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These arts can draw the soul, and such as these, Gently as wind-harps answer to the breeze.

Oh what were we, if when our waywardness
Had left no work for time, upon the brow
Of one, whose frailty was too oft to bless,
But who no more shall bless or grieve for, now;
If, when the watch-light of a mother's fears
Had warn'd unheeded and gone out in tears,
The quenching of that unrequited flame
Left love no fountain for the heart to claim;
If not one tendril linger'd to entwine

The wayward oak with some devoted vine,
Whose gentle foliage might, at least, conceal
The harsher features which it could not heal;
If o'er our steps, to pray for their return,
No sister's tenderness were left to yearn,
And, with the patriarch's earnestness, to wield
The only blade that forces heaven to yield?
Who but would hug the shadows of the tomb,
If life were such an emphasis of gloom?
Oh! who could deem himself outcast of heaven,
If such the plea that he might be forgiven?

And now, farewell; may all that God can give
To glad thy spirit, mingle with thy cup.
I wander sadly; not unbless'd of hope,
Yet not upheld ;-my heart doth love to grieve;
There is a sadness which itself doth weave
Bright presage of the future, and whose dart
Brings oil, to soothe its passage through the heart,
At once a blessing and a wound to leave.
Thus, when the present seems a thankless waste,
I water with a tear the flowery past;
And every bud of promise childhood knew,
Resumes its foliage with a freshened hue;
Above their graves my favorite flowers lie spread,
Their only thorn-the thought that they are dead.
How strangely doth our stream of being flow!
Joy starts the tear at morn-at evening, woe;
On the same stem despair gives hope the lie;
One certainty is man's-that man must die;
A transient star-his cradle and his grave,
The two great transits which his glories have.
A few short days,-at most, a few brief years,
The grave will hide our joys, and heaven our tears;
If, haply, when life's billows beat no more,
Our barks be haven'd on that cloudless shore.
But toils await us ere the course be run,
And conflicts must precede the victory won.
Thou know'st the hopes, thou knowest the armor given
To them who fight on earth for crowns in heaven:
Then be these hopes, and be this armor thine,
And as thy conflict, thy reward, divine.
Camden, S. C.

HISTORICAL WRITERS.

B. W. H.

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"Something about Sonnets" led me into a pleasant search among the old poets, and the paper I now offer you is the result of that search. In sending you these articles, I claim the humble merit, only, of a diligent, though I would hope for the award, also, of a tasteful, compiler, offering little or nothing of my own, but the simple thread that ties together the rare flowers, plucked elsewhere.

In these days, when magazine poetry is a drug, and a drug, too, of the cheapest and most purchasable kind, it operates as a relief to the reader to turn over the pages of those "many bards, gilding the lapses of time," and to cull from them forgotten extracts,-the germ, quite often, of many a full-famed modern poet: and I cannot but recommend it as a plan to be adopted in conducting a literary work, to devote a certain portion of every number to this special purpose.

Among the English poets of "the olden time," PHINEHAS FLETCHER has ever been a favorite with me, and his "Purple Island," of all his works, prized most highly. This poet was born in 1584, graduated at King's College, Cambridge, in 1604, entered the church, and held a living therein for twenty-nine years. He is often confounded, when spoken of at this day, with JOHN FLETCHER, the collaborator of FRANCIS BEAUMONT, in the composition of dramatic works, and the contemporary of our bard. To my judgment the genius of Phinehas seems immeasurably superior to that of John Fletcher. His brother, GILES FLETCHER, was also a poet of equal celebrity, though few of his works are preserved. Phinehas died about the year 1650, not far from the age of 66.

"THE PURPLE ISLAND" is an allegorical description of Man, who is therein personified. The first five Cantos contain an account of the structure of the human frame, with all its functions. Therein are described all the physical faculties of man, their several and collective uses, their fitness, order, and exquisite workmanship. This portion of the poem has been objected to by some critics, as entering with too much minuteness into a subject, which it is the more appropriate task of the anatomist, than of the poet, to describe. I do not admit this objection, however, as being of sufficient force to deter any lover of fine poetry from a perusal of these five Cantos.

The poet next proceeds to a fine personification of the Passions, and the Mental, or Intellectual qualities of Man. This is both the work and the worker of inspiration. The soul kindles and flames as the eye and mind peruse it. It is a test, this poem, of a capacity, in the reader, for the enjoyment of true poetry. The two last Cantos are superlatively grand. Eclecta, or M. Le Long, in his historical catalogue, has produced the Intellect, as the leader of the Virtues, or better the names of more than twenty thousand writers of Passions, defends "The Island" against the attacks of French history. Bundu mentions thirty thousand the Vices. The latter are conquered by the interfer "Scriptores rerum Germanicarum." ence of an angel, who comes to the aid of Eclecta, at

his earnest prayer. This prayer is, perhaps, the most beautiful portion of the poem.

The Purple Island was written while Fletcher was yet very young: but it gives its author an indisputable right to the very highest rank on the scale of British Poets. Milton was evidently indebted to him for many of his beauties,—as, in his turn, was he, perhaps, indebted to Spenser, in no inconsiderable degree. Be these things as they may, that all the praise I have awarded him is but a feeble tribute to his merits, the extracts I shall transcribe from The Purple Island will abundantly prove to the reader.

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Oh, thou deep well of life! wide stream of love! More wide, more deep, than deepest, widest seas! Who, dying, death to endless death didst prove, To work this wilful rebel-island's ease! Thy love no time began, no time decays,— But still increaseth with increasing days,— Where, then, may we begin, where may we end, thy praise?

Thus far the first Canto.-The following is a curious specimen of the skill with which the allegory is sustained.

THE VEINS.

Nor is there any part in all this land,

But is a little isle: for thousand brooks,

In azure channels, glide on silver sand:

Their serpent-windings, and deceiving crooks, Circling about, and watering all the plain, Empty themselves into the all-drinking main, And, creeping, forward slide, but never turn again.

The above extract is the only one I shall make from Canto the second, which is full of curious anatomical description, carried out with equal truth and beauty. For similar reasons, I shall pass over Cantos the third, fourth, and fifth, at present, and commence my extracts, once more, with the following sparkling stanza from Canto sixth.

HEAVEN.

There, golden stars set in the crystal snow,

There, dainty joys laugh at whiteheaded caring, There, day no night, delight no end shall know, Sweets, without surfeit, fulness without sparing, And by its spending, growing happiness: There, God, himself, in glory's lavishness Diffused to all, in all, is all full blessedness.

Here is an animated landscape. What a flowergarden!

SPRING-TIME.

The flowers, that, frightened with sharp winter's dread,

Retire into their mother Tellus' womb,
Yet, in the spring, in troops new mustered,
Peep out again from their unfrozen tomb:
The early violet will fresh arise,
And, spreading his flowered purple to the skies,
Boldly the little elf the winter's spite defies!

The hedge, green satin pinked and cut, arrays;
The heliotrope, to cloth of gold aspires;

In hundred colored silks the tulip plays;

The imperial flower his neck with pearl attires; The lily, high her silver grogram rears;

The pansy, her wrought velvet garment bears;

The red rose, scarlet, and the provence, damask wears.

Come we now to the seventh Canto. Here is a touching sketch.

PASSING AWAY.

Why shouldst thou, here, look for perpetual good? At every loss 'gainst Heaven's face repining:Do but behold where glorious cities stood,

With gilded tops, and silver turrets shining! There, now, the hart, fearless of greyhound, feeds, And loving pelican in safety breeds.

And now for a series of pictures, painted by a master-hand. The first who sits to the mighty liner is

HYPOCRISY.

His wanton heart he veils with dewy eyes,

So oft the world, so oft himself deceives,
His heart, his hands, his tongue full oft belies;
In 's path (as snail's,) silver, but slime he leaves.
He Babel's glory is, but Zion's taint;
Religion's blot; but Irreligion's paint:

A saint, abroad,—at home, a fiend,—and worst, a saint !

The next sitter is akin to him whom we have been observing. Mark the delicate discrimination the artist makes between them.

DISSEMBLANCE.

His painted face might hardly be detected:

Arms of offence he selď or never wore;

Lest thence his close designs might be suspected: But clasping close his foe, as loth to part, He steals his dagger, with false, smiling art,

And sheaths the trait'rous steel in its own master's heart.

Two Jewish captains, close themselves enlacing

In love's sweet twines, his target broad displayed, One, with 's left hand the other's beard embracing,

But, in his right a shining sword he swayed, Which, unawares, through th' other's ribs he smites; There lay the wretch without all burial-rites: His word, "HE DEEPEST WOUNDS, THAT IN HIS FAWNING BITES!"

The "word" is the motto of the shield each of these personified passions is supposed to bear.-What a portraiture is this of SEDITION!

A subtle craftsman framed him seemly arms, Forged in the shop of wrangling Sophistry, And wrought with curious arts, and mighty charms, Tempered with lies, and false Philosophy. Millions of heedless souls thus had he slain ;His seven-fold targe a field of gules did stain; In this two swords he bore,—his word, "Divide, and REIGN !"

The next is a full-length. This impersonation is perhaps as strong and apt as any in this brilliant gallery.

ENVY.

Envy came next: Envy, with squinted eyes: Sick of a strange disease,—his neighbor's health! Blest lives he, then, when any, better, dies!

Is never poor, but in another's wealth! On best men's griefs and harms he feeds his fill, Else his own maw doth eat, with spiteful will. Ill must the temper be, where diet is so ill!

Each eye through diverse optic slyly leers,
Which, both his sight and object's self bely:
So, greatest virtue as a mote appears,

And molehill faults to mountains multiply.
When needs he must, then faintly yet he praises,
Somewhat the deed, much more the deed he raises,
So, marring what he makes, and, praising, most dis-
praises!

His missile weapon was a lying tongue,
Which he, far off, like swiftest lightning, flung!

Here is a sketch; a family group. Mark the exquisite delineation of the difference between these kindred personations..

DETRACTION AND THIEVERY.

And at the rear of these, in secret guise,

Crept Thievery and Detraction; near akin: No twins more like they seemed almost the same. One stole the goods, the other, the good name. The latter lives in scorn,—the former dies in shame!

The thief's death is surely better than the detractor's

life.

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His art is but to hide, not heal, a sore:

To nourish pride: to strangle conscience: To drain the rich, his own dry vaults to store:

To spoil the precious soul: to please vile sense: A carrion-crow he is,-a gaping grave,― The rich coat's moth,-the Devil's fact'ring knave.

In Canto ninth, you may read what I will call

THE LESSON OF THE Lark.

The cheerful lark, mounting from early bed,
With sweet salutes awakes the drowsy light;
The earth she left, and up to heaven is fled :

There, chants her Maker's praises, out of sight.* Earth seems a molehill, men but ants to be, Teaching proud men, that soar to high degree, The further up they climb, the less they seem and see!

There is a whole library of human philosophy in that Alexandrine !

Here are three pictures that should adorn the cabi net of every Christian. Humility and Faith!

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EXTRACTS FROM

GLEANINGS ON THE WAY.

BY J. Q. P. of N. C.

America-Coup d'œil of "my tour"-Philadelphia-its plan--
Public Buildings-Ladies-Flowers and Music-Intercourse
with strangers-University-Hospital-Ball at Mrs. C***--
Sleigh-riding.

America! happy, fortunate, prosperous America! As the child loves its mother, so I love thee. Ere I was let loose from the prison-walls of a university, I had promised to tread your rich and productive soil; to see your young and vigorous people; your cities, towns and villages; to roam through your unknown forests; to glide down your beautiful and majestic rivers; to climb your lofty mountains and behold the surrounding scenery. The grand, the curious and beautiful of foreign climes may induce many of thy sons to leave their blessed homes, ignorant of the beauties of their own country, but they offer not the same attractions to me.

Give me to see the sublime and beautiful in naturethe rocks and torrents, forests and mountains, hills, vales and grassy plains that are found in my own lovely land-give me to know and love my country, and I ask

So have I often seen a purple flower,
Fainting through heat, hang down her drooping no more.

head:

But soon refreshed with a welcome shower,
Begins again her lively beauties spread,
And with new pride her silken leaves display:
And while the sun doth now more gently play,
Lays out her swelling bosom to the light of day.

I have visited in "my tour" the fertile fields of the sunny South, and enjoyed in that land of ease and elegance the kindness and hospitality of the people. I have halted in Philadelphia-the city of beauty-where more elegant figures and lovely faces are seen than any where in the Union; eat my icecream at Parkinson's; become acquainted with the intelligent and accomplishThe twelfth Canto, and the last, contains many splen-ed of that most delightful city, and charmed with their did stanzas which I would fain transcribe, but there are limits to one contributor's monthly share in a Magazine, as well as to the patience of its thousands of monthly readers: and I must close with the two closing stanzas of "The Purple Island."

HEAVEN'S DElights.

society. I have travelled through the beautifully cultivated country of Eastern Pennsylvania, and lingered on the banks of the romantic Susquehanna. I have bravely ascended and descended, on inclined planes, the Alleghany mountains, and refreshed myself at the "Summit House." I have embarked at Pittsburg, floated down "La Belle Rivière"--the Ohio, and stemmed the pow

There, sweet delights which know not end nor mea-erful current of the Mississippi. I have wandered over

sure.

No chance is there, nor eating times succeeding;
No wasteful spending can impair their treasure;
Pleasure full-grown, yet ever freshly-breeding;
The soul still big of joy, and still conceiving:
Fulness of sweets exclude not more receiving,
Beyond slow tongue's reports, beyond quick thought's
perceiving!

the extensive prairies of the West, and lodged in the wigwam of the red man. In the light canoe of the Indian, I have moved, with a quick and equal sweep, over the still and quiet waters, lit by Heaven's beautiful lamp, and fancied myself in some paradisian scene. I have skimmed over the sail-covered lakes of the North, felt my "littleness" at mighty Niagara, drank my glass of water at fashionable Saratoga, and read the last literary work in Boston. I have glided down the grand, romantic and classical Hudson, landed at New Yorkthe great commercial emporium of our country, promenaded Broadway, and forced my steps through the dense masses of living beings which throng that elegant street. I have listened to the last piece of music sung by a charming lady in the "Monumental City," stood within the Senate Chamber at Washington and heard the eloIf this attempt to add to the interest of the Messen-quence of the nation. I have surveyed from the Capiger, by extracting some of the beauties of the elder tol, in Richmond, the picturesque scenery of the surbards, shall be received with favor on the part of the rounding country, bathed my limbs in the Hot Springs readers of these pages, it will give the writer much of Virginia, touched at " Old Point Comfort" and luxupleasure to renew it in some future numbers. riated on oysters, fish and a pure and healthy sea breeze. I have passed through scenes interesting and charming; VOL. IV.-32

There they are gone: there will they ever bide :
Swimming in waves of joy, and heavenly loves:
He, still a bridegroom, she, a gladsome bride:
Their hearts like spheres in love still constant moving:
No change, no grief, nor age can them befal,
Their bridal bed is in that heavenly hall,
Where all days are but one, and only One is All!

J. F. O.

gazed on spots sacred to American freemen; parted Water Works and Girard College, and ask if you have from friends dear in my memory.

seen these places, but never wish to know if you have visited the Old State House-entered the room which Washington in by-gone years had entered―trod the steps which he once trod-had pointed out the seats of those immortal men whose names are as imperishable as time. I am better satisfied and shall be more pleased to say that I have seen the Old State House in Philadel phia-entered the room in which the illustrious patriots of the Revolution pledged their "lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor," in defence of Liberty, than to be able to paint the beautiful and romantic scenery of the Schuylkill-Fairmount Water Works, with its pumps in operation, forcing the water high up in basins, and the manner of conveying it from thence by hydrants— the canal on the opposite side, with its boats of coal, The plan of the city is plain, simple and convenient. the wealth of Pennsylvania ;—to know that a Mr. GiThe principal streets are those which extend from the rard, who lived a poor and miserable life that he might banks of the one to that of the other river--these are die rich, bequeathed a handsome sum of money for the crossed by others at right angles, thereby dividing it in erection of a college and the education of youth. squares. Chesnut is the most fashionable. The houses The Churches, Banks, Hospitals, Penitentiary, Exare built of good brick, plain, comfortable and well fur-change, Deaf and Dumb Asylum, Academy of Fine nished. The Girard Row, Portico Square and Colon-Arts and Mint are the most interesting and conspicuous nade are the most attractive fronts. The most serious objection is the monotonous appearance of the buildings, which is tiresome to the visiter, but this dull and quaker-like style is being laid aside for one more finished, beautiful and elegant. From spring till winter, the Philadelphian is making improvements about his lot-and when at the top, you are repaid by a most charmnot satisfied with his house, he pulls it down and builds again, or tears away the brick and adds a marble front, or repaints the doors, windows, &c.

PHILADELPHIA.-This neat and beautiful city is situated between the Delaware and Schuylkill rivers, about six miles above their junction. You are landed at Chesnut street wharf, and introduced, at once, into the most fashionable part of the city. The first things remarked, are the neatness and cleanliness of the streets; the stores, which are well finished and showy; the gentlemen, who are good-looking and well dressed, and the many handsome female faces met at every step. Contrasting their complexions with the Southern ladies, you will find them not so fine and delicate, but more showy in the distance. Their feet are large, which is almost a characteristic. The Southern lady may justly boast of the neatness and delicacy of her hands and feet.

The number of trees which border the streets, gives an air of freshness and coolness to the city and adds much to its beauty and comfort. The public squares are large and in good order, and want only a few trifling additions to make them most delightful promenades, both during the day and night.

If water were kept leaping and playing through and above the green grass, which carpets the walks on either side, and if, during the night the brilliant gas lights were substituted for those of oil, then would Independent and Washington squares soon be rid of those who now visit them, and the respectable citizens and strangers could here promenade without the risk of being insulted at every step. Owing to this arrangement of streets and public squares, the air circulates freely and contributes to the health of the city.

The public buildings are of a fine order, but I visited only one with much interest-the Old State House, which stands unnoticed and unhonored, with its front posted with bills of "Theatre," "Magic," "Diorama," "Constable's Notice," "Lost," &c. To me, it served to recall many interesting and delightful associations, and I felt sorry that it is not more highly prized. It should be the boast of every Philadelphian, that in this plain and venerable pile once sat the immortal Signers of the Declaration of Independence—that on these steps was first declared that we were free and independent that here the "Father" of a now flourishing and extensive country was first seen sitting in the Presidential chair, directing the destinies of a new and freeborn nation. But no such feelings as these glow in their bosoms, and they never point to it as the dearest proof of their freedom. How often will they speak of Fairmount

buildings. Having seen this, you now visit Fairmount, situated amid the romantic scenery of the Schuylkill. The basins are on a high hill and the water is raised by machinery propelled by the waters of the Schuylkill. You ascend to these basins by means of wooden steps

ing view of the City, Penitentiary, Girard College, Pratt's Gardens and the picturesque country around. These works now at a very trifling expense supply the citizens with pure and healthy water, and in cases of fire, afford sufficient water to extinguish the flames before they can make any advance.

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I have said that the ladies of Philadelphia are handsome. This is not all. They are intelligent and accomplished. The number of select and well con ducted schools give them great advantages, and their education is not finished at fourteen, in order that they may come out," as is too often the case in the South. Their manners are pleasant and agreeable, and their conversation interesting and instructive. They want the liveliness, the vivacity, the simplicity, the ease and expression of the Southern lady when engaged in conversation. They have the substance, but want the soul. Hence the conversation of the latter, although not so instructive, is more attractive and winning. All who have been so fortunate and happy as to converse with both, must acknowledge the superiority of the Southern in this particular. There is a something which fasci. nates, chains and insensibly wins. The Philadelphians dress in better taste than any people in this country. Their dresses are neater and their colors better chosen; hence their appearance is the more finished.

The ladies are very fond of music and flowers, both of which speak very favorably of their taste and refine ment. In walking the streets, you will see beautiful collections of flowers at their windows, and you will find some of their private gardens most extensive. ! have been often charmed with their music, and it is delightful to attend the musical soirée given by Mrs. Capt. R. and Mrs. B. alternately on Tuesday evenings. At these parties, you hear the best vocal and instru mental performers and meet the most select society. As

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