"What future bliss he gives not us to know, It seems to be written on the human mind, of which the body and senses are but appendages-" thou art the noblest work of God." Boston, April 20th, 1831. C. D. The following poem is a tribute of respect to the memory of a young gentleman, a worthy and valuable member of the Social Lyceum, who died at sea, exhausted by the sufferings of a shipwreck. It was written by one who knew his worth. THE WRECK. "Deep for the dead, the grief must be, Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before." The breeze was fresh, the stars were bright, Stately and swift she glided on And long was her wake of glittering white, Glad hearts and young in that tall ship came,- Morning shone o'er that gallant bark, With the sun o'er the western waves had gone. Another morn-and the stormy sea Was dashing its billows far and high, Loud was its voice of thunder heard When the spirit of storm in wrath went by. The gallant bark was all a wreck, And there was one with languid brow That lovely home! how loveliest then He fancied how, in social mood, And how that one of soft blue eye, Would sit within her chamber lone, Those gentle hearts were all away, And speak of heaven, came near him now.* Still heavily the wreck was driven, While death was gathering round his heart, And no relief, no hope was nigh. In one short hour was gathered then The hoarded agony of years, Those mad'ning thoughts of friends and home, And blighted hopes and sick'ning fears. Ere the frail wreck could reach the shore, He perished on the heaving wave, And far from native land and home The tidings to his happy home EVERALLIN. MY COUNTRY. A Fragment. A SPIRIT of inquiry is abroad, the chains which formerly fettered the intellectual powers are broken, the crowd of superstitions, which once clung around even the "giants in intellect," are dispersed; and man now exerts his right to think and decide, unbiassed by ancient errors. If we delight to dwell upon the fact, we shall delight no less in analyzing the causes which have produced it. It is the historian's province to record, the philosopher's to trace, the secret springs of action; but we all may feel and rejoice in those events which have led to such glorious results. In the bold march of improvement, the world is now essaying, our own revolution first attracts our attention; the struggle against oppression, the exhibition of daring courage, of prudent resolve, and of successful valor, rise before us in bold relief; we feel that it was not merely the birth of one nation's freedom; it was the master spring, which was to move the world; to teach man to examine the justice of those laws which doomed him the slave of another's will, to inquire into his own moral and physical resources, his means of defence, and of the countless wrongs he had endured to demand redress. The events of this mighty struggle are as yet too recent; we can listen to them even from the lips of those who were actors in the drama; they are familiar to us as a "household tale ;" we have known them from our earliest childhood; and this very familiarity has taken from them that deep interest they are calculated to inspire; we call them great and noble, but do not yet realize their full force ;-history has not thrown around them her mantle; antiquity has not hallowed them; but in the distant future they will rise to challenge the admiration of a world. And here bursts on our view, one who had left the charms of domestic life, urged by a desire to aid the cause of freedom; after nearly half a century had passed away, returning again to tread the soil where his early deeds of prowess had been done; we see the illustrious prisoner of Olmutz, and of Magdeburgh, receiving the homage of the heart, from a nation of freemen. Lafayette! wherever that name is pronounced the holy fire of liberty is kindled. The hearts of millions throb with a quicker pulsation; with the homage, trust, and love-the homage of men. How must kings, attended by hirelings, slaves and secret enemies, feel their degradation when his name is pronounced! The example of Lafayette belongs to the world, but his blessing is the inheritance of America; he is the friend of Freedom, the son of Washington-titles which no land but our own can know the worth, or render the tribute. make the incense worthy the shrine and name. Let us Our age is the era of wonderful events, and our country the theatre of bold improvements. In political science, in literature, in the common arts of life, in every thing which demands depth and vigor of thought, profound research, and steady inquiry, in every department of mental exertion, unexampled progress may be made-for the empire of mind is here unshackled, and the watchword is still, "onward." To us the call is imperious, not to slumber, but to tax our powers to the utmost; by vigorous exertion, to press forward, that we may be worthy the inheritance our fathers won, worthy to give the tone of our institutions to the age in which we live, worthy to have the name American!-the watchword of liberal principles, and the example of their glorious efficiency, the test of their worth, on the human character and happiness. Portsmouth. L. E. FAREWELL. One moment--and I must away- ROMANCE OF SUPERSTITION. It is no light matter, now a days, to prepare what is termed light reading. The two master spells of life, Love and Superstition, which for thousands of ages, held sway over the human heart, are broken, or so altered in their nature, that Genius has not yet obtained the skill to draw forth those materials of the romantic, which will probably be discovered, even in the most scientific researches, when the mysteries of mind shall be better understood. Love, to be sure, is not now a forbidden theme, but it is called a foolish one, and unprofitable, for the world has grown too old to see anything worth loving-except money. Thus the whole train of incidents and sentiments, which make the romance of affection, has become obsolete, and the history of true love, without these, is only an affair of business, and can no more be made entertaining in story, than an account of the transfer of shares in the rail road, or a speculation in cotton. Superstition has fared even worse than love, in this contest with matter-of-fact philosophy; it is absolutely exploded, or, what is the same thing, considered the mark of ignorance and vulgarity; and who, in our refined and enlightened community, would dare plead guilty to a charge of superstition? And so because people do not believe in ghosts and spirits, dreams and omens, they flatter themselves they have grown wondrous wise. But, is there any wisdom in disclaiming all belief in supernatural appearances, unless we have reasons, and consistent ones too, for our opinion? When to be credulous, is held as a proof of ignorance or mental weakness, those who would be thought to know something, will discard superstitious notions— but, if they do not substitute other, and juster ideas, pray what have they gained in rationality? I confess I would prefer the light from a comet, that portended "pestilence and death," to dwelling in Egyptian darkness; and I would rather make a voyage in the "Demon Ship," among the "stormy Cyclades" than embark in a flat-bottomed Dutch boat, and sail securely on the " stagnant waters" of the Dead Sea. It might be a very excellent thing to have all the world reasonable, but it is of no benefit to have it dull; and we had better run the risk of admitting some erroneous ideas, than restrain our thoughts from all wanderings in the regions of fancy, till |