quick; their inly workings, various and constant, found much to study every where, and something to love in all things.

The better feelings were kept in motion by the old relations of master and servant; the servant, watchful of the master's wishes, humble in demeanor, yet proud in his fidelity; the master trustful in the other's faith, and careful of his comforts in the reposing time of age. This long tried service brought about a mixed but delightful sensation, when he who had tended us in our playing days, had gone down into the still vale of years, while we stood on the open hill top, in our vigor and prime. It was a kind of filial reverence, touched by the sense of the humble and dependant state of him, whom we protected, and upon whom we looked down.

"But we have bid farewell

To all the virtues of those better days,

And all their honest pleasures. Mansions once
Knew their own masters, and laborious hinds,
Who had survived the father, served the son."

Along with such softening influences there was much of the wild and adventurous starting up in the midst of the common objects of life; at one time throwing over them mysterious shadows, and casting them into strange and awful forms; at another, pouring upon them a dazzling light, in which they flitted gay and fantastic. Surrounded by ideal shapes and untamed nature, the imagination was constantly widening and ever creative. Men could not leave their homes, the proper dwellings of the heart, without travelling into the region of the fancy. Moving on alone through silent and unpeopled paths, winding round dusky rocks, and through tangling brushwood, and overhung by gloomy woods, the traveller held converse with some spirit of the air, or in the superstitious workings of his mind, saw some being of evil, darker than the night that had gathered round him.

Journeying far on foot, the custom of the times, fording rapid streams, toiling over rugged mountains, and through wet lowlands, begat perseverance, healthful spirits, ready, cheerful and self-trusting minds, acquainted with difficulties, and used to subduing them. Their diversions, too, partook of the violent and daring; so that withal there was a combination of the natural and tender, the imaginative and the manly, in the characters of former days, which calls up within us an intense and restless desire to know them entirely, to live back amongst them, to warm us in their cheerful sunshine, to sit by their fireside, listen to their stories, mingle in their domestic games and learn of their stern sense.

This is an exhaustless theme; but I have talked long enough, perhaps too long; for to many it may all seem childish conceit, or the strange imaginings of a tired spirit, impatient of reality. But he, of wide and deep thought, will not so look upon it, nor hold this view of things false because it is sad. Now that every thing rude and irregular is cut down, and all that remains is trimmed up and made to look set and orderly, he will not forget how much there was of exquisite beauty, of loftiness and strength in the one; how tame and unsatisfying is the other. Though there was a deep and subduing tenderness, and ardor and sway and passion in the men of former days, sometimes uncontrolled and not always aimed aright; yet he will see, that with little of softness, man is still weak, and without the extravagance of feeling, still erring. The absence of passion is not always reason, nor coldness judgment.—N. A, Review-1817.

BANK OF THE OHIO, JAN. 27th, 1836.-A Winter Scene.
DIVINE PROTECTION.

I walked along the River-road,

The stream swept by me in its might
The earth seemed wondrous clear and pale
In the broad shadaw of the night.

It was as if the sun for once

Went down, and left the day behind.

But gone the cry of human toil,

And in calm sleep had sunk the wind.

The moon,-how cold from heaven she looked'
How still the air her beams came through!
How wide the arch of heaven was grown!
As stars grew bright, how clear its blue!

Loud seemed the voice, when low,

Far went each foot-falls sound,
But hark! what heavy note of wo
Breaks upward from the ground?

It is the River's moan

Far o'er its winding course.

It is the ice-sheet's groan,

As down it goes with headlong force.
But while the moon "looks out so cold,"
Whlle stars still shine with pearly light,
And while the ever troubled tide

Its echoed grief sends far and wide,
Embraced in their great Father's arm,
All gather'd in his ample fold,

My brother men, they sleep how warm!
In the broad shadow of the night.

In summer-heat, in winter-frost.

Thus smiling through we see his face;

In summer-heat, in winter-frost,

May every heart adore his grace.

C. A. B.

TO CONTRIBUTORS AND OTHERS.

It is related, we believe, of the great Scottish enchanter Michael Scott, that he had under his control a demon, who was obliged to work for him, but whom he was obliged likewise to keep always provided with occupation. Having, one day, no particular business on hand, he set the fiend to the task of dividing Eildon hill into three portions. He hoped that this would keep him occupied for a length of time, but it appears that he had underrated his activity, for the very next morning the people who lived near the mountain, saw with astonishment that its summit was rent into the triple peaks which, to this day, give it the form of a papal crown. And again the industrious demon demanded more work of his master. Michael then told him to build a permanent bridge from Ireland to Scotland. Hardly had a day gone by, before a splendid structure united the two countries, the beauty of whose masonry can yet be seen in the portion which remains, called the Giant's causeway. The diligent servant was once more calling for something to do. Michael was almost in despair, when a lucky thought struck him, and he told the fiend to go down to the sea shore, and make him a thousand fathom of cable out of the sand upon the beach. This surpassed even magic art and strength, and it is said that the poor spirit pined away from sheer mortification, and that the marks of his failure yet remain in the great twisted lines of sand, which girdle the shore of that region.

The application of this apologue will be readily understood by our thoughtful friends. We find ourselves in a situation not unlike that of the celebrated enchanter. We have under our control a servant whose power fully equals that of Michael's. The PRESS is such a servant. It can cleave the hills of error, and with lightning stroke rend to their base, mountains of ignorance. It not merely connects adjacent islands— it can bind together remotest continents, bridge oceans, and even throw its wondrous arch over the gulph of time, bringing past centuries into contact with the present, and carrying the present down to the future. For thus are books, in the words of Bulwer,, The stately arks, which from the deep Garner the life for worlds to be. And with their precious burdens, sweep, Adown dark Time's tnmultuous sea.

But even the printing Press cannot make ropes out of sand, a task we shall soon be compelled to set it, if our trusty contributors do not hasten to our relief. For work it will; seventy-two pages of matter every month must it put forth, and on

us does it continually call for copy, like the daughters of the horse leach, which cry-give, give. Already in the present number, the significant signature ED. occurs oftener than can be very acceptable either to our readers or to ourselves. Judging from present appearances, it will be still worse with the next number, for which we have scarcely, as yet, received any contributions. If a week or two does not bring us a great access of articles, our readers will be obliged, in the language of the Persian poet, "to solicit marrow from a shrivelled brain and digest the smoke of a profitless lamp"-which, says he, "is not the occupation of sensible men."

We therefore earnestly require all our contributors, as soon as this meets their eye, to lay pen to paper, and give us something profound, brilliant, instructive, interesting-not so long as to be tiresome-nor so short as to be flippant. Let it be "complete enough to satisfy, fragmentary enough to excite, sharp enough to rouse, tender enough to appease." We do not promise to insert all they shall send us, even though it be very good in itself-for it may not suit our purpose. Nor will we insert a tedious, shallow, or ill natured article, if the best friend we have, or the man we most revere should send it us. The conductor of a magazine must he as despotic as the general of an army, in order to make it good for any thing.

We wish for more western articles, containing descriptions of the moral, statistical, economical, social, and religious condition of different parts of the west. Incidents or facts which go to illustrate the character and condition and genius of the people we want very much. In a community like this, where towns and cities are springing up almost like Jonah's gourd, in a single night-not, we trust, to perish in a night-descriptions of towns and of these rapid changes are highly interesting. Can not our friends, scattered abroad, write us letters, giving a description of whatever is interesting in their community?

We do not by any means demand that all who write in our magazine should have our opinions or sentiments on religious or other matters. Our pages shall be freely open to all who appear to write with a good purpose-a wish to do good-and make men better and happier-and who write with clearness, point, and earnestness. In this wide world there must needs be endless differences of thought and of expression; among good men there need never be a want of harmony of feeling and courtesy of manner. We pray God to make us charitable and tolerant to all forms of human thought and action; to one thing only shall we never bc tolerant-the Pharisaic spirit of bigotry, tvranny, and sectarianism. ED.

TO OUR SUBSCRIBERS.

The publication of the "Western Messenger" has been transferred to Louisville. This change was made necessary by the illness of the subscriber. The character and purpose of the work will remain as heretofore-a medium through which western Unitarians may communicate with each other, and make known their views to the world around them. It will henceforth be under the editorial care of the Rev. James F. Clarke, with whose writings our readers are sufficiently familiar, to know that the work could not be in better hands.

I cannot forbear expressing here my gratitude for the aid which I have heretofore received in the publication of the Messenger. Since the first number was issued, I have been much of the time absent from Cincinnati, and during all the time, I have been debarred by ill-health, from giving that attention to it which I earnestly desired to give. I have had constantly to look to my friends for assistance, and have constantly and abundantly received it. During the last summer, Mr. Howe most kindly superintended its publication. I have been continually indebted to the publishers, Mr. Gallagher and Mr. Shreve, for the aid of their pens, and for their friendly oversight of the work. Especially, I desire to express my sense of obligation to Mr. Perkins, without whose aid the last numbers of the work could hardly have been published. He has at the same time written many articles and superintended its publication; and no one but those acquainted with periodicals can tell the labor which this involves. I would also express the pleasure which I have received from my connection. with my brethren who have been associated with me, as colaborators in the publication of the Messenger, and with my other friends who have contributed to its pages. The ill health, which has thrown upon them unexpected labor, has, so far as 1 am concerned, found a compensation in the friendship which has ever been present in the hour of need. It is indeed one of the not slight blessings of ill-health, that it discloses the friendly feelings, which in the even and prosperous ongoings of life can hardly be made known.

In conclusion, it is my prayer that my brother who will henceforth have the editorial care of the Messenger, may make it all that I have wished it to be; and may He, without whose blessing all human labors are vain, bless the work, and make it an instrument in the promotion of truth and goodness. E. PEABODY.

March 9, 1830.