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are fire-fly lamps over a dead marsh at midnight; flashes of the native pride and power of the intellect starting up amid human corruption.

With the knowledge which such considerations as these give us, how culpable is that man who falls in with the current, and is contented with folly because the multitude are so. The whisperings of a good conscience cannot be his, nor has his heart been trained to appreciate the excellence of virtue. No man is altogether destitute of goodness, nor is there a heart on the face of the globe, but will start into heroism under certain circumstances; but it is that sensibility which apprises us of the least departures from rectitude, which makes us see in the most inconsiderable of our actions some moral relation, which makes us regard all such relations apart from extraneous circumstances, and which leads us to hold to them simply for themselves considered, that is worthy to be coveted. Most men are willing to be sometimes virtuous; there never was a heart entirely deadened to the pleasing consciousness of deeds well done. The beautiful tradition of some one's scattering flowers on the grave of Nero, is not without its moral; for it shows a corner in his heart yet open to the finer sensibilities of our nature, and that there was something redeemable in him which could make one eye moisten, when the world cursed him. But that high and persuasive principle which is sensitive to a fault, which leads a man to move right onward and cherish it for its own sake, which moves him to disdain every minor consideration

'Th' applause of states, the mingled multitude,
The thunder-plaudit of the world'—

and to do that which the promptings of an honest heart tells him is right; this is the heroism of virtue. A height as difficult in the attainment, as it is dignified in the possession; and he who has attained it may well be called a great man.

If the definition we have thus come at of a great man be the correct one, how mortifying is the picture of human greatness! That man alone is great who dares do right, is the truth established; and of the world's great and good men, what multitudes does this definition shut out! The mighty names which have traveled down to us from other ages, and been sounded in our ears with every thing which could elevate and dignify, what are they! Our blind idolatry to intellect our deification of villains and cut throats in purpleour pushing to the clouds those whose breath has been a blight and mildew to society-what is all this! The principles on which we have proceeded are wrong-our minds have been blinded-the blackness of darkness has been over us-and we have lent our influence to strengthen a system, whose tendency is to destroy. The proper object of all exertion is the general good, and the proper stimulant to such exertion is integrity of purpose; and he alone is a

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great man who under every possible combination of circumstances, can preserve this integrity; who setting aside all baser considerations, makes the consciousness of well doing his glory, and not the emoluments of it; and with the firm belief that each succeeding step but makes the path of duty easier, pushes on to his purpose. This is magnanimity.

True magnanimity then has its foundation in virtue, and (we may add) once established in this, a man is great for ever.

Yale College.

MARY.

"WELL, Mary, you are moving fast
From childhood up to youth,
And, Mary, soon you'll look your last
Upon it and its truth;

Its pleasant days and sunny maze

Will hurry from your view,

And other scenes and other ways

Will open unto you.

"Yet take an old man's caution words

Before your journeying;

The good, experience affords,

It is worth every thing;

"Twill help to give your barque a place

On Life's unstable coast,

Where such vast numbers of our race

Are driven and are lost.

"And first, be sure you look at things
Precisely as they are;

Clip off Imagination's wings,

They're false as they are fair;
Renounce all the romantic aims

You learned at boarding schools;
Give men and things their proper names,
And leave the rest to fools.

"And next, make up your mind to bear

Much sorrow and much wo;

The lot of all of us is care,

And you must feel it so;
And then, if you find happiness,

Your heart need not reject it;
And sure, the gift will not be less
That you did not expect it,

Yale College.

"And lastly, let pure faith reveal
The motive and the spring,

By which you look, and think, and feel,
And act in every thing;
Without it, life is full of evil

And useless as a fiction;

And man's a brute, a god, a devil,

A perfect contradiction.

"With these three things, believe me, Mary,
Well conn'd, with only these,

Your life will not deceive me, Mary,

Nor will it fail to please;

It will be like some generous spring
We in a valley find,

Riching the soil and murmuring
A lesson for mankind."

So sang I once upon a time

To a sweet budding Thing,
Just bursting into youth's fresh prime
From childhood's fresher Spring;
Alas! the minstrel was unheard,
The-music could not save;
And Autumn's melancholy bird
Now sings by Mary's grave.

THE PERSECUTED.

MARY BARTON is the daughter of the clergyman who has recently been settled in the small parish of A. She has just passed seventeen, and entered upon that brightest period of woman's life which hope has strewed with the joys of anticipation; and even fruition can afford none higher, for fancy alone has planted the impress of perfection upon all her works.

We would here, as the fashion is, present her portrait; but it exhibits nothing very remarkable; she possesses the common properties of woman, that is, she is a female possessed of body and mind, eyes, nose, &c. Yet there are peculiarities in her personal appearance, sufficient to distinguish her from the rest of her sex, among which are the following.

Her beautiful dark brown hair is very abundant, and her forehead is the highest and broadest that we have ever seen a woman wear. A stranger would almost consider its breadth a deformity, until acquaintance had developed the strength and vigor of the mind that

has taken up its residence behind it. Her eyes reflect the pure azure of the skies; her heart, the purity beyond; and that is all the blue there is about her. Her mouth-I will not attempt to describe it, but it is the finest that ever popped a kiss. Her complexion is very fair, and her voice is always soft and sweet. Her mind is rather strong than active, and disciplined by the severer studies. Yet to her superior judgment is added the finest taste, especially in music. She is also possessed of the nicest sensibility; such is its power that from trivial incidents, which would escape the notice of most people, the crimson tide will dash to her cheek, and only retire again as the equilibrium of her feelings is restored. In short, she is a very fine girl, as the heroine of a story ought to be-the favorite of the people among whom she formerly resided, as she is now in the parish of A. But she is particularly popular with the beaux. This is a rustic tribe, awkward and uncultivated-the crude materials of society; yet they are proficients in that branch of knowledge which may naturally be deduced from the doctrine that "it is not good for man to be alone," in which doctrine they are firm and practical believers. The evidence of this fact is, that, in the course of six or eight months, Miss Barton was persecuted with the particular attentions of no less than four of them.

The first of these was Julian Wadfern, the son of a very respectable farmer of considerable property. He was a youth of promise, and had been bred to the profession of money-making; and as a man's standing in the money market materially affects his success in the matrimonial lottery, his prospects thus far were very fair, and "bright-eyed fancy, hovering o'er," wielded the pencil before him, under the tuition of Hope, that stiff-necked divinity who never looks behind her.

But we have mentioned his only recommendation as an aspirant after hymenial honors. The awkwardness of his person and the coarseness of his features rendered his appearance extremely unprepossessing; his mind-at twenty years of age he was as innocent of intellect, as he could be supposed to have been at twenty days from his birth; his conversation was -; and his manners remind one of the ass which would win the affections of his master by imitating the caresses of his pet dog. Yet, such as he was, he soon appeared as Miss Barton's most obedient.

Julian took an early opportunity to pay his devoirs to our heroine, and to secure the favor of the little community at the parsonage, by giving them his assistance in making a settlement at their new resi dence. Yet he did not seem anxious to press his suit for some time; neither was he inert, as it seems, during this period, but was only collecting his forces for a final assault; and as this brings us directly to the catastrophe, we will enlarge upon the point.

It was evening-and Julian rode up to the Rev. Mr. Barton's gate-dismounted from and secured his steed-approached and

knocked at the door of the parsonage while apprehension was knocking at the door of his heart, (and it might knock at it till doomsday without hitting it, unless his heart is bigger than his soul, whispers my chum who is peeping over my shoulder)—the door of the parsonage was opened and fear took possession of the citadel within. His inquiry for Miss B. was answered affirmatively, and he was ushered into the parlor-but so complete was the dominion of the tyrant which had usurped the throne of his feelings, that silence had sealed poor Julian's lips. He could scarcely reply to the salutation with which he was greeted, and after a few ineffectual efforts on her part to maintain conversation, both relapsed into perfect silencethe stillness was appalling-no noise was heard save the occasional murmuring of domestic affairs in a remote part of the house, just sufficient to render the silence audible. From eight o'clock, the period of Mr. Wadfern's arrival, a very quiet half hour had elapsed, when it occurred to him that something must be said or the conversation would flag; so he cast about him for the material, until he at length hit upon a most prolific and profitable theme for conversation. He therefore opened his capacious attic, and from it fell the sage remark" pleasant evenin." "Very pleasant-the air is very clear, and the stars shine with uncommon brightness. Are you a stargazer?" "Star's an all-fired good ox-he'll draw more'n any two oxen in town-'ceptin cap'en Thad's Black and Broad. I'd give fifty dollars in a minit to match him." This effort having exhausted the enthusiasm that prompted it, silence resumed her dominion, while our hero made another foray into his upper regions in search of the few thoughts which were there wandering in vacuo.'

But he was soon diverted from this fruitless expedition by another consideration. He had called for the purpose of a "sitting up" with his Dulcinea. But before this design could be prosecuted the consent of the other party must be obtained; and to obtain this was the difficulty which now absorbed the attention of our hero.

Nine o'clock-and the crisis of affairs was approaching; and after several adjustments of his courage, (an article by the way very difficult of adjustment, and one which is very liable to get out of place upon such occasions, as we can testify from experience,) he succeeded in making the proposition-"I should like to spend a few hours with you." Mary, judging of the future by the past, replied, “I'd rather be excused." "Earth and heavens!" groaned Mr. Wadfern, while his countenance plainly indicated that the assembled artillery of the one, and every thunderbolt of the other combined could not have filled him with such confusion as did the effervescence of his feelings of disappointment, wrath, chagrin, &c. &c. which this simple and decided, but unexpected reply called into exercise. His scattered senses, however, soon began to rally; he seized his hat and retired with precipitation, and the only comment which he is reported ever to have made upon the success of his amour is

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