firmly, as with sinews of steel, he clings to the causes of degradation, and with fiendlike vengeance thrusts away the messengers of truth. If ever the dead calm of superstition is broken, it is by the introduction of new prejudices, not less fatal to the vital principles of human happiness. Thus mankind change from one form of degradation to another as lava is rolled from side to side in the midst of the burning crater. But notwithstanding a fatal maody has ever raged among men in their dark abodes of ignorance, producing not only indiscribable wretchedness, but natural and eternal death, they, with one hand grasp the venemous serpent, with the other shield themselves from the light that emanates from the temple of truth, the grand palladium of liberty.

But shall the millions of Idolaters never be emancipated from the chains of ignorance or superstition;-shall Mahomedan delusion continue forever, to make the Eastern Continent one vast aceldema,-shall the hierarchy of Europe never be demolished by the triumph of religious freedom,-shall American infidelity never vanish before the full blaze of Gospel light?

Then may the planets cease their annual round, the stars of heaven refuse to shine, the bright orb of day be extinguished, the general pulse of creation cease to beat, and all nature hasten back to her primeval chaos.

F

M.

TRES FRATRES. (continued.)

(Three days after, at Lactantius' rcom.)

Lac.-Fit representation of a passion-wrapt soul brother Wen, that frame encircled with glowing flame.

The

Wen.-Too vehement-it rushes, it rages not so furiously. mind bears not down with the sweep of the tornado, nor has it that cracking, rock-rending power of elemental warfare. Nor is there that which tells it to the eye. Like the sun-beam for speed and stillness-glowing at times like molten brass, or bursting with explosion. But that consuming desolating flame is far too strong.

Lac.-Your vademecum then, is this, you'd have "all done smoothly "all by the nicest polishing brought to that refinement which would not offend the chastest ear; and the ultimatum would be a rythmical diction, not wholly unadapted to music.

soul.

Wen.-Yes, music for the My chief labor should be, to make our productions natural. Nature, in our case is under the delusion of "a little learning," exhibiting a wonderful propensity for the marvelous.' If above naturalism, we are out of the sphere of usefulnes, beauty, and propriety, and can offer no compensation for such unnatural digression, but a kind of elevated slough of unawakening detail, through which our readers must pass to a narrow island of an idea, and even that seems ready to quash in the mire around. The permanent deposite of thought, seems expended in numerous fantastic dresses, which correspond admirably with pov. erty of brain, but will serve but meagerly the general cause of enlightenment.

I.- Right. If we would have our thoughts wedded to immortal verse,' or prose, our labors should be for the desideratum you mentioned. But my troth-plight for it, if our works are to be inseparably connected with 'mortality '—untimely, and disgraceful, strive for those accomplishments and touches, which "perish with the using," or smother your ideas, just struggleing for existence, under a superincumbent mass of verbiage.-'Tis of little moment however, to show how any writing may be made ephemeral; and since I am so "conscientiously tenacious" of our honor I will not, "criticise and dilate, "" upon rules, for the benefit of any person, "however destitute he may be of erudition; without appealing to the disputation of those, who may make an interest of contention."

Lac.--Amen! ha, the deposites of brother Wen, have been restored to you. Horror! can you calculate your gain by the trans

fer?

gan

I.-Nothing but "glory " probably. Yet who asks more? 'Lo'toiled for this, for this Mr. Spectator ranged the vast extent of learned life, and a certain virtuoso looked deep into the relics of antiquity.

Wen. -For what other object do the Poets labor, wending their darkened, yet more darkning course through poetic leagues, (if these are made of feet,) of interminable, unmeaning rythmical discourse, suited certainly for "glory," as nothing else can be infered from style, sentiment, design. 'Tis said, however, a degree of darkness contributes to the sublime, and this must be the object of those seemingly benighted; censure in such cases, is therefore unpardonable, inapplicable, inelegant.

Lac.-Though I've nothing to offer in further commendation of that character, yet there's much that might be said eulologically of the beautiful. Tale-ology, it must be confest embodies the most beauties, especially of description, and must ever render that species of composition exquisite in a poetic mind. There, may be gathered the flowers from the most distant climes which flourish, unacclimated. The maniac may give his own history, relating the minutiae of years, "The wrecked and drowned, and saved" adventurer, passing through lives and deaths innumerable, has a bright picture to portray, and all is charming,

I. After this descant on general literature, let us return to consider the interest of our child of many hopes! What is wanting. Wen. Thought.

I. Such as 'breathes.'?

Wen.-Aye. Thrilling--speaking thought.

I.--Will this secure immortality?

Wen.--This is the only method.

I.- Should Reviewers disagree with you, what then?

Wen.--The effect will be mere nullity if incorrect. The great reviewer, on whose judgement the final literary destiny of every author must depend. The enlightened, will cause a revision, and justice, not malice, must triumph...

I.--True, but he who rises under the mountain-like mass of reviewers' stigmas, must have strength well nigh super-human. Wen.--The more glorious will it appear, then.

I.--Were it not much better the censure should be avoided. Wen.--Let Nature be followed, come what come may. 1.-How does instruction grace our dear Philomathesian, Lactantius?

Lac.--The world is past that Sir, Ere this our day sages have lived and wrote, and what is worse for us, still are writing, and the world will prefer them, so strong is the power of prejudice. Thi is one of our constitutional difficulties, and extreme caution is re quisite in so managing our affairs, as to scem on perfectly smooth. untroden ground. The world is full of learning, and needs not so much any great additions to the genereral stock, as some variations, and interspersed amusements to give it zest, and we should rest satisfied that so large a space for our employment, is still left us.

Wen.--You touch a tender chord, by your amplification. Your praise does not reach the mark I had placed for the true merit of our favorite and what more tenderly cutting than this? You cannot

surely think it entirely incapable of answering some valuable end in the capacity of a general instructor?

Lac.--Not when conducted with this view.

(Philomathesian enters in propria persona.) Philomathesian.--Most noble fathers! if for the purpose of some sordid gain, you'd have your child drudged to the servility of instructing an insensible, sneering, half-souled world, you've much mistaken the metal of his power. I cheer the disconsolate, and laugh with those who laugh. My sympathising soul is universal in its affections. I visit the student in his reveries, and inspire him with greatness; animation lightens his brow when he beholds me, and rapture kindles at his heart. His mind is put in motion, and I urge him to his mightiest efforts. This, this is my office. No vanity shall come nigh me, or mark my footstepts. The benefits I confer are numerous, but I will not place them in public view. The world shall feel them, though it sees them not, and for them, only shall be taxed my living. Away he flew.

FAREWELL.

No trace remained. Never could it be determined how his in or e-gress was effected, but we were sensible of his presence and are not inclined to put that in the subjunctive. No dandy-like appearance challenged for him reverence, though his bearing was frank, generous, noble, and we could but contemplate him as a gentleman of HONOR.

1.

THE STRANGER,

OR A

HISTORY OF THE PISCATORIANS.

AN ODD CHAPTER.

"Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?"

THERE; Mr. Editor, I have been mad long enough; I have pouted, and looked sulky, and scowled rage, fury, most malicious spite and bitter defiance upon my enemies until the violence of my anger is spent, all my better feelings are kindling anew, and, in the happy tide of the sympathetic glow, I am half inclined to relent from a rash promise made in the sullen moments of my peevishness. Already is there a grateful calm existent in the place where my heart

should be, but, Mr. Editor, you know that I have been an unfortunate and much abused man. The world are such liars; Oh! this tale-bearing world! why there is not a tyro, who reads the Philomathesian, but says he can look quite through the whole plot of the Piscatorian Legend; he at the very first glance indentifies the author as Logan's self, declaring us some love-born swain, tired of our unity and raising all this "hue and cry " only to persuade Miss Annette that a duality would be preferable. Herschell's Telescope was a small matter when compared with such a wiseacre-optician!

"This is a pretty affair," said a young lady within my hearing the other day, (she was vastly pretty herself,) "I can understand this whole matter," (how I loved her for her understanding,) "I presume that I am as well acquainted with this Annette as I am with my own mother, " (I loved her a thousand times more for her acquaintance, only I thought her a little too presumptious,) and this is all hyperbole expressed in most verbose bombast. Annette Aubury! Annette is a little sour looking girl, who lives in a little hut, on some little island, in the Lake, not Sycamore by any means, that name is, fictitious; and she is a little bread-and-butter lass, who was never guilty of looking one in the face. What a character for a heroine! The insipid little sprig of simplicity never learned the difference between a pianno and a bass-drum. Yet he calls her a Nymph and I never, never will read the Philomathesian again; " and here she burst into a most obstreperous, good-natured crying fit. What could the matter be? Sweet Cowslip, did you deem yourself slighted? Prithee, do be comforted, we have immortalized

you now.

Ah! Mr. Editor, I fear we shall soon be in a condition to sympathize with her in her troubles, as chancellor Peccadillo threatens to indite us all for a conspiracy; declaring it to be our object to excite a revolution in favour of Downing, Crockett, Garrison, Ourselves and other worthies, to the utter exclusion of all who are not of the "true Piscatorian blood." Moreover, there is a storm brewing in another quarter. Logan has received a communication from some unknown correspondent, who declares himself of Piscatorian extraction, in the regular line of descent; avers that before the decease of the "Stranger" he received a letter from this mysterious personage, touching their kindred relations, and now counts himself as heir apparent to the manuscript treasures of the iron-bound boxes. This new assailant peremptorily forbids Logan to divulge any more of his family secrets, under no less penalty than being