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book for any school. It should exhibit not the belief of Calvin, or Socinus, or Fenelon; but the maxims of common sense, and the principles of Christianity: just as the speech of a real statesman breathes not the spirit of party, but the holy dictates of Patriotism and Justice. Such a book ranges within that common-ground, upon which all sects ought to meet. Like the spectacle of distress in the apologue, it calls them away from points wherein they differ, to things wherein, if true to their common Master, they must agree-to succor the afflicted, to comfort the wounded in spirit, to diffuse all around them the kindly charities of life. Such a book is this one.

everything without look agreeable in our eyes. Many wondered why Emma Maxwell, who, at the date of our story, was full four-and-twenty, was not married, and she "so attractive and so excellent." The mothers said, knowingly, "the right one" had not asked her; and the young girls, with all their horrors of an old maid, almost hoped that "the right one" never would ask her away from Mill-hill.

Emma had escaped that worst evil, sometimes the consequence of the early loss of friends, a diminution of her affections. Hers were "set on things above." Her heart went out to meet every human being gently and silently, like the falling of the dews of Heaven. There was no bustle, no talk. By her fruit she was known. She often resembled those flowers that unseen, give out sweet odors; her kindness was enjoyed, and

its source never known.'

The best stories in it are 'The Widow Ellis and her A railroad was projected, to run by Mill-Hill. The son Willie,' 'Our Robins,' and 'Mill-Hill:' and again of Irish came (as where do they not?) to work upon it. these three, 'Mill-Hill' is at once the longest and best. The villagers were very much afraid of so lawless a If the Editor of the Messenger can spare room, he will horde; but Emma Maxwell, in the ‘ladies' sewing sofind it well filled by copying one of these stories-Ourciety,' maintained, that if rightly treated, those people Robins'-as a touching and instructive lesson to his young readers.*

They are all New England Stories. Emma Maxwell, the heroine of 'Mill-Hill,' is a being of that captivat

would be found honest and tractable. It proved so. She soon had an opportunity of showing kindness to a little orphan girl among them-Anny Ryan, whom she saw weeping inconsolably over the fresh grave of a sister, the last of her family. Emma managed to soothe her a little, and accompanied her to the shanty, where lived her only protectors, an Irish laborer and his wife,

ing, yet unexaggerated loveliness, which the author so well knows how to portray. I subjoin an account of her; given, just after a description of the village bury-named O'Neil. The description of the dwelling is ing ground.

Ask any one at Mill-Hill whose thought it was thus to beautify their burial-place, and you will be answered, "Emma Maxwell's. Emma is so thoughtful about the children, and she thinks, if there are flowers about the graves, it will take off their gloomy feelings, and they won't be so shy about going there. She says it's a teaching-place, for there is always a still small voice comes up from the grave; and besides, since we have tried it, the neighbors all say it's a comfort to do it." Should you proceed in your inquiries, and ask "who planted the trumpetcreeper that winds round and round that old dead tree by the schoolhouse, and who trained the sweetbriers round the windows," you will be answered, "the children did it, but Emma has seen to it." "And who cut out the earth like stairs to 'Prospect Rock' at the top of the hill?" "The boys, but Emma Maxwell put it into their heads." "And who keeps the Sunday school for those little Irish children from the shanties on the railroad?" "Emma Maxwell; who but she would take the trouble, when their folks did not care one straw whether they were taught or not?"

And so you might go on for an hour, and find that Emma Maxwell did good deeds that others, for want of thought (and perhaps faith) rather than time or heart, do not do.

There are persons in this world who would almost seem to be deprived of the natural relations of parents, brothers and sisters, husband and children, that they may do the little odd jobs for the human family left undone by the regular laborers. Emma Maxwell was one of these, God's missionaries to his children. Emma was an orphan. She lived at her uncle's, where, though she paid her board, she rendered many services that lightened the burden of life to every member of the family. Perhaps some of my young readers would like to know how Miss Emma Maxwell looked. She was tall, and not very slender, for she took good care of her health, and had the reward of her care in strength and cheerfulness, and the sign of it in the bright bloom of her cheek. She had a soft blue eye, and one of the sweetest mouths I ever saw. How could it be otherwise? for never any but kind words and soft tones came from it. And she had-do not be shocked, my gentle readers--red hair. Depend upon it, all young ladies, be they good and lovely, and even pretty (and pretty Emma undeniably was), do not have-except in books"auburn hair," or "flaxen," or even "rich brown." Emma's hair was so plainly and neatly arranged, that no one noticed it except to say that "somehow red hair did not look badly on Emma Maxwell." The light that comes from within can make

*We will copy it in our next. No.-[Ed. Mess.

graphic.-And there are few Temperance orators who might not envy the eloquent power of Emma's appeal to Mike, against the jug of liquor. I beg the reader not to stop till he has read all the following extract:

'Emma had never before seen the inside of a shanty; and, though she was well acquainted with the poorest abodes of our native people, she was astonished to see so many human beings hale and thriving in such a habitation. There was no table, no chair save one broken one; boards fixed on blocks served to eat and sit on. On her first survey Emma concluded there was no bed, but a second view led her to believe that a heap of rubbish in one corner of the apartment had served as a bed, and that there poor Judy had died. In an opposite corner lay a bushel of potatoes. A junk of pork and half a newly-killed calf hung beside the door, while a bountiful mess was frying, and Dame O'Neil was stirring up a cake to bake before the fire. She first perceived the approach of Anny with her new friend. “Be quiet, Mike, and hold your tongues, men, will ye?" she said, to her husband and some half dozen men, who, with a jug of liquor beside them, were all talking in the same breath, "the lady is coming with Anny Ryan. Och, Rose, take the babby's hands out of the molasses. Biddy, move aside the pan of milk that bars the door, will ye? The Lord above bless ye, Miss," to Emma; "ye've had trouble enough with her?"

"Oh no," replied Emma, entering quietly, and accepting with a kind look of acknowledgment the seat offered her; "Anny is trying her best to feel and act right, and that's all we can any of us do, Mrs. O'Neil."

"That's true, indeed, in trouble and out of it."

"She tells me, Mrs. O'Neil, that you have been very kind to her and hers, and now she'll find it a comfort to do for you." "Lord help the poor child, Miss, if she'll stop fretting it's all I ask of her. She's always ready to do little jobs for me; it's enough I have to do, my oldest being boys-make a bow to the lady, Pat--and no help like to me."

"But rather a hinderance, I should think, Mrs. O'Neil. Here's a school for boys near you, kept by a very good young man, where you can send those two little boys for twenty-five cents a week.”

"Do you hear, Mike?" asked Katy O'Neil.

"And where's the twenty-five cents to come from?" answered Mike, "when we are all fed the week through, six of us, besides Anny Ryan, that shall have her full male if the little reg'lars go starved."

"Oh, there is no starving in this land, my good friend, for the family of a stout working man with a busy wife at home. But

five cents a week that you can as well do without?"

"It's the liquor you mane, Miss," said Mike, touching the jug with his foot; "troth, it's not I that cares for it; but, when the other boys drink, I must do my part."

the mind must be fed as well as the body, or it will not thrive | HONTAS, and except in very dry weather is seldom and grow. These are bright-looking boys of yours. They will without water. How often in the days of youthful soon learn to read, write, and keep accounts, if you will give them a chance. Is there nothing for which you spend twenty- imagination have I leaned against that aged rock, and as my fancy warmed with reminiscences of our colonial history, have I figured to myself the form of this beauteous princess, meditating the protection of the white man, from the wiles of her ferocious countrymen, and the vengeance of her father, advancing to her ablutions, and perhaps lifting up her orisons to the Great Spirit for the welfare of the white man, as standing by this stone, she looked towards the orient, radiant with the pencilled messengers of the morning.

"Perhaps the other boys have no children, and they cannot

have the pleasure you will have in giving up drink for the good of your children. I see you love those little fellows-I see it by the way they hang round you; and there, the baby, as if to make my words good, is stretching out his arms to you. Surely, surely, Mr. O'Neil, those that have children to play with when

they come in from their work don't need a drink to cheer them."

“And that's true, Miss."

“And then, when Sunday comes, it's good to have a store of pleasant thoughts; and what can be pleasanter than thinking that, instead of drinking up the money you have worked hard for, you have been laying it up, as it were, in these little boys' beads and hearts, to make them richer for this world; and, it may be, Mr. O'Neil, for the world to come? And, besides, ought you not to do this to show your gratitude to Him who gave you your children?—his very best gifts."

"Thank you, Miss, thank you," replied O'Neil, stroking his boys' heads and looking down, much pleased with Emma's pro

position, but not quite prepared to accede to it.
"Good-night to you all," said Emma, and "good-night to
you, Anny. Don't put your apron to your eyes again, my child;
I will be sure to come and see you before many days, and then,
Mrs. O'Neil, you can give me your husband's answer. Per
haps," she added, looking at O'Neil's companions, 66 some of
your friends, whose families are not yet here, may have chil-
dren they would like to send to the school."

"I thank ye, Miss," said one. "And ye'll be as sure to find children where there is a shanty, as bees where there's a hive," said another. Anny followed to the door. "How many days

will it be?" she asked.

"Very, very few, and do not forget our talk at Judy's grave." “ Forget! 'll forget everything else, and mind nothing but Judy, and all ye said about her ;" and she kissed Emma's gown as she stepped from the door, and, murmuring prayers and eye till Emma turned the road that led up the hill and was quite out of sight. As soon as she was out of hearing, one of the men within said, "There's not many the like of that young woman." "Her heart's blood is as warm as if she were born at home in old Ireland," said another. "And did not she plade for my stranger boys as if they were her own people's children?" asked Mike

blessings, sunk down on the ground, and neither moved foot nor

O'Neil.'

The story has too many incidents, and too much good matter of various kinds, to indulge in further quotation and abridgment is hurtful or insipid. It is deeply interesting; and would of itself be richly worth what the book costs.

This, this is the sort of books for Sunday schools.

POCAHONTAS,

W.

man.

I know not wherefore it is, but I could never contemplate any of the evidences of the former greatness or present debasement of that doomed race, who, when this continent was one vast wilderness of nature, uncultivated and unfrequented, trod amid its solitude rejoicing in their illimitable sway, that my mind did not instantly revert to the virtues and the sufferings of this amiable child of nature, the Princess Pocahontas. In festive commemoration of the first settlement of the colony, I have stood among the ruins of Jamestown, and shrinking from the voice of revelry, I have lingered among the broken fragments of red stone tablets upon the graves of the early colonists, and my heart has been oppressed with melancholy feelings, when looking upon the dark green vine festooned around the tottering ruins of the church, I have thought of the fate of this Indian girl, and of her perilous services to the white the most beautiful sites on the southern waters, and At Cobbs, in the county of Chesterfield, one of one of the earliest private settlements of the colony, how often has its former proprietor, my friend L. and myself, stood beneath the melancholy shade of the cedars, in the midst of the graves of her descendants. One by one we have seen them passing away, and assisted at the last mournful rites. From the cemetery we have passed to the ancient picture-gallery, to look upon the sombre features of Rolfe frowning from the pealed and tattered canvass, and to dwell upon the interesting countenance of Pocahontas, which is still believed to have been her veritable portrait, though denounced by one of her lineal descendants as a "tawny mulatto." The paintings were as large as life, and well executed, though in a state of utter decay. Copies have been taken by Sully, and have no doubt been multiplied as well in Europe as in this country. Often has the tasteful traveller turned from the great southern route, to view these original portraits of Rolfe and Pocahontas, and to tread amid the gravestones of her descendants in the neat and lonely burial-ground.

How often do the incidents of ordinary life transcend the wildest fictions of romance? Who gave to this dark THE INDIAN PRINCESS. daughter of the red man, nurtured in the wigwam of the savage, and familiar with blood, those gentle emoThere once stood, and I trust there yet stands, within tions, those generous feelings, that delicate sensibility, the limits of the town of Petersburg, on the north that maidenly decorum, and yet that princely and bank of the Appomattox, within a few feet of the mar- exalted heroism, which have ranked this Indian girl gin of the river, a large dark gray stone of a conical among the loftiest of her sex in any age or clime,—in form, about five feet in height, and somewhat more in "Paynim land or Christendie!" Even in her girlhood, diameter. On the side which looks to the east, three at the early age of twelve, we find her daring the disfeet above the ground, there is an oval excavation about pleasure of her father; and when the head of Smith, twelve inches across, and half as many in depth. The the hereditary foe of her race, was upon the deathstone is solitary, and lifts itself conspicuously above the stone, and the club uplifted, she threw her infant arms level of the earth. It is called the BASIN OF POCA-around the devoted white man, and bade them strike at

both. The stern bosom of Powhatan was moved by | She had heard, when his council surrounded her sire, As they met to consult by the wintery fire,

That Smith and his crew were to fall:

She had seen him, she knew him, and sometimes her heart
For his dangers would feel an unusual part,

And she cherished the colonists all.

Whilst her father was arming his murderous band,

the appeal, and his vengeance suspended. How often
when the colony at Jamestown was famishing, did she
supply them abundantly with provisions? Even after
she had incurred the displeasure of her royal father,
and had been banished from his presence, and after she
had been betrayed by her friends, and was seized by And exclaiming "exterminate all from this land,
Argall, her attachment to the white men continued,
until she was finally married to Rolfe, and visited
England. How painfully interesting was her interview
with Captain Smith in London? She had been told
that he was dead, when to her astonishment he called
upon her, but such was the repulsive coldness of his
manner, that she turned from him, and burying up her
face in her hands, she burst into tears.

But the most perilous service which this daring girl rendered to the colonists was in the fourteenth year of her age, when Powhatan having invited Smith to his settlement, on a hospitable visit, designed to massacre that leader and his whole band. Pocahontas eluding the vigilance of her friends, traversed the forest in the darkness of the night, to reveal his intentions to Smith. It was in commemoration of that signal service, that the following unpretending lines were written many years ago, by one who deeply admired the heroism of this untutored child of the wilderness.

THE PRESERVATION OF THE EARLY COLONISTS
FROM MASSACRE.

"Whether this intervention of Pocahontas be imputed to the softer sympathies of the heart, or to generous sorrow," &c. Burke's History of Virginia.

Full dark was the night, and the wild wind was high,
Not a star to be seen on the cloud-covered sky,

And the eagle had gone to his rest;

Each beast had retired to covert or cave,
The colonists slept in their barks on the wave,
Or they slept on the barren earth's breast.

No sound could disquiet their slumbers so sweet,—
They dreamed not of danger, yet feared not to meet,
For the sons of the ocean were brave;
And Smith was among them, their captain was he,
And a braver ne'er whirled the sword of the free
In battle, on land, or on wave.

To Powhatan's presence these strangers had been,
Through forest and glen, and thro' each desert scene,
With fearful petition they went.

And Powhatan told them that peace should be there,
His words seemed sincere, and his promises fair,
But they knew not his savage intent.

Virginia remembers how hollow they were,
As fickle as sunbeam that wantons in air,-
But the colonists deemed them sincere.
For tho' Powhatan promised his friendship and aid,
A treacherous plot to destroy them he laid,

When no treacherous plot they could fear.

On that very night while the colonists sleep,
Nor deem it befitting their vigils to keep,
Each man was to meet with his fate.
The sovereign savage had led out his band,
His tomahawk furious each grasped in his hand,

"To the white men, death, carnage, and hate!"

"To the white men, death, carnage, and hate," as they yell,
The savage sounds echoed thro' forest and dell,

"To the white men, death, carnage, and hate!"
But heed not, brave colonists, death is not near,
While the royal princess is your friend do no not fear,
Pocahontas will screen you from fate.

Who will dare to intrude on our right,-
Strike, murder, and scalp-light the fires around,
Bid the war-whoop of death give its terrible sound,

Not a white man shall live out this night;"
Unnoticed she left them, and hastened away,
She recked not the mountain, or thicket, or spray,
Nor darkness she heeded, nor storm.

All breathless she reached where the colonists were,
They dreamed not that Powhatan's daughter was there,
They dreamed not of savage alarm.

Their leader in haste then the heroine found,
The sky was his cover, his bed was the ground,
And beside him his armor was laid.
"Awake thee, brave chief," cried the Indian maid,
"Awake thee, my hero, or Powhatan's blade

Will number thy crew with the dead.
He comes with his tribe to o'erwhelm your whole host,
His savages wind by the dark river coast

To surround you, and massacre all.
Then haste, to his bark let each soldier repair,
And
put off from the land, for the foemen are near,-
Oh haste, or the colonists fall.

"Nor call me a traitor, because for thy sake
I have traversed the forest thro' thicket and brake
To tell thee my father's design.

To have seen thee expire beneath his fell stroke,
And thy followers all, my poor heart would have broke,
And the cold sleep of death had been mine.

"I have saved thee before from his terrible ire,
When the club was uplifted, and kindled the fire,
And thy death was decreed by his oath ;
Thy head on the block as my arms did entwine,
Between it and the club I then interposed mine,
And I told them to strike at us both.

"Then believe me, my Chieftain, and hasten away;
I return, or suspicion will blacken my stay,
And the morning my embassy tell.

May thy God e'er protect thee, and give thee his aid,-
Oh, live mindful of me, tho' a poor Indian maid—
Pocahontas now bids thee farewell!"

EXTENSION TO FOREIGN AUTHORS OF THE LAW OF COPY.RIGHT.

A vigorous discussion is going on in New York and Philadelphia, upon the question, whether the benefits of the United States' law, securing to authors the exclusive right to the sale of their works for limited times, should be extended to authors resident in England and other foreign countries?

We confess, it appears to us surprising, that any voice should be found in the negative of this question; besides the voices of those booksellers, who profit by vending foreign books, and of those readers, whose morbid appetites make them ravenous for the worst trash that can be reprinted from the refuse of European literature. The advantages which would result from the proposed extension, are obvious, and great,

At present, works from abroad (because not saddled with the author's copy-right) can be re-published here at half the prices they would require if they were of domestic origin, and were protected by entry and patent according to law. An immense deluge of foreign trash-aye, and poison, too—is one consequence: an incalculable addition to that evil, justly deemed one of the greatest in modern Literature; namely, the needless multiplication of books.

MERCHANTS' LIBRARIES.

The New York Merchants have had a Library established for their joint use, since 1821. Connected with it, are courses of Lectures delivered by able men employed for the purpose, on various interesting and useful subjects. The following facts respecting it, are gleaned from a late annual report made by the presiding officer.

The Library opened in February, 1821, with 700 vols. At the end of that year, there were 204 members. In 1826, its prosperity began to be more rapid than ever before. In that year, 471 members were added to it. In 1830, it took possession of CLINTON HALL, a 'noble edifice,' then 'dedicated to the service of literature, science, and the arts.'

66

In 1831, 507 members were added, and 750 vols.
1832, 383
1833, 382
1834, 393

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1397

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Another consequence is, the exclusion, partial indeed, yet extensive, of our own writers, from the book market; if they avail themselves of the law made in their favor. For they are so far undersold by the re-printers of foreign works, that the latter occupy triple the space in the public eye, to which their intrinsic merits entitle them. Thus not only are European corruptions poured in copious streams into our literature, manners, and character, but our native authors, deprived of the encouragement so peculiarly requisite in this country to stimulate literary effort, produce little or nothing that 'aftertimes will not willingly let die.' The inducements to that practice of composition, which is indispensable to excellence, are withheld. False models are forced upon their imitation: false taste, through a thousand channels, is infused into the minds of both writers and readers: unnumbered opportunities are lost, of dissem'Great care has been taken,' says the report, 'in the inating American principles and creating an American spirit: and an improvement shamefully slow, if not selection of the new books, to procure the most impositive deterioration, attends the exertions of Ameri-portant and valuable works in the several departments can intellect.

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A fair competition is all that our own authors need. The guarantee they now have, against encroachment upon the fruits of their mental labors by piracies at home, every one concedes to be just. It is equally just, to make that guarantee effectual, by protecting them from an even more hurtful foreign encroach

ment.

Indeed, the interests of readers and of writers are so variously and indissolubly blended in calling for the proposed extension, that no point can be urged in behalf of the one, that does not tell in behalf of the other.

In this last year, (1834) the whole number of volumes was 9938.

In the year 1837, 2,547 volumes were added. The whole number at present is 15,852. Of the volumes added last year, 381 were donations.

of learning, especially in those of history, science, and the arts, which were most in demand. Should the library continue to receive accessions, in an equal ratio for five years to come, it will then be in advance of number and the value of its contents; and at the prenearly all the public libraries in the Union, both in the sent moment there are few libraries in the country, that contain an equal number of standard publications, of the most approved editions.'

The following statement is creditable to the taste of the merchants for reading; and to their discrimination in their choice of books:

'Upon a careful examination of the subject, it has been ascertained that the average number of volumes Justice to foreign authors, is no despicable inducement drawn daily from the library, is upwards of 450, or to the measure. Many as their readers are on this side upwards of 135,000 volumes annually. Of this large of the Atlantic, how great would be the increase of number a great proportion is found to consist of works their reward for those emanations of genius which de- upon the solid branches of learning, as the physical light and improve the world! How reasonable, that sciences, political economy, commerce, and the arts. as the fruits of their vigils and toils cross the sea and Such is the character of the spiritual aliment which is are enjoyed by distant millions, these too should con- afforded to many hundreds of our young men, from the tribute something to requite the dimmed eyes and hol- accumulated stores of useful learning which our valulow, pallid cheeks, without which, that enjoyment had able library contains; and whenever we reflect upon never been!—In this, moreover, as in all justice, there the discovery of Lord Bacon, embodied with sentenwould be good husbandry at last. The benefit would tious brevity in the remark, that "KNOWLEDGE IS be made mutual by foreign governments: they would | POWER," it is difficult to calculate the amount of that allow copy-rights in their countries, to our authors. moral strength which is thus imparted, and of which And thus another interchange of good offices-another society, sooner or later, must reap the full benefit.' important link of kindness-would be added to those which are already promising to make the intercourse of nations benignant and fraternal, instead of hostile and destructive.

The last topic alone might serve as text for an expanded and unanswerable argument in favor of the contemplated law. We are content merely to glance at this, as at the other reasons that may be urged.

There are now 3772 members: of whom, 3,444 pay $2, each, annually; 50 pay $5 each; and 278 are stockholders.

The receipts last year, from initiation fees, lectures, and other sources, were $6,918.

The subjoined paragraphs of the report display the benefits of the Lectures:

'The results of the LECTURES during the past sea

son, in a pecuniary point of view, far exceeded the most sanguine anticipations of the board; the surplus remaining, after paying all expenses, was $665 66, as appears by the Treasurer's report. The course of lectures now in progress will undoubtedly yield a further surplus to replenish the treasury of the association.

'It is unnecessary to dwell upon the unparalleled success that has attended this auxiliary branch, which has been engrafted upon the original plan of our institution. The best testimony on the subject is found in the immense crowds that throng the hall during the delivery of the lectures, until additional space is required for their accommodation. Nor can any reasonable doubt exist, as to the utility of this mode of instruction, by which important truths are enforced, and valuable information imparted, in the most effective, as well as the most agreeable manner. We have all listened with emotions of delight and admiration to the impassioned eloquence that has been poured forth on subjects of the highest interest. Literature acquires fresh charms, and the lessons of philosophy sink deeper into the minds, when set forth and illustrated by the animated tones of the lecturer; the attention is directed with a new impetus to the consideration of important topics, and the inquisitive student is stimulated and encouraged to engage with fresh ardor in the pursuit of knowledge.'

Such institutions as this, are needed in all our towns and villages. On a smaller scale, they are practicable in every village of twenty families.

Just then a maiden caught my sight,
From all this pomp apart,
Whose eye so sweetly shone, its light
Seemed incense from the heart.

She sat within a verdant bower,

Bespangled with the dew,

And on the air full many a flower
Its balmy fragrance threw.
Methought she had been sent to bless
The thorny paths of earth,
And teach the flowers that loveliness,
Which with herself had birth.

On me, methought, her glance and smile
In blended radiance fell;
She pointed to a plant the while,

Which told her meaning well.

Upon its leaves of changeless green,

Pure Friendship's emblem true-
The names of those she loved were seen,
A chosen favored few.

With rapture thrilling in my breast,
I joined my humble name;
Ambition's thoughts were lulled to rest;
What cared I then for fame!

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Permit me, Coz, a dream to tell,
Was conjured for an hour
Around my pillow by the spell
Of some strange wizard power.
Ambition sat upon a throne

Of gold, and sparkling gem;
And brilliantly the halo shone
Around his diadem.

He cast on me a glance of light,
Then raised his shadowy hand,
And, lo! upon a towering height
I saw a column stand.

To earth I bowed my forehead then,
My every pulse beat high;
That marble bore the names of men,
Whose fame can never die!

I marked a pathway rough and steep,
Which to the column led,

And, though I had but strength to creep,
I turned that path to tread.

BLANKS.

NO. I.

My earliest recollections of newspaper reading are connected with the name of a mysterious person, who made a conspicuous figure in our little country paper, under the patriarchal title of JOB PRINTING. I was at first attracted by the stately capitals in which the name appeared, week after week, before I had begun to take much notice of the "reading matter" printed in small type. As the printer of the Village Herald chose to put the name of Mr. Printing in a most conspicuous part of every number, and in the most glaring letter that his fount afforded, it is his fault, not my own, that I began to look upon this eminent public character with a degree of reverence akin to superstition. As my skill in reading grew, and I began to give attention to second-rate, as well as capital articles, I found my favorite Job enveloped with a ten-fold mystery. Instead of advertising, as his neighbors did, some commodity for sale, or other business news, his advertisement was occupied with a mysterious announcement in relation to himself, which filled me with astonishment and awe. "Job Printing done at this office, with neatness and despatch!" I was reserved and addicted to solitary thought, and as I found that there were some things which I must not ask about, at least with any hope of a direct reply, I set this down upon the list, and waited till the secret should unfold itself. How a man could be "done" with neatness and despatch, was inconceivable, and as the printer's office was the scene of the performance, I found various excuses for frequenting it, and loitering about it, in the hope that Job might be "done" some day while I was there. But, alas, I hoped in vain, and true to my Pytha

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