601. THE EFFECTS OF GENTLENESS. 602. PRESS ON. This is a speech, brief, Gentleness is the great avenue to mutual but full of inspiration, and opening the way enjoyment. Amidst the strife of interfering to all victory. The mystery of Napoleon's interests, it tempers the violence of conten- career was this,--under all difficulties and tion, and keeps alive the seeds of harmony. discouragements, "PRESS ON!" It solves the It softens animosities, renews endearments, problem of all heroes; it is the rule, by which and renders the countenance of man, a re to weigh rightly, all wonderful successes, and freshment to man. Banish gentleness from triumphal marches-to fortune and genius. the earth; suppose the world to be filled, It should be the motto of all, old--and young, with none but harsh and contentious spirits, high-and low, fortunate-and unfortunate, and what sort of society would remain? the so called. solitude of the desert were preferable to it. The conflict of jarring elements in chaos, the cave where subterraneous winds contend and roar, the den where serpents hiss and beasts of the forest howl, would be the only proper representation of such assemblies of men. Strange! that, where men have all one common interest, they should so often concur in defeating it. Has not nature already provided a sufficient quantity of evils for the state of man? As if we did not suffer enough from the storm which beats upon us without, must we conspire also, in those societies where we assemble, in order to find a retreat from that storm, to harass one another?

A NIGHT SCENE IN TURKEY.

Twas midnight: on the mountains brown
The cold round moon-shone brightly down;
Blue rolled the ocean, blue the sky
Spread, like an ocean, hung on high,
Bespangled with those isles of light,
So wildly, spiritually bright;
Who ever gazed upon them, shining,
And turned to earth, without repining,
Nor wished for wings to fly away,
And mix-with their eternal ray?
The waves, on either shore, lay there,
Calm, clear, and azure as the air,
And scarce their foam-the pebbles shook,
But murmured meekly, as the brook.
The winds-were pillowed on the waves,
The banners drooped-along their staves,
And as they fell around them, furling,
Above them-shone the crecent curling;
And that deep silence was unbroke,
Save when the watch-his signal spoke,
Save when the steed-neighed oft and shrill,
And echo answered-from the hill,
And the wide hum-of that wild host
Rustled, like leaves, from coast to coast,

As rose the Muezzin's voice in air,
In midnight call-to wonted prayer.
It rose, that chaunted, mournful strain,
Like some lone spirit's-o'er the plain;
Twas musical, but sadly sweet,

Such as, when winds, and harp-strings meet;
And take a long, unmeasured tone,
To mortal minstrelsy, unknown:

It seemed to those, within the wall,

A cry-prophetic of their fall;
It struck-even the besieger's ear,
With something omnious, and drear,—
An undefined, and sudden thrill,
Which makes the heart-a moment still;
Then beat, with quicker pulse, ashamed
Of that strange sense-its silence framed;
Such as a sudden passing bell
Wakes, though but for a strarger's knell.
Know thyself.

"PRESS ON!" Never despair; never be discouraged, however stormy the heavens, however dark the way; however great the diffi culties, and repeated the failures,—“PRESS ON!" If fortune-has played false with thee to-day, do thou play true for thyself to-merrow. If thy riches have taken wings, and left thee, do not weep thy life away; but be up and doing, and retrieve the loss, by new energies and action. If an unfortunate bargain-has deranged thy business, do not fold thy arms, and give up all as lost; but stir thyself, and work the more vigorously.

If those whom thou hast trusted, have betrayed thee, do not be discouraged, do not idly weep, but "PRESS ON!" find others; or, what is better, learn to live within thyself. Let the foolishness of yesterday-make thee wise to-day. If thy affections-have been poured out like water in the desert, do not sit down and perish of thirst,-but press on; a beautiful oasis is before thee, and thou mayst reach it, if thou wilt. If another-has been false to thee, do not thou increase the evil-by being false to thyself. Do not say the world hath lost its poetry and beauty; 'tis not so and even if it be so, make thine own poetry and beauty, by a brave, a true, and, abov all, a religious life.

ASPIRATIONS OF YOUTH.

Higher, higher, will we climb,
Up-the mount of glory,

That our names-may live through time,
In our country's story;
Happy, when her welfare calls,
He, who conquers,-he, who falls.
Deeper, deeper-let us toil,

In the mines of knowledge;
Nature's wealth-and Learning's spoi!
Win from school-and college;
Delve we there-for richer gems,
Than the stars of diadems.
Onward, onward--may we pass,
Through the path of duty;
Virtue is true happiness,

Excellence, true beauty;
Minds are of celestial bath:
Make we, then, a heaven of earth.
Closer, closer-let us knit

Hearts, and hands together,
Where our fireside comforts sit,
In the wildest weather;

O, they wander wide, who roam
For the joys of life, from hoir.e.
Nearer, dearer bands of love,
Draw our souls in union,
To our Father's house above
To the saints' communion:
Thither-ev'ry hope ascend,
There may all our labors end.

[forget

603 HANNIBAL TO HIS SOLDIERS. On The vulture-flapped his mail-like wings, though respily he flew; what side soever I turn my eyes, I behold all A mote, upon the sun's broad face, he seemed unto my view; full of courage and strength; a veteran infant- But once, I thought I saw him stoop, as if he would alight,— ry, a most gallant cavalry; you, my allies, Twas only a delusive thought, for all had vanished quite. most faithful and valiant; you, Carthaginians, All search was vain, and years had passed; that child was no'er whom not only your country's cause, but the When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot, Justest anger, impels to battle. The hope, the From thence, upon a rugged crag-the chamois never reached, courage of assailants, is always greater than He saw-an infant's fleshless bones-the elements had bleached of those, who act upon the defensive. With I clambered up that rugged cliff,-I could not stay away,hostile banners displayed, you are come down I knew they were my infant's bones-thus hastening to decay: upon Italy; you bring the war. Grief, inju-A tattered garment-yet remained, though torn to many a shred! ries, indignities, fire your minds, and spur The crimson cap-he wore that morn-was still upon his head" you forward to revenge. That dreary spot-is pointed out to travelers, passing by,

And as I journeyed, the next morn, along my sunny way,
The precipice was shown to me, whereon the infant lay. --Aron

605. THE HERMIT.

First, they demand me-that I, your gener-Who often stand, and musing, gaze, nor go without a sigh; al, should be delivered up to them; next, all of you, who had fought at the siege of Saguntum; and we were to be put to death-by the extremest tortures. Proud, and cruel nation! every thing must be yours, and at your disposal! You are to prescribe to us, with whom we shall make war, with whom we shall make peace! You are to set us bounds; to shut us up within hills and rivers; but you-you are not to observe the limits, which yourselves have fixed.

Pass not the Iberus! What next? Touch not the Saguntines; is Saguntum upon the Iberus? move not a step towards that city. Is it a small matter, then, that you have deprived us of our ancient possessions, Sicily and Sardinia? you would have Spain, too? Well, we shall yield Spain; and then-you will pass into Africa! Will pass, did I say? this very year, they ordered one of their consuls into Africa, the other into Spain.

No, soldiers, there is nothing left for us, but what we can vindicate with our swords. Come on, then-be men. The Romans-may with more safety be cowards; they have their own country behind them; have places of refuge to flee to, and are secure from danger in the roads thither; but for you, there is no middle fortune between death, and victory. Let this be but well fixed in your minds, and once again, I say, you are conquerors.-Livy.

604. VULTURE AND CAPTIVE INFANT.

I've been among the mighty Alps, and wandered thro' their valer,
And heard the honest mountaineers-relate their dismal tales,
As round the cotters' blazing hearth, when their daily work was o'er,
They spake of those, who disappeared, and ne'er were heard of

more.

And there, I, from a shephero, heard a narrative of fear,

A tale to rend a mortal heart, which mothers-might not hear ;
The tears were standing in his eyes, his voice—was tremulous;
But, wiping all those tears away, he told his story thus:

"It is among these barren cliffs-the ravenous vulture dwells,
Who never fattens on the prey, which from afar he smells;
But, patient, watching our on hour, upon a lofty rock,
He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from the flock.
One cloudless Sabbath summer morn, the sun was rising high,
When, from my children on the green, I heard a fearful cry,
As if some awful deed were done, a shriek of grief, and pain,
A cry, I humbly trust in God, I ne'er may hear again.

I hurried out to learn the cause; but, overwhelmed with fright,
The children never ceased to shriek; and, from my frenzied right,
I missed the youngest of my babes, the darling of my care;
But something caught my searching eyes, slow sailing thro' the air.
Oh! what an awful spectacle-to meet a father's eye,-
His infant-made a vulture's prey, with terror to descry;
And know, with agonizing heart, and with a maniac rave,
That earthly power-could not avail-that innocent to save!
My infant-stretched his little hands-imploringly to me,
And struggled with the ravenous bird, all vainly to get free:
At intervals, I heard his cries, as loud he shrieked, and screamed
Until, upon ul e azury sky, lessening spot he seemned.

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still.
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove:
When nought, but the torrent, is heard on the hill,
And nought, but the nightingale's song, in the grove,
"Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar,
While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit bagar.
No more with himself, or with nature at war,
He thought as a sage, tho' he felt as a man.
"Ah! why, all abandon'd to darkness and wo;
Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall?
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral.
But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,

Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn;
O soothe him, whose pleasures, like thine, pass away.
Full quickly they pass-but they never return.
"Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,

The moon, half extinguish'd, her crescent display:
But lately I mark'd, when, majestic on high,

She shone, and the planets were lost, in her blaze.
Roll on, thou fair orb, and, with gladness, pursue

The path, that conducts thee to spiendor again:
But man's faded glory, what change shall renew!
Ah fool! to exult in a glory so vain!

""Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more:
I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you;
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;

Kind nature the embryo blossom will save:
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn!
O, when shall day dawn, on the night of the grave
"Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd,
That leads, to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind;
My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.

O pity, great Father of light, then I cried,

Thy creature, who fain would not wander from tl.ee Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride:

From doubt, and from darkness thou only, canst free. "And darkness and doubt are now flying away : No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn:

So breaks on the traveler, faint and astray,

The bright, and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!
On the cold cheek of death smiles, and roses are blending
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.-Beattie.

O what a vision-were the stars,
When first I saw them burn on high,
Rolling along, like living cars

Of light, for gods to journey by.
The world--is full of poetry-the au
Is living with its spirit; the waves-
Dance-to the music of its melodie,
And sparkle-in its brightness.

In struggling with misfortunes,
Lies the true proof-of virtue.

606. THE CHARACTER OF WOMAN. The influence of the female character-is now felt, and acknowledged, in all the relations of life. I speak not now, of those distinguished women, who instruct their age through the public press. Nor of those, whose devout strains we take upon our lips, when we worship. But of a much larger class; of those, whose influence is felt in the relations of neighbor, friend, daughter, wife, mother.

Who waits at the couch of the sick, to administer tender charities, while life lingers, or to perform the last acts of kindness, when death comes? Where shall we look for those examples of friendship, that most adorn our nature; those abiding friendships, which trust, even when betrayed, and survive all changes of fortune? Where shall we find the brightest illustration of filial piety? Have you ever seen a daughter, herself, perhaps, timid and helpless, watching the decline of an aged parent, and holding out, with heroic fortitude, to anticipate his wishes, to administer to his wants, and to sustain his tottering steps to the very borders of the grave?

But in no relation-does woman exercise 30 deep an influence, both immediately, and rospectively, as in that of mother. To her is committed the immortal treasure of the infant nind. Upon her-devolves the care of the irst stages of that course of discipline, which is to form a being, perhaps the most frail and helpless in the world, the fearless ruler of animated creation, and the devout adorer of his great Creator.

Her smiles call into exercise the first affections, that spring up in our hearts. She cherishes, and expands-the earliest germs of our intellects. She breathes over us her deepest devotions. She lifts our little hands, and teaches our little tongues to lisp in prayer. She watches over us, like a guardian angel, and protects us through all our helpless years, when we know not of her cares, and her anxieties, on our account. She follows us into the world of men, and lives in us, and blesses us, when she lives not otherwise upon the earth.

What constitutes the centre of every home? Whither do our thoughts turn, when our feet are weary with wandering, and our hearts sick with disappointments? Where shall the truant and forgetful husband go-for sympathy, unalloyed, and without design, but to the bosom of her who is ever ready, and waiting to share in his adversity, or prosperity? And if there be a tribunal, where the sins and the follies of a froward child-may hope for pardon and forgiveness, this side heaven, that tribunal-is the heart of a fond, and devoted mother.

INDIAN NAMES

"How can the red men be forgotten, whi so may of our state and territories, bays, lakes, and rivers, are indelibly stamped by names of their giving?"

Ye say-they all have pass'd away,
That noble race-and brave;
That their light canoes-have vanish'd
From off the crested wave;
That, 'mid the forests-where they roum'd,
There rings no hunter's shout;
But their name is on your waters,
Ye may not wash it out.
'Tis where Ontario's billow-
Like ocean's surge-is curl'd;
Where strong Niagara's thunders-wake
The echo-of the world;
Where red Missouri--bringeth
Rich tribute-from the west;
And Rappahannock-sweetly sleeps
On green Virginia's breast.
Ye say their conelike cabins,

That cluster'd o'er the vale,
Have disappear'd, as wither'd leaves-
Before the autumn's gale;
But their memory--liveth on your hills,
Their baptism-on your shore;
Your everlasting rivers-speak
Their dialect of yore.

Old Massachusetts-wears it-
Within her lordly crown;
And broad Ohio-bears it-

Amid his young renown:
Connecticut-hath wreath'd it-

Where her quiet foliage waves,
And bold Kentucky-breathes it hoarse-
Through all her ancient caves.
Wachusett hides its lingering voice-
Within his rocky heart,

And Alleghany-graves its tone-
Throughout his lofty chart.
Monadnock, on his forehead hoar,
Doth seal the sacred trust;
Your mountains-build their monument,
Though ye destroy their dust.

IMPROVEMENT OF MIND WITHOUT DisPLAY. Well-informed persons will easily be discovered, to have read the best books, tho' they are not always detailing lists of authors: for a muster-roll of names--may be learned from the catalogue, as well as from the library. The honey--owes its exquisite taste--to the fragrance of the sweetest flowers; yet the skill of the little artificer, appears in this, that the delicious stores are so admirably worked Finally, her influence is felt, deeply, in reli- up, and there is such a due proportion ob gion. "If christianity, should be compelled served in mixing them, that the perfection of to flee from the mansions of the great, the the whole--consists in its not tasting, indi academies of philosophers, the halls of legis-vidually, of the rose, the jassamine, the carnalators, or the throng of busy men, we should find her last, and purest retreat-with woman at the fireside; her last altar-would be the female heart; her last audience would be the children gathered round the knees of the mother; her last sacrifice, the secret prayer, escaping in silence from her lips, and heard, perhaps, only at the throne of God." How empty, learning, and how rain is art; Save where it guides the life, and mends the heart. Fancy and pride reach things at vast expense.

tion, or any of those sweets, of the very es-
sence of all which it is compounded. But
true judgment will discover the infusion,
which true modesty will not display; and
even common subjects, passing through 3
cultivated understanding, borrow a flavor of
its richness.

What stronger breastplate than a heart untaint'ds
Thrice is he armed, who hath his quarrel just;
And he, but naked, tho' locked in steel,
Whose conscience, with injustice is corrupted.