was inclined to gratify curiosity, than to administer to the wants of the afflicted; and how much more he desired his deciples to excell in philanthropy, than metaphysical discrimination. His injunctions have a direct tendency to correct principles, if indeed they may not be considered the foundation of them, and to direct men in their daily intercourse with their fellows; destitute of all vanity and artifice, plain and intelligible—such injunctions, as an honest disposition cannot easily misunderstand; the interest of which we shall not mistake, unless, in fact, we may not wish to discover it.

To "do as we would wish to be done by," is the comprehensive measure of justice, given for the purpose of regulating us in our intercourse with others : —a law sufficient to adjust all differences among men, as far as their sensibilities are respectively concerned :——a law indeed, of which every person finds commentary in his own bosom, however destitute he may be of erudition; without appealing to the disputation of those, who may make an interest of contention.

True it is, that over this principle some sceptics have thrown ingeniously wrought mantles, which finally have only served to benight their own understandings. For the purpose of destroying it, they ask--Is a man, conscious of improper and unreasonable desires, conscientiously bound to follow it, and satisfy them in othors? But surely, it cannot require any great depth of the understanding to perceive, that the wishes which we ought to gratify, should be such as we approve; and that we are compelled by this same will, to pay no regard to those desires in others, which we condemn in ourselves; and which duty requires we should disregard and disapprove.

There is another difficulty attending this law, in which is brought into requisition some reason in the direction of sensibility: this is observable in the case, where a criminal applies it in asking pardon of his judge, who must be sensible, that if he should be circumstanced as is the culprit, he should then desire the forgiveness which he now refuses. This difficulty will soon disappear, if it be recollected, that the parties are, on one side, a criminal, deserving condemnation, and on the other, a judge,-the representative of a community, in whose hands has been deposited the power of administering justice only, not of liberating malefactors. This magistrate therefore, in pardoning a person meriting punishment, literally betrays the confidence of his constituents; exercises an authority unlawfully; and, giving away to his own caprice, imparts

what does not belong to him; and in fact, breaks the law itself, by doing to the community what he would not like to have done to him.

Some more conscientiously tenacious persons, by whom this uni-versal will has been criticised and dilated, increasing the doubt and hesitation already attached to it, make another distinction, which they carefully designate as obligations of rtght, and those of benev olence. Now, the aeknowledged and immediate object of this precept is, to establish a principle of justice among all men; and I know of no sophism, or evasion, or maledicency, that can raise a simple objection to do away its intention, when it is understood as it should be,- -as evidently intending this, that every man should allow those obligations of right and benevolence, which he should consider as belonging to himself, in similar situations. Undoubtedly, in adjusting the extent of our munificence, and the objects of it, we can have no other guide than what is here given; because we can have no clear conceptions of what others may suffer from want, and consequently, what we should impart to relieve them, only by imagining to ourselves, how keen would be the pangs, with which we should be pierced, placed in like circumstances. It can but be expected, that the donor and donees should be at variance as regards the extent of the assistance or bounty; because the former is naturally inclined to parsimonious givings; while the latter, inclined by selfish considerations to expect much, indulges great expectations.

But finally, in all inquiries regarding the exercise of charities, it is best for those, the minds of whom are not biased by zealous or superstitious fears, to determine against their predispositions, and insure themselves against deficiencies; to assist more than conscience dictates, and, if the medium be indeterminate, to incline towards that extreme from which there is the speediest return. Every man is certain of this, that if he were placed in the situation of the suppliant, he would desire more than he can now persuade himself to give, however much his im agiration or passions may be excited; and when our understandings can fix upon no definite rule and our sympathies impel us onward, it is surely the part of wisc men, to err in that from which the least evil can be expected.

N. N. N.

MUSINGS-THE SACRIFICE.

"It was the dead of night before I entered the Cathedral -The lofty ceiling-the altar dressed in mourning, dimly lighted by the small tapers-the deep silence, and awful solemnity of the hour, interrupted only by the bell tolling, pressed heavily upon the spirits I busied myself until the procession entered, by looking upon the paintings, with such light as the tapers gave out." TRAVELS IN SPAIN.

I.

'Tis Midnight. The mastered soul is heaving
'Neath the weight of silence, oer the spirit thrown ;
Along the fretted roof, the sound of footstep leaving,
Dies in an echo. Not chiming bell alone-

The sable altar, and the marble stone

Of buried dead-and golden cross, and glare

Of sister-tapers, and the whispered moan

Of spirit-winds, haunting the midnight air ;—

Call from the deep of soul, the solemn voice of prayer.

II.

With stealthy tread, I course the marble aisle
Calm and alone-mute as profound of night,
The faintly gleaming tapers, shine the while
Bathing the holy walks, with vestal light,
Reveal the Temples pictured walls to sight.
-Th' immortal of the slumbering clay is there;

Death hath no fetter, for the spirit's might,

Dust is the robe the captive angels wear,

Ere to the Throne of Light, they course through realms of air.

III.

Draw near !-Hark to this sculptured, lettered stone.
"Here lies entombed a Royal Prince's dust."
Perchance, a peoples Love he made his throne;
Lo! what a polished steel, is gnawed of rust!
A Nation's cherished hope-an Empires trust
An heir of Realms, lies mouldering in this cell,
A Kingdom's Glory garnered here in dust ;-
A people's tear flow'd freely when he fell,

A burning ster, is quenched-sad peals the solemn knell.

IV.

Here rolls the ocean wave, oer Pharaos host;
The billows scorn the struggling arm to stay.
The briny surges, drowns the tyrants boast,
The dark sea holds not from her stormy way.
In watery shroud, the steel-clad warriors lay,

1

While frighted seabird wails in moans of woe,
And roving wild-winds, join with ocean spray,

In solemn dirge, for armour'd dead below

Strong was the venging arm, that wrought its purpose so.

There on the canvass'd wall, the tapers glare,
Throws a dim ray!-'Tis haughty Babalon,-
The Monarch dome, and massy tower, are there;
And holiest spoils from Juda's temple won-
Mark the sad wreck, avenging wrath hath done.
An echo lives ;-of yore, the Monarchs roll'd,

A willing system, round this blazing sun;

The mighty trembled, when her tale was told,

Now but a thought for scorn, thou more than Rome of old.

VI.

How the soul lingers here, and reads sublimed,
The burning truths framed on the pictured wall;
A realm of thought; deep passion clothes the mind,
While from the canvass glows the breathing all!-
Here reign the mighty! Here the mighty fall!-
Thou marvel man; immortal thinking worm
The Vultures climbing through the star lit hall

Mock thy towering will-and onward roam

Through heavy rolling clouds, the mighty eagles home.

VII.

The blaze of torchés !--and the solemn tread,

Of heavy moving masses,--and the chime,
Of chanting choir, slow winding oer the dead!-
The measured tones of tolling bell, the time,
The spirit hour of midnight, and the shrine

Of mitre in the torches glare, the eye

Of doomed captive, meekly turned to climb
Where glory beams from Jasper throne on high--
Tell to my startled soul, that angel form must die.

VIII.

Must die! where is the warrior chief, who owns
A brother's love all garnered in that form?
-The quivering lip, the startled eye-the moans
Quick bursting from that throbing breast, bewarn,
So fragile reed, must rend beneath the storm.-
Where is the warrior chief? A brothers arm
Perchance might save that marble brow from scorn,
Roll back the billow, ere it whelm in harm,

And wreck that precious bark, that trembles in alarm.

IX.

It were not much to die,--when we can hear,
The sound of hostile armour, clashing round;-

-The neighing steed, the shout, the glancing spear,
The smoke and roar of cannon, and the ground
Strewn oer, with wrecks of banner, ploom, and mound
Of steel clad warriors, doomed to die,

Breathe through the soul, a glory to be found

Thus on the field where Heros love to lie,

No! It were less than death, thus in the field to die.

X.

It were not much to die, where we can feet
The arm, of fond affection, round us twined,
And see the tear of sorrow, warmly steal,
From the pure eye of love; and sweetly find,
The hand of mother, sister, wife or child,
So softly resting on the cold, damp cheek,-
To know that hearts are bursting, while the wild
And rushing winds of midnight, 'bove us meet,
This turns the cup of death from bitterness to sweet.

XI.

But thus to die-denied a tear of love,

Or gentle sigh of sympathy, to charm
The wounded spirit, fluttering, as a dove
Caught in the meshes, trembling in alarm;-
Burn in those ghostly eyes, the heaviest harm,
Nor cross, nor cowl, speak aught but deepest woe,
To her, with eye all loveliness, and bending form,
And cheeks all pale, with hues of death,-for low
And deep, from chanting choir, full strains of vengeance flow.-

XII.

Who would not grieve, a traitor-shaft should reach

The towering Eagle, roaming there in light,
And strew in shame, that plumage on the beach
Which now with golden hues, are spread for flight,

To pass the rolling clouds ;-to view the might

And beauty of the Royal bird, in dust ?—

Who would not grieve, the tempest breath should blight

The rose in early bloom, and fling in scorn,

Its folded leaves, and robe of beauty to the storm?—

XIII.

Her Brother came not-on the battle plain

In garments foul with blood, and clotted gore,
Was found his body-covered oer with slain;
The Hero perished, in the heat of war,
While fell around him Roman hearts,-and oer
His bier, was thrown the wreath of fame. She died,
As dies the Martyr-scorned, but pure. She wore
Her thoughts, too much withont a guise,--and tried

The way to life--as Hearen had taught, with God her guide.

C.