one of its gayest and happiest citizens. There comes | leaves near me, I turned, and Sir Henry Montanvers to some an old age of the heart, darker and more deso- stood before me. My first impulse was to fly, but it late than the real winter of a long life! was impossible. "I pass over my childhood. I was educated by an old tutor at my home, which I scarcely ever left, but spent what should have been the happiest hours of my existence, in idle study or endeavors to win that love from my father which he wrongly withheld from me. All was in vain. Every effort that I made was repulsed, and often, often have I, when I left him, retired to my own room, and lifted up my voice to Heaven to reconcile him to me-to grant me his friendship, if not his love. Such are some of the memories that come upon me as I turn to survey that childhood. I hasten over them. At the urgent solicitation of the relatives of my father we removed to Florence. I was at that time fifteen, and an heiress. The latter consideration was enough of itself to attract the butterflies that swarm in that fair city. I was, however, cold to their homage, and heartily despised the common-place affections of those who aspired to my hand. It will seem strange that one in my isolated situation should be so indifferent to the love of others. It was still stranger to mark the carelessness with which I received offers of marriage, and the cool indifference with which I rejected them. It must be that my dark and desolate condition caused me to throw aside the flowers that were strewed along my path, and dream of the roses of that elysium of love in which I now repose! At length came one rich and noble-he poured forth his adoration-he followed me wherever I went-at the opera, in the dance, and in the parlor, on every occasion, for months, he proffered his suit. He too was rejected. On the day that I rejected him, a note from my father, stating that he had watched my course and had disapproved of it-told me that I was the betrothed bride of Sir Henry Montanvers." "Sir Henry Montanvers!" echoed Lucien. "Meta, dear Meta,' he said, 'hear me for this once. You have wronged me deeply. Why do you hatewhy do you despise me? Again, I ask you to hear me: and if you can, against the wishes and prayers of your father, reject me again, do so.' "Sir Henry Montanvers,' I replied, 'you have stooped to actions beneath the dignity of any gentleman. Do not force me to speak more freely to you. Why do you again proffer the hated suit that I have more than once sworn never to accept?' "But you may change.' "No, sir, never! I have said it!' "Proud girl, you shall be mine!' he returned, with a smile of triumph, which I shall never forget. 'You shall be mine, or you are both houseless beggars. Your father's estates are mortgaged to me for debts contracted no matter how, before his marriage. To liquidate which debts he has pledged yourself. Meta, I know that you despise me—you shall do so no more with impunity-you shall be mine!' "No more—no more, sir,' I replied. 'Your words convince me how base and contemptible you are. I have said that I would never wed you, and I now swear that no circumstances will ever induce me to change that resolution. Out of my sight, sir.” “I go, haughty girl,' he said, 'I go, but what I have said shall be fufilled,' and he disappeared. I heard his retreating steps no more, ere I sought my own room. Pale and breathless-stunned by the intelligence I had received-overwhelmed by the meanness of my pretended lover, and the baseness of my unnatural father, I threw myself on the first seat I met. I had sat there perhaps an hour when the door of my room was gently opened, and a too well known manner told me that my father stood before me. I shall never forget the stern "You start-you shudder!” cried Meta. "You know ness of his countenance, when, for the first time since him-do you not?" "Go on-go on, Meta." "I was the promised bride of one whom I had never seen and could not love. I struggled to break the unhallowed pledge that my father had given, and I was laughed at. I threatened my own life rather than leave the altar as his wife-he smiled, and told me to prepare to meet Montanvers. And I did prepare to meet him. I prepared to meet him as a legitimate daughter of Italy should meet the man she hated. Lovely, our removal to Florence, he entered my chamber. He seated himself by my side, and spoke in tones of tenderness that I had never before received from him. He urged me, as I valued my happiness and his feelings, to forget the hatred which I entertained for Montanvers, and accept his suit. He urged, but it was to a cold ear. "Father!' I said, 'your request cannot be complied with-I will not wed Sir Henry Montanvers.' "Then hear my commands!' were his words, spoken in an agitated and passionate voice. You have lovely Italy! And thou loveliest portion of Italy, beau-withered my hopes-you have blighted my prospects— tiful Tuscany-ye gave me the glowing feelings-the restless imagination, and the ardent and fiery spirit. Fatal-fatal gifts! Montanvers came. I threw off all hypocrisy at once, and repulsed him. It would not do. He urged my father's vow. My hatred grew stronger, and in its greatest extremity I abhorred, and almost cursed that father. No, no! I could not-I did not curse him. Although he had taken away hope and happiness-although he had crushed all my desires-me-leave me immediately and forever! I will not frustrated all my wishes, I still endeavored to look beyond the clouds that surrounded me, and trace a calmer, perhaps a brighter scene for the future. I was seated one evening in a bower in a distant part of our garden, musing upon the troubles under which I labored, when on hearing a slight rustling among the you have been despised since your birth. Our house has fallen-our home, mine no longer. I am an exile. and you are the destroyer. May the fountain of your life be tainted-may you wander alone, and despised on the earth-may the ruin which you have wrought, forever haunt you. I, your father, invoke this curse upon your head. Forget your relation to me—and thus devote you to a life more terrible than death. Leave spare, and may I never more see you. Away-away!' "With that curse still quivering on his lips, I left him. I had dreamed of hope, and now my dream was broken. Convinced of the deeply rooted hatred of my father, without considering of the future, I resolved to obey his command never to see him more. At dusk, when no one would be moving abroad, was the selected time to put that resolution into execution. I was afraid that Montanvers might observe, and frustrate my plan, and therefore chose that hour. Accordingly, when it came, I noiselessly left my room-descended the stairs-and was soon beyond the outer gate-standing alone in the silent streets of Florence. I had walked some distance in safety, when I heard a voice well calculated to terrify me it was that of Montanvers. "Why, how now, my young rover; whither do you hurry at this hour? I'll be sworn there's some intrigue on foot,' he said, as he approached me. I turned to escape--it was too late. His attendants overtook me, and were tearing aside my veil as he came up. "Ha! sweet fortune, at last you befriend me. Hush, fellows! We have a rich prize. Away with this girl to the cottage on the Appenines.' From that instant I heard no more. to fit. In a moment almost I was dressed in the garb of the robbers. From the many arms that lay around me I selected two pistols, fearing that I might be forced to use them, and being determined to escape, or at least never again enter that house. A rope ladder was near. Every thing favored my escape. I jumped into the window, flew down the ladder, and had approached within about twenty feet of the ground, and found that I had reached the end of the ladder. Here I was at a loss what to do--but resolved to escape, I consigned myself to the care of God, and let go my hold. I was for some moments stunned by the fall, but recovering, looked around me. I had alighted on a gloomy and rugged spot. A horse was loose near me--I sprang with a single leap on his back. "Seize her, my men! Seize her!' shouted a man, starting from a thicket of densely massed trees; and, in another instant, I discovered four or five dark forms in the back ground. I had scarcely time to breathe again ere the men rushed up, but the horse saved me; for becoming frightened, away he flew like the lightning. A ball-another and another whirled by me--but at every leap my horse gained additional speed, and I was soon beyond the further pursuit of the robbers. On, "How long I was unconscious I know not. When I awoke, I looked around. It was night, and the surrounding objects were scarcely perceptible. I was in the 'cottage of the Appenines,' as he had called it. It was an antiquated building, and rather dilapidated. The room in which I had slept was covered with tapes-on, we flew. Suddenly the horse quivered and snorted, try, and the walls with shining arms and rude dresses. and again the faithful courser quivered dreadfully with An immense oak table, with some huge chairs, were its fast failing limbs and glassy eye. Again it sprang only furniture. A pine torch was burning on the fiercely onward--spurned the ground with conscious hearth, but it gave but little light, and as I was looking pride--staggered from exhaustion, and dropped down at it a gust of wind put it out. All was darkness. I arose dead. I was alone, and leaning over the once stately and went to the casement of the cottage. A glorious steed, when I heard the sound of approaching steps. I landscape was stretched out beneath me. The dark was certain that they were those of the pursuing roband tall Appenines threw up their sky-cleaving peaks bers. I was then on a peak of the Appenines-a deep on high, and ever and anon I could hear the rush of ravine was beneath me--this was my only chance of distant mountain streams sweeping through ravines escape. I had no one to sigh for me in this world, and and over precipices. There was something magical in death I thought preferable to a life of misery. The the sight that caused me for a time to forget my true footsteps came still nearer. 1 knelt down in that scene situation. I was thus gazing on that strange and ma- of solitude, and offered up a weak prayer--in that magjestic scene, when I heard a tread near me which nificent temple of worship, with the outstretched Appecaused my very blood to stand. It was Montanvers. nines as its altar--the surrounding firs its groups of "Meta,' he exclaimed, 'I have said you should be kneeling worshippers--the tall white cataracts, thunmine. Lo! you are. You have heard--who has not-dering from their deep and invisible depths, its mighty of Lovett, the terror of all Italy--the very recital of organs--the cry of eagles and strange wild birds--the whose daring exploits has so recently alarmed you. shriek of the jackall and fox--the roar of the fell avaBefore you stands that robber chief-around you behold lanche-its solemn choir--and all the stars of heaven his faithful band sleeping within their own fortress-its sacred and perpetual lamps. above you gaze upon his well-tried sentinels, the eternal Appenines.' "Nearer and nearer came the footsteps; and bidding an eternal farewell to this beautiful spot of earth, en"These words-the place-the hour--the silence chanting Tuscany, I leaped forward! A dizzy recolaround--all conspired against me. I trembled before|lection of chasms and ravines came over me-my brain the man whom I now despised. spun around-my eyes closed. I fell. "Now,' said he, with his usual smile, 'now thou art mine. What a companion thou wilt be to roam with along those mountain sides. What an eye thou hast-let it laugh on--it will encounter many a lovely sight. And that form-what a form to contemplate in the clear waters of yon star-lit stream! Farewell--my bride-farewell! I will return ere day shines over yon mountain's peak.' "Waiting for no answer, he passed on, closed the door and locked it. I was a prisoner in the robbers' haunt, with that impassable barrier, the Appenines, like evil omens between me and hope. But I did not despair. I have said that the walls were covered with rude dresses. Hastily I tried them on, and found one "A musical and thrilling voice awoke me. It yet sounds in my enraptured ear! Amid the gloom of the wilderness a light broke forth! In the night a star had arisen! I loved, I loved from the moment that I awoke. Yes, my deliverer, my benefactor, from the moment that I awoke, through joy and through sorrow I have loved but thee, Andeli. It was my first-it will be my last love. My history is told." She ceased, and Andeli then knew in his heart, if he had ever doubted it before, that he was beloved. Ah! ye young lovers, if your historian pauses for an instant on your past history, it is that he knows the future has no bright fates in store for ye! If he lin gers-and it has been but for a moment on your unearthly loves-it is because he knows such beautiful affections hath but a little abiding place on this thorny and troubled earth, ere they wander to the peaceful heavens. He turns from the ideal to the real--he turns from the quiet vales and the unclouded skies, to the cloud, the mountain, and the avalanche! and yet he would fain listen to the gushings of your young hearts, ere he portrays the harsher and the sterner passions of this noisy world. In bitterness, and in loneliness, he turns from ye, and fain would longer dwell on that rare and gentle affection, which, when it burns no longer, will cause every nightingale to pine, and every angel to weep! 1. That a contract, made on Sunday, is not binding. 2. That those who are loudest or most unceasing in their professions of regard for the People, are the People's truest friends. 3. That genuine courage is shown by vaporing or bravado. 4. That it is consistent with the character of a gentleman, to smoke in a stage-coach. 5. That green, or unseasoned wood, is as good for making fires, as dry, or seasoned wood. 6. That, in order to exclude a child from a share in his father's estate, the father's will must give him something, however small; or mention him, in any manner. 7. That hot bread, or any bread less than twentyfour hours old, is wholesome. 8. That excessive familiarity is not dangerous to friendship. When I hear two men, whose intimacy does not date from childhood, calling each other "Tom,” and "Nat," I look for a speedy, and perhaps a violent death to their friendship. True friendship is not only shown, but strengthened, by mutual respect. 9. That a lawyer, to succeed in his profession, is obliged to utter falsehoods. 10. That those who are constantly talking of the dishonesty of other people, are themselves honest. 11. That the citation of many books, or the use of learned words, is a sign of learning. A LECTURE Delivered before the Richmond Lyceum, on Friday evening, 12. That persons who clamor for practice as better than theory, and are celebrated by themselves and their Mr. President, and Gentlemen of the Lyceum : friends as practical men, are always more trustworthy Had I taken counsel of prudence, I should probably than those whom they deride as "theorists." The former have usually no guide but their own (often narrow) have declined the honor of now addressing you. My experience: the latter sometimes have the lights gath- pursuits in life for some years past, have not qualified ered by a thousand clear and active minds, during ages me for occasions of public display; and I am altogether unpractised in the arts of oratory. You have informed of diligent and enlarged observation. A properly constructed theory is the methodized, the digested result, me, however, that the design of your institution, is to of what has been seen and done by hundreds of " prac-I feel that I should be recreant to duty, to refuse my encourage literature, science, and general morals; and tical men." 15. That other people have not as many, or as great causes of unhappiness, as ourselves. 16. That any simpleton will do for a legislator. 17. That a man, whom his neighbors would not trust with a hundred dollars of their own money, is fit to be trusted with the most important public interests. 18. That EDUCATION consists only in being sent to school; or in book learning. 19. That political consistency is shown by adhering constantly to the same men, through all their changes of conduct and opinion. 20. That it is INCONSISTENCY, to think with one party on some points, and with an opposite party on other points. M. humble contribution to so noble a cause. You were pleased to refer to my own judgment, the selection of a suitable topic upon which to address you, and I have chosen one, which, without possessing the charm of novelty, is at least interesting to us all. I propose to call your attention to the PRESENT CONDITION OF OUR COUNTRY, AND ITS PROBABLE FUTURE DESTINIES; to point out the DANGERS WHICH AWAIT US, and THE ONLY PROBABLE MEANS BY WHICH THOSE DANGERS MAY BE AVOIDED. This, you will perceive, is a boundless field of investigation; one, which has often been explored by philosophers and statesmen; and, if I cannot hope to present to you any of those ripe and excellent fruits which have been gathered by them, I may perhaps be fortunate enough to pluck here and there an idle flower, or to point out some sunny or shaded spot in the landscape, which may not have attracted the observation of more adventurous spirits. In describing the present condition of our country, it will be necessary to notice some of the more striking peculiarities which distinguish it from other civilized nations. It is foreign to my purpose, however, and would occupy far too much time, to compare it with those great classic states of antiquity, familiarly, but I think erroneously, styled the Roman and Grecian Republics. Such a comparison would be the more unprofitable, since the extraordinary changes wrought in the structure of human society, have left between those nations and ourselves few points of resemblance. The sublime dispensation of the christian religion,-the conquests and settlement of the Gothic nations in Europe-the introduction of the feudal system,-the reformation in the 16th century, which emancipated the human mind from a long night of bondage,—the discovery of the art of printing, and the use of the mariner's compass,-with the important consequences which followed each of these events, have effected a mighty revolution in the moral, political, and social condition of man. It is not without its benefit however, on every suitable occasion, to study the history of those extraordinary *We trust that our readers will find in the merits of this discourse, an abundant justification for its republication; though it has been circulated already, by the newspaper press. Its chaste and perspicuous style is a fit vehicle for the valuable truths it conveys and a happy augury may be formed, of the future usefulness of the young association which has elicited a production so much calculated to excite thought, and to prompt virtuous effort. In mentioning the novelists of America, Mr. Heath of course omits himself: but what modesty forbade him to do, justice exacts of us--namely, to remind our readers that he is the author of 'Edgehill,'-ranked by Professor Tucker, in his address, (for which see our last February No.) among the best of American novels.-[Ed. So. Literary Messenger. VOL. IV.-89 nations to which I have referred. They shine so con- | extent of our country-no less wonderful has been its spicuously in the twilight of ancient story-they were progress since the days of colonial dependence, in every so remarkable in their origin, progress, and mournful decline, that we cannot fail to deduce from them highly useful lessons, if properly considered and applied. Their example teaches us at least one great truth,—the mutability of all human things, and the emptiness of all worldly grandeur. Greece, which though surrounded by barbarism and ignorance, sprung suddenly like her fabled Minerva, into the maturity of wisdom and power,-Greece, whose volatile and ingenious people, by a sort of inspiration, carried the fine arts, in a short period of time, to the ne plus ultra of perfection; Greece, so renowned for her sages, heroes, poets and philosophers, what is she now? Awakened it is true-recovered somewhat from the stupefaction of centuries of slavery and degradation, but no longer the land of Homer and Demosthenes,-of Aristides and Phocion. Where now is the once powerful Carthage, the descendant of ancient Tyre, whose dominion is said to have extended 2,000 miles into Africa,-whose commercial spirit penetrated every known region; and whose power and riches attracted the envy and hatred of imperial Rome? Where is Carthage? So utterly extinct, that even the curious antiquary is puzzled to trace the spot where that proud and magnificent city once stood. And what is Rome, imperial, gigantic Rome?—that haughty and luxurious nation, which once bestrode the earth like a Colossus, and carried its victorious eagles into every land and among every people who dared to resist its lordly edicts? That great nation-at once so renowned for virtue and infamy, wisdom and folly, splendor and misery, has passed from the earth like a shadow, leaving behind her, it is true, a mighty name-and impressing modern society with her laws, language and literature. A new Rome indeed sprung up after the empire of the Cæsars, which, arrayed in its bloody tiara, and sustained by the thunders of the Vatican, exerted a powerful influence on the destinies of mankind: but behold her now-a feeble and tottering state-almost shorn of her spiritual as well as temporal power; the resort it is true of the classical and fashionable tourist, but immersed in sensuality and crime, scourged by a desolating malaria, and exhibiting all the symptoms of a speedy decline. Sic transit gloria mundi! thing that constitutes the greatness and power of a nation. Its population, which may now be unquestionably estimated at seventeen millions, has more than quadrupled in fifty years. Its commerce and navi gation, which for several years after the revolutionary war, were very inconsiderable, have reached an amount in imports, exports and tonnage, not exceeded by any other nation on earth, Great Britain only excepted. What seas or oceans have not been furrowed by the keels of our daring navigators? What region exists into which the genius of American commerce has not pene trated, whether from Greenland to Cape Horn, or from China to California? Nothing is more common now than to see an American ship strike into the path of the setting sun, and following that burning luminary, as it dips its "glowing axle" in the wave of the Pacific, rise finally on the eastern horizon, after having circumnavigated the globe. What nation can boast a body of men more bold and hardy, more skilful, enterprising and patient under suffering, than the south sea whalers? What country in the world, without exaggeration, has furnished a marine, both naval and commercial, more adventurous, intelligent and patriotic, than that of America? The rapid advance of our country in the mechanic arts and manufactures, is no less extraordinary. It was the selfish policy of England, when she held us in colonial subjection, to confine our labors to agriculture. Our workshops were on the other side of the Atlantic: in Sheffield, Birmingham and Manchester; and it was the boast of her statesmen, that not a hob-nail should be manufactured in America. Our planters and farmers, of that day, were compelled to despatch their orders to the mother country for the plainest articles of clothing, and even for the common implements of agriculture ; and their wives and daughters were decked almost exclusively from foreign looms. But mark the extraordinary results which have been produced by commercial as well as political independence! The inventive ingenuity, and untiring industry of our countrymen, have raised us to a rank which not only threatens formidable rivalry, but absolute supremacy over our ancient mistress. If it be not invidious to discriminate, we may re cotton gin, (worth millions to the cultivators of that article,) and Fulton, who first successfully applied “all We turn to a far more refreshing picture, in the con-member with pride, that Whitney, the inventor of the templation of our own favored land. The first thing which strikes an observer, in glancing at the map of the United States, is its immense territorial extent. Stretch-conquering steam" to the uses of navigation, were both ing from the British possessions, and the great lakes of citizens of the United States. The products of our looms the north to the extreme southern cape of Florida, and and spindles, not only supply materially our home conextending from the Atlantic coast to the territory of sumption, but are wafted on the wings of commerce to Oregon, it presents a frontier line of nearly 10,000 the uttermost parts of the earth. We exchange them miles, and comprehends an area of about a twentieth for the silks and teas of China, the precious metals and part of the habitable globe. Equal in dimensions with costly gems of South America, and the fragrant spices Russia in Europe, this great domain is ten times more of the Indies. Our natural waterfalls, which in the extensive than the kingdom of France, and sixteen solitude of past ages, might have been the favorite times larger than Great Britain and Ireland. It in-haunts of the Naiads, have yielded their delightful murcludes within its boundaries every variety of soil, and murs to the more useful, but less melodious, hum of almost every degree of temperature in climate; and its countless manufactories:-despite political and seesurface is variegated by magnificent forests and beauti- tional hostility, that great branch of national indusful prairies, and intersected by noble rivers and majestry has been steadily advancing, and has now reachtic chains of mountains. Its mineral resources too, are ed a degree of perfection, whether we regard the inexhaustible in amount, and incalculable in value. quality or value of its fabrics, which would be utterly But, remarkable as are the natural riches and prodigious astonishing to those who are not familiar with the de |