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sometimes found, laying their harpy clutch on the consecrated bread, and breathing a moral pestilence over fondly credulous souls. But, nowhere are these pettifoggers more heartily detested, than in the Profession whose livery they have stolen. How it does one good to see one of them bloated with self-conceit, caught on the hip in a full court room, and lashed with the sarcasm of some justly indignant opponent.

Burke has said, "that there is no heart so hard as that of a thorough-bred metaphysician." If this be so, perhaps one cause may be, that the joys and sorrows of individuals appear small in the comparison to him, who is wrapt in the contemplation of great principles, which are either abstractions, or such as effect the weal or wo of mankind in the mass. It may be, that the lawyer finds consolation for the tears of the few in the grand design of a system, which seeks the greatest good of the greatest number, and whose chariot wheels must roll on, though opposing private interests are crushed beneath them. His is not a woman's heart, so finely strung, that the slightest breath of sorrow wakes the mournful strain, and the strong blast of affliction snaps the chords;- if it were, he could not perform his duty; but there is a fountain of feeling within, which can be stirred, and often the gushing stream will sweep jury and bench together from strongholds of prejudice, and carry them whither it will.

The dishonesty of the Profession, has long been a by-word. We simply ask, Where is the class of men to whom their fellows commit, with so little hesitation, their dearest interests? To the hands of the lawyer, are intrusted matters involving life and death, the saving of years of toil, or, priceless reputation, dearer than either; all committed to his skill and integrity. And is he actuated only by mercenary motives? "For the interests of his client," says one, "he is bound to sacrifice, even his own;" and often is this principle carried out, as by his fearless devotion to that client, he makes for himself powerful enemies. A daysman between the throne of Justice and the masses, and identified with that glorious system, whose object is the social happiness of man, the true lawyer ever magnifies his office, and seeks to fulfil his high mission.

The ambassador of heaven leads his charge, now to the blazing Sinai, the faint imagery of the sanctions of the Eternal Law; now he points them to the brighter, milder glories of Calvary; and now from the dark mountains of death directs their eye to the heavenly hills. The Lawyer in his capacity of Legislator and Judge has not the ar

tillery of heaven to strike a terror of coming vengeance into the offender; but the weapons which he does wield, do instant execution, and bring up the crime and punishment together before the criminal. He cannot wipe out the stains of guilt, or quench the fire of remorse; --but as an advocate, he may often mitigate the sentence of erring weakness, and say with hope to the youthful criminal; "Go and sin no more." It is not his, to tell the weary and afflicted of rest and endless joy; but to make the journey through this perilous land, safe, and as far as in him lies, pleasant.

And in those happy days, so sweetly sung by Israel's poetseers, when Peace among the tribes of Earth, shall be as a river, and Righteousness as the waves of the sea, men will wander among the ruins of penal statutes, and complicated systems of real and personal property; and while, like the shepherds of north England, on the remains of some Roman wall, they deplore the violence of the times that made the defences necessary, they will yet admire the massive structure, and count the builders, friends of their forefathers.

FRAGMENTS.

THE darkness of night was around me.

Fields had lost their beau

ty and woods their grandeur. Flowers were beneath my feet, but their delightful colors had fled: streamlets wound through the meadow before me, but their sparkling splendor and graceful motion were lost in the gloomy darkness. No sound of cheerfulness arose, for the dreadful gloom had hushed the voice of joy. The damp night wind alone was heard sighing mounfully as it passed; and anon the cry of some savage beast, like the shriek of a ghost, was borne through the darkness to my ears. The air was chilling and damp, and seemed laden with pestilence and death.

Ah why! I cried is Nature's beauteous face thus hidden, and terrific gloom left to reign alone?

But while I complained, the morning came. Dewdrops glistened in the sun, and birds warbled in the trees. Nature seemed to be renewed, and to smile with unwonted loveliness. Then I blessed the night, that it made the day more glorious.

A fierce tempest was raging. Beasts sought shelter from its fury, and birds, mute with terror, fled to the deepest thicket. Fields of grain, the husbandman's dependence, yielded to the storm. Stately forest trees, that had been strengthening for centuries, were hurled to the ground, or blasted and riven by the lightning's stroke, while the whole forest rocked to and fro in the furious blast.

Alas! I exclaimed, why is this dreadful ruin? But while I murmured, the storm cea ed; the sun shone forth with increased splendor, the grain erected itself again, the fields were dressed in a richer verdure, the forest wore a more beautiful hue, the birds renewed their songs with sweeter melody, the air was fresh and pure and all Nature seemed inspired with new life. Then I was grateful for the storm because it made the sunshine more delightful.

I saw a pious soul, struggling on in the rough pathway of life. Oft was his way enveloped in darkness; oft did the storm beat fiercely upon his head. Misfortune after misfortune overwhelmed him; hope after hope fled. The world beheld him with cruel scorn; and all, even his God, seemed to forsake him. Bitter was the cup of his affliction. He lingered a while in sadness, then with sighs and tears, sunk into the grave.

Oh why, I exclaimed, is the righteous forsaken, and left to perish in sorrow?

But lo! while I spoke, that sainted spirit had left the scene of its affliction, and risen to the realms of bliss: and methought, as it entered those shining portals, those very tears glistened with splendor in the sacred light, like the dewy pearls of the morning, and the raindrops after the storm. I saw that the rude buffetings of life had only prepared it for the tranquillity of Heaven: "where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary be at rest." I murmured no more at the afflictions of the righteous, because they work out for them an eternal weight of glory.

A VESPER.

I come to Thee, whose sovereign vo ce
Spake, and young Earth from chaos sprung,
And o'er the uncreated void

Ten thousand forms of beauty flung;

OSCAR.

To Thee, Creator God, whose hand
Divided darkness from the day,
Who gave the sun his glorious beam,
And lit the moon with milder ray.

'Tis meet that I should come to Thee, Great Architect and Sire of all ! Thy praise is tuned by angel lips,

Yet Thou dost watch the sparrow's fall; Thy hand hath pencilled every flower, Tinted with gold the insect's wings,

Hath framed these wondrous minds of ours, And fashioned all their secret springs.

THOU ART SUPREME! Archangels bow
In holy reverence before Thee!
Seraphs cast down their golden crowns,

And on celestial chords adore Thee!

Pure is the offering they bring.

But when I bow before Thy throne,

The taint of earth is on my lips,

And mingles with my spirit's tone.

Father! Forgive this wandering heart,
Which still to this world fondly clings,

To prone to bow at other shrines,
Far from the shadow of Thy wings-
Oh, earth hath much wherewith to tempt,
To lure the spirit back from Thee,
To bind the soul that fain would soar--
Forgive this vain idolatry!—

Forgive the gathering mist that now,

Even while I pray, comes stealing o'er me!

Forgive that carthly images

Rise with beguiling charm before me!

Oh, tune my heart for purer strains,
To join the anthem of that throng,
Whose souls are free from guilty stains,
Who raise in heaven a holy song!

MY LEISURE HOURS. Hammond.

II.

To go through life with cre lit and comfort, a man requires a deep conviction of two facts: First, what a fool he himself is: and Second, that other people are as great fools as he is. The former he needs, to keep him from vanity, especially if he has talents to set off his folly: which talents may exist either in his own brain, or as full often is the case, in the imagination of fond parents and friends. Without it, he will make but a sorry figure in the eyes of others: being a fool per se, as all men are to some extent, and a fool also for not knowing it, he will be twice as much of a fool as if he had discovered his original failing and made the most of it. The effects of this ignorance are shown mot strikingly in young poets, maiden ladies above thirty, and unmetaphysical Seniors: for it is a fact unaccountable in Psychology, that while he who fizzles on anything else is most keenly aware thereof, the more abstruse the point of mental science that the wretch is mangling, the deeper his conviction that he is performing a perfect "rush." Experto crede. We will not enlarge on a point so universally admitted as our first rule: every body will assent to it at once, and give you a dozen examples, among his friends, who ought to profit by it.

The other we hold to be equally important, and for our comfort even more so. A man who is not deeply impressed with it, will borrow a deal of needless trouble and embarrassment. He sees a thousand little awkward things in his own conduct which others do not, and which he himself does not observe in others, though as really existing there. He is even more likely to strain above his natural level than the vain man: because he gives others credit for advantages they do not possess, and strives to affect the same himself. He is constant. ly in fear that somebody is laughing at his follies, without knowing that all the rest have as many of their own to take care of. In the smallest details of society, he is kept always uncomfortable by the constant sense that he is the only one embarrassed. He is in continual dread lest his hair or his shirt collar are disordered, though he never thinks of noticing such a thing in his neighbor. Every dreadful pause in the conversation seems to hang particularly on his shoul

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