"You do not like my wine;-Fernan," (speaking to the steward) "Caffe!"

"I should like very much to hear your life, Captain," I remarked. He smiled, and shrugged his shoulders. "It is nothing extraordinary," said he. "I can tell it you in a very few words. But there was a timeand he drew a long breath-when I could not both pistols. Bah-come, I'll tell you my life.

tell it without cocking

"Eighteen years ago I was a merchant in San Domingo. My father, before me, was a merchant. I had become rich. I had married a wife She was rich and beau- -," he stifled a sigh, and went on. "I determined to go to Europe, and I wound up all my affairs in the West Indies. I sold my property there. I bought a ship, and loaded her, besides which, I had on board a large amount of specie, all that I was worth, in short. Well, sir, when the vessel that I was on board had been a week at sea, we were overhauled by a Spanish man-of-war, commanded by Senhor Chevalier D'Alkala. Yes, I remember his name, for I settled my debt to him afterwards, at any rate," he continued, with a thoughtful kind of chuckle. "The Spaniards captured us. They took every thing-goods, specie, even my wife's jewels. They set us on shore upon a barren sand key, with just provisions enough to keep us alive a few days, until an American schooner took us off, and landed us in New Orleans. I did not care what became of me. I was a beggar. My wife took the fever from exposure and hardship, and died in three days after my arrival. I met some daring fellows, who were as poor as I was. We bought a schooner, and declared against Spain eternal war. Fifteen years I have carried on a war against Spain. So long as I live I am at war with Spain, but no other nation. I am at peace with the world, except Spain. Although they call me pirate, I am not guilty of attacking any vessel of the English or French. I showed you the place where my own people have been punished for plundering American property. At New Orleans I refused to be the enemy of America." "Captain, will you take coffee?"

This ceremony over, we went on deck, and made our adieu to the gallant rover. The fair-no, not the fair, but the beautiful Lindamira, did not re-appear. With feelings far more interested for the gallant rover than either would have chosen to confess, we shook hands, as for the last time in this world; and, by the glorious light of a summer moon, we rowed back to the brig. No sounds broke the silence, save the occasional blowing of the porpoise at his unwieldly sports. The stars sparkled with a brilliancy unknown in more northern climates. The breeze from the land was redolent of fragrance; and what, with La Fitte's story and his dinner, so little disposed did our party seem for conversation, that the first proof of animal life among us was the boat's thump against the brig's counter, and our coxswain's order "Up Oars."

T.

THE IDEAL.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.

By the Author of "Pocahontas."

And wilt thou, then, forsake me, at the last,
Replete with glorious fancies as thou art?
Alike thy joys and gentle sorrows past,

Deaf to my yearning pray'r, wilt thou depart?

Can nothing win thy fleeting hours' delay,

Thou, of my early youth the golden prime ?-
In vain the wish! Thy waters who shall stay,
Gushing to swell th' eternal tide of time?

Extinguished now the brilliant suns, that shed
Above my morning path their cheering light;
Th' IDEAL gone, the lovely visions fled,

That filled my swelling heart with warm delight.

Ah me! the sweet belief has passed away

In beings gendered in my dream alone; All-all, to stern reality a prey,

The beautiful, the godlike forms are gone!

As erst, with fond desire, th' enamored Greek
Embraced the statue which his chisel wrought,
Until the marble's cold and tintless cheek

Kindled with feeling, blushed with glowing thought.

So, with the clasp of love, my youthful arms

Entwined themselves round Nature's beauteous form,
Till, on my poet-breast, her kindling charms
Awoke to life, fresh, animate and warm.

Then lived for me the tree, the shrub, the flower;
The streamlet's silver-fall was music then;
From lifeless things, from hill and vale and bow'r,
An echo answered to my thoughts again.

How rich the buds of promise, that put forth,
Along my life's path, as I wander'd on!
How few of these have 'scaped the chilly North!

How soon the freshness of these few is gone!

With bounding courage winged, through fairy land, Happy in dreams that cheat the fleeting hours, Untouched as yet by sorrow's fetter-hand,

How sprang the youth along that path of flowers!

Aloft to ether's furthest, palest star,

His checkless wishes bore him, in their flight; No thought so high, no enterprize so far,

But on their soaring wings he reached its height.

How lightsome was he borne through ambient air!
What task seemed weary, in that joyous day!
How graceful swept, before his triumph-car,
The airy heralds of life's summer way!

Love, with her sweet reward, I ween, was there,
And Happiness, with golden wreath bedight,
Glory, in crown of stars that blazed afar,
And Truth, resplendent in her garb of light.
Alas! midway th' inconstant troop divide;

The fair companions of his path are gone;
Faithless they turn their devious steps aside,
Faithless forsake the wanderer, one by one.

Light-footed Happiness, the foremost, fled;

And Truth was lost, amid a brooding storm;
The lowering clouds of Doubt arose, and shed
Their sable influence o'er her radiant form.

Around unworthy brow I saw the wreath,-
The holy wreath, conferr'd by Glory, shine;
And ah! I felt the soul-entrancing breath

Of Love's own spring-time all too soon decline.

Lone and more lone the dreary path did seem,
And more forsaken still, and darker aye;
The lingerer Hope scarce shed one flickering gleam
Athwart the rudeness of the murky way.

Of all the clamorous attendant train

Who yet remains, where'er my footsteps roam?

Who lingers still, to comfort and sustain,

And follows, even to the last, dark home?

Healer of ills, with which the world is rife,

Thou, Friendship! of the soft and gentle hand;

Thou, who dividest all the cares of life,

Whose love, unchang'd, all ordeals can withstand;

And Thou, who by her side hath constant stood,
And who, like her, the soul from grief can sever,
Thou, Industry! who wearieth not in good,
Creating evermore, destroying never:

Thou, who to rear the Sempiternal Pile,
But grain, indeed, on grain of sand doth cast;
Yet from the debt of Ancient Time, the while,
Days, years, a life-time striketh off, at last.

12th MAY, 1839.

ANTHON'S SCHOOL CLASSICS.*

FIRST Colonized at a period when the spirit of chivalry, and the laws of feudalism, were on their wane among all nations of the earth, and more especially throughout Great Britain, from which we have inherited all the most striking and distinctive features of our national physiognomy, having succeeded in establishing our independence in an age yet more practical than that of our foundation-and having achieved a high degree of wealth and power, in a space wonderfully short, as compared with the growth and eminence of every older empire, by means entirely practical and common-place-it is not to be wondered at that the especial genius. of our people, as displayed in their laws, their habits, their pursuits, nay, in their very literature, and in their luxuries, should be unromantic and utilitarian to the last degree. That owing to this tendency we may not have arrived at a point of national and mercantile prosperity, which, under other circumstances, we might as yet have only seen foreshadowed through the perspective of a dim futurity, we are not now about to assert; nor have we in this light any remarks to offer on the operation of the Cui Bono principle, which has unquestionably been carried in America to a far greater length than in the mother country, or indeed any other land that boasts a high degree of civilization. As, however, this same principle regards the growth and culture of the intellect, we have much to observe; nor, after mature and long consideration of the subject, do we hesitate to assert that it has been of most material injury to the cause of letters, to the propagation of the higher branches of science, and to

* AMERICAN SCHOOL CLASSICS.—A series of the principal Greek and Latin Authors, with Grammars, Prosodies, &c., of the respective languages. Edited by Charles Anthon, LL. D., Jay Professor in Columbia College, New York, and in course of publication by Harper & Brothers, New York.

the polite education of our people. With that portion of our remote progenitors, who being mostly sprung from the middle classes of societythe burghers, yeomanry, and mechanics of the mother country-colonized the Eastern States of our Union, it was a first step to establish schools, and even colleges, for the instruction of all classes; and from that day forth New England has been the great nursery of teachers for the whole space contained in the wide limits of our twenty-six republics. With the yet earlier colonizers of the Southern States, this duty was far less attended to, inasmuch as being generally of easy circumstances, and attached to the public schools and universities of England, whence they had drawn their early education, the planters of the South were in the general habit, down to the period of the Revolution, of sending their sons "home" -as the mother country down to the very period of the Revolution was affectionately called,—to be instructed, in a style more perfect than could be then effected on this side the Atlantic; nor is this practice, although long since fallen into disuse, altogether extinct, even at the present day. It is, then, with the habits of our own portion of society, that we have now to do, and it is on them, of consequence, that our remarks have a special bearing. The first point, then, to which it is our aim to call attention, is the very general carelessness pervading every class of our society, as regards the higher grades of education-the very prevalent doctrine that no species of knowledge, not directly applicable to profit, is worth the labour of its acquisition! This, we are well aware, is a right heavy charge; but it is one, we fear, which will be but the more apparent, as more research is made into the facts. That our community are, from one end of the Union to the other, as a whole, possessed of a high degree of education is notorious; and few, indeed of native citizens are to be found who are not conversant with the principles at least of the three rudimental branches of reading, writing, and arithmetic. Nor can it be at all doubted that a very considerable portion have made advances far beyond this point, and have acquired a superficial knowledge of many languages, of many sciences, and of much multifarious information. Nevertheless it must, we are convinced, be granted, that we possess but an incalculably small minority of men, entitled to the name of perfect and accomplished scholars. Of this fact, for such we hold it, beyond doubt, to be, the cause is, we think, self-evident—that hitherto men have been either unwilling or unable to devote sufficient time to the purposes of education—and have, in consequence, turned their attention to the merely practical branches, neglecting the higher grades so long, that there have really been times when the cultivation of the dead languages has been deemed nearly useless by the great majority. That the cause of this neglect is the inapplicability of the Greek or Latin languages to purposes of gain, may be fairly deduced from the fact that-while we are very far behind Europeans in the general cultivation of these tongues— we are as far before them in the diffusion of other languages, which to us, though not to them, are almost necessary items of a commercial edu