equal liberties in this meeting. He thought that when a public speaker who had no regard for his own character undertook to undermine the reputations of those who had, there was a general feeling of disgust in the bosoms of his hearers. It was a very easy matter for an empty-purse man a man who had no faculty to obtain a livelihood either by mental or physical exertion to suggest the destruction of men whose characters and habits they could not appreciate; and it was his opinion that such persons ought to endeavor to assist themselves in some other way than by intermeddling with the affairs of others.

The first speaker now arose in great wrath. With his eyes flashing fire, and his arms moving with great velocity, he thus vented his indignation:

Who calls me an empty-purse man?-a man of no faculties? an intermeddler, Sir? Feeling of disgust!' If there is such a feeling, it must be corrected, Sir! The bosoms of men must be reformed, Sir. I say I am not an empty-purse man, Sir! I-I scorn the accusation, as well as the accuser, Sir! And I hurl - hurl it back with tenfold vengeance in the face of him who made it, Sir! He is a priest, Sir; yes, Sir, a PRIEST - I know he is, Sir! He is afraid of inquiry. His order is in danger, Sir!'

Much confusion now prevailed. Some urged the speaker on with the very expressive exclamation, 'Go it!' Others called to him: 'Show your money-that's the best argument;' and a motion was made to lay the resolution on the table. When the orator heard this motion, he roared out: 'It shan't be laid on the table, Sir; no Sir, it shall pass, Sir; it SHALL pass!'

But the chairman took advantage of an interval in which he appeared to be coaxing the air for breath, to put the motion, which was instantly carried. The astonishment of the speaker at this unexpected

contretemps was such, that he actually lost the power of speech; and seizing his hat, he pressed his way through the crowd, and passed from the house amid loud cheers.

After this summary disposition of the first speaker, another personage of very different appearance arose. He was rough in speech and in manners, but still he had sense enough to know that to enforce an argument, the very worst course to take was to get into a passion, and defy his hearers to reject it. He said that he regretted the confusion from which the assembly had just recovered. The resolution which had been before the convention was important and true; and he believed that this would be the opinion of the people, when they fully understood it. But as it was not now before the convention, he would offer the following for consideration":

RESOLVED, That one day in the week is not, more than another, holy time; and that consequently the day called the Sabbath is not of divine origin; that it is needless, useless, dangerous, and ought to be abolished."

He had but little to say upon the resolution, but what he should say he thought would convince his hearers of its correctness. He could see no difference in days. He lived in a retired part of the city, and all days were alike there. There was nothing to indicate that one was more holy than another. If the Sabbath was a holy day, why did n't they stick to the old seventh day of the week, and not change it to the first? the day which, in point of numbers, was the very farthest from it? It was useless, needless, and dangerous, because it was profitless; because it encouraged idleness; if men were idle one whole day in seven, they were inclined to be idle longer. The progress of the age required the employment of our whole time; and it seemed to him as morally certain that where a whole community were regularly idle one seventh part of their time, in an age so enlightened as the present, they could not advance, but would rather retrograde.

This speech excited the irrascibility of a short-waisted man, with a long face and dark complexion, who in a rapid and obstreperous manner insisted that such blasphemy was intolerable. It was not to be borne. He talk about 'morally certain!' Why, Sir, how can a man talk about morality, when he do n't know what it is? He says he can't see any difference between Sunday and a week-day! He must be blind indeed! How still is that blessed day, and all others how noisy! People go to meeting on Sunday to hear the gospel preached, and that makes the day holy; and the man who says it is not holy, must have a poor conscience, to say the least.'

The person who offered the resolution replied, that he considered that a most niggardly argument. It had not convinced and would not convince him of the sanctity of the Sabbath. In his part of the city the same stillness reigned throughout the year, and he did not think it would be broken until the 'crack of doom,' were it not for an occasional thunder-storm, or a hebdomadal altercation between two good wives, who lived opposite each other, which occurred on that day. As to meetings, there were no such things there to his knowledge.

The short-waisted man, with the long face and dark complexion, took the expression niggardly,' which his opponent applied to his