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ly new aspect to the flames. The whole change was instantly re-painted in the river, and on the forests. So strange, so inconceivable, was the effect, taking into view the surprise, the hour, and the nearness of the spectacle-distant little more than the third of a mile,-and so magnificent was the illumination of the green of the earth and the trees—the crimson of the river, the whiteness of the sky, and the long moss in the forests in the distance, that it required but little effort of the imagination to suppose one's self in the centre of a world on fire!
But while I viewed and analysed the grand and imposing scene, I bethought myself how differently it would appear on the following morning, when the bright sun should have robbed the scene of its enchantment. I could not but hear the cries of the sufferers, and the crowds striving to arrest the flames; and reflect how many persons would be only enlightened by the morning sun, to see clearly the ruins of their all. This reflection of itself was sufficient to dispel all the magic of the magnificent illusion that surrounded me, and to present the scene, beheld through this perspective, in all the sad reality of truth and nature.
BY THE AUTHOR OF PELHAM,' 'EUGENE ARAM,' ETC.
No hostility between nations affects the Arts.'-So said the old maxim-but it has rarely been found a truism. They who feel it, feel also the virtue which dictated the aphorism. Men whose object is to enlighten the notions or exalt the judgment,-or,-(the least ambition)— to refine the tastes of others-men who feel that this object is dearer to them than a petty and vain ambition,-feel also, that all who labor in the same cause, are united with them in a friendship which exists in one climate as in another-in a republic or in a despotism-these are the best cosmopolites-the truest citizens of the world.
IT is a sight of gratification and pride to behold a laborer in the vineyard of letters, escaping from the envy-the jealousy-the rivalry-the leaven of all uncharitableness-with which literary intercourse is so often polluted. The writers of England have been tardy in their justice not only to the progress, circumstances, and customs of America, but to her intellectual offspring; and the time is not remote,-nay, has already dawned,— when, in this regard, the Spirit of Change wields his wand, and finds obedience to his prerogatives.
THE Competent American littérateur has a glorious career before him. So much is there in that magnificent country, hitherto undescrib
ed and unexpressed, in manners, scenery, morals,—that all may be wells, from which he may be the first to drink. Yet, it cannot be expectedfor it has passed to a proverb, that escape from persecution and detraction, can never and no where be the lot of literature,—that there will not be many instances, even in America, where every attempt, on the part of gifted writers, (and young writers especially, who are commonly regarded with eyes of invidious jaundice by the elders, whose waning reputations they may through industry either supplant or explode)— will be rendered an uneasy struggle, and sometimes almost a curse, by the envy of those who deny approval, while blind to success; and the affected disdain of those who exaggerate demerit. Yet these obstacles warm the spirit of honest ambition, and enhance its inevitable conquests.
THERE is a charm in writing, for the pure and intelligent Young, worth all the plaudits of sinister or hypocritical wisdom. At a certain age, and while the writings that please have a gloss of novelty about them, hiding the blemishes that may afterwards be discovered as their characteristics then it is, that the young convert their approbation into glowing enthusiasm. An author benefits in a wide and most pleasing range of public opinion, by this natural and common disposition in the young; and the only cloud ever thrown athwart the rays of pleasure, thus saluting his spirit, is flung from the thought that they who are thus moved by the movings of his own mind, may come in a few years to look upon his pages with hearts less ardent in their sympathies, and with altered eyes, that have acquired additional keenness by looking longer upon the world.
AN author, who has a just confidence in his attainments and powers, who knows that his mind is imperishable, and capable of making daily additions to its own strength-is always more desirous of seeing the censures, (if not mere abuse,) than the praises of those who aspire to judge him; and any suggestions or admonitions thus bestowed, are seldom disregarded. But if he is to profit by criticism, the motive must be known to him. It is by no means natural to take the advice of an enemy. When the critic enters his department of literature, in the false guise of urbanity and candor, merely to conceal an incapable and huckstering soul, he only awakens for himself the irrevocable contempt of the very mind that he would gall or subdue ;-since that mind, under such circumstances invariably rises above its detractor, and leaves him exposed in the same creaking gibbet that he had prepared for the object of his fear or his envy. Seldom, indeed, is it, that injustice fails to be seen through, or that the policy of interested condemnation escapes undetected. They first produce the excitements, then furnish the triumphs, of Genius.
A SLIPSHODICAL LYRIC.
THE watch hath bawl'd' elevin,'-and the moon
Am lounging in that Traveller's Paradise,
Come, bustle, honest Muse, and help me sing,
Time was, when boots were not-when graceful feet
And walked abroad in freedom. And in sooth,
At last, boots came;
Their number numberless; nor eke of style,
Or Chinese kinds, diminished, have I time
It seems to rise, as if its apex strove
There stands a scurvy pair, with tops of red,
By much too small for comfort. When he draws
On politics or business, with an air,
As if a nation's cares were on his mind,
Adjacent riseth, with the look of eld,
A pair of fair tops, and, to Fancy's eye,
Is powdered, white as snow-wreathes-and his cane
I like not that next pair-a clumsy mass
Their certain ownership. What sprawling heels!
As if the ponderous feet in that wide space
Had still been' cabined, cribbed,' and wanted room,
Or else, that doleful crops of pedal maize,
I see the wearer plainly. Large of form,
My fragrant tube is out-and objects swim
I fain, in thoughtful mood, would scrutinize.
My subjects multiply-but
OR THE MISSISSIPPI ORSON.
It was the lot of that wonderful person, Caspar Hauser, to be emancipated and tamed among a people every way disposed to note all the peculiarities of a mind permitted almost to reach maturity, before it had received the impress of a single effort at training it. This training was then undertaken by instructors, excited by an enthusiasm of curiosity to trace the first manifestations of his mind under its new series of impulses. Of course, we have in his case most impressive chapters upon the influence of the magnificent universe-the green earth, the sun and moon in the blue heavens, and the grandeur of the starry hosts, when first shown to him. We have a novel and most striking history of mind under the first impressions of external nature, and the first lights of instruction.
The annexed brief and unpretending narrative lays no claim to virtues of this sort. Wild Bill, it is true, was thrown among a people humane and civilized; but they were pressed by numberless and imperious necessities, incident to a new settlement in the wilderness. Their condition was too full of labor, care, and danger, to admit of the exercise of curiosity. Thus they were less disposed to mark the first move