claims to distinction; Statuary, its most interesting models in the persons of those who have attained to eminence in some department of labor connected with the public interest; Architecture and Sculpture, their noblest objects in the erection and embellishment of monuments, designed to point out the spot "where sleep the wise, the good, the talented, the brave." These considerations are entirely general in their nature, and admit of no particular local application; but there are those which bear directly, and with peculiar force, upon the interests of our own nation. It may not be amiss, in this connection, to bestow a passing reflection upon the circumstances in which we find ourselves placed by those events, to which we owe our existence in an independent national capacity. The world had gone lumbering on for nearly sixty centuries-in its endless mutations experiencing a thousand vicissitudes of fortune, and exhibiting an "eternity of change." Every experiment of government had been tried; every maxim of legislative or executive justice had been settled; every principle in morals, every truth in religion, seemed defined and established-all the regions of poetryevery field of science within the range of human intellect seemed explored, and their choicest gems and flowers culled, to give richness and beauty to the treasures of literature, or add value and variety to the sacred repositories of learning. The arts, too, having exhausted every resource of ingenuity, appeared to have copied with exactness, and embodied in perfection, all the nicest proportions of nature. Men seemed to imagine, that society had reached certain fixed limits of improvement, that the dawn of a mental millenium had opened, and that all which remained, was to let Time quietly run out his glass and die. No nation was more disposed, (and none certainly was better entitled,) to indulge in these extravagant views and anticipations than our "mother country." Her institutions of government, besides that they were founded on the experience of past ages, had already, for a long period, stood the test of actual experiment, without having exhibited, even in the midst of those disorders which had convulsed and changed almost the whole order of things in continental Europe, any dangerous symptoms of decay or dissolution. Her system of religion had borrowed its features most directly from the sacred pages of inspiration; her literature was more extensive, chaste and refined than that of any of her cotemporaries; her scholars were foremost in the pursuits of science; her specimens of the arts were conceived in the purest taste, and executed upon the most exquisite models; in short, every thing in her internal structure and domestic regulations, as well as every thing in her foreign relations contributed to render indisputable those claims which she had set up to pre-eminence and distinction. Little, therefore, could it be imagined that, in those colonies which had felt, in their fullest operation, the benign influences of her institutionswhere society had substantially the same basis as her own-a system should be revived, which past experience had taught men to consider as a political paradox long since practically exploded. The measures adopted by America in asserting and maintaining American rights, and the success with which they were attended, operated like the elopement of an heiress, over whose affections the maxims of expediency and parental authority have no control. The wrath of family connexions at this shocking instance of filial ingratitude has as yet scarcely subsided, while scandal, with her thousand tongues, has been busy in misrepresentation and detraction. Under such circumstances, schooled as all mankind have been in the sentiments of aristocracy and legitimacy, and imbibing as they do, almost with the first elements of education, a settled adherence to the principles and institutions of monarchy, it is not a matter for surprise that they should entertain prejudices in relation to our country, as settled as their national character. They must be expected to view every thing through a medium of intentional distortion, to represent in false colors the manners of our people and the customs of society, and to give an unnatural glare to every distinctive feature in our national institutions and national character. In no unimportant measure our standing in the eyes of the world is to be fixed by the events of the future. Though our existence has begun under happy auspices, still men are waiting to see if the result shall correspond with the expectations to which these early omens have given rise. The spirit of patriotism, and the principles of virtue are not yet so completely incorporated into all our views, and embodied within the very elements of society, as to free us from apprehensions of dissolution from the operation of internal causes. Our literature is still in its infancy, and our progress in the arts as yet inconsiderable, while others gladly avail themselves of these facts to discredit our claims to consideration, and counteract the influence which they fear from our example-tending to promote the general diffusion of liberal principles. With a history, abounding more, perhaps, than any other embracing an equal period, with examples of the union of rare virtues and commanding talents, we should not be backward in the promotion of an object, which has a relation scarcely more intimate to our own safety, than to the universal emancipation of the human mind from the shackles of superstition and oppression. Let, therefore, the choicest honors be gathered to the memory of our departed statesmen, patriots and heroes. Let the imagination cull its sweetest flowers to weave for them the "garlands of fame," and the "chaplets of renown." Let the fires of eloquence be kindled to their brightest glow in the eulogy of their virtues-let history enter upon its records some lasting memorials to their praise-let the monuments of art, imperishable as the names they commemorate, protect and hallow the spot where their ashes are smouldering—where their bones are reposing amidst dissolution and decay. K. L. M. 8 STANZAS. THERE'S beauty on the verdant earth when all is fresh and gay, And the glad o'erflowings of their hearts come bursting into voice- But there's a brighter beauty when the gentle breath of song, There's beauty when the laughing spring approaches crown'd with flowers, And mantling vines and roses weave their odor-breathing bowers, And the lily lifts her snowy head in loveliness arrayed, The virgin daughter of the vale, too beautiful to fade. Though, Spring, thou art most beautiful, vie not with maiden fair, There's beauty when the glorious sun, rejoicing in his might, Yet brighter than the hoary hills on which the sunbeams sleep, There's beauty when the vesper-star peeps through the twilight grey, When casting round her starry robe, her world-embroidered zone, All, all on earth is beautiful to him who reads aright, The volume of creation writ in characters of light; But the page which stands the brightest there, ah, who can tell its worth! Is woman's, rich in heavenly love-the poetry of earth. J. B. 6 A FRONTIER SCENE. DURING the last vacation, I was visiting an old friend of mine, one of the oldest settlers in a southern section of our country. As he looked over the news from the Creeks and Seminoles, he would frequently compare the incidents there related, with circumstances in which he had been an actor, or of which a witness. Among others, he narrated the following. "It was a cold, raw evening, and the men had gathered round their large camp fires, watching some of their comrades, as they busied themselves in preparing for their evening repast. Every countenance wore an air of gloom, which is very unusual in camps, even during the most harassing duties, or the most inclement weather, and it was evident that no common event could have caused this general depression of spirits among the hardy, and hitherto lively frontiers-men. It was well known through the camp that a small party under Lt. S. had left that morning, for the purpose of finding a crossing place over the river, near which the troops had halted; for as yet no suitable place had been found, although exploring parties had traversed the banks for several miles, both up and down. It was true they had not intended to return that night, but several guns heard during the day created a belief that they had fallen in with Indians, and the cunning character of their foe was too well known to admit a hope that they had been attacked by an equal number, or in a situation where they could defend themselves. As the darkness gathered round, the wind increased, and large drops of rain occasionally falling bid them prepare for a severe night, which in truth they had. Most of them, however, wrapping themselves in their blankets, with their feet to the fire, appeared determined to forget present vexations in sleep, in spite of wind and rain. Others were endeavoring to arrange shelters, by means of sticks covered with palmetto leaves, and some were stripping bark from the trees as a covering for their rifles and powder; but these, satisfied with their arrangements, soon stretched themselves to rest beside their comrades. All were now at rest, save the inmate of the only tent upon the ground, and those of the guard, who, being now off duty, were seated around the guard fire. Anxiety for the fate of his only son, who commanded the absent party, prevented Col. S. from seeking repose, and filled his mind with the most gloomy forebodings. Suddenly starting up, he drew his cloak close around him, and left the tent. He looked earnestly at all his men as he passed them, occasionally stopping to examine their features. But his search seemed in vain, for he turned to retrace his steps, when the figure of a young man sitting with his back to a tree caught his eye. "Henry," said he. The young man spoke not, but was instantly before him, raising his cap as he approached. "You heard those guns to-day?" "I did, sir." "And what think you; were there more than might have been fired at a few deer?" "And Alice-think you she would marry the man who could suffer her brother to remain so, without even an effort to save him." A flash of indignation passed over the face of the young man; it was but for an instant, however, and a deeper gloom succeeded. "Col. S." said he, "I have not deserved this from you, for when did I ever give you occasion to repeat an order? And if you have any now, I am ready, sir.” "I know it, I know it; but you are too good a soldier for this emergency. I doubted not your willingness for the service hinted at; but do you not see that if I, as commander, order out another party to succor the absent one, the cold, calculating world will condemn me, for allowing my feelings as a father to govern me as an officer?" "I understand you now, sir, and will prove that nothing but my soldier's habit of waiting for orders governed me in this. At rollcall in the morning, I will with twenty of my comrades, to whom I shall now speak, step forward and request your permission to learn the safety of our friends, or bury them and seek their foes." "God bless you, Henry! Alice may well be proud of you, and poor Charles has had at least one true friend. But you say tomorrow morning; why not to-night? To-morrow may be too late; you know as well as I do, that the Indians usually secrete themselves near their victims during the darkness, and fire on them at the first return of light." "I know it," exclaimed the young man, on such a dark and stormy night as this?" "but what can we do "Dark and stormy! do you think the darkness will frighten your men, or the rain hurt them more than where they now lie?" "Neither, sir." "Then why not choose your men and start at once ?" "And how far could we go, without light enough to enable us to follow on their trail, even if the rain has not washed away all traces of it?" "True, true, I do believe that I am more rash in my old age than you, with the fiery blood of youth in your veins. I am too much |