enters the shades, he feels himself to be in the bosom of his Father and friend. He hears his voice in the passing breeze, and sees his glory in the stars of the sky. Whether he prostrates himself in humble penitence before the throne of mercy, or rises to a view of the wonders of creation and redemption; whether he looks on God, or himself; whether he surveys his past life, or looks on to future emancipation and glory; his emotions are high, though his passions are at peace. He tastes many a precious drop from the river of life, and returns from retirement to the world, more strengthened for duty, and more prepared to fulfil all the engagements of a social being. No hours are more profitable to the Christian, than those which he passes alone.

It may be a serious question then, to each one of my readers, not whether he loves solitude; for that is ambiguous; but how he fills up the profitable or pernicious hours, which to solitude are given. Do you reflect ;-look inward ;-meditate-pray-commune with God and commune with yourself, when you retire from the haunts of business and activity? Is your solitude a root to bear the branches of benevolent exertion? Or do you retire to fill

But I must close my paper with a

SONNET.

I love the shade; I love the lonely walk,

Where, while the zephyrs whisper peace around,
And the bat flies o'er grass by trees imbrowned,
Descending spirits, seem to meet and talk,

?

And giant-shadows in procession stalk;
While the low sun in glory, though profound,
Sprinkles his pearls o'er all the dewy ground,
In hues, which fancy soothe, but reason balk.
Father of nature! Father of our race!

Of the refulgent sun-the rain-the dew!
Who hear'st the hungry ravens when they cry;
O let me here thy secret footsteps trace;
Thou God of nature, ocean, earth, and sky,
Subdue my soul and be my father too!

THE PURITAN.

No. 43.

The love of popularity, is the all-tainting vice of a republic.

Dr. Channing.

NOTHING is more deceiving, than judging of theories, without an eye to their operation in practice; and especially is it so in politics. I have often suspected, and indeed the suspicion is almost ripened into a confirmed belief, that all the boasted forms of government, which have been most admired for their excellence, have little value in the abstract, and are only wise in reference to the past history of the people. They were expedients, which their present habits and prejudices rendered necessary. Take the British constitution, as an example. They have three independent powers, each of which has a negative on each other. In theory, then, we may say, that each may perpetually resist the other, put a negative on all its proceedings, and the whole government must per

petually stand still. It is easy to put a drag-chain on your waggon, when preparing to descend the hill, which shall perfectly stop it; but the great question is, how shall it move, and move with the requisite moderation? In theory, therefore, the British constitution provides not a particle of remedy for these evils; but they are found in their past history. Having suffered the commotions of two revolutions, and an obstinate family having been twice driven from the throne, all parties feel the necessity of proceeding by compromise. The parliament is careful of presenting an offensive bill to the king; and the king, for years, has not exercised the power of the veto; and thus, by accommodating their abstract constitution with a moral power which corrects its evils, the government proceeds, with some jarring, to accomplish the imperfect objects at which government

aims.

Our own constitution was made with the utmost care; and, I have no doubt, was intended to be so completely finished, that it should go, like perpetual motion, of its own accord. But such is the impossibility of anticipating all possible exigencies in previous speculation, that our constitution, formed as it was in a later age, and by the wisest men, after the maturest experience, yet in its adaptation to practicable life, owes its feasibility to certain expedients, for which its luminous sections have made no provision.

Much has been said about our caucuses; and that American word has been thought to express—an assembly, where selfishness and faction meet, to plan their devices, and exercise their violence. Dr. Dwight somewhere describes a caucus, as a place where the party-man and the demagogue come, to plot for deceiving the people, and to control the lawful assemblies. To say that a man figures at a caucus, is to insinuate everything bad of him, as a politician. Yet I see not how it would be possible to go along with our elections, without these previous assemblies. They were not brought in by faction, but by necessity; and in condemning them, we are acting the part of the bigots of the middle ages, who condemned all usury, and the Jews as brokers and usurers, who always existed, though always persecuted, because it was impossible for commerce to exist, without money's being lent on trust, and the lender's being rewarded for that trust.

Let us consider, for a moment, how it is in the election of governor. The constitution makes provision for the act of voting; it requires a hundred thousand people and more to come together on a set day, and cast their votes for a chief magistrate. "Those persons, who shall be qualified to vote for senators and representatives, within the several towns of this commonwealth, shall, at a meeting to be called for that purpose, on the first Monday of April, annually, give in their votes for a governor, to the select,