why left you Egypt?"

"It was so written in the eternal councils of him who fashions all things to his will. It was foreordained-even as all things are fore-ordainedthat I should escape from the tyrant and become a prophet, and a holy one. In that predestination is thy fate mysteriously linked to mine."

His eye kindled, his form dilated, and he burst into the horrible howl of his order-Ullah-hoo.

Was this fanaticism? Was this lunacy? Was it the temporary intoxication of opium; or was this wretched man masking under wild enthusiasm some deep plot of ambition or fraud?

I know not. I was glad to leave the cell. I left it wondering, sorrowing, disgusted, and have never since seen him.

Yet frequently in crowds, or in the hurry of commercial cities, I have met faces that seemed familiar to me, though I knew them not, and I have often fancied some of them to be his.

Sometimes, too, I dream of this fearful Proteus, and meet him in new shapes.

It was but last week that I supped in company with an intelligent English officer, who had accompanied Lord Amherst in his mission to Pekin, and went to bed with my head full of China and its customs. I dreamt that our government had sent out Dr. Mitchell as ambassador to the Celestial Empire, and that I accompanied my learned friend. The moment we arrived at Canton, a fat old mandarin, with a blue button in his cap, and a gilt dragon on his breast, came on board our frigate, flourished his hands twenty times, and thumped his forehead as often on the deck, and then jumping up, burst into a laugh, and asked me if I did not recollect the Black Wild Cat, alias the Reverend Major, Rector, Romeo, Bardolph, Hussein, Yussuf Egerton.

THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD.

FROM AN ADDRESS ON THE FINE ARTS.

I WELL remember the vivid impressions produced upon my own mind several years ago, when I first saw the University of Oxford. The quiet grandeur and the pomp of literary ease which are

there displayed, did not wholly disarm that dislike; I could not help feeling towards an establishment, which, possessing so much learning and so much real talent, had for the last century, in its public and academic capacity, done so very little for the improvement of education, and had so long been the sanctuary of unworthy prejudices, and the solid barrier against liberal principles. But when I beheld her halls and chapels, filled with the monuments, and statues, and pictures, of the illus trious men who had been educated in her several colleges; when I saw the walls covered with the portraits of those great scholars and eloquent divines, whose doctrines are taught, or whose works are daily consulted by the clergy of all sects throughout our republic of the statesmen, and judges, whose opinions and decisions are every day cited as authorities at our bar and in our legislative bodies of the poets and orators, whose works form the study of our youth and the amusement of our leisure,-I could not but confess that the young man who lived and studied in such a presence must be dull and brutal indeed, if he was not sometimes roused into aspirations after excellence, if the countenances of the great men who looked down upon him did not sometimes fill his soul with generous thoughts and high contemplations.

THE FUTURE.

FROM THE SAME.

FOREIGN criticism has contemptuously told us, that the national pride of Americans rests more upon the anticipation of the future, than on the recollections of the past. Allowing for a little malicious exaggeration, this is not far from the truth. It is so. It ought to be so. Why should

it not be so?

Our national existence has been quite long enough, and its events sufficiently various, to prove the value and permanence of our civil and political establishments, to dissipate the doubts of their friends, and to disappoint the hopes of their enemies. Our past history is to us the pledge, the earnest, the type of the greater future. We may read in it the fortunes of our descendants, and with an assured confidence look forward to a long and continued advance in all that can make a people great.

If this is a theme full of proud thoughts, it is also one that should penetrate us with a deep and solemn sense of duty. Our humblest honest efforts to perpetuate the liberties, or animate the patriotism of this people, to purify their morals, or to excite their genius, will be felt long after us, in a widening and more widening sphere, until they reach a distant posterity, to whom our very names may be unknown.

Every swelling wave of our doubling and still doubling population, as it rolls from the Atlantic coast, inland, onward toward the Pacific, must bear upon its bosom the influence of the taste, learning, morals, freedom of this generation.

AMERICAN HISTORY.

FROM DISCOURSE BEFORE THE NEW YORK HISTORICAL SOCIETY.

THE study of the history of most other nations fills the mind with sentiments not unlike those which the American traveller feels on entering the venerable and lofty cathedral of some proud old city of Europe. Its solemn grandeur, its vastness, its obscurity, strike awe to his heart. From the richly painted windows, filled with sacred emblems and strange antique forms, a dim religious light

falls around. A thousand recollections of romance and poetry, and legendary story, come thronging in upon him. He is surrounded by the tombs of the mighty dead, rich with the labours of ancient art, and emblazoned with the pomp of heraldry.

What names does he read upon them? Those of princes and nobles who are now remembered only

for their vices; and of sovereigns, at whose death no tears were shed, and whose memories lived not an hour in the affections of their people. There, too, he sees other names, long familiar to him for their guilty or ambiguous fame. There rest, the blood-stained soldier of fortune-the orator, who was ever the ready apologist of tyranny--great scholars, who were the pensioned flatterers of power-and poets, who profaned the high gift of genius, to pamper the vices of a corrupted court.

Our own history, on the contrary, like that poetical temple of fame, reared by the imagination of Chaucer, and decorated by the taste of Pope, is almost exclusively dedicated to the memory of the truly great. Or rather, like the Pantheon of Rome, it stands in calm and severe beauty amid the ruins of ancient magnificence and "the toys of modern state." Within, no idle ornament encumbers its bold simplicity. The pure light of heaven enters from above and sheds an equal and serene radiance around. As the eye wanders about its extent, it beholds the unadorned monuments of brave and good men who have bled or toiled for their country, or it rests on votive tablets inscribed with the names of the best benefactors of mankind.

Hice manus, ob patriam pugnando, volnera passi, Quique sacerdotes castí, dum vita manebat, Quique pii vates, et Phoebo digna locuti, Inventas aut vitam excoluere per artes, Quique sui memores, alios fecere merendo.* Doubtless, this is a subject upon which we may be justly proud. But there is another consideration, which, if it did not naturally arise of itself, would be pressed upon us by the taunts of European criticism.

What has this nation done to repay the world for the benefits we have received from others? We have been repeatedly told, and sometimes, too, in a tone of affected impartiality, that the highest praise which can fairly be given to the American mind, is that of possessing an enlightened selfishness; that if the philosophy and talents of this

Patriots are here, in Freedom's battles slain,
Priests, whose long lives were closed without a stain,
Bards worthy him who breathed the poet's mind,
Founders of arts that dignify mankind,
And lovers of our race, whose labours gave
Their names a memory that defies the grave.
VIRGIL-From the MS. of Bryant.

country, with all their effects, were for ever swept into oblivion, the loss would be felt only by ourselves; and that if to the accuracy of this general charge, the labours of Franklin present an illustrious, it is still but a solitary, exception.

The answer may be given, confidently and triumphantly. Without abandoning the fame of our eminent men, whom Europe has been slow and reluctant to honour, we would reply, that the intellectual power of this people has exerted itself

in conformity to the general system of our institu

tions and manners; and therefore, that, for the proof of its existence and the measure of its force, we must look not so much to the works of prominent individuals, as to the great aggregate results; and if Europe has hitherto been wilfully blind to sagacity, courage, invention, and freedom, the blame the value of our example and the exploits of our

must rest with her, and not with America.

Is it nothing for the universal good of mankind to have carried into successful operation a system of self-government, uniting personal liberty, freedom of opinion, and equality of rights, with national power and dignity; such as had before existed only in the Utopian dreams of philosophers? Is it nothing, in moral science, to have anticipated in sober reality, numerous plans of reform in civil and criminal jurisprudence, which are, but now, received as plausible theories by the thing to have been able to call forth on every emerpoliticians and economists of Europe? Is it nogency, either in war or peace, a body of talents always equal to the difficulty? Is it nothing to have, in less than a half century, exceedingly improved the sciences of political economy, of law, and of medicine, with all their auxiliary branches; to have enriched human knowledge by the accumulation of a great mass of useful facts and observations, and to have augmented the power and the comforts of civilized man, by miracles of mechanical invention? Is it nothing to have given the world examples of disinterested patriotism, of political wisdom, of public virtue; of learning, eloquence, and valour, never exerted save for some praiseworthy end? It is sufficient to have briefly suggested these considerations; every mind would anticipate me in filling up the details.

No-Land of Liberty! thy children have no cause to blush for thee. What though the arts have reared few monuments among us, and scarce a trace of the Muse's footstep is found in the paths of our forests, or along the banks of our rivers; yet our soil has been consecrated by the blood of heroes, and by great and holy deeds of peace. Its wide extent has become one vast temple and hallowed asylum, sanctified by the prayers and blessings of the persecuted of every sect, and the

wretched of all nations.

Mr. NORTON was born in Hingham, a rural town near Boston, and was educated at Cambridge, where he received the degree of Bachelor of Arts in 1804. He subsequently studied divinity, but never became a settled clergyman. He was for a time tutor in Bowdoin College, and in 1811 was appointed tutor and librarian in Harvard University, in which he succeeded William Ellery Channing as lecturer on biblical criticism, in 1813, and upon the new organization of the theological department, in 1819, was made the first Dexter Professor of Sacred Literature, which office he held until compelled by ill health to resign it in 1830. During all this period Mr. Norton was a close student, and besides the ordinary advantages of American scholars he had the intimate friendship of many learned men, and the constant use of the best library on the continent. His attainments were not merely scholastic. The cultivation of his taste and understanding was as remarkable as the compass of his classical studies. There were few subjects of metaphysics with which he was not familiar, and he could turn from the driest disquisition to discuss with equal discrimination the last new poem or romance.

Although while connected with the university Mr. Norton wrote many articles for the literary and theological journals, and in the same period published several tracts, and in every thing displayed exact and comprehensive learning, and a style singularly clear, compact, and beautiful, yet his reputation as a man of letters and as a theologian rests chiefly upon his Evidences of the Genuineness of the Gospels, to which he has devoted nearly half of his life, a longer time than has been given to the composition of any other work in American literature. The first volume appeared in 1837, eight years after its commencement, and the second and third in 1844. In these are comprised the historical proofs that the gospels were actually written by the persons whose names they bear, and in a fourth volume he proposes to discuss the internal evidence of the same fact.

Although the subject of this work has been so fruitful of discussion for many centuries, Mr. Norton's treatment of it is eminently original both in positions and in scope and manner of argument. The edifice of Christian evidence he has entirely reconstructed. His object appears to be not so much to combat infidels, popularly so called, as a class of nominally Christian critics, most common in Germany, who as if intent upon astonishing the world with the independence of their faith, proclaim it while endeavouring to batter down all the foundations upon which that of others is founded. They admit that Matthew, Mark, and Luke were in some sense the authors of the books which are attributed to them, but deny that these books are their original, independent, and uncorrupted compositions; and while less doubtful of the genuineness of the gospel of John, are not prepared to admit that it is beyond controversy. Mr. Norton on the contrary maintains the real Christian doctrine respecting the authorship of the gospels, and that they contain true narratives of our Saviour's life and ministry; and does this with such copiousness of learning, particularly in Greek philosophy and patristic literature; soundness of judgment as to the value of different kinds of testimony, and closeness and clearness of reasoning, that his work may undoubtedly be ranked with Clarke's, Butler's, Lardner's, or any other of the great defences of the Christian religion.

Mr. Norton has some opinions not held by the mass of Christian scholars, but whatever may be thought of them, he must be respected for the deliberation with which they were formed and are published. They are contained in his dissertation on the Old Testament, in the remarks prefatory to which he observes, that it seems to him "a weighty offence against society to advance and maintain opinions on any important subject connected with religion without carefully weighing them, and without feeling assured, as far as may be, that we shall find no reason to change our belief." The views to which

reference has been made were therefore not | given to the public until more than ten years after that part of his work in which they are embraced was originally written. They have relation to the books of the Old Testament, for the genuineness, authenticity, and moral and religious teachings of which he does not consider Christianity responsible, any more than it is for what is related in the ecclesiastical histories of Eusebius, Sozomen, and Theodoret. He contends that if this proposition is true, it goes far to remove difficulties which have embarrassed Christians in all ages, as the most popular and effective ob

jections of unbelievers have been directed not against Christianity, but against the Jewish writings in the divine origin of which its truth has been held to be involved.

Mr. Norton's style is chaste, compact, and nervous. He expresses his meaning in as few and plain words as possible. This is the best evidence of true scholarship and refinement of taste.

Besides his theological works and criticisms and other contributions to periodicals, he has published a few poems of singular merit, of which specimens are included in The Poets and Poetry of America.

www

THE RELIGION OF SENTIMENT.

FROM THOUGHTS ON TRUE AND FALSE RELIGION

The

WHEN the religion publicly taught is of such a character that reason turns away from it, and refuses to acknowledge its authority, it can have but a weak hold on the minds of the more intelligent, and exercise but little influence upon their habitua! affections and daily conduct. But there is a spurious sort of religion of the imagination and of temporary sentiment, which sometimes supplies the place of the religion of the understanding. Some of the infidel writers of Germany are willing to admire Christianity as a beautiful fable. There is such desolation and heartlessness in utter skepticism, that we are ready to turn from it even to a shadowy, unsubstantial image of the truth. resemblance may indeed be preferred to the reality; for if it has far less of joy and hope, it is also far less solemn and awful and authoritative. Where real living religion does not exercise its permanent, unremitting influence, we may often find in its stead a poetical, theatrical, mystical religion, which may furnish themes for the expression of fine sentiment and the indulgence of transient emotion; which delights to talk about sacrifices, but forgets duties, and has nothing to do with the unnoticed patience of obscure suffering, the unpraised selfdenials of humble goodness, the strong and silent feelings of habitual piety; or indeed with any virtues but what are splendid and popular, and fit for exhibition. It is such a religion which the authoress of Delphine has celebrated with her passionate and enthusiastic eloquence. It is this religion which the writer of the Philosophical Dictionary, not mention any work more infamous, could introduce into his tragedies; and it is for such a religion that Moore and Byron may compose sacred songs. Nobody, I trust, will so far misunderstand me, as to suppose it my intention to deny that the sentiments expressed by such writers are sometimes very beautiful and correct. I only mean that there is a religion, not of the understanding and not of the heart, which terminates in the expression of fine sentiments.

REFORMERS.

FROM THE SAME.

Ir is delightful to remember that there have been men, who, in the cause of truth and virtue, have made no compromises for their own advantage or safety; who have recognised "the hardest duty as the highest;" who, conscious of the pos session of great talents, have relinquished all the praise that was within their grasp, all the applause which they might have so liberally received, if they had not thrown themselves in opposition to

the errors and vices of their fellow-men, and have been content to take obloquy and insult instead; who have approached to lay on the altar of God "their last infirmity." They, without doubt, have felt that deep conviction of having acted right, which supported the martyred philosopher of Athens, when he asked, "What disgrace is it to me if others are unable to judge of me, or to treat me as they ought?" There is something very solemn and sublime in the feeling produced by considering how differently these men have been estimated by their contemporaries, from the manner in which they are regarded by God. We perceive the appeal which lies from the ignorance, the folly, and the iniquity of man, to the throne of Eternal Justice. A storm of calumny and reviling has too often pursued them through life, and continued, when they could no longer feel it, to beat upon their graves. But it is no matter. They had gone where all who have suffered, and all who have triumphed in the same noble cause, receive their reward; but where the wreath of the martyr is more glorious than that of the conqueror.

THE LESSONS OF DEATH.

FROM A PAPER ON BUCKMINSTER.

It will be in vain for us to stand by the open grave of departed worth if no earthly passion grows cool, and no holy purpose gains strength.

We are liable in this world to continual delusion; to a most extravagant over-estimate of the value of its objects. With respect to many of our

cares and pursuits, the sentiment expressed in the words of David must have borne with all its truth and force upon the mind of every considerate man in some moments, at least, of serious reflection: Surely every one walketh in a vain show; surely they are disquieted in vain. The events of the next month, or the next year, often assume in our eyes a most disproportionate importance, and almost exclude from our view all the other infinite variety of concerns and changes which are to follow in the course of an immortal existence. The whole happiness of our being seems sometimes to be at stake upon the success of a plan, which, when we have grown but a little older, we may regard with indifference. These are subjects on which reason too commonly speaks to us in vain. But there is one lesson which God sometimes gives us, that brings the truth home to our hearts. There is an admonition which addresses itself directly to our feelings, and before which they bow in humility and tears. We can hardly watch the gradual decay of a man eminent for virtue and talents, and hearing him uttering, with a voice that will soon be heard no more, the last expressions of piety and holy hope, without feeling that the delusions of life are losing their power over our minds. Its true purposes begin to appear to us in their proper distinctness. We are accompanying one who is about to take his leave of present objects; to whom the things of this life, merely, are no longer of any interest or value. The eye, which is still turned to us in kindness, will in a few days be closed for ever. The hand by which ours is still pressed will be motionless. The affections, which are still warm and vivid-they will not perish; but we shall know nothing of their exercise. We shall be cut off from all expressions and return of sympathy. He whom we love is taking leave of us for an undefined period of absence. We are placed with him on the verge between this world and the eternity into which he is entering; we look before us, and the objects of the latter rise to view in all their vast and solemn magnificence. There is, I well know, an anguish which may preclude this calmness of reflection and hope. resolution may be prostrated to the earth; for he, on whom we are accustomed to rely for strength and support, has been taken away. We return to the world, and there is bitterness in all it presents us; for every thing bears impressed upon it a remembrance of what we have lost. It has one, and but one, miserable consolation to offer:

Our

"That anguish will be wearied down. I know,
What pang is permanent with man? From th' highest,
As from the vilest thing of every day,

He learns to wean himself. For the strong hours
Conquer him."

It is a consolation, which, offered in this naked and offensive form, we instinctively reject. Our recollections and our sorrows, blended as they are together, are far too dear to be parted with upon such terms. But God giveth not as the world giveth. There is a peace which comes from him, and brings healing to the heart. His religion would not have us forget, but cherish our affections for the dead; for it makes known to us that

these affections shall be immortal. It gradually takes away the bitterness of our recollections, and changes them into glorious hopes; for it teaches us to regard the friend, who is with us no longer, not as one whom we have lost on earth, but as one whom we shall meet as an angel in heaven.

EXAMPLES OF THE DEAD.

FROM THE SAME.

THE relations between man and man cease not with life. The dead leave behind them their me mory, their example, and the effects of their actions. Their influence still abides with us. Their names and characters dwell in our thoughts and hearts. We live and commune with them in their writings. We enjoy the benefit of their labours. Our institutions have been founded by them. We are surrounded by the works of the dead. Our knowledge and our arts are the fruit of their toil. Our minds have been formed by their instructions. We are most intimately connected with them by a thousand dependencies. Those whom we have loved in life are still objects of our deepest and holiest affections. Their power over us remains. They are with us in our solitary walks; and their voices speak to our hearts in the silence of midnight. Their image is impressed upon our dearest recollections and our most sacred hopes. They form an essential part of our treasure laid up in heaven. For, above all, we are separated from them but for a little time. We are soon to be united with them. If we follow in the path of those we have loved, we too shall soon join the innumerable company of the spirits of just men made perfect. Our affections and our hopes are not buried in the dust, to which we commit the poor remains of mortality. The blessed retain their remembrance and their love for us in heaven; and we will cherish our remembrance and our love for them while on earth.

Creatures of imitation and sympathy as we are, we look around us for support and countenance even in our virtues. We recur for them, most securely, to the examples of the dead. There is a degree of insecurity and uncertainty about living worth. The stamp has not yet been put upon it, which precludes all change, and seals it up as a just object of admiration for future times. There is no service which a man of commanding intellect can render his fellow-creatures better than that of leaving behind him an unspotted example. If he do not confer upon them this benefit; if he leave a character dark with vices in the sight of God, but dazzling with shining qualities in the view of men; it may be that all his other services had better have been forborne, and he had passed inactive and unnoticed through life. It is a dictate of wisdom, therefore, as well as feeling, when a man, eminent for his virtues and talents, has been taken away, to collect the riches of his goodness and add them to the treasury of human improve

ment.

The true Christian liveth not for himself, and dieth not for himself; and it is thus, in one respect, that he dieth not for himself.