7/7 University of California Berkeley y&\ ^(h/l.: 3' : . m - "/r^ 4*1 YOICES FROM THE PRESS ; A COLLECTION OF SKETCHES, ESSAYS, AND POEMS, BY PRACTICAL PRINTERS. EDITED BY JAMES J. BRENTON NEW-YORK: CHARLES B. NORTON, 71 CHAMBERS-STREET, (IRVING HOUSE.) 1850. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by JAMES J. BRENTON, tn the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of. New- York. J. J. BRENTON, PRINTER, Jamaica, L. I. PREFACE. LET it not be to any a subject of special wonder that they who have so often assisted in ushering into the world the pro- ductions of others should now in turn venture to originate ideas of their own, and appear before the public in the ambi- tious character of Authors. Aside from the peculiar right which our fraternity has to be heard, there are plenty of pre- cedents to justify the propriety of this publication ; many books have been issued which derive much of their interest from, and rest their claims to patronage on, the fraternal feelings of party, similarity of profession, or particular local- ity; why then may not the Printer avail himself of this social instinct of our nature, and put forth his modest claims^ to notice ? The chief merit of this volume consists not so much in its literary excellence, as in the evidence it exhibits of what in- dustry and application, unaided by wealth and patronage, can accomplish. Many of the articles were written by those who were born under the most unfavorable auspices cast in early life destitute upon the world, and forced to rely solely on their own exertions ; but by cultivating the nobler parts of their nature all have won for themselves " a good name, which 751722 IV PREFACE is better than riches," and some, drinking more deeply at wisdom's fount, are now reaping reward and fame in the higher walks of literature and science. After reading this volume, let not even the poor printer's devil sink his head in sullen despair, but take courage, and be assured that the path to honor and usefulness is as open and free to him as to the most highly favored son of affluence and birth. Though we cannot all be Franklins, yet, if we will take him for our model, we shall learn " that a resolute and uncomplaining performance of duty, whatever our condition in life the desire and the effort to be useful to our fellow- men in the humblest as well as the highest relations is the infallible method of developing our highest capabilities the only sure road to that peace and repose we all so earnestly The Editor avails himself of this opportunity to tender his heartfelt thanks to those who have cheered him with their smiles and furnished contributions to the work ; and while he regrets that his limited village office did not afford him facili- ties to produce a book more in character with the matter, yet he hopes that this experiment will enable him soon to publish another volume, equal in all respects to any issued from the press. J. J. B Jamaica, L. /., Jan , lnf0. CONTENTS. PAGE. Notices of Contributors, .... THE EDITOR, vii The Water-Stream the Life-Stream, FRANKLIN j. OTTERSON, ... 13 The Theory of Mind, JAMES R. TRUMBULL, .... 17 Song of the Reclaimed, JOHN j. ADAMS, 26 The Tomb Blossoms, WALTER WHITMAN, .... 27 A Fragment, WILLIAM w. HOLDE.N, .... 34 Character of Washington, .... ELY MOORE, 35 A Plea for the Poor, REV. A. G. HALL, 41 Lord Byron, ALEXANDER B. COFFIN, ... 50 The Press, JAMES R. TRUMBULL, .... 51 Sonnet, - . HORACE GREELEY, 56 Italy, N. p. WILLIS, 56 The Bright Spirit Land, WILLIAM B. MARSH, .... 57 Consolatory, LYMAN w. HALL, 59 To a Wave, JAMES o. ROCKWELL, .... 62 The Human Voice, GEORGE p. MORRIS, .... 63 Woman, JOHN j. ADAMS, 64 Thoughts, WILLIAM W. HOLDEN, .... 65 The Pilgrimage to Manhood, . . . HORACE GREELEY, 67 Fragments, WILLIAM B. MARSH, .... 76 The Needle, SAMUEL WOODWORTH, ... 77 The Priceless Pearl, ISAAC F. JONES, 78 Love, BAYARD TAYLOR, 79 The Widow by Brevet, N. PARKER WILLIS, .... 81 The Miniature, GEORGE P. MORRJS, .... 94 Mental Industry, ELY MOORE, 95 The Ideal of a True Life, .... HORACE GREELEY, 103 The Jour. Printer's Monument, . . B. p. SHILLABER, 107 The Press, WILLIAM o. BOURNE, .... 110 Home, BENJAMIN J. BRENTON, . . . Ill The Gentle Bird, GEORGE p. MORRIS, . . . . 112 Extract Address on Temperance, . ELY MOORE, 113 Franklin, . . . '. BAYARD TAYLOR, 119 The Orphan Maid, SAMUEL WOODWORTH, . . . 120 A few Thoughts for Young Men, . REV. HARRY CROSSWELL, D.D., . 121 Caroline, A. E. GORDON, 135 La Fioraja, BAYARD TAYLOR, 137 VI CONTENTS. PAGE The Reformer, WILLIAM o. BOURNE, .... 149 Sonnet, THOMAS w. RENNIE, .... 161 The Church-Yard, PETER c. BAKER, 162 The Dead Marine, H. c. JOHNSON, 163 Man's Strength and Weakness, . . PETER c. BAKER, 167 Mutation, A. E. GORDON, 172 A Fragment, JAMES j. BRENTON, 173 The Death-Bed of Beauty, . . . . J. o. ROCKWELL, 175 The Two Carpenters, H. c. JOHNSON, 176 Franklin, JOHN L. JEWETT, 185 The Genius of the Press, .... EDWARD A. M'LAUGHLIN, . . 207 The Triumph of Temperance, . . PETER c. BAKER, 209 What are you good for ? .... B. R. BARLOW, 210 The Baptism of Christ, . . . . * . N. p. WILLIS, 217 Address before Boston Typog'l Soc'ty, B. PERLEY POORE, 219 The Brook, w. H. BURLEIGH, 236 The Times, w. H. BURLEIGH, 236 Adam's Dream, JOHN G. CLAYTON, ..... 237 Reflections over a Sleeping Child, . p. SQUIRES, 245 Eminent Printers, CHARLES c. HAZEWELL, ... 246 To my Native Place, THOMAS w. RENNIE, .... 247 Innocence Guilt Repentance, . . REV. w. A. JENKS, 249 The Exile to his Sister, GEORGE p. MORRIS, .... 253 Benevolent Institutions, PETER c. BAKER, 254 Moses Striking the Rock, . . . . F. j. OTTERSON, 255 Autumn, CHARLES s. TODD, 257 Kvpie, Stdagov rjfuis irpoo-cvxfcftai, . REV. WM. ALFRED JENKS, . . 259 American Liberty, PETER c. BAKER, 261 Man Considered, , . G. M. BOURNE, 265 Lines The Graves of Two Sisters, . THOMAS w. RENNIE, .... 276 Conservative Power of the Press, . CHARLES c. HAZEWELL, ... 277 The old Ramage Press, WILLIAM o. BOURNE, .... 280 O give me back my rugged Home, . EDWARD A. M'LAUGHLIN, . . 282 Edward Carlyle, JAMES j. BRENTON, 284 Yield not, w . c> TO BEY, 294 Cinqua. THOMAS w. RENNIE, .... 295 The old Printer, ....... B . p. SHILLABER, 296 An Epitaph on a Printer, .... E. A. M'L., 298 APPENDIX. Printing in America.-Early Printers.-Beranger, a Printer.-The Aldine Family.-Female Printers. The Printer's Bo yi Printers and Authors. A Century Ago. A Printer-Professor. Poor Richard's Almanac. NOTICES OF CONTRIBUTES. ADAMS, JOHN J., was the author of the " Charter Oak and other Poems," and contributed to many of the leading periodicals. He died a few years since. We have not been able to procure the particulars of his life, but his name is well known to many printers. BAKER, PETER C., was born March 25th, 1822, at North Hempstead, Queens Co., Long Island. At the age of twelve he entered the bookstore of Mr. John Kasang, in Division-st., New- York. Upon the death of Mr. K., the bookstore was purchased by Messrs. Silvester & Owens, Printers. Continuing with them, Mr. Baker's taste soon led him into their printing office, where he remained till they discontinued business, when, being desirous of completing his trade, he entered the office of Mr. Wm. E. Dean, with whom he remained till of age. When about nineteen, Mr. B., with another apprentice, started a weekly paper, devoted to the interests of Young Men's Literary Societies, but after continuing it for nearly a year, doing most of the writing, composition, presswork, and delivery, after working ten hours for their employers, the apprentices became tired of the " fun," as they termed it at first, and gladly transferred their labors to other hands. Soon after completing his apprenticeship, Mr. B. became foreman for Mr. John Gray, one of the oldest book and job printers of the city. At present he has charge of the composition department of Mr. John F. Trow's extensive printing establishment, Ann-st., New- York. Mr. Baker is, perhaps, better known as a speaker than as a writer. At an early age he became zealously engaged in the temperance reform, and, by his addresses in various parts of the country, has contributed not a little to the ad- vancement of this great and good cause. Mr. B. has recently been elected President of the New- York Typographical Society, an institution which numbers among its members many of the most pro- minent printers of our country. BARLOW, BENJAMIN R., was born in 1820, in Genesee Co., N. Y. He com- menced his apprenticeship with J. M. Patterson, in Syracuse, in 1833, and after alternating for several years between printing in winter, and farming in summer, and selling drugs and dry goods, finally made choice of the printing business as a Vlll NOTICES OF CONTRIBUTORS. permanent pursuit in 1839. He arrived in New- York in 1842, and, as a journey- man or employer, has resided in the city to the present time. Mr. B. is an active member of several societies, before which he has frequently lectured with much success, and is deservedly esteemed among his associates for his intelligence, enterprise, and uprightness of character. BOURNE, WM. OLAND, sixth son of the late Rev. George Bourne, of the city of New- York, was born at Germantown, Penn., and is now in his thirty-first year. In his thirteenth year he entered a printing office in New- York, to earn his own subsistence, and carve out his way in the world ; and up to the present time has labored almost uninterruptedly at the printing business ; being now printer of the " Northern Journal," Lowville, N. Y., and enjoying the reputation of a successful editorship. The subject of our sketch is more extensively known as a poet than as a prose writer ; yet the pages of Silliman's Journal, The New Englander, American Re- view, many of the Magazines, and the columns of leading newspapers, bear ample testimony to the fact, that his prose contributions to science, religion, education, and morals, are deemed not unworthy the space they occupy. As an evidence of the facility with which he composes, it is only necessary to say, that since he first contributed to the press he has been almost always actively employed as a journey- man. We may justly anticipate for Mr. Bourne an enviable reputation in the walks of Literature and Science, when his leisure shall permit him to cultivate more extensively his talents. It is understood to have been a favorite maxim of Mr. B., from his youth up, that " slow acquisition is a safe road to possession," and that it has been his rule " to learn at least one new thing every day ; a fact in history, science, or philosophy a new truth a principle drawn from the obser- vation of men whatever it be, that adds at least one new increment to the store already gained every day." This, in ten years, is an acquaintance with nearly four thousand facts, and to such a mind, the physical or moral principles connected with them, give a power sufficient to enable a man to leave his impress upon the world. BOURNE, G. M., brother of Wm. Oland. Of him it may be said, the printing office was his alma mater. The publication of a penny daily stands most conspicuous among many of his originalities ; from the results of its accomplishment. But this project he was forced to abandon for lack of capital, and because he could not induce one of the most respected and oldest of our city craftsmen (who furnished the estimates, and still is in business) to take a pecuniary interest in it, and this more than a year previous to the establishment of the "New- York Sun," the pioneer of the penny press. A Reformer in the largest sense of the word, he has contributed to the pro- gressive movements of the age, quietly but effectively. He is author of a Treatise upon Epidemic Cholera, of which the Water-Cure Journal, edited by Dr. Shew, thus speaks : " This is a pithy, concise, sententious Treatise, which should be in every family. A person can read the whole in an hour, and will know as much of the subject, and be as capable of putting its instructions into practice, at the end of that time, as if he had just finished reading any other book that would require a week's time. NOTICES OF CONTRIBUTORS. IX A hundred thousand copies should be disseminated at once, and those who are too , poor to buy a book at twelve and a half cents, should be supplied from the public funds. We regret that it was not issued a yeaj ago; but the old 'adage says, ' Better late than never.' It is a valuable little book for all times." BRENTON, JAMES J., was born in Pittstown, N. Y., in 1806. In May, 1817, he entered the printing office of the late Wm. Simons, in Newport, R. I. In 1829 he commenced the publication of the " Washington County Advocate," in Wick- ford, R. I. ; the year following the establishment was removed to Kingston, in the same county, and the title of the paper changed to " Rhode Island Advocate." At the conclusion of the year the paper was discontinued. In May, 1835, he established the " Long Island Democrat," at Jamaica, L. I., and has conducted it until the presenj time. BRENTON, BENJAMIN J., was born in Kingston, R. I., in February, 1831. He commenced the printing business in the office of his father, the editor of this book, in 1846. , WILLIAM H., was born in Woodstock, Conn., in 1812. In his infancy, Mr. B.'s parents removed to Plainfield, in his native State. Here his time was devoted to the culture of his father's farm, varied by the customary attendance in a district school through the winter, until he was sixteen, when he proposed to become an apprentice to a neighboring clothier, but abandoned the idea after two weeks' trial, from* an inveterate loathing of the coarseness and brutality of those among whom he was placed to labor. Here, however, while engaged in the re- pulsive cares of his employment, he composed his first sonnet, which was published in a gazette printed in the vicinity. Returning to his father's house, he, in the fol- lowing summer, became an apprentice to the printing business, which he left after eight months' endurance, leaving in his " stick " a farewell couplet to his master. He did not, however, desert the business, of which he had thus [obtained some slight knowledge, but continued to labor as half-apprentice, half-journeyman, sub- editor, &c., through the next seven years. In July, 1836, abandoning the printing business for a season, he commenced a new career as a public lecturer, under the auspices of a Philanthropic Society, and continued in his new employment for two yearsT At the close of that period, he assumed the editorship of " The Chris- tian Witness," at Pittsburgh, Penn., which he held two years and a half, when he resigned it to take charge of " The Washington Banner," Alleghany. We do not know his present location. CLAYTON, JOHN G., belongs to a family which has furnished Printers for the three generations it has existed in this country. His father, Wm. H. Clayton, was a Printer, and his predilections to the trade were imbibed from a maternal uncle, who was also engaged in the business. In 1823, Mr. C. was apprenticed to the late Wm. Grattan in New- York city, and remained with him till his death in 1827, after which he finished his trade with Adoniram Chandler, the Stereotyper. In 1830, in company with the late Justice Levi H. Clark, he established the ''National Union," a weekly newspaper, at Trenton, N. J. The paper not yielding a sufficient support for two, he removed to Malone, Franklin Co., N. Y., in the fall of 1830, and commenced the publica- 1 X NOTICES OF CONTRIBUTORS. tion of the "Northern Spectator." This journal is still published under another name. In May, 1832, he returned to New- York, where, after working some time as a journeyman, he became connected with the New- York Commercial Advertiser, first as clerk, then as reporter, and finally as assistant editor, which last situation he now retains. CROSSWELL, Rev. HARRY, D. D., served a regular apprenticeship to the printing business with an elder brother, in Catskill, N. Y. The subsequent fourteen years of his life were chiefly spent in the business of a practical printer, during which time he was proprietor, publisher, and editor of several literary and political journals, including " The Balance," published seven years in Hudson, and subsequently in Albany. Having relinquished his secular pursuits in 1812, he pursued a course of theological study, and on the 8th of May, 1814, was admitted to the holy order of Deacons, by Bishop Hobart, in St. John's Church, New- York, and on the 6th of June, 1815, was admitted to the Priesthood, by Bishop Griswold, in Middletowu, Conn. After spending a few months of his diaconate as Rector of Christ's Church, Hudson, he accepted a call to the Rectorship of Trinity Church, New Haven, Conn., where he commenced his pastoral services on the 1st of January, 1815, and was installed on the 22d of February, 1816. He has held the same cure from that day to the present, being now seventy years of age. He received from Yale College the honorary degree of Master o^ Arts in 1817, and from Washington (now Trinity) College, Hartford, the degree of Doctor of Divinity in 1831. COFFIN, ALEXANDER B., (the Boston Bard), worked at the printing business in Boston. He died in 182-. > GORDON, A. E., was born March 12th, 1826, in Philadelphia. He learned the printing business in the office of the State Journal, Wilmington, Del. On the 2d of June, 1847, he commenced the publication of the "New Jersey Union," at New Brunswick, N. J., of which he is still the editor. GREELEY, HORACE, was born at Amherst, N. H., on the 3d of February, 1311. When Horace was in his tenth year, his father removed to West Haven, Vermont, and engaged in clearing land for a farm. " Horace assisted at the farm and saw- mill, and attended a day school, devoting his evenings to reading and study. The common school, the farm, the printing office, and a wisely directed system of self- culture, are the means through which Mr. Greeley has acquired knowledge suffi- cient to enable him to exercise a powerful influence over the popular mind as a political writer and speaker." On the 18th of April, 1826, he entered the office of the " Northern Spectator," at East Poultney, Vermont. Here he remained till the paper was discontinued, in June, 1830. His relatives, in the meantime, had removed to Wayne, Erie county, Pennsylvania, and on leaving East Poultney, he followed them. There he re- mained about one year, working in the different printing offices of Lodi, James- town, and we believe Fredonia. He was then known to fame only as a flaxen-haired journeyman printer, not particularly promising in talent, or likely ever to create much of a sensation in the world. In August, 1831, he left Wayne for the city of New- York, where he thought he might procure steady work, and where he has ever since resided. For the first year and a half he labored as a journeyman. In NOTICES OF CONTRIBUTORS. XI 1833, he commenced the publication of a daily newspaper for another person, but the project soon afterward failed, and in March, 1834, he established the " New- Yorker," a weekly paper of some celebrity, and considerable ability. This was an undertaking of great magnitude, for he was almost entirely without friends or acquaintances, and dependent upon chance for success. This paper was published for about seven years with but moderate success, although its circulation at one time reached about nine thousand copies. It was eventually merged in the "Weekly Tribune," in September, 1841. With the last mentioned year may be dated a new era in Mr. Greeley's life. On the 18th of April, 1841, he established that very popular and influential paper, the " New- York Daily Tribune ;" and four months afterward united in partnership with Thomas McElrath, (formerly an Alderman, and, like his partner, # practical printer, and possessing rare business talents,) under the firm of Greeley & Mc- Elrath. Mr. G. is the responsible editor, and Mr. McElrath manages the business department. In the fall of 1848, Mr. G. was elected a Member of Congress from New- York city, for the Short Session (to fill a vacancy). In his new vocation he proved him- self a man of the people. He was " the advocate of common and chancery law, and land-law reform, of the rights of labor, the encouragement of national in- dustry, and the enforcement of a well-considered scheme of economy and re- trenchment of immigration to fill up the wilderness, a national militia rather than hirelings, and a navy without the cat-o'-nine tails." He also endeavored to abolish the present corrupt system of mileage, under the color of which members some- times receive $500 or $1000 more than they are justly entitled to. Mr. G. is an ardent champion of the " American System," in support of which he has written several pamphlets, which for close reasoning and sound arguments, have not been surpassed by any writer on that subject. " Whether he speaks in public or writes in his closet, his shrewdness of obser- vation, clearness of intellect, remarkable powers of condensation and arrangement, retentive memory, and careful attention to facts, are alike conspicuous. He is a first-rate calculator, very methodical in statistical matters, fearless and bold when he feels he is right, a real reformer of real abuses, upright in his intentions, just in his dealings, truly benevolent, warmly attached to republican institutions, and earnest and anxious for ' the good time coming,' in which more kindly feelings, and more unalloyed happiness shall smooth the path of life to every race, kindred, and people." HALL, Rev. A. G., was born in Washington Co., N. Y., on the 17th April, 1805. At the age of nineteen, he persuaded his father to permit him to enter the office of the " Whitehall Emporium," published by Erastus Adams. His father was much opposed to the step, because he said " printers were always poor." Mr. Adams died after Mr. H. had been in the office about a year, and the subject of our otice became the Editor and Proprietor of the paper. Not succeeding in the experiment, he removed to Rochester in the fall of 1828, penniless. He taught school during the winter, and in the spring entered the office of the " Rochester Observer." For several years he had charge of the establishment, laboring during office hours^ and studying the languages and other branches, long after others had retired to rest, or in the morning before they arose. In this laborious manner he Xll NOTICES OF CONTRIBUTORS. prepared himself for the ministry, and in June, 1835, was licensed to preach by the Presbytery of Rochester. The same year he was settled in Pennfield, seven miles from Rochester, where he remained five years, when he received an invitation to supply the third Presbyterian Church in Rochester, of which Dr. Parker, of Phila- delphia, was many years pastor, and also Dr. Wm. Mack, now President of Co- lumbia College, Tenn. Mr. H. was a member of this Church while employed in the Observer office. It was therefore a matter of surprise to many, that a man who had been so long known only as a poor journeyman printer should be called to so important a Church. Mr. H. has been pastor of this Church for nearly ten years ; during this period, under his charge, it has greatly increased. He is the oldest pastor, by priority of settlement, in the city of Rochester, and with one ex- ception, in the Presbytery. Mr. Hf deserves much credit for his perseverance and industry in preparing for the ministry. During most of the time his wife was an invalid, and he supported his family and defrayed all his expenses from the product of his own labor in the printing office, not receiving aid or charity from any source. HALL, LYMAN W., Editor of the Ohio Star, Ravenna, Ohio. HAZEWELL, CHARLES C. is, we believe, a native of Rhode Island, and learned his profession in Providence ; from thence he went to Boston and was engaged on the " Post," and afterwards in an editorial capacity on the " Nantucket Inquirer." While editing the " Concord Freeman " he left for Ohio, and was employed at Columbus on the " Statesman." About two years ago he returned to Massa- chusetts, and was engaged about a twelvemonth on the " Middlesex Freeman." From that paper he went to Boston, and is at present editor of the " Daily Times." Mr. Hazewell is a very accomplished writer. His Address before the Franklin Typographical Society of Boston, in 1848, is a splendid production, displaying deep thought and research. HOLDEN, WM. W., was born in Orange Co., N. C., in 1819. Of poor parentage, he was deprived of the advantage of an early education, and he declares he never passed " six months at school in his life." To reach his present honorable position in society, he had to struggle against many severe adverse circumstances, and to overcome those almost insurmountable difficulties which education only can remove. He served his apprenticeship in Raleigh, and never possessed any other advantages than the library of his employer, and the few books he could borrow in the limited circle of his friends. Whilst engaged in the laborious duties of the printing office, he studied law, and left the printing business to assume the more arduous and responsible duties of his profession. He was elected, by a very large majority, a member of the House of Commons of his native State. At the expiration of his term, he took the editorial chair of the " North Carolina Standard," and has made it one of the most prominent papers in that State. The selections we offer were written during his minority. JENKS, Rev. WILLIAM ALFRED, is the eldest son of Hon. Samugl H. Jeuks, formerly, and at present, of Boston, Mass., for many years the well-known editor of the " Nantucket Inquirer." He was born in Boston, August 28th, 18 19; and after having obtained an excellent education in the public schools of Massachusetts, learned the trade of a printer in the office of the above-mentioned newspaper, of NOTICES OF CONTRIBUTORS. Xlll which, on attaining his majority, he became the editor. After having pursued the editorial profession for about one year, during which he acquitted himself with singular credit, his mind became religiously impressed, and he resolved to retire from the cares and duties incident to his station, for the purpose of devoting his future life "to the service of God, in the bosom of His Church. Accordingly, he at once commenced, and ardently pursued his studies, and having fully qualified himself by the acquisition of the required classical proficiency, he entered the Gen- eral Theological Seminary in 1&43. In 1846, he graduated with distinguished honor, and in July of the same year, received holy orders in Trinity Church, N. Y., at the hands of the Rt. Rev. Bishop De Lancey. He was immediately called to the Rectorship of St. Peter's Church, Glen Cove, L. I., where he officiated about three years. He resigned this parish about six months since, and has recently received and accepted an invitation to the charge of St. Luke's Church, Chelsea, Mass. JEWETT, JOHN L., was born in Portsmouth, N. H., in 1809, and commenced his apprenticeship when thirteen years of age in his native town. When about seven- teen, he went to Boston, and completed his time in the office of Wells & Silby, well-known Printers and Publishers, twenty-five years ago. Shortly after becoming of age, Mr. Jewett was induced to undertake the editorship of a political paper in Oxford Co., Maine ; but not finding the enterprise profitable, he relinquished it, and returned to Boston. In the year 1833, Mr. J. removed to New-York, where, with the exception of a year spent in South Carolina, he has since remained. For some time past he has been connected with the Printing Office of the Methodist Book Concern, as proof reader, in which branch of the business he has, perhaps, no superior. Mr. Jewett is not only a thorough English scholar, but, by close application, has mastered the Latin, German, Spanish, and French languages, and acquired con- siderable reputation by his translations, and as Editor of several popular French works. He is also a very impressive speaker. His Oration on Franklin, which is printed in this work, was not more highly extolled as a finished literary compo- sition, than as a splendid oratorical effort. Mr. Jewett is deservedly esteemed among his associates for his soundness of judgment, his varied accomplishments, and his noble qualities as a man. Had he not been compelled to devote himself so closely to his calling, his talents would long since have given him a prominent place among the literati of our country. JOHNSON, H. C., one of the Publishers of the " Democratic Advocate," in Williamsburgh, L. L, was born in Rome, N. Y., in June, 1823. He assisted in the culture of a farm, in summer, and attended school in winter, until about fourteen, when he was apprenticed to the printing business. Becoming dissatisfied with his employer, he left him and tried his fortunes as a sailor for three or four years. On his return home, he returned to the business, and by close application and perseve- rance was soon a good workman. JONES, ISAAC F., was born in the town of Covington, now East Brewer, Maine > July 4, 1803. He served his time at Bangor in that State. Purchasing an interest in the Long Island Farmer, at Jamacia, L. L, in July, 1832, he conducted it until 1840, when he sold out on account of ill health. He is now engaged in the com- mission business in New- York. I XIV NOTICES OF CONTRIBUTORS. MARSH, WM. B., was a native of Exeter, N. H, aud commenced the business of life as a printer, in Portsmouth. He worked at his trade a year or two in New- York. He started the "New Bedford Register," which he edited for some time. In 1841 he was called to the editorial chair of the " Brooklyn Eagle." He was esteemed for his abilities as a writer and for the many virtues which adorned his character. He died in Brooklyn on the 27th of February, 1846, in the thirty-third year of his age. M'LAUGHLIN, EDWARD A., was born in the parish of North Stamford, (of which his grandfather, Rev. Amzi Lewis, was the pastor,) Fair-field County, Conn., on the 9th of January, 1798. He served his apprenticeship in Bridgeport, Conn. At the age of twenty-one, he entered the U. S. army, and served in the Missouri Expe- dition. He also served in the navy, in which his father, the late Rev. Edward M'Laughlin, of New- York, was a Chaplain. Relinquishing the public service, Mr. M'L. re-entered the printing office, and for several years past, has been em- ployed as proof-reader. Mr. M'Laughlin was the successful competitor for the Prize Address spoken at the opening of the " Frank lin Theatre," 1835 ; and is the author of a poem, didactive and descriptive, in four cantos, entitled " The Lovers of the Deep,"/in course of publication by J. C. Riker, Esq., of New- York city. MOORE, ELY, served his apprenticeship in New Jersey. Soon after attaining his majority, he removed to New-Yo/k city. In 1833 and 1834, " The Trades' Union," and other societies were formed by the mechanics of that city, for the purposes of mutual protection and improvement. Mr. M. was an active member of several of these societies, and delivered addresses before them, advancing with considerable eloquence their objects and claims upon the workingmen of that city. About this time, the " Workingmen's Party " was organized, for the purpose of electing men of that class, as members of the State and National Legislatures, to advocate their rights and interests. In 1834, he was elected Member of Congress, receiving a nomination from the workingmen's and democratic parties. He soon obtained a high reputation as an orator and debater, and created considerable sen- sation in the political circles by his bold and fearless defence of the Producing and Working classes of the United States, in reply to the Hon. Waddy Thompson, of S. C. He held the office of Surveyor of the Port of New- York during Mr. Van Buren's administration, and that of Marshal for the Southern District of New- York, during the presidency of Mr. Polk. MORRIS, GEO. P., was born in Philadelphia in 1802. He served his apprentice- ship with Jonathan Seymour in New- York City. When fifteen years of age, he commenced writing poetry for the " New- York Gazette," and subsequently occasionally filled the poet's corner of the " American." In 1823, with the late Mr. Woodworth, he established the " New- York Mirror," a weekly miscellany, which for nearly nineteen years was conducted with much taste and ability. In 1827 his olay of Brier Cliff, a tale of the American Revolution, was brought out and performed forty nights in succession. In 1842 he wrote an opera, the Maid of Saxony, which was performed fourteen nights with great success at the Park Theatre. In 1836 he published a volume of amusing prose writings under the title of " The Little Frenchman and his Water Lots." He has also published " The Deserted Bride and other Poems," and " Songs and Ballads." In 1844, in NOTICES OF CONTRIBUTORS. XV conjunction with Mr. Willis, he established the " New Mirror," a weekly paper, which, in consequence of the*cover and engravings being heavily taxed, was dis- continued after a year and a half. In January, 1846, he established the " National Press, a Journal for Home." In November of that year, the title of the paper was changed to the " Home Journal," and Mr. Willis became associated with him in its publication. OTTERSON, FRANKLIN JOSEPH, was born on the 14th of January, 1819, at Watertown, N. Y. He is a direct descendant of one of the celebrated London- derry colony, which located in New Hampshire in 1720; and, further back,' is descended from Norway, by way of Scotland and Ireland. His great-grandfather was one of the active partisans in the Siege of Derry, and on the capitulation oi that stronghold, fled to this country. His father took arms against the British in the war of 1812, sharing in some of the skirmishes on the frontiers of this State ; he died in 1824, leaving a widow and four children to the heritage of nothing but a humble name. After a long apprenticeship at farming, Franklin one day de- cided upon some other pursuit, and casually happening in at the office of the " Watertown Register," struck a bargain with the proprietor, and began the labo- rious work of a printer. Up to 1839, he had never attempted rhyme, but since that time he has written a great number of fugitive pieces, which have met the warm commendation of the Press. Mr. O. has been for the last seven years a resident of New- York City, variously employed in the Art to which it would seem he was devoted, when he received the name of its greatest professor. For }hree years past he has been engaged on the " New- York Daily Tribune," and at pre- sent is the -City Editor of that paper, having supervision of Law Intelligence, Religious News, and the well-known " City Items," a department which was originated under the auspices of a former City Editor, and which has been imi- tated in a degree by almost every daily paper in the principal cities of the Union. Though Mr. O. makes no pretensions to the rank of a Poet, and has never yet ventured the publication of a volume, his verse has many features worthy of com- mendation, and if collected would bear a favorable comparison with many volumes which have already received the honor of a public reception. He is married, and has two children a daughter and a son, both, singularly enough, born (two years apart) on the 14th of June ; he being the son of a fourteenth child, born on the 14th, and married on the 14th day of the month. POORE, BENJ. PERLEY, was 'born in Newburyport, Mass., in November, 1820. Before he was fourteen, he had visited nearly all the principal cities of Europe with his father. Soon after his return, he left home clandestinely. See page 307. The next information we have of him is contained in a late No. of the " Aurora Borealis," published in Boston. The writer is asked " Where he first knew Per- ley 1" " It was," he replies, " in Worcester, some fourteen years since, and Perley was a ragged printer's apprentice, in the office of Myrick & Bartlett. A lawyer of my acquaintance used to engage him to copy papers, (for his hand is clear as print,) and I soon found that he was evidently rather a mysterious character. He had entered the town on foot with a tin trunk of essences, and applied at the " Repub- lican" office for a situation, alleging that "peddling essences didn't pay!" At first he had the drudgery, but was soon promoted, and by copying manuscripts, building fires, and pumping the organ al the Presbyterian Church, he made enough to clothe himself in good shape. XVI NOTICES OF CONTRIBUTORS. Who or what he was, never passed his lips ; but it was evident that he had been well educated, and travelled in Europe, with *the capitals and languages of which he was acquainted. It also appeared that he had been a student with a civil engineer, in order to go to West Point, and the boy at last came out in the " Artillery," wearing a second-hand coat any thing but becoming. For nearly two years, he was thus a steady worker, both at case and press, and then he dis- appeared as suddenly as he came. His employers only knew that he had written to his fathe'r, telling him that he had toiled faithfully, (though heir to a valuable inheritance,) and thus proved that he was not, as his temporary guardian had asserted, " lazy." The return mail brought a friend, well supplied with funds, and the runaway boy " went into his father's house." At the age of seven teen, his father established him as the editor and proprietor of a paper. He was an attache of Mr. Hilliard, Minister to Belgium, in 1840, then only in the twenty-first year of hi age. One of his first adventures was to walk to Venice, zig-zagging through Switzerland, Lombardy, and Tyrol. Soon after returning, he took up his residence in Paris, and was appointed agent of the Mas- sachusetts Historical Society, to transcribe the documents in the Marine and Colo- nial departments, relating to the history of that State. In 1845, he was appointed by the Governor of Massachusetts, (in pursuance of a resolve of the Legislature,) the Historical Agent of that State, for the same purpose. He returned to the United States in 1847, and deposited in the Secretary's Office ten large folio volumes of documents, transcribed in his neat style of penmanship, and two large volumes of maps, copied by himself. The committee to whom the subject was referred embodied in their report to the Legislature a recommendation that his salary should be double the sum appro- priated, as a testimonial of. his talents, perseverance, and industry. Mr. Poore also travelled extensively in Palestine, Egypt, Greece, Asia Minor, and Europe, and brought home rich stores of information, besides many valuable books, costumes, &c. His collection of autographs is probably one of the richest in the world, number- ing over eight thousand valuable specimens of the composition and chirography of notable individuals. Since his return he has been editor of that popular daily, the " Boston Bee," and of a weekly paper called " Perley's Pic-Nic of News, Literature, &c." A life of Louis Philippe, published last year, does credit to his talents. He is now engaged in writing a life of Napoleon, which will no doubt establish his repu- tation as a historian. RENNIE, THOMAS W., was born in Maspeth, Queens Co., Long Island, where he resided until about his twelfth year, when he came to the city of New- York, and began his apprenticeship with D. & G. Bruce, gentlemen distinguished for their intelligence, enterprise, and industry. Desirous of learning the art of printing, and these gentlemen being engaged exclusively in type-making and stereotyping, after remaining with them for about a year and a half, Mr. R. left them, and com- pleted his apprenticeship in the office of Jonathan Seymour, a man who was alike an honor to the profession and to human nature. Mr. Rennie has a high reputation as an accomplished printer and proof-reader, and for several years past has been foreman for R. C. Valentine, the well-known stereotyper in New- York. NOTICES OF CONTRIBUTORS. XV11 ROCKWELL, JAMES O., was born in Lebanon, Conn. His parents were in humble circumstances, and consequently his education was extremely limited. While a boy he worked in a cotton factory in New Jersey ; but in his fifteenth year he was apprenticed to the printing business in Utica. Here his mind began to expand, and he pursued his studies with unwearied diligence. In his sixteenth year he com- menced writing for the press. Arriving at his majority, he worked as a journey- man in New-York and Boston, and having acquired considerable reputation as a poet, he was engaged as associate editor of the Statesman, an old and influential journal, published in Boston, where he continued until 1829, when he removed to Providence to take charge of the Patriot. He died in 1830, at the age of twenty- SHILLABER, B. P., was born 'in Portsmouth, N. H., 1814 ; was apprenticed in Dover, N. H., 1829, and through the failure of the office in which he was situated, removed to Boston in 1832, where he has resided ever since, with the exception of a term of two years spent in South America, for the restoration of his health, impaired by too close application to his business. During the last eleven years he has been employed in the office of the Boston Post, and like a regular jour, printer, enduring and doing all that pertains to a situation on a daily paper. SQUIRES, PETER. Mr. S. worked for several years in the city of New- York. He is now in public employment. TAYLOR, BAYARD. We believe Mr. T. was born in Pennsylvania in 1 825. He commenced his apprenticeship in Philadelphia, and when nineteen years of age, purchasing the remainder of his, time, set out to make the tour of Europe. Sup- ported almost entirely by the productions of his pen, Mr. Taylor remained abroad two years, and visited the principal places of interest in the Old World. On his return in 1846, he published his "Views A-Foot," an exceedingly popular work, which has already reached its tenth edition. From the Preface, written by N. P. Willis, we extract the following interesting particulars : " Mr. Taylor's poetical productions while he was still a printer's apprentice, made a strong impression on the writer's mind, and he gave them their due of praise accordingly in the newspaper of which he was then Editor. Some corres- pondence ensued, and other fine pieces of writing strengthened the admiration thus awakened, and when the young poet-mechanic came to the city, and modestly announced the bold determination of visiting foreign lands with means, if they could be got, but with reliance on manual labor if they could not the writer, understanding the man, and seeing how capable he was of carrying out his manly and enthusiastic scheme, and that it would work uncorruptingly for the improve- ment of his mind and character, counselled him to go. He went his book tells how successfully for all his purposes. He has returned after two years' absence, with large knowledge of the world, of men, and of manners, with a pure, invigo- rated and healthy mind, having passed all this time abroad, and seen arid accom- plished more than most travellers, at the cost of only $500, and this sum earned on the road. This, in the writer's opinion, is a fine instance of character and en- ergy. The book, which records the difficulties and struggles of a printer's appren- tice achieving this, must be interesting to Americans. The pride of the country is in its self-made men. NOTICES O CONTRIBUTORS. " What Mr. Taylor is, or what he is yet to become, cannot well be touched upon here, but that it will yet be written, and on a bright page, is, of course, his own confident hope and the writer's confident expectation." Mr. Taylor is already regarded as one of our most gifted and graceful writers. For some time past he has been connected with the " New- York Tribune," and has recently added much to his previous reputation by his " Letters from California," which are universally admitted to be the most reliable, graphic, and interesting of any published. Few writers of Bayard Taylor's age have attained so high a rank in literature. A bright future is before him. TOBEY, W. C., was born in Tompkins County, N. Y., in the year 1818. In 1831, he commenced an apprenticeship in the printing office of the " Ithaca Journal," and until 1835, followed the profession of compositor in Ithaca and Owego. In the fall of the latter year he went to Towanda, in Penn., where he remained until the fall of 1837, when, his master failing in business, he stepped upon a lumber raft and floated down the Susquehanna to Harrisburg, where he afterwards passed nine Sessions of the Legislature as reporter, and was- at one time the editor of the State paper. His summers, with the exception of three two as a law student, and one as acting State Librarian were passed in Phila- delphia, where he was connected with the " Spirit of the Times," as assistant. and during Mr. Du Solle's visit to Europe, as principal editor. His first essay in business was the establishment of a daily paper in Pittsburg, Pa., in the spring of 1845, called " The Morning Ariel," which failed after having been kept up five months. In December, 1846, being then an assistant editor of the " Philadelphia North American," he left with the First Regiment of Volunteers, for Mexico, and partici- pated in the battles fought by Gen. Scott, from Vera Cruz to the capture of the City of Mexico. In the Aztec capital he established the " North American " newspaper, which was published about eight months, when he received the com- mission of Second Lieutenant in the Fourth Regiment of U. S. Infantry, which he held until the expiration of the war, and then resigned, and returned to the pen again. Mr. T.'s forte lies in sketch-writing ; he was formerly one of the most popular correspondents of the " Spirit of the Times and Turf Register," and his letters to' the " Philadelphia North American," from Mexico, ranked with those of Freaner and Kendall. He is an attache of the (New- York) " Sunday Courier," the columns of which are enriched by the productions of his pen. We have several of Mr. T.'s articles, but as they were not received until the last form was going to press, we were restricted to the shortest, in which (though not containing as much merit as those on hand) the reader will not fail to observe the pleasing, unaffected simplicity that runs through this truthful transcript of his heart. V TODD, CHAS. S., was born in Bath, Me., in 1827. He served his apprenticeship in the " Banner" office, Augusta, Me. At present he is the editor of the " New- York Pathfinder," the colums of which give daily evidence of his ability and in- dustry. ThcUgh quite a young man, Mr. Todd has already acquired considerable reputation as a pleasing writer. He intended to furnish an original article for this volume, but was prevented by ill health. The piece we have selected, though creditable, is scarcely a fair specimen of Mr. T.'s style. NOTICES OF CONTRIBUTORS. XIX TRTJMBULL, JAMES R., is a native of Williamsburg, Mass. ; a descendant of that family whose name was so conspicuous during the early history of our Re- public. He worked on a farm during the summer and attended school in the * winter, until his sixteenth year, when he entered the office of the " Hampshire Gazette," Northampton, Mass. After arriving at his majority, he remained in the office two years, one as foreman, the other as partner in the job-office. In 1849 he purchased the Hampshire and Franklin Express, published at Amherst, Mass., of which he is now the editor. The second article in this book is from his pen, and we think all will admit it would do credit to the most accomplished writer. WHITMAN, WALTER, was born at West Hills, in the town of Huntington, L. I. At the age of thirteen he was placed an apprentice to the printing business in the office of the " Patriot," a weekly paper then published in Brooklyn. The establish- ment passing into other hands, he found himself, at the age of sixteen, teaching school on Long Island. He continued in this occupation three or four years, inter- mitted only by establishing the " Long Islander," at Huntington, L. I., which he sold out at the end of the first year. While teaching a school near Jamaica, he wrote a sketch entitled " Death in a School Room," for the purpose of making odious the use of the rod in the school. It was published originally in the " Demo- cratic Review," and was very popular. Mr. W.'s literary career commenced with sketches of that character, in the " Democratic Review," " American Review," and other periodicals. He soon, however, became connected with the press, and edited the " Aurora," " Sunday Times," " Brooklyn Eagle," and " New Orleans Crescent." Mr. W. is an ardent politician of the radical democratic school, and lately established the " Daily Freeman," in Brooklyn, to promulgate his favorite " Free Soil " and other refor- matory doctrines. WILLIS, N. PARKER, was born in Portland, Me., on the 20th of January, 1807. For his claims to fraternity with the craft, see page 306, Appendix. At Yale College, which he entered in the seventeenth year of his age, he distinguished himself by a series of graceful poems on several subjects, which made his name familiar ,with the public, and immediately after he graduated, in 1827, was engaged by Mr. S. G. Goodrich to edit "The Legendary and Token." In 1828, he^established " The American Monthly Magazine," which he conducted two years and a half, at the end of which time it was merged in The New- York Mirror," of which Mr. W. became one of the editors ; and he soon after sailed for Europe. On his arrival in France he was attached to the American Legation, by Mr. Rives, then our Minister at the Court of Versailles, and with a diplomatic passport, he travelled in that country, Italy, Greece, Asia Minor, Turkey, and England, where he remained two years, and was married. The letters which he wrote while abroad, under the title of " Pencillings by the Way," were first pub- lished in the " New-York Mirror," and have since been collected into volumes, in which shape they have passed through numerous editions. In 1835, he published " Inklings of Adventure," a series of sketches and tales, which appeared originally in a London Magazine, over the signature of Philip Slingsby. In 1837, he re- turned to the United States, and retired to a pleasant seat on the Susquehanna, named Glen Mary in compliment to his wife, where he resided two years. Early XX NOTICES OF CONTRIBUTORS. in 1839, he became one of the editors of " The Corsair," a literary gazette in New- York, and in the autumn of that year he went again to London, where, in the following winter, he published " Loiterings of Travel," in three volumes, and " Two Ways of Dying for a Husband," comprising the plays of Bianca Visconti, and Tortesa the Usurer. In 1840, an illustrated edition of his Poems, and his "Letters from under a Bridge," were published. In 1843, with Mr. Morris, he revived the " New- York Mirror " which had been discontinued first as a weekly, and afterwards as a daily gazette, but withdrew from it on the death of his wife, in 1844, and made another visit to England, where he published " Dashes at Life with a Free Pencil," consisting of stories and sketches illustrative of contemporary European and American society. In October, 1846, he married a daughter of the Hon. Joseph Grinnell, of Mass., and in the following month settled in New-York, where he is once more associated with Mr. Morris, as an editor, in conducting " The Home Journal," a popular weekly, devoted to literature and the arts. WOODWORTH, SAMUEL, was a native of Scituate, Mass. After learning the art of printing, he remoyed to New- York, where for many years he worked as a journeyman. During the latter part of his life he edited several popular magazines and literary papers. In 1823, associated with Mr. G. P. Morris, he established the " N. Y. Mirror," long the most popular journal x>f literature and art in this country. His principal writings were of the lyrical school of poetry, among which we may particularly instance his beautiful ballad of " The Old Oaken Bucket," which, for simple, yet natural imagery, and beauty of expression, is unsurpassed by any American poet, and equal to some of the finest lyrics of Burns, Tannahill, or Motherwell. We would have inserted this little gem of poetry, were we not certain the words are in every one's memory. He was also the author of several operas and comedies, and many powerful articles in defence of the rights of his country, in a paper edited and published by himself, during the last war. He was a man of strict moral principles, a true Christian, kind husband, and an affectionate father. He died at his residence in New- York, on Friday, 9th December, 1842, in the fifty-seventh year of his age. YOICES FROM THE PRESS. THE WATER-STREAM AND THE LIFE-STREAM. BY FKANKLIN J. OTTEESON. A CLOUD around a mountain's crest One lovely evening rolled, And glorified its rocky rest With garniture of gold ; But when the sun below the wave His flashing beams withdrew, Its vesture paled from gay to grave The Cloud expired in dew : And thus the Rill was born. ii. A man with anxious brow, o'erhung The couch of mortal pain, Where Life and Death the balance swung, Nor either rule could gain ; But Nature, Youth and ardent Love Asserted their control One less adored in bliss above, , For Earth had caught a Soul : And thus the Babe was born. 14 T-HE in. The morn was clear, and fair the sun Looked on the mountain's head, But soon the Clouds in raiment dun The azure sky o'erspread ; The sparkling rain came down amain, The dry earth drank its fill- But what it drank it jjave again To feed the little Rill f And thus the Brook was made. rv. The Soul within its mortal shell lay, And s Jit happily to dwell Within its house of . It sparkled through tlie wondering eyes, It lisped upon t! It filled each sense with glad surprise The bliss of being young ! And thus the Boy was made. v. Now Summer came, and light and shade. The mountain-top endured ; The frequent showers more lovely made The sunbeams they obscured ; And even- rain-stream's silver thread A gladsome journey took, And prattled music as it sped To join the swelling Brook : And thus the River rose. VI. Life looked before the boyish Soul, As something always fair ; But Time, in his resistless roll, Brought many a thorn of care ; 15 And where the Soul so sweetly sung A little hour ago, By turns it soothed by turns it stung, With draughts of bliss or woe : And thus the Man arose. vn. Adown the mountain madly poured The River to the plain, Among the ragged rocks it roared And thundered out its pain, Till broken, foaming from the hill, And thick with drift and soil, Upon the vale it gladly fell, And rested from its toil : And so the River sped. vm. The Soul was weary, now, of life, For foes had hedged it round, And in the stormy sky of strife Hope's star alone was found ; But memories of a higher hone Its courage did increase. Through Sin's foul mire and Passkn'B It fought its way to peace : And thus the Man bore on. Now afeat as the fight of days The peaceful River rolled, En: still the stain of former frays Its battle-ventures told; Trees, rent and torn, vpc Aud earth ~:rhin its ware. ta wpm :_r - .- - - nl '-: ........ .- L _> _ 16 THE PRINTER'S BOOK x. The toil of Life, and not its length, The struggling Soul had bowed, And from the strife it bore its strength Less confident and proud ; Stern lessons from the fray it brought For, as in fields of Mars, The conflict on the field of Thought Is memorized by scars : Thus Man his age begun. But Space and Time upon the stream Brought slow but certain change, And now, as silent as a dream, It moved its shortening range ; Its wave, as when a little Rill, Was pure as nectar now, And met the s-^a as soft and still As dew the mountain's brow : And thus the River passed. XII. Now o'er the tenement of Soul Time's subtle palsy fell, And scarcely could the will control The frame it swayed so well ; Till, once, the upward-gazing eyes With wondrous brilliance burned The Soul went back to Paradise, And dust to dust returned : And thus the Mortal passed. NEW-YORK, July 21, 1849. THE PRINTER/ SHOOK. 17 THE THEORY OF MIND. BY JAMES R. TRUMBULL< '* THE proper study of mankind Is man,'* and the m'o'st valu- able of all knowledge is a suitable acquaintance with ourselves. From whatever point of view we contemplate creation's most finished work man, we find a theme full of grandeur, beauty, and sublimity. Whether we scrutinize the mechanism of the human frame, the beautiful symmetry, the wonderful accuracy, and the perfect harmony existing afnorig its different parts, or examine that subtle essence which controls and directs the whole structure* we are alike impressed with the admirable skill and infinite power of the Alrhighty Architect. If we separate the matchless fabric, and inspect it piece by piece, we find that the Same Divine hand which formed and gave office to the sfinrtplest muscle, shaped and perfected the intricate and delicate mechanism of the eye. He that com- missione'd the heart to send its red tribute throughout the system, and gave the dimple to the rosy cheek, created and placed ^ver the whole that monarch whose will is law -tho MIND. We know not which to admire most, the beautiful machine, or the operation of that mighty power, which guides* its every part. Each presents a wide field for investigation J both afford food for reflection, and the study of either can but make us wiser, and ought to make us better. Gladly in pursuing our subject, would we take up both, and in connection show how one acts in and through the 6thcr ; show how the glorious Maker, while he gave fo each Separate functions, attuned the whole to sweetest harmony mid adapt- ed both to their proper sphere of combined agency. But our purpose confines u*s to a single element of our nature. Let 18 TH E PKI NTEIl's BOOK. us then leave the mechanical, the animal the body ; and ex- amine the ethereal, the intellectual! the Mind. MIND that living spark from the inner shrine of God's own temple, presents a subject vast, profound, and unfathom- able. Men of mightiest intellect have taxed all their energies to compass the solution of this abstruse problem. * They have simplified its operations, and accounted for its phenomena, yet it is still shrouded in mystery. They have classified its ele- ments, and named its faculties, but failed to grasp its sub- stance. They have given a table of contents, but are unable to produce the volume. How then shall we define it ? It is the only link that binds us to the spirit- world the bright essence of divinity. It is the power, which, while it shows that we are below the superior intelligences of the upper world, tells 'how we differ, and what we may aspire to be. Mind, in the sense we propose to treat it, is the intel- lectual, the intelligent power in man ; that which conceives* reasons, and judges; the realm of thought; the ideal empire of the universe. Our knowledge of this grand element is limited. That it holds boundless sway over mankind, none will deny ; yet how it operates is still matter of uncertainty. Analogy, through the instrumentality of cause and effect, teaches that Mind acts for some specific purpose ; that drawing its nourishment from abroad, it works upon outward circumstances. There- fore, from its manifestations only, do we arrive at just con- clusions concerning its formation. Philosophy separates Mind into three grand departments, the intellect, the sensibilities, and tho will ; of these it will come within our province to notice only the first the INTEL- LECT. However intimately connected with this, the other di- visions may be, it is Intellect which forms the foundation for all the rest. Knowledge is the peculiar aliment of the Mind. It is to Mind what fuel is to the fire. Remove knowledge, and the Mind loses its vitality, or lies smouldering in the ashes of overweening ignorance. It is the office of the intel- lect or understanding to furnish knowledge. The affections, that portion assigned the sensibilities, cannot rightly exert their power without the aid of knowledge ; neither can the will, although holding the executive position, exercise its THE PRINTER'S BOOK. \ 19 functions in a proper direction, without the intellect to enlighten and decide upon the true course of action. In all movement of the Mind intellect takes precedence. All-powerful as may be the efforts of other divisions in their respective departments, it is obvious that whatever the Mind takes cognizance of, comes to its supervision through know- ledge. Metaphysicians have divided intellect, assigning to each portion, distinct functions. To these different parts they have given names corresponding to the result of their action. Their minute distinctions it will not be within the scope of an article, like the present, to dwell upon. Those which the in- tellect draws most largely upon are REASON and IMAGINATION. Other powers may influence the two just named ; but if know- ledge be the foundation of intellectual development, then the means through which this information is obtained, must rank as most important among the Mind's component parts, and to these alone will we confine our attention. The two last-named properties of intellect, while we treat of them as distinct in result, are combined in action. One cannot operate independent of the other. Neither constitutes a separate faculty, although some Minds evince an almost total absence of one or the other of them. REASON that power which enables us to deduce Infer- ences from facts or propositions holds the most prominent position in the intellectual organization. It not only reveali to us the workings of the inner Mind, however complicated and remote, but it brings out and acquaints us with the grand principles and hidden truths of nature. Through it we de- tect truth from falsehood, and determine good from evil. Rea- son is the controlling power of the intellectual Mind. A Mind uninfluenced by reason, resembles a ship without a pilot, wafted at the mercy of wind and tide, destined to no port and never continuing long in one direction. It acts in relation to other parts of the Mind, as does the balance-wheel with refer- ence to the machinery of the steam-engine ; steadying and governing the motion of each, giving to all their proper limits, and allowing none U> overstep its bounds, or encroach upon the sphere of another. Yet reason, while it guides and directs, and separates and classifies, also originates and suggests. As monitor of the intellect it notes its most minute action. From 20 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. whatever inducements the Mind exerts itself, reason weighs the motive and decides the action. For says the Poet, * f Self-love, the spring of action, acts the soul, Reason's comparing balance rules the whole -=r That sees immediate good by present sense, Reason the future and the consequence." Next in order, and closely allied to the reasoning, are the imaginative powers of the intellect. Imagination, like reason, frames new combinations of thought from ideas already in our possession. Although similar in action and combined in opera- tion, yet they differ in their objects and results. Reason deals with facts; imagination with conceptions. One ascertains what is true ; the other what is possible. Reason inquires after things which already exist ; imagination creates that which has no being. IMAGINATION is the will working on the materials of the rnemory. It is that power which combines parts of distinct conceptions, so as to form new ones different in kind from those already in the Mind. Imagination is the enlivener of the intellect. A Mind governed by reason alone, is sombre and passionless, like a beautiful landscape on a cloudy day; but let the bright sun of imagination burst forth, and it at once assumes a cheerful aspect ; the distant mountains seem to dance in its golden light, and reason, brightened by its genial ray, moves wjth a lighter step towards its proper end. Imagination is the blossoming of Mind, of which poetry is the fruit. A Mind without imagination, is like a vessel with- out sails the whole mechanism is there, all the requisites except that upon which the moving power must act. It is the aim of the imagination to please ; it is the ornamen- tal element of the intellect. Mind is developed only through the kingdom of letters. Lan- guage is the result of thought, and thought is an action of tfie Mind. Letters sprang from the use of language, and over the written characters employed to express that language, Mind wields the sceptre. Its modes of expression are various and multiform, yet they may be condensed into two classes the useful and the ornamental ; or rather, prose and poetry. Over the former, reason is the acknowledged monarch, while in the latter, imagination holds imperial sway. They are THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 21 by no means confined exclusively to these separate depart- ments of literature. Imagination may predominate in prose, or reason may become an element of poetry ; yet the re- sult will be to render the one poetical, or the other prosaic. Reason strides with a solemn and majestic tread, while imagination skips along, dancing to the music of its own conceptions. Reason descends to the foundation depths of all knowledge, imagination soars away to regions above all mortal vision. Reason, alone, is characterised by a chastened sobriety, while imagination is light, fantastic, ethereal. Two opposite elements in the Mind; one needs the balancing power of the other to sustain the equipoise. Reason, waft- ed on the wings of imagination, bears us smoothly over the rough road of science, and imagination, curbed by the strong hand of reason, careers gently with us through the higher regions of literature, never losing sight of humanity, although, at times, giving us but a bird's-eye view of it. Reason, in the world of letters, becomes argument, and it is in this department that some of earth's greatest Minds have gained their immortality. The deep research, pro- found calculation, the subtle balancing of cause and effect, and the clear, distinct, and logical conclusion, are the effect of reason, and of reason alone. Reason is the ground-work of philosophy and metaphysics. It needs no imagination to prove the effects of certain causes, or the existence of certain laws ; it belongs to reason to array the evidence and deduce the conclusion. Reason predom- inates in the deep-thinking Mind, while imagination, more easily led captive, is found with greater universality in all departments of life. Although we have classed reason and imagination as separate and distinct, yet one, as it were, grows out of the other. Imagination begins where reason ends. Upon the firm and enduring foundation of reason, imagination has reared many an airy fabric, and built many a splendid temple, which, otherwise, must have been swept away by the flood of ages, or fallen with the accumulated weight of centuries ! Science owes as much if not more to reason, than any other branch of human knowledge. Reason is the hand- maid of science, and the bulwark of literature. Unaided by 22 reason, the scientific world would even now have been grop- ing in the midnight darkness of the middle ages. Progress is the tendency of human nature. There can be no stagna- tion in the world of Mind. Although for ages it may seem- ingly sleep, yet it is preparing for a mighty movement, and will finally arouse itself with a stride at which nations will gaze in astonishment. Reason, in its legitimate course of action, led to the dis- covery of this vast continent. From data already in his possession, Columbus demonstrated the problem of the ex- istence of another world. Led by the guiding star of hope, and beckoned onward by the plastic hand of imagination, he followed the course marked out by reason, and added that world for which the hero-warrior sighed in vain. In the argumentative properties of Mind, no man was more gifted than JONATHAN EDWARDS. The most subtle metaphysician of modem times, he remains unsurpassed, if not unequalled, as an argumentative writer. His Mind was discriminating while it was ardent and searching. He de- scended to the lowest depths of whatever subject he in- vestigated, brought up its hidden capabilities, and expand- ing them into a broad and firm foundation, built thereon his noble structure. Deep research and toilsome reasoning overthrew that syg- tem of error which had bound the world for so many cen- turies. The imagination of NEWTON discerned, in the falling apple, that great principle, which reason applied as the gov- erning power of a universe. Reason gave to the world that glorious system of Astronomy, which COPERNICUS hinted at, for which GALILEO suffered, and which NEWTON brought to perfection. Whatever meed of praise is worthy to be be- stowed upon the imagination which conceived the bold idea, so utterly opposed to the received sentiments of a world ; it was reason, that accomplished its final consummation. Reason in the department of mathematical calculation, measures the distances of the stars and tells the diameters of other worlds. While Reason ranks highest in the intellectual, it also manifests its superiority in the practical world. It taught how to chain that powerful agent steam and send it careering over earth, man's humblest slave. Reason shackled the forked THE P 11 DOOK. 23 lightning, and bid it circle the globe at a single bound. FRANKLIN, the philosopher, by the aid of reason, bottled the lightning, and gave practical proof of the identity of lightning and electricity. Imagination the creative faculty of Mind deals in the unreal, the world of fancy. It is the pleasing and ornamental, rather than the instructive element of intellect. While imagi- nation is the creative faculty in literary pursuits, so also is it the reproducing agent in practical life. Scenes long since faded from the memory, through its influence are brought be- fore the Mind, and images of things heaYd of throng into view. We once more enact some long-forgotten scene of pleasure and again find ourselves transported to the realities of other days. We follow the traveller in his wanderings, and share in imagination his toils, his terrors, and his dangers. We read the poet's description of other lands, we bask in the beams of bis oriental sun, or sink to repose lulled by the carol of his feathered songsters. In literature, imagination revels in the ideal world, sending forth thoughts that spring up from the fountain-head 'of fancy. It is in the region of fiction that imagination chiefly prevails. Here it finds ample scope for its wildest flights, and free and untrammelled, it scatters the. sparkling diamonds from its own incomparable treasure-house. But imagination is not confined to fictitious writing. While it beautifies and adorns the mass- ive sentences and colossal arguments of the philosopher, it also adds freshness and elasticity to the smoothly-gliding numbers of the poet's song. Nowhere does imagination appear more vividly than in poetry. It is the soul of the poetic genius. It is the bright warder that guards the land of poesy, and with- out it none may wander in its Elysian Fields, or cull the sweets of its blooming gardens. Poetry is the i?naginative art. And it is here that imagination holds unlimited sway. In the language of nature's truest poet : " As imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name." Poetry is word-painting ! " The art of employing words in such a manner as to produce an illusion on the imagination; the art of doing, by means of words, what the painter does by means of colors." The grand filling up of every master-poet's work is drawn from the imagination. Founded in truth, the poet's airy fabric, erected by fancy, expands till its lofty columns and giant arches defy the crumbling breath of centuries. The greatest illustration of the use of imagination in poetry is perhaps found in Paradise Lost This greatest of epic poems is almost wholly imaginative. In fact, Milton found na prototype, either for his characters or their actions. Even our first parents, treated of in their sinless state, as they left the hand of their Creator, it required a bold imagination to picture. In that poem, Milton made himself familiar, where none before scarcely dared cast a sidelong glance. He soared to the very regions of Deity, and transcribed their thoughts and actions- Founded in the truth of Divine Revelation, he supplied from his imagination those details which the inspired penman omitted* The great epic of Homer also abounds in imagination. He too, ascends to the abodes of Deity ; yet that which Milton made the substance of his poem, Homer used only as ma- chinery. Where he sang the actions of his Pagan gods, with reference to a particular hero, Milton acquaints us with the workings of Almighty Intellect, in regard to a future world. Imagination is the parent of Art. The painter but traces on his canvass the outlines of the gorgeous ideal pictured on his imagination. The sculptor sighs, when on the completion of his master-piece, he finds it falls so far short of the original suggested by his fancy. Thus it is the world over; every thing that is substantial, instructive and solid, is the result of reason ; while all that is light, airy, pleasing or ornamental, is the work of imagination. From Creation to the present moment, Mind has ^swayed the universe. Its noble monuments are the way-marks of every age. Beautiful obelisks, splendid palaces and exquisitely finished temples, scattered at intervals along the great highway of time, tell of this mighty power and its achievements. That the blind poet sang, and the substance of his song, have 1 come down to us from ages, which even history hardly remembers. The works of HOMER, SHAKSPEARE, and MILTON, THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 25 endure, when the history of the times in which they lived and wrote, shall have faded away. The arguments of CICERO, the astronomy of NEWTON, and the philosophy of BACON have become so interwoven into the very existence of the world, that nought but the final dissolution of all things will destroy them. The effect of Mind is incalculable. Nor will this appear strange, when we consider, that Mind is the grand moving principle of the universe. In the practical world, Mind plans what the hands accomplish. In the intellectual kingdom the Mind carries out its own conceptions in its own peculiar man- ner. In every-day life it governs the agents that work out its designs. In the province of literature, it acts alike in the plan and its development. The vast effect which Mind produces upon the moral con- dition of the world, is but a single instance of its power. The literature of an age marks, in a great measure, the degree of its morality. The thoughts of all, in this age of universal intellect, and in a country where censorship of the press is unknown, find their way before the public, and exert more or less influence. A sentiment of doubtful morality, carelessly uttered, may sow in some youthful Mind the seed which, when fully ripened, will produce the fruit of infamy. Those who plead that popular literature only conforms to public taste, seem to forget, that it is the effect of this literature itself, that has created the demand for it. The fact that the public require it, is rather evidence that it possesses a dangerous seductiveness, than proof that its tendency is lofty or ele- vating. How important then is it, that the aliment provided for the public Mind and aliment of some kind it must and will have should be of a healthy and nutritious character, rather than of a deleterious kind. Cultivated Mind is the bulwark of our republic. Our gov- ernment is based upon the universal intelligence of its citizens. Nowhere in the world is the stock of public intellect so gen- erally developed as in the United States. There may be countries excelling us in the depth of classical erudition, yet the sun does not shine upon a spot of earth where Mind exerts such an active influence as in New England. What a vast responsibility, therefore, rests upon those who rule in the realm 4 26 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. of Mind ! It is to them that we look to close the flood-gates of fiction, and open the store-house of reason. Upon them re- poses the trust of leading the youthful Mind of the country to choose the solid and the useful, instead of the purely trifling, or the merely ornamental. SONG OF THE RECLAIMED. BY THE LATE JOHN J. ADAMS. I DRINK no more ! I drink no more ! And angels flutter at the sound ; I drink no more ! I drink no more ! My soul's in holy rapture bound. Oft where the Patriarch strayed in fear, My wandering feet have gaily trod; "Whilst yellow leaf, aye, or the sear Did scarce remind me of my God ! But it is past, the dreaded sea The sea no Rubicon could give ; And in its tone, so joyfully, Murmurs, poor sinner, thou shalt live. And shall I live! Oh God! how kind To a tossed mortal on that sea; How could my thoughts have been so blind When thinking on eternity. No good Samaritan I found, When wounded in life's thorny way ; But faith and hope my spirit crowned, And point to an eternal day. TO THE MEMORY OF FRANKLIN. In history connected with Science and Printing, It will live upon Earth, and never shall die Till the last form is graved by Heaven's Mezzotinting, And the great Globe itself is dissolved into pi. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 27 THE TOMB BLOSSOMS. BY WALTER WHITMAN. A PLEASANT, fair-sized country village a village embosom- ed in trees, with old churches, one tavern, kept by a respect- able widow long, single-storied farm-houses, their roofs mossy, and their chimneys smoke black a village with much grass and shrubbery,, and no mortar, no bricks, no pavements, no gas no newness! that is the place for him who wishes life in its flavor and in its bloom. Until of late, my residence has been in such a spot. Men of cities ! what is there in all your boasted pleasure your fashions, parties, balls, and theatres, compared to the simplest of the delights we country folk enjoy? Our pure air making the blood leap with buoyant health ; our labor and our exercise ; our freedom from the sickly vices that taint the town ; our not being racked with notes due, or the fluctuations of prices, or the breaking of banks ; our manners of sociality, expanding the heart, and reacting with a whole- some effect upon the body; can any thing, which citizens possess, balance these? One Saturday, after paying a few days' visit to New- York, I returned to my quarters at the country inn. The day was hot, and my journey a disagreeable one. Out of humor with myself and every thing around me, when I came to my travel's end, I refused to partake of the comfortable supper which my landlady had prepared for me ; and returning the good woman's look of wonder at such an unwonted event, and her kind inquiries about my health, with a sullen silence I took my lamp, and went my way to my room. Tired and head throbbing, in less than a score of minutes after I threw myself upon my bed, I was steeped in the soundest slumber. When I awoke, every vein and nerve felt fresh and free, Soreness and irritation had been swept away, as it were. 28 THE with the curtains of the night; and the accustomed tone had returned again. I arose and threw open my window. Delicious ! It was a calm, bright Sabbath morning in May. The dew drops glittered on the grass ; the fragrance of the apple blossoms, which covered the trees, floated up to me ; and the notes of a hundred birds discoursed music to my ear. By the rays just shooting up in the eastern verge, I knew that the sun would be risen in a moment. I hastily dressed myself, performed my ablutions, and sallied forth to take a morning walk. Sweet, yet simple scene ! No one seemed stirring. The placid influence of the day was even now spread around, quieting every thing, and hallowing every thing. I sauntered slowly onward, with my hands folded behind me. I passed round the edge of a hill, on the rising eleva- tion and top of which was the burial ground. On my left, through an opening in the trees, I could see at some dis- tance the ripples of our beautiful bay ; on my right, was the large ancient field for the dead. I stopped and leaned my back against the fence, with my face turned toward the white marble stones a few rods before me. All I saw was far from new to me ; and yet I pondered upon it. The entrance to that place of tombs was a kind of arch a rough-hewn and hardy piece of architecture, that had stood winter and summer over the gate there, for many years. O ! fearful arch ! if there were for thee a voice to utter what has passed beneath and near thee if the secrets of the earthy dwelling that to thee are known could be disclosed whose ear might listen to the appalling story and its posses- sor not go mad with terror ? Thus thought I ; and strange enough, such imagining mar- red not in the least the sunny brightness which spread alike over my mind and over the landscape. Involuntarily as I mused, my look was cast to the top of the hill. I saw a figure moving. Could some one beside myself be out so early, and among the tombs ? What creature odd enough in fancy to find pleasure there, and at such a time ? Contin- uing my gaze, I saw that the figure was a woman. She seemed to move with a slow and a feeble step, pass- ing and repassing constantly between two and the same THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 29 graves, which were within half a rod of each other. She would bend down and appear to busy herself a few moments with the one; then she would rise and go to the second, and bend there and employ herself ag at the first. Then to the former one. and then to the second again. Occasionally the shape would pause a moment, and stand back a little, and look steadfastly down upon the graves, as if to see whether her work were done well. Thrice I saw her walk with a tottering gait, and stands-midway between the two, and look alternately at each. Then she would go to one and arrange something, and come back to the mid- way place, and gaze first on the right and then on the left, as before. The figure evidently had some trouble to ar- range things to her mind. Where I stood I could hear no noise of her foot-fall ; nor could I see accurately enough to tell what she was doing. Had a superstitious man be- held the spectacle, he would possibly have thought that some spirit of the dead, allowed the night before to burst its cerements, and wander forth in the darkness, had been be- lated in returning, and was now perplexed to find its coffin- house again. Curious to know the woman's employment, I undid the simple fastenings of the gate, and walked over the rank wet grass towards her. As I came near I recognized her for an old, a very old inmate of the poor-house, named Dela- ree. Stopping a moment, while I was yet several yards from her, and before she saw me, I tried to call to recollec- tion certain particulars of her history which I had heard a great while past. She was a native of one of the West India Islands, and, before I who gazed at her was born, had, with her husband, come hither to settle and gain a liveli- hood. They were poor, most miserably poor. Country people, I have noticed, seldom like foreigners. So this man and his wife, in all probability, met much to discourage them. They kept up their spirits, however, until at last their fortunes became desperate. Famine and want laid iron fin- gers upon them. They had no acquaintance; and to beg they were ashamed. Both were taken ill ; then the charity that had been so slack came to their abode, but came too late. Delaree died, the victim of poverty. The woman 30 THE PRINTER ' 3 B O O K . recovered after awhile ; but for many months was quite an invalid, and was sent to the alms-house, where she had ever since remained. This was the story of the aged creature before me ; aged with the weight of seventy winters. I walked up to her. By her feet stood a large rude basket, in which I beheld leaves and buds. The two graves which I had seen her passing between so often were covered with flowers the earliest but sweetest flowers of the season. They were fresh, and wet, and very fragrant those soul-offerings. And this, then, was her employment. Flowers frail and passing, grasped by the hand of age, and scattered upon a tomb ! White hairs and pale blossoms, and stone tablets of Death ! " Good morning, mistress/' said I, quietly. The withered female turned her eyes to mine and ac- knowledged my greeting in the same spirit wherewith it was given. " May I ask whose graves they are that you remember so kindly ? She looked up again probably catching, from my man- ner, that I spoke in no spirit of rude inquisitiveness and answered : "My husband's." A manifestation of fanciful taste, thought I, this tomb- ornamenting, which she probably brought with her from abroad. Of course but one of the graves could be her hus- band's; and one, likely, was that of a child, who had died and been placed by its father. "Whose else?" I asked. " My husband's," replied the aged widow. Poor creature ! her faculties were becoming dim. No doubt her sorrows and her length of life had worn both mind and body nearly to the parting. "Yes, I know," continued I, mildly: "but there are two graves. One is your husband's and the other is " I paused for her to fill the blank. She looked at me for a minute, as if in wonder at my perverseness ; and then answered as before. " My husband's. None but Gilbert's." THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 31 "And is Gilbert buried in both?" said I. She appeared as if going to answer, but stopped again, and did not. Though my curiosity was now somewhat excited, I forbore to question her farther, feeling that it might be to her a painful subject. I was wrong, however. She had been rather agitated at my intrusion, and her powers flickered for a moment. They were soon steady again, and, perhaps gratified with my interest in her affairs, she gave me in a few brief sentences the solution of the mys- tery. When her husband's death, occurred, she was herself confined to a sick bed, which she did not leave for a long while after he was buried. Still longer days passed be- fore she had permission, or even strength, to go into the open air. When she did, her first efforts were essayed to reach Gilbert's grave. What a pang sunk to her heart when she found it could not be pointed out to her ! With the careless indifference which is shown to the corpses of out- casts, poor Delaree had been thrown into a hastily dug hole, without any one noting it, or remembering which it was. Subsequently, several other paupers were buried in the same spot ; and the sexton could only show two graves to the disconsolate woman, and tell her that her husband's was positively one of the twain. During the latter stages of her recovery she had looked forward to the consolation of coming to his tomb as to a shrine, and wiping her tears there ; and it was bitter that such could not be. The mis- erable widow even attempted to obtain the consent of the proper functionaries that the graves might be opened, and her anxieties put at rest ! When told that this could not be done, she determined in her soul that at least the remnant of her hopes and intentions should not be given up. Eve- ry Sunday morning, in the mild seasons, she went forth early, and gathered fresh flowers, and dressed both the graves. So she knew that the right one was cared for, even if another shared that care. And lest she should pos- sibly bestow the most of this testimony of love on him whom she knew not, but whose spirit might be looking down invisible in the air, and smiling upon her, she was ever care- ful to have each tomb adorned in an exactly similar man- ner. In a strange land, and among a strange race, she said, J2 THE PR INTERS BOOK. it was like communion with her own people to visit that burial-ground. "If I could only know which to bend over when my heart feels heavy," thus finished the sorrowing being as she rose to depart, " then it would be a happiness. But, perhaps, I am blind to my dearest mercies. God, in his great wisdom, may have sent that I cannot be sure which grave was his, lest grief over it should become too com- mon a luxury for me, and melt me away." I offered to accompany her, and support her feeble steps ; but she preferred that it should not be so. With languid feet she moved on. t watched her pass through the gate and under the arch ; I saw her turn, and in a little while she was hidden from my view. Then I carefully parted the flowers upon one of the graves, and sat down there, and leaned my face in my open hands and thought What a wondrous thing is human love ! Oh ! Thou whose mighty attribute is the incarnation of love, I bless Thee that Thou didst make this fair disposition in our hearts, and didst root it there so deeply that it is stronger than all else, and can never be torn out ! Here is this aged way- farer a woman of trials and griefs decrepid, sore, and steeped in poverty the most forlorn of her kind, and yet, through all the storms of misfortune, and the dark cloud of years settling upon her, the memory of her love hovers like a beautiful spirit amid the gloom, and never deserts her, but abides with her while life abides. Yes ! this creature loved ; this wrinkled, skinny, gray-haired crone had her heart to swell with passion, and her pulses to throb, and her eyes to sparkle. Now, nothing remains but a lovely remembrance, coming as of old, and stepping in its accus- tomed path, not to perform its former object, or its former duty but from long habit. Nothing but that! Ah! is not that a great deal ? And the buried man he was happy to have passed away as he did. The woman she was the one to be pitied. Without doubt she wished many times that she were laid be- side him. And not only she, thought I, as I cast my eyes on the solemn memorials around me: but at the same time there were thousands else on earth who panted for the long THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 33 repose, as a tired child for the night. The grave the grave. What foolish man calls it a dreadful place ? It is a kind friend, whose arms shall compass us round about, and while we lay our heads upon his bosom, no care, temptation nor corroding passion shall have power to disturb us. Then the weary spirit shall no more be weary; the aching head and aching heart will be strangers to pain ; and the soul that has fretted and sorrowed away its little life on earth will sorrow not any more. When the mind has been roaming abroad in the crowd, and returns sick and tired of hollow hearts, and of human deceit let us think of the grave and death, and they will seem like soft and pleasant music. Such thoughts then soothe and calm our pulses ; they open a peaceful prospect before us. There have of late frequently come to me times when I do not dread the grave when I could lie down, and pass my immortal part through the valley and shadow, as composedly as I quaff water after a tiresome walk. For what is there of terror in taking our rest ? What is there here below to draw us with such fondness ? Life is the running of a race a most weary race, sometimes. Shall we fear the goal, merely be- cause it is shrouded in a cloud ? I rose, and carefully replaced the parted flowers, and bent my steps homewards. If there be any sufficiently interested in the fate of the aged woman, that they wish to know farther about her, for those I will add that ere long her affection was transferred to a region where it might receive the reward of its constancy and purity. Her last desire, and it was complied with was that phe should be placed midway between the two graves. THE JOUR. PRINTER. A man of many professions ; like the lawyer, he feels the advantage of a good case; like the doctor, from his practice is his gain ; like the parson, he zealously seeks for errors, and corrects them ; like the poet, he dwells amid types ; like the military chieftain, he marshals his thousands ; r- a man of great craft, and no wonder, when the devil helps him. 5 34 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. A FRAGMENT. BY WILLIAM W. HOLDEN. Go out beneath the arching Heaven in night's profound gloom, and say, if you can, " THERE is NO GOD !" Pro- nounce that dread blasphemy, and each star above you will reproach you for your unbroken darkness of intellect every voice that floats upon the night-winds will bewail your utter hopelessness and despair ! " Is there no GOD ?" Who, then unrolled that blue scroll and threw upon its high frontispiece the legible gleamings of immortality? Who fashioned this green earth with its perpetual rollings of waters and its wide expanse of island and main ? Who settled the foundations of the mountains ? Who paved the Heavens with clouds and attuned amid the banners of storms the voice of thunders and unchained the lightnings that linger and lurk, and flash in their gloom? Who gave to the eagle a safe eyrie where the tempests dwell and beat strongest, and to the dove a tranquil abode amid the forests that ever echo to the minstrelsy of her moan ? Who made THEE, oh Man! with thy perfected elegance of intel- lect and of form ? Who made the light pleasant to thee, and the darkness a covering and a herald to the first beau- tiful flashes of the morning? Who gave thee that match- less symmetry of smew and limb ? That regular flowing of blood! Those irrepressible and daring passions of ambi- tion and of love ? No GOD ? And yet the thunders of heaven and the waters of earth are silent and calm ! Is there no lightning, that Heaven is not avenged? Are there no floods, that man is not swept under a deluge ? They remain but the bow of reconciliation hangs out above and beneath them. And it were better that the limitless waters and the strong mountains were convulsed and commingled together it were better that the very stars were conflagrated by fire or shrouded in gloom, than that ONE soul should be lost while Mercy kneels and pleads for it beneath the Altar of intercession ! THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 35 EXTRACT FROM AN EXTEMPORANEOUS ADDRESS, DELIVERED BE- FORE THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT ASSOCIATION, IN THE CITY OF NEW-YORK. BY ELY MOORE. POSTERITY will regard the structure we propose to raise, not only as a becoming memorial to WASHINGTON, but also as an evidence of the skill, the enterprise, the patriotism, and the gratitude of our age. We have just been told if we should erect a monument, that the wing of time will sweep it from its base, and lay it low in the dust; and, by way of illustration, we have been referred to the shattered and dilapidated monuments of antiquity. The column of Trajan, the Dacian conqueror, it has been said, no longer towers in its former pride and stateli- ness, but that his name still lives, not only on the pages of Pliny, but in the universal remembrance of mankind. I grant it all. But then, I ask, was there no utility in the structure ? Did it serve no important purpose in a national point of view ? Has it not stood as a proud monument of gratitude to those who reared it ? Besides, was it not the direct medium, through which has been transmitted to posterity, the name of Appollo- dorus, the architect, who conceived and executed it ? And has not Rome ample cause to be proud of that name ? True, gen- tlemen, true, the noble monuments of Rome are despoiled of their former grandeur. The rude hand of time, and the still more ruthless hand of man, have well nigh achieved their ruin. Destruction has been and is still at work among their remains. But 'do not the Palace of the Caesars, the Forum, the Pan- theon, and the Coliseum, yea, all the remains of ancient Rome hie equally fast to their fate ? Flocks and herds graze around the altar where captive kings were once arraigned, and soli- tary is that arena where once rung out the loud huzzas of 36 THE POINTER'S BOOK; thousands. The ancient mistress of the world has well nigh slid from her seven hills, and even those very hills, upon whose proud summits she sat enthroned, in imposing pomp and impe- rial grandeur, are fast wasting away ; and as the wild wolf erst made his ambuscade, and the fallow deer his lair, whet'e Rome now stands so shall the wolf and deer make their ambuscade and lair upon the site of Rome, when Rome, like Illium, shall cease to be a town. Still, still her name shall survive and flourish so long as knowledge and letters endure. That name has been rendered glorious and ever- lasting, not by the power of her arms alone, but by great and holy deeds of peace. Her fame rests not so much upon her achievements in war, as upon the number and gran- deur of her villas, her temples, and monuments ; the skill of her artists, the eloquence of her orators, and the enterprise and gratitude of her citizens. When the Arts had attained their zenith in Greece, the marbles of Mount Hymettus and Prion, Pentelicus and Paros, at the bidding of Phidias and Alcamenes, Scopas and Praxiteles, started into life, and told to the world her patriots' gratitude. To Theseus and Minerva, the greatest of her benefactors, were reared the most magnificent of her temples ; and although the monuments have partially crumbled beneath the tooth of time, yet the noble and generous motives, which prompted the citi- zens to the enterprise, will be appreciated so long as virtue has an admirer, or patriotism a friend. Greece, in the fame of her artists, alone, has a sufficient guarantee, of her immortality. Her name, associated as it is, with that of Phidias, must live forever. Fellow-Citizens, has America no artist whose genius can contribute to her fame ? We know she has. We have already been furnished with the evidence.* Then let us hasten to the task, " while gratitude is still fresh in recollection," and raise to the memory of WASHINGTON, a monument that shall be worthy of the age in which it is our high destiny to live. Let us no longer suffer it to be said, that the heathens of Greece and Rome gave stronger evidence of gratitude to the memory of their heroes than we, the citizens of the great * Frazee's bust of John Jay. PRINTER'S BOOK. 37 Commercial Emporium of free and prosperous America, have to our benefactors. We have by our negligence, by our luke- \varmness, incurred the reproach. Let us no longer deserve it ; and let the structure we propose to raise, be of such mag- nitude and excellence, as shall atone for our former neglect. Let it rise till it proudly overlooks the lofty domes and glitter- ing spires of our city. Let it be the last object upon which the eye of the patriot shall linger, when departing from, and the first to greet him when returning to, his native land. " Let it rise, till it meet the sun in his coming ; let the earliest light of the morning gild it, and parting day linger and play on its summit." Gentlemen, If there ever lived a man whose services and virtues challenged the gratitude of his country, more especial- ly than that of any other that man was GEORGE WASHINGTON. Ponder the history of the past explore the archives of an- tiquity ; yea, search creation through, and I defy you to point to a solitary name, (when taken all and in all,) that shines with a brighter, a purer, a steadier lustre than that of WASHINGTON. Egypt had her Sesostris Crete her Minos Athens her So- lon Sparta her Lycurgus Rome her Numa Britain her Alfred and America, thank God, her WASHINGTON. As a warrior, statesman, and philosopher, he was inferior to none. Brave as Leonidas, prudent as Fabius, and wise and just as Aristides. Who will assert, then, that the most renowned and illustrious of antiquity whether warriors, statesmen or phi- losophers, better deserved the gratitude of their country than does WASHINGTON the gratitude of America ? And shall we, my countrymen shall we who have been blessed with the greatest benefactor that gracious heaven ever vouchsafed to any people, longer show ourselves cold and ungrateful ? Un- grateful, not only to WASHINGTON, but to that Being who created, directed, and sustained him ! Yea, ungrateful to that God who gave us WASHINGTON. You are ready to exclaim, *" the insinuation is a calumny a libel on our characters." Then for our own for our country's and Heaven's sake, let us prove it so ! You certainly do not require that anything, by way of ex- hortation, should be said in order to stimulate you to vigorous 38 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. exertions in this matter. It would be paying but a sorry com- pliment to your liberality and patriotism, gentlemen, to indulge such a supposition. Neither is it necessary to dwell upon his character, or the glory of his deeds, in order to excite your gratitude, or enkindle your enthusiasm. His character is impressed upon all that we behold around us which wears the stamp of greatness. His praises are uttered from the thousand free and liberal institutions of our country. The morning hymn and evening orison bear witness to his virtues and the song of praise and of gladness that pervades and cheers our happy land, breathe forth his eulogy. How vain and futile how poor and impotent then must appear an at- tempt to do justice to his character, or impart additional lustre to the halo of glory that surrounds his name. And yet, fel- low-citizens, my feelings strongly urge me to call your atten- tion, for a moment, to that period of the revolutionary strug- gle, which, more than any other, was calculated to "try men's souls," and test the sincerity of their patriotism. I allude to that, just previous to the battle of Trenton, when a succession of reverses had well-nigh broken the spirits of our people ; when our finances were embarrassed ; when the sources of our revenue were dried up ; when discord began to raise her hellish crest; when doubts and misgivings crept into the bosoms of the faithful, and the heart of the virtuous patriot sunk within him, and in agony trembled over his hopes ; in that hour of peril, of darkness and dismay, when despair, aye, even death itself, seemed to stalk across our path who was it then, let me ask, that stood forth as the only director of our fortunes as the only champion of our hopes ? Who was it that rebuked and silenced the spirit of disaffection, and hushed the fears and strengthened the hopes of the timid and the wavering? 'Twas WASHINGTON! the idol of the soldier, the counsellor of the wise, and the beloved and revered by all. In no one instance, perhaps, was his influence with the army so strikingly exemplified, as in his attack on the enemy at Trenton. O'er and o'er have I listened with intense anxiety, in the days of my boyhood, whilst my now departed sire, who fought and bled on that proud field, recited, with thrilling inte- BOOK. 39 rest, all that related to the enterprise. It was on a December's night, (would he say) when our little heart-broken army halted on the banks of the Delaware. That night was dark cheer- less tempestuous and bore a strong resemblance to our country's fortunes. It seemed as if heaven and earth had conspired for our destruction. The clouds lowered dark- ness and the storm came on apace. The snow a-nd the hail descended, beating with unmitigated violence upon the supper- less, half-clad, shivering soldier and in the roarings of the flood, and the wailings of the storm, was heard, by fancy's ear, the knell of our hopes and the dirge of liberty ! The impet- uous river was filled with floating ice an attempt to cross it at that time, and under such circumstances, seemed a despe- rate enterprise ; yet it was undertaken ; and, thanks be to God and WASHINGTON, accomplished. From where we landed on the Jersey shore to Trenton, was about nine miles, and on the whole line of march there was scarcely a word uttered, save by the officers when giving some order. We were well nigh exhausted, said he, many of us frost-bitten, and the majority of us so badly shod, that the blood gushed from our frozen and lacerated feet at every tread yet we upbraided not, complained not, but marched stead- ily and firmly, though mournfully, onward, resolved to per- severe to the uttermost; not for our country our country, alas ! we had given up for lost. Not for ourselves life for us no longer wore a charm but because such was the will of our beloved chief 'twas for WASHINGTON alone we were will- ing to make the sacrifice. When we arrived within sight of the enemy's encampments, we were ordered to form a line, when WASHINGTON reviewed us. Pale and emaciated, dispir- ited and exhausted, we presented a most unwarlike and mel- ancholy aspect. The paternal eye of our chief was quick to discover the extent of our sufferings and acknowledge them with his tears ; but suddenly checking his emotions he remind- ed us, that our country and all that we held dear, was staked upon the issue of the coming battle. As he spake, we gathered ourselves up and rallied our energies ; every man grasped his arms more firmly and the clenched hand, and the compressed lip, and tho steadfast look, and the knit brow told the soul's 40 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. resolve. WASHINGTON observed us well ; then did he exhort us, with all the fervor of his soul: * On yonder field to conquer, or die the death of the brave/ At that instant, the glorious sun, as if in prophetic token of our success, burst forth in all his splendor, bathing in liquid light the blue hills of Jersey. The faces, which, but a few moments before, were blanched with despair, now glowed with martial fire and animation. Our chief, with exultation, hailed the scene ; then casting his doubts to the winds, and calling on the ' God of battles,' and his faithful soldiers, led on the charge. The conflict was fierce and bloody. For more than twenty minutes not a gun was, fired the sabre and the bayonet did the work of destruction ; 'twas a hurricane of fire, and steel, and death. There did we stand, (would he say) there did we stand, ' foot to foot, and hilt to hilt,' with the serried foe !' and where we stood we died or conquered." The result of that action, gentlemen, is known ito you all ; as are also its bearings upon the fortunes of America* Had defeat attended our arms at that trying crisis, our cause was lost forever lost ; and freedom had found a grave oa the plains of Trenton. DR. FRANKLIN'S OFFER TO A YOUNG MAN. * MAKE a full estimate of all that is owing to you. Re- duce the same to a note. As fast as you can collect, pay over to those you owe. If you cannot collect, renew your note every year and get the best security you can. Go to business diligently, and be industrious ; waste no idle mo- ments ; be very economical in all things ; discard all pride ; be faithful in your duty to God, by regular and hearty prayer every morning and night; attend Church regularly every Sunday ; and do unto all men as you would they should do unto you. If you are too needy in circumstances to give to the poor, do whatever else lies in your power for them cheerfully ; but if you can, always help the worthy poor and unfortunate. Pursue this course diligently and sin- cerely for seven years ; and if you are not happy, com- fortable, and independent in your circumstances, come to me, and I will pay your debts." T it E PRINTER'S BOOK. 41 A PLEA FOR THE POOR. BY REV. A. G. HALL. A PERCEPTION of the divine relations to the whole race is 'essential to a proper sense of obligation to our fellow-men. It is when we perceive God to be the Creator and Pre- iserver of all men, that we feel ourselves to be the children of a common parent, and sectional and national prejudices give place to the yearnings of fraternal affection. It is when we perceive the relation of divine ownership to the earth and the fulness thereof, that we are prepared to regard ourselves as stewards, and accountable to Him for the talents committed to our trust. It is when we consider God as compassionating the poor -- as listening to their cries as pitying their distresses, that contempt gives place to commisseration, and our hands are opened for their relief. A sense of the divine condescen- sion towards the unfortunate and the suffering, relieves pov- erty of its repulsive aspects, and surrounds it with a sacred* ness which attracts our kindest sympathies, and opens channels for our abundance to flow out and fertilize their barrenness* We do not deny the existence of natural sympathy in thosa who are blind to these relations of the Divine Being to the poor and suffering, but its exercise in the form of practical charity is restricted, partial, and fitful, unless the heart and conscience are yielded to the control of the truths involved in this condescending attitude of our Creator. Without this, a tale of human woe, adorned with the captivating arts of nar- rative, may open the fountain of tears, while the sight of actual suffering, accompanied by the disgusts of poverty, awakens contempt and turns the feet away from the abodes of filth and sorrow. So, also, when we are destitute of a perception of the divinb right of property in ourselves, and in all our pos- sessions, we recognize no rule to direct us in the use of our talents, but the uncertain impulses of an erratic heart. 6 42 THE PRINTER'S BOO E. Why did God create this beautiful and fertile earth ? Was it with the design of furnishing a portion of His creatures with the means of subsistence and pleasure, while another portion were to pine in want and sorrow ? No one can assent to a doctrine so repugnant to correct views of the universal and infinite benevolence of the Divine Being. All are ready to admit, at least in theory, that He created the earth for the sus- tenance and happiness of all His creatures. The loftiest heart of pride will not deny that " He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the service of man, that he may bring forth food out of the earth." While this is true, yet ac- cording to the conventional arrangements of men, the exclu- sive right of property in the earth is confined to a few. But it is evident, that if God created the earth for the sustenance of the whole race, that human laws, with reference to its own- ership, cannot rightfully deprive one man of the means of sub- sistence, while another possesses a large surplus ; for the right of the poor to the means of living Was vested in the general grant of the Creator, and cannot be disturbed by any subse- quent enactments of subordinate authority. We do not mean by this, that the divine gift of the earth to the whole race pre- cludes its division and subdivision to those who acquire a title according to human law. Agrarianism is not the doctrine to fte deduced from this divine grant to all. Yet this grant does most obviously give the poor a right to the means necessary for ffeeir subsistence. But this right is not that of ownership in the soil. It is the right of charity a claim to such a por^ tion of the fruits of the earth as are adequate to their necessary wants. The gift of the earth to man was- not a transfer of the abso- lute title from God to the race. Man, with respect to the Cre- ator, is only a tenant at will or in other words, He places- property in our hands as His agents or stewards, and retains the right of dispossessing us at His pleasure. This right He expressly claims. He asserts it not only with reference to the natural sources of wealth, but of all the products of human skill and labor: "The earth is the Lord's and the fulness thereof. Thy silver and thy gold are mine every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills." The 1 Jews were perpetually reminded that the fee- simple of their THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 43 country was in their Creator, by laws which He enacted with reference to the transfer of real estate, and the year of Jubilee. If they inquired into the reason of the statute in these respects, the divine answer was : "The land shall not be sold forever, for the land is mine." The claim which He here asserts to the land of Canaan, holds with reference to every foot of the earth. This claim He not only maintains in revelation, but sustains by His providence. Take, as an illustration, the expulsion of the original inhabitants of Palestine, and the transfer of their posses- sions to the descendants of Abraham. The Canaanites enjoyed as good a title to their property, so far as human laws are con- cerned, as any people on the earth. They had acquired posses- sion and ownership of the soil in a mode as fair and honorable, for aught that appears, as any other people ; yet several hun- dred years before they were dispossessed, God conveyed their country, by covenant and promise, to Abraham. By virtue of this transfer, the descendants of Abraham entered by force of arms, drove them out and took possession. Now to deny God's supreme right to the possessions of these people, would be to charge Him with injustice and cruelty in commanding and aid- ing the Israelites to prosecute a war of conquest and extermin- ation against them. But in this transaction God only main- tained the right which He claims to all human possessions* He makes no distinction in this claim between the earth liter- ally and the products of human labor. By His providence He takes from one and gives to another, as He commissions the ministers of destruction, and sweeps away the accumulation which is the result of a life of human diligence and frugality. He lets loose the winds which He holds in His fists, and the gallant ship freighted with riches, bounds for a time from wave to wave struggling amid the wild tumult of frenzied waters, and then sinks in the bosom of the deep, or is dashed a hopeless wreck upon the shore. He bids the sleeping hurricane awake, and hurl, in mad confusion, the proud residences of men with their fruitful fields and majestic forests. He lifts the windows of heaven and pours out a flood of waters, and sweeps away the wealth acquired by a long life- of toil. He causeth the earth to quake, and whole cities are tumbled into ruins. He etirs the volcanic fires, and the burning lava issues forth to the work of devastation upon the fairest and costliest products of 44 human skill. In all this God asserts and maintains His ; light to the property in men's hands. There is no claim of right, or title above His. He can therefore with perfect justice disin- herit a whole nation or a single individual. It is only as a grant from Him that kings hold their crowns, nations their country, and private men their possessions. If God is the absolute owner of all things, even what men acquire by their labor, then men are His agents or stewards, and he Has a just right of entire control over the property in their hands. It is a principle of the divine economy in harmony with this truth, that no grant is. conferred upon any for the benefit of the recipient alone, but for the good of others, also. When He raises one to a station of authority and power, it is not for His own aggrandizement, but for the security and happiness of those within the jurisdiction of His authority. Esther was not Raised to the Persian throne for her own glory, but for the salvation of an oppressed people. When God endows a man with eminent abilities, it is not that he may revel alone in the pleasures of an intellectual world, but that he may diffuse the influence of his talents to elevate and bless others less highly favored. He bestows riches upon some, not that they may possess the means of debasing themselves by luxury, while others around them are pinched with hunger and want, but that they may have wherewith to give to them that have need. That Being, who hears the ravens when they invoke Him for food, never would have suffered the unequal distribution of the means of subsistence among men, except upon the prin- ciple that the full are to impart to the empty. He whose Providence extends to the sparrows, has not left a multitude, created in His own image, a prey to indigence and want, while He has showered His blessings upon a few, without intending that the abundance of the one shall supply the necessities of the other. It would be easy for Him, who supplied the necessities of Israel in the wilderness, to furnish all His creatures with the means of subsistence, by a direct exertion of His creative power ; but He has so ordered things that the poor we always have with us. Some men have not the ability or skill requisite, either to acquire or to husband the BOOK. 4$ means of a comfortable livelihood, others who have the talent to acquire, have not the ability to keep, and a few only Jiave the talent of both acquiring and husbanding. This diversity is founded in nature, and is an indication of the divine will, which binds one portion to administer of their fulness to the need of another. This principle is developed in the irrational world. The clouds treasure up the waters not to deck themselves with the gorgeous hues of the rainbow, but to pour them out upon the thirsty earth. The moon receives the rays of the sun, not to absorb them in her dark bosom, but to reflect them upon the earth to cheer the solitude of night. So the abundance of the rich is bestowed, not to minister to their lusts, which must be mortified, but to be dispensed like the dew or the rain to bless the poor and the suffering. None will deny the duty of charity to be binding upon those who possess an abundance. But abundance is an equivocal term. The same amount in one man's hands may lawfully afford a smaller surplus than in another, for every man has a right to use the goods which God has put into his possession to supply his own wants, and these are greater or less, according to the station and circumstances in which Providence has placed him. Every man may be said to have abundance if he possess an excess above the means necessary to supply those wants the existence of which does not involve an infraction of the divine will. No man has the right to enlarge his necessi- ties beyond the limits prescribed by the injunction, " Make no provision for the flesh to fulfil the lusts thereof." We have no right in this manner to absorb all the means in our possession so that when we hear the cry of the needy we close our hand against them, and satisfy conscience with the plea that we have no more than necessary for ourselves. Divine justice measures, our duty of giving according to the amount we receive above the demands of those wants the gratification of which is essential to our well-being. We cannot squander our Master's goods upon the lusts which He requires us to mortify, and then when He calls for the means to bless His suffering poor, turn Him off with the excuse that we have nothing to spare. If He allowed us to act upon this principle, then we might forever evade the claims_of the poor, by enlarging our 46 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. voluptuousness and prodigality, in proportion to the increase of the means of sensual gratification in our possession. If the surplus in our hands limits the claims of the poor upon us, then it is obvious that infinite wisdom, which is concerned for the necessitous, has not left the existence of that surplus wholly to the contingency of human caprice. The thought is alike reproachful to the divine wisdom and goodness. There must, therefore, be some rule governing the use of the property in our hands, by which a surplus may arise, to which the claims of the poor shall attach. This deduction of reason is con- firmed by the divine law. The rule which secures the surplus is embraced in all those injunctions of the sacred Scriptures, which require diligence in business, frugality in our expenses, and the mortification of those lusts which corrupt the soul, and which waste our Lord's goods. As the rule which pro- duces the surplus, is not left to the uncertainty of human caprice, so the rule governing its use is not left to the fitfulness of human sympathy and prejudice: "If thy brother be waxen, poor and fallen in decay with thee, then thou shalt relieve him, yea, though he be a stranger or sojourner, that he may Jive with thee." Here the rule is explicit and binds us beyond #11 evasion. It allows of no excuse. It enjoins the duty of universal charity. It does not allow us to confine our aid jto our own countrymen, to the exclusion of those who are driven to our shores from foreign lands by famine and oppres- sion. It permits us not to inquire, are they Americans, or Irish, or Germans, or French but only, are they men men suffering from want ? It invests humanity with the bond of brotherhood. The simple fact that our brethren are fallen in decay indicates our duty, without stopping to inquire whether they descended from Shem, Ham, or Japheth. Thus the rule of charity is not a whim, a fancy, a feeling, it is a principle, which is to beget and control both feeling and action, and reaches to all the sons and daughters of adversity within the compass of our beneficence. But men are not left to the mere force of a naked rule in the matter pf aiding the poor. Various incentives are urged upon us, in divine revelation, to secure fidelity in the duty. And it is a fact worthy of notice, that the Great Benefactor pf the Poor employs the very reason which covetousness i* IL'SBOOK 4"> Urges for withholding, as an incentive to an enlarged liberality. The covetous withhold through fear of needing their surplus* to avert future evil. But this uncertainty respecting the future is a reason which He employs to enforce charity: " Give a portion to seven and also to eight, for thou knowest not what evil shall come upon the earth." Be liberal ; do not be weary under the repeated calls upon thy charity, for thou knowest not how soon a change shall deprive thee of thine estate. The force of this motive lies in the fact, that what is- given in charity is deposited in the hands of God's represent- atives, and cannot be lost to the giver by any future reversed of fortune ; while that which is swept away from the coffers of avarice by the mutation of human affairs, leaves no blessing in reserve. The covetous are like the husbandman, who, in time of sowing, locks his seed in his garner, instead of scattering it broad-cast upon the bosom of the faithful earth, which would repay his confidence by the return of an hundred-fold. Per- haps the reader may doubt whether it be strictly true, that, according to the divine constitution of things, there is an established connection between covetousness and pov-^ erty, liberality and riches. You may fix your mind upon a man who is rich, and, at the same time, hard-hearted and oppressive to the poor ; he is as greedy as the sea, and as barren as the shore ; and yet wealth rolls into his pos^ session in an unabated tide. On the other hand, you may point to one of a large heart, who is ever ready to divide his last loaf with a needy brother, and yet he is poor ; every business enterprise he undertakes, fails. He struggles against the tide of adversity in vain. Facts, you say, are stubborn 1 things, and will not bend to fancy or fanaticism. True*- But the objection is deduced from facts of too limited a range.- It overlooks a peculiarity in the divine economy respecting temporal good and evil, by which the connection is to be" traced from parents to their descendants. God has often promised, to reward individuals ia a temporal sense, and the promise has not been fulfilled to the individuals themselves, but to their children ; and sometimes it has been delayed for generations. He promised to give the land of Canaan to s Abraham, but the promise was not fulfilled until many gen^ erations after his death, and then it was accomplished in 48 THE PRINTER'S BOOK; favor of his descendants. Thus, upon the representative principle of the divine economy, it was fulfilled to Abra- ham. In investigating the developments of Providence, there- fore, to discover the connection which the Scriptures es- tablish between covetousness and temporal disaster, and be- tween liberality and prosperity, we are not to confine bur- selves to the harrow limits of one man's life, but to extend our examination along the line of his descendants for gen- erations after him. Such an examination, if we could make it, would undoubtedly confirm the doctrine obviously de- ducible from such passages as the following: "He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord, and that which he hath given, will He pay him again." Upon the prin- ciple stated, there is no necessity of departing from a literal interpretation of this passage, and others of similar import. But, kind reader, I think better of you than to suppose that you are unsusceptible to a higher motive than the pros- pect of pecuniary gain. You are capable of being moved by the happiness of a good conscience, and by the ex- alted pleasures of doing good. The self-approbation of de- nying ourselves to relieve the sufferings of others, is a larger reward to an ingenuous mind than the grovelling satisfaction which arises from the mere increase of riches. The com- placency of growing wealth is disturbed by the struggles of conscience, when the hand refuses to distribute of its fulness to the needy. The heart of one callous to the cries bf a Suffering brother, feels itself unworthy a place in the society of the noble and the generous. A sense of meanness embitters even his sordid satisfaction, and he is obliged to feel that his plac6 is with the base and the grovelling. What is the satisfac- tion of hoarding ? It feeds an appetite, which torments us with its ceaseless cry, " Give, give" It lashes us like slaves, while it robs us of the enjoyment of the fruit of our toil. It is as vora- cious as the grave, and as unsatisfied as death. Compare with this the happiness of relieving human want; This is a work in which we imitate God, and are made parta- kers bf the divine joy. The Son of God went about doing good. He was happy in feeding the hungry, in healing the sick, in delivering the captives, and in preaching the Gospel to the poor. 49 How unalloyed the pleasure of being eyes to the blind feet to the lame to deliver the poor that cry, and to cause the widow's heart to sing for joy. To witness the tear of gratitude trickling down the furrowed cheek of want to behold the smile of content lighting up the pallid face of sorrow to receive the blessing of him that is ready to perish is a richer reward than all the sensual pleasures to be pur- chased by the boundless stores of sordid wealth. It leaves no sting behind. When in after time, memory calls it back, it comes laden with the sweet perfume of Paradise and re- freshes the soul with the odors of pleasing recollections. This vale of tears furnishes an ample opportunity for trea- suring up these pleasing recollections. Everywhere are met the haggard visage of want, and the downcast look and feeble step of penury. How blessed to lift the head of such with gratitude, and to strengthen and quicken their step with joy by our beneficence ! But of all the objects of human wretchedness, the sick poor should awaken our deepest commisseration and hasten our quickest charity. To be destitute of the necessaries of life, to shiver in cold and nakedness, and to retire, amid the desolations of winter, to a more desolate abode, is a calamity overwhelming to the vigor of health. Add to this the helplessness of disease, the exhaustion of nature over- taxed by exertion to avoid the scrutinizing eye of charity, to all this add the cries of helpless children famishing by cold and hunger, and looking in vain for bread to a widowed mother, who is sickening under the pressure of disease, and the accumulation of suffering, and sighing for the deliverance of the grave what a scene ! and, reader such scenes are transpiring near your own door. Put on your hat go out from the circle of your happy fireside and search out these unhappy ones, and by kind words and timely charities make them feel that you are their friend by being their helper. PRINTERS Bound together in the chase of affection, they are always ready to distribute their quoins among their brethren who have had the misfortune fo run out of sorts. 50 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. LORD BYEON. BY THE LATE ALEXANDER COFFIN, "THE BOSTON BABD.* " His soul is dark as Erebus." SATAN his harp to Byron gave, And said " Go, sweep it well ; Thy throne, the murderer's reeking grave ; Thy theme the feats of hell. " To misery's child, new misery add Tell him no pardon's given ; Drive, drive the shuddering sinner mad, And break his hold on Heaven. " Sweep, sweep the lyre to godless themes For vice a chaplet twine; Of horrors be thy waking dreams Of horrors that are mine. " Of agonies in hell -that rise ; Of darkness that is felt; Of reeling worlds of sundering skies Of terrors yet unspelt. "Dark be the picture let no light, Not one dim ray illume ; Dark, dark, as never-ending night, As self-destroyer's doom! " Man's hope, man's peace, forever mar, Eclipse Religion's sun; Tread out salvation's golden star, And see thy work well done!" He said; his lordship took the lyre, And swept the strings along, While Satan stole from Heaven the f *+., And tuned the godless song. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 51 THE PRESS, PRESENTED, BY REQUEST, TO THE PRINTER^ FESTIVAL, HELD AT ROCHESTER, N. Y. BY JAMES R. TRUMBULL. <"Twas the voice of the Press on the startled ear breaking, In giant-born prowess, like PALLAS of old ; 'Twas the flash of intelligence gloriously waking A glow on the cheek of the noble and bold ; And tyranny's minions o'erawed and affrighted, Sought a lasting retreat in the cloister and cowl, And the chains which bound nations in ages benighted Were cast to the haunts of the bat and the owl." WITH the day f that gave birth to the invention of Print- ing, dawned the brighest era the world ever saw. It broke upon the midnight darkness of the fifteenth century, like morn- ing from a densely clouded sky. Its course was onward, destined, like the sun, to irradiate in its progress the whole habitable globe, yet more silent than twilight's gathering tints. Year by year, it increased. Three centuries have roll- ed away since its introduction, and now it is the mightiest agent for weal or wo in existence. The discovery of this art ranks third among the greatest events the world's history records. Its superiority consists in the immense difference between mind and matter. He who gave to the iron steed its panting breath, or he who drew down Heaven's own lightning and guided it along the wiry track, claims no partnership in Fame's award with him who placed the printed page before the mind. The inven- tions of others, in their greatest perfection, act only upon the outward, the mortal man ; while that of FAUST operates upon the divine, the immortal, the soul. To it belongs the task of elevating the noblest part of humanity, the intellect, 52 that which raises man above the brute, and renders him but "little lower than the angels." So great are its advantages, that it seems a drop from the overflowing cup of God's good- ness, bedewing the earth, yet so tainted by sinful human na" ture, as to retain scarce an element of its original character. Never, since from chaos sprang this beautiful world, has there existed a power capable of such illimitable control over the passions of men. Like the irresistible music of the fabled Syrens, it lures the unsuspecting upon the quicksands and into the whirlpools of life, or, like the derm-gods of old with brazen club uplifted, attacks vice in its strong-holds crushing with resistless force the monster's hydra heads. Consecrated by its first efforts to the cause of morality and religion, the Press holds no second place among the great renovating agents of the world. One of the first books printed was from the manuscript of the amanuenses of the Holy Spirit. Commencing with the greatest of books the BIBLE it has spread throughout the civilized world, alike instrumental in extending both religion and vice. Scarcely had the invention found an existence, ere it became mainly effica- cious in perfecting one of the most beneficial reforms the world ever witnessed. Whilst this noble art was slowly spreading itself through- out Europe, a little barefooted boy was seeking his darly food, in a city of Germany, by singing from house to house. In subsequent years he entered the monastery. In the se- cret recesses of the Dominican cloister, was matured that mind, whose powerful workings, borne abroad upon the pin- ions of the press, shook to its very centre the throne of the Caesars, drove the minions of Popery within the walls of Rome, and shook defiance at them as they stood cowering beneath the shadow of the Vatican ! The true religion had become defiled. Its Omnipotent Author raised for its ren- ovation, first the press, afterwards its operator. Had it not been for the aid of Printing, the dark clouds of Popery, clos- ing above the meteor flash of Luther's terrific struggle with the powers of darkness, would have hung with deeper gloom even now about our heads. Dependent upon the im- perfect pen of the scribe for the propagation of his writings, a single bonfire might have destroyed the slender frame- THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 53 Work of the reformation. Bat with the re-productive ener- gies of the Press at its control, books Phcenix-like rose from the ashes of those burned before, and the Papal Bull, con- signing the works of Luther to the flames, became the surest means of their immortality. The results of that glorious reformation, effected by the Press, while yet in its infancy, will be felt at time's remotest boundary. This great reformation was the first, but not the only achievement of the Press. It has raised the world from the midnight of heathenism to the noon-day brightness of civili- zation. " But how are the mighty fallen !"'' This powerful agent, degraded from the proud eminence of its youth, has become, in its crowning manhood, but a servile instrument for inflaming man's lowest passions. The legitimate province of the Press is the formation of the literary taste of the public. Whatever reading is re- quired by the community at large, the Printer furnishes-. Those who wield the power of the Press, possess the ability to lead the minds of the people in their search after truth, or bid them grovel in the depths of licentiousness and crime. That their aim should be to elevate rather than depress, all, will admit; but that the mass of reading put forth at the present day is debasing in its tendency, is equally true. Glance abroad for a moment. Crime seems to be increas- ing in a rapid ratio. Every few days chronicle some new outrage, present to the public a further infringement of law, and show that human passion is gaining a fearfully power- ful ascendency. Almost every public print brings to light some new development of human depravity. Yet the ac- counts of these cold-blooded murders, these heart-rending evi- dences of the wickedness of man's heart, are eagerly sought after, and devoured with avidity by the generality of read- ers. In fact, the publication of such articles has become one item, and that not a small one, of subsistence by the newspa- per press. The tendency of it is obvious. In the language of another : " When some monstrous or unusual crime has been revealed to the public, it seldom passes without a sad repetition. A link in the chain of intellect is struck, and a crime is perpetrated which else had not occurred." Thus 54 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. the very reason urged, "that crimes are published to pre- vent repetition," in the end accomplishes that which it sought *o avert ; " 'Tis this sustains that coarse, licentious tribe, Of tenth-rate type-men, gaping for a bribe, That reptile race, with all that's good at strife, Who trail their slime through every walk of life ; Stain the white tablet where the great man's name Stands proudly chiseled by the hand of fame ; Nor round the sacred fireside fear to crawl, But drop their venom there and poison all." Such, then, is the present state of the newspaper press, making the everlasting misery of its readers a means of subsistence. But there is a greater and a deadlier evil Sin cloaked under the garb of holiness. Falsehood dress- ed in the habiliments of truth. It is the world of fiction. The novels so eagerly sought after by all classes the works of Sue, Bulwer, and a host of others. They stand before the public naked representations of the most degraded states of human society, with no plea for their recommen- dation except that the public taste requires them. Vitiated as public sentiment has become, it has been brought to that state in a great measure by such works, published under the guise of representing the evils of society as a warning to others. Flint and steel when brought forcibly in con- tact, emit a spark: so, "the too close inspection of crime may grow into criminality itself." " The object of the suc- cessful novel writer is to make a saleable book, and the cant about the amelioration of society is merely a trick of authors, whereby they hope to add a degree of dignity to their pages that shall gild the pill of their licentiousness." Besides the novels of foreigners, we have authors of the same stamp among ourselves, capable of accomplishing even more evil in the limited sphere in which they move than their more gifted cotemporaries. The novelettes of Ingra- ham, what are they, as a general thing, but memoirs of ft her whose steps take hold on hell ?" Year after year the Press is sowing such trash broadcast over the land. The public will feast upon the demoralizing pamphlets of Ingra- THE PRINTER 8 BOOK. ham, or the splendid conceptions of the more gifted Sue, and laying them aside, turn to the newly printed Journal, yet damp, to gloat over horrid tales of seduction, murder, and crime of every description. Is such a proper state of society ? Is this the grand mission of this greatest o-f agen- cies ? No ! the watchman has come down from his tower and, mingling with the giddy throng, is hurrying them on. to ruin and destruction : " All are not such ! Oh, no, there are, thank Heaven, A noble troop to whom the trust is given, Who all, unbribed, on Freedom's ramparts stand Faithful and firm, bright wardens of the land By them the Press still lifts its arms abroad, To guide all-curious man along life's road; To cheer young Genius, Pity's tear to start, In Truth's bold cause to rouse each fearless heart." Yet a reformation great as that commenced by the hum- ble son of the miner of Mansfeldt, is required to purge our land from this evil. The renovation of the church was brought about by one of its most devoted followers, and who more appropriate to undertake this work than the Printers themselves ? Or what time better calculated to act on the subject than the birth-day of the Printer, Philosopher and Statesman you celebrate to-day? Why wait longer? We see men shot down in cold blood. Murder palpable as sunlight is committed, and yet the law acquits the perpe- trator, and the people shout and clap their hands when the judge proclaims the murderer free, and he goes forth un- punished to clasp his bloody hands with theirs. Wherefore is this ? Because public opinion will not punish seduction as a crime. Yet the very instance cited had its origin in the demoralizing reading of the present day. To allow the Press to put forth such works as are daily being published, and refuse the aid of law for the punishment of crime, result- ing from such reading, is like prohibiting, by the statute, physicians from attempting the cure of fever, and at the same time filling the land with large bodies of stagnant water, upon whose malaria fever rides with fearful speed. 56 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. FELLOW PRINTERS ! let us put our hands to this work. We may do much to remedy the defect, if not eventually wholly to remove it. But it is a work that requires time days, weeks, months, years. Let us then be up and doing. SONNET. -PORTRAIT OF A LADY. BY HORACE GREELEY. THE blissful June of life ! I love to gaze On its sweet wealth of ripening loveliness, And lose the thought that o'er my saddening days, Grim Care has woven clouds which will depress, In spite of stoic pride and stern resolve : Beauty like this the waste of life redeems; 'Round it their sun the coldest hearts revolve, Warm'd back to youth and gladdened by its beams. But, lady! in that mild, soul-speaking glance, Those lustrous orbs, returning heaven its hue, I greet an earlier friend forgive the trance? 'Tis Nature only, imaged here so true That, briefly, I forgot the Painter's art, And hailed the presence of a Queenly Heart. ITALY. BY N. P. WILLIS. A CALM and lovely Paradise Is Italy for minds at ease : The sadness of its sunny skies Weighs not upon the lives of these. The ruined aisle, the crumbling fane, The broken column, vast and prone, It may be joy it may be pain Amid such wrecks to walk alone ! The saddest man will sadder be, The gentlest lover gentler there, As if whate'er the spirit's key, Is strengthened in that solemn air. THE PRINTER'S BOOK, 57 THE BRIGHT SPIRIT LAND. BY THE LATE WILLIAM B. MARSH. THE bright Spirit Land! oh, where does it lie? In the untold depths of the glorious sky Where the clouds are all tinged with a roseate hue, And the stars ever float in a sea of blue Is it there, the bright Spirit Land? And do flowerets breathe on the passing gale, And beings celestial their odors inhale, While golden-wing'd birds flit the bowers among, And gladden the air with their joyous song? Do broad rivers sweep with resistless tide, And whispering rills through the deep valleys glide; Do green forests wave, and huge mountains rise Till their snow-cover'd peaks seem to blend with the skies ; And the many-toned voices of nature combin'd, Come like angels of peace to the care-stricken mind Is it thus in the bright Spirit Land? Or is it amid the old ocean caves, Where mariners sleep in their coral graves, As the angry wind howls, and the surge beats high, And the storm-spirit chants their lullaby? Is it there, where the water-nymph ever is seen, As she waves in the caverns her tresses green, Or marks the wild billows rise and fall As she lightly trips through the sparry hall Is it there, that bright Spirit Land? Alas! who shall fathom His ways, most high, Whose throne is revealed to no mortal eye ; Or lift the dim veil and in rapture ,tell The pilgrim of earth where his spirit shall dwell, When, freed from its cumbersome load of clay, It shall soar to the regions of endless day? 7 58 THE HUNTER'S BOOK. Or whether amid the bright lamps of heaven, That shine o'er our heads in the silent even; Or the nobler orbs that in grandeur roll, Proclaiming His glory from pole to pole ; Or in far-off climes, where no mortal hath trod; The spirit shall live in the presence of God! There the loved and lost of this earth shall be found, And heaven's high arch with their praises resound, As they join their rapt hearts and in gratitude sing Loud paeans of joy to their Saviour and King. There sin shall be finished and tears cease to flow, And sorrow and parting no more shall we know, But with prophets, and priests, and martyrs of old, Rejoice evermore as new glories unfold From the God of our being oh ! hasten the rest Of Eternity's year 'mong the ransom'd and blest: I would fly to that bright Spirit Land. THE INDIAN GIRL. BY JOHN NEAL. FAREWELL, farewell! the night wind blows A shadow o'er thy face farewell ! The sun is down the lilies close ; The water all about us flows More darkly, with a mournful swell. Nay, do not weep our love will be, In trial, sorrow, or distress, For ever, dear, a joy to me, A comfort all thy life to thee, Brown beauty of the wilderness ! Behold the waters all in flower, With lilies that in safety dwell: Be thou like them; thou hast the power, Whene'er the blue skies o'er thee lower, Shut up thy heart, dar fare thee well. THE PRINTER'S BO OK. 59 CONSOLATORY. BY LYMAN W. HALL. DARKLY life's storm-cloud o'er thee now is hanging, And the fierce tempest lingers o'er thy way; No more does Joy, her silver-trumpet twanging, Light her gay smiles throughout the sunny day. Visions of happiness no more are glowing Through the bright vista of an opening morn, And evening zephyrs in their blandness blowing, Seem dirge-like now to hearts so crushed and torn. IL The loves of earth, how swiftly do they perish, Unclasping fond affections tenderest tie ; The dearest objects that the heart can cherish, Pass like the tintings of a summer sky. The budding beauty of the opening flower, Casts its rich fragrance on the balmy air, Claims admiration for a transient hour, Then withers, emblem of the young and fair. m. Why should we mourn, when youth yields up existence, To join the train triumphant of the blest ? Brilliant and glorious in unmeasured distance, Gleams the empyrean of their final rest. Death's bolts, on every hand, so rudely dashing, But usher spirits to a world of bliss ; Why, when the light of joy on high is flashing, Why should we hold them in a world like this ? 60 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. IV. Dust unto dust that loved form now in sadness, Is yielded to the silence of the tomb ; A requiem wail gives place to notes of gladness, And funeral weeds spread forth a deep'ning gloom. Tears may descend the crystal fountain gushing, The bitter anguish of the heart may tell ; E'en " Jesus wept," when grief his soul was crushing, And with like grief thy bosom too may swell. v. In the fair morning of her youthful being, E'en in the promise of a gladsome day, Like a scared bird before a tempest fleeing, Stainless, she hied her from life's storm away Briefly her light step pressed earth's budding flowers Briefly to childhood's home she lent a grace Swift o'er her transient way danced happy hours, Like shadows fleeting o'er the dial's face. VI. In beauty robed, immortal and unending, View her, thy guardian in the upper skies Joyous, before the radiant throne now bending, Anon, on love's light wings to you she flies Hovers, on angel-mission, o'er thy dwelling. Drops a fond tear if spirits bless'd can weep To see deep anguish in thy bosom swelling ; And anxious vigil, fails not there to keep. VII. Dry then, fond mourner, dry thy tears of sorrow, An angel-spirit you to God have given; Wait through the day, there comes a bright to-morrow, When you shall join her in a joyous heaven. Thy passing joys on earth have only withered, To bloom the brighter in a fairer clime There shall the cherished loves of earth be gathered, And joys beyond the reach of thought sublime. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 61 VIII. Earth's dingy clouds are quickly onward rolling, Like storm-mists, driven by the tempest's wrath, On every hand, the solemn bells are tolling, And wrecks and fragments strew life's broken path, Serene, beyond this vale of fear and quaking ; Secure from all that we now feel or fear, Where hopes ne'er perish, where no hearts are aching, Dwell our loved ones, in joy's seraphic sphere. IX. While the swift moment hastes our sun to setting, And cloudy racks obscure the genial ray, The sorrowing past, in blissful hope forgetting, We'll leave for glories of the future day. Earth hath grown cold, while many a garnered treasure, Safe, in the far-off store-house of the sky, Yields a rich promise of eternal pleasure, And bids the tear-drop from the weeping eye. Sadly the cypress-wreath for all is weaving, For life's a mixture but of joys and tears ; Smiles light the eye, e'en when the bosom's heaving With anguish felt, or sorrow that it fears. The harp of life is like a lute-string broken, Its wasting cadence grates along the air; Fading from time is every lovely token, Gone are the loved, the young, the pure, the fair. XI. We'll meet them in that sphere, where flowers are springing Perennial, in the azure fields of light; Where spirits blest, from star to star are winging, Joyous and sparkling, their angelic flight The loved of earth, death can but briefly sever, These rolling orbs but haste the blissful day, When fading hopes and parting sighs forever, Shall yield to joys that never can decay. 62 THE TO A WAVE. BY THE LATE JAMES 0. ROCKWELL. LIST! thou child of wind and sea, Tell me of the far off deep, Where the tempest's wind is free, And the waters never sleep! Thou perchance the storm hast aided, In its work of stern despair, Or perchance thy hand hath braided, In deep caves, the mermaid's hair. Wave ! now on the golden sands, Silent as thou art, and broken, Bear'st thou not from distant strands To my heart some pleasant token? Tales of mountains of the south, Spangles of the ore of silver ; Which with playful singing mouth, Thou hast leaped on high to pilfer? Mournful wave ! I deemed thy song Was telling of a mournful prison, Which, when tempests sweep along, And the mighty winds were risen, Foundered in the ocean's grasp, While the brave and fair were dying, Wave! didst mark a white hand clasp In thy folds as thou wert flying? Hast thou seen the hallowed rock Where the pride of kings reposes, Crowned with many a misty lock, Wreathed with sapphire green and roses ? THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 63 Or with joyous playful leap, Hast- thou been a tribute flinging, Up that bold and jutty steep, Pearls upon the south wind stringing? Faded wave ! a joy to thee, Now thy flight and toil are over I O may my departure be Calm as thine, thou ocean rover ! When this soul's last joy or mirth On the shore of time is driven Be its lot like thine, on earth, To be lost away in heaven ! THE HUMAN VOICE. BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. WE all love the music of sky, earth and sea The chirp of the cricket the hum of the bee The wind-harp that swings from the bough of the tree The reed of the rude shepherd boy: All love the bird-carols when day has begun, When rock fountains gush into song as they run, When the stars of the morn sing their hymns to the sun, And hilla clap their hands in their joy. All love the invisible lutes of the air The chords that vibrate to the hands of the fair Whose minstrelsy brightens the midnight of care, And steals to the heart like a dove : But even in melody there is a choice, And, though we all in her sweet numbers rejoice, There's none thrills the soul like the tones of the voice 7 When breathed by the beings wo love. 64 THEPRINTER'SBOOK. WOMAN. BY THE LATE JOHN J. ADAMS. FEMALE loveliness cannot be clothed in a more imposing garb than that of knowledge. A female, thus arrayed, is one of the most interesting objects of creation. Every eye rests upon her with pleasure. The learned and wise of the opposite sex delight in her society, and affix to her character respect and veneration. Ignorance and folly stand reproved in her presence, and vice, in her bold career, shrinks abash- ed at her gaze. She moves, the joy the pride the delight of the domestic circle. She excites the praise the admira- tion of the world. A female, thus armed thus equipped is prepared to encounter evejy trial which this uncertain state may bring. To rise with proper elation to the pinnacle of fortune, or sink with becoming fortitude into the abyss of poverty. To attain, with a cheerful serenity, the heights of bliss or descend, with patient firmness, to the depths of woe. PRINTING. THE Art that shall hand down to latest posterity, to innu- merable millions yet unborn of God, the thoughts of men living now ; of men who lived centuries since, they defy time, and the printed manuscript of those men shall live, too full of soul to be put in the same grave with their perishable bodies. It was a bright thought of that author, who, in his dying moments, was just able to ask if the proof of his last work was correct, all ^corrected ! Yes, all. Then I shall have a complete edition in glory. THE PRESS : As darkness reveals to the human eye unseen worlds, so the Art of Printing has opened channels of com- munication which, if brought under a sanctified influence, will bless the latest generation. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 65 * *Ks4r(3 tootbnoy/ " edl til .oaclq :nilfowb *B bofloeioq eJi oioill ,YRWK Iil'id otifiw -ml let T^tr.rl tuiliiv t^iorni /i9 V3 -jo) boiDviflg THOUGHTS. BY WILLIAM W. HOLDEN. "BuT little reck'st thou, oh, my child! Of travail on life's thorny wild ! Ah, little reck'st thou of the scene So darkly wrought that spreads between The little all we here can find, And the dark mystic sphere behind!" OUR life's young hours ! How beautiful ! What joys ! what unmixed pleasures throng their rosy bowers ! They reck not of the future the present is ever unfolding new dreams and images, and we are happy. And when their hours have overpast, and the stern trials of manhood come on, what unforgotten glories have they treasured up for us ! We re- member the theatres and haunts of our young hours ; we re- member the silver fountain, the flowery meadow, where we loved to play the live-long day ; and the lone wild trees and mountains we have watched and wondered at through the long hours of midnight. And we would not forget them. But manhood's hour must come on. The visions so brightly beaming before us in the hope of childhood's eye have fa- ded the scoff and blight, and reverse of time's revolutions must now pass over us. And who may look unmoved upon the wrecks of time ? Roll back its billowy tide, and gaze upon them. There we see the tyrant monarch, whose iron tread hath been over honor and innocence here we see the death of infancy, the toil and struggle of the world's best and most virtuous. Shall we sorrow for either. We may not. We should rather lift up our spirits to the final Arbiter, No change of fortune, no prostration of virtue, no triumph of power, hath escaped His eye not a sigh, nor a song of earth but hath trembled amid the mysterious realms of His far-off 8 06 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. dwelling place. In the "wondrous cycles" of Eternity shall the world's history be spread out If here tyrannic vice hath for awhile held sway, there its poisoned sceptre shall be shivered for ever. If here, virtue hath fallen, there her golden temple shall rest upon the unshaken firmness of Heaven's adamantine pillars ; and her earthly flowerets that bloomed for a moment and departed, will there know no Autumn, no cold winds nor deadly sunlight. If here, the youth cast aside am- bition, and the littleness of earthly glory, there the spirit's tenement, immortalized, may wear the vestments of an un- fading honor, and pluck amaranthine chaplets from the stars that perpetually sweep on beneath him. There's a light that encircles that beautiful land ; Yet the sun hath ne'er shone, nor the moon gone o'er Its diamond walls or its golden shore For its realm ia untouch'd by Time's cold wand. There are loud, strange tones in that beautiful land ; Yet they tell not of sorrow nor sin as they go O'er its vales and o'er fountains that evermore flow For they swell from a deathless band. We shall meet in that beautiful land! There no pledges of earth may exist as a token That our friendship and love should be ever unbroken But the wave of pure friendship shall float o'er that clime, And its wreath of mild glory each brow shall entwine When we meet in that beautiful land ! THE AMERICAN FLAG. , FAMED Banner of the Free the eagle came From his far dwelling, 'midst the eternal hills, To rest upon thee and the radiant stars Caught in their living lustre from the heavens, Flash brightly round him, and the ages wear, No sunlit pinion from his regal wing. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 67 THE PILGRIMAGE TO MANHOOD. ' BY HORACE GREELEY. WE are in no danger of estimating too highly the extraordi- nary character of the age in which our lot has been cast, and of the influences by which we are surrounded. The Present is the proper, theme of Poetry, the fitting scene of Romance. Whoev,er shall even faintly realize the mighty events, the stir- ring impulses, the lofty character of our time, is in no danger of passing through life grovelling and unobservant as the dull beast that crops the thistles by the wayside. The Past has its lessons, doubtless, and well is it for those who master and heed them ; but, were it otherwise, the Present has themes enough of ennobling interest to employ all our faculties to engross all our thoughts, save as they should contemplate the still grander, vaster Hereafter. Do they talk to us of Grecian of Roman heroism ? They say well ; but Genius died not with Greece ; and Heroism has scarcely a recorded achievement which our own age could not parallel. What momentary deed of reckless valor can compare with the life-long self-devo- tion of the Missionary in some far cluster of Indian lodges," or Tartar huts, cut off from society, from sympathy, and from earthly hope? How easy, how common to dare death with Alexander ! how rare to live nobly as Washington, and feel no ambition but that of doing good 1 Take the efforts for the elevation of the African race in our day ill directed as some of them appear and yet Antiquity might well be challenged to produce any thing out of the sphere of Sacred History half so heroic and divine. Let us, then, waste little time in looking back to earlier ages for high examples and deeds that stir the blood. Let us not idly imagine that the Old World em- bosoms scenes and memorials dearer to the lover of Truth, of Freedom, and of Man, than those of our own clime. Let us THE PRINTER'S BOOK. rebel alike the braggart's vain-glory and self-disparagement of degeneracy ; yet cherish the faith that nowhere are there purer skies, more inspiring recollections, or more magnificent landscapes than those in which our own green land rejoices. Where shall the patriot pulse beat high if not on Bunker Hill or Saratoga ? Where has nature displayed her grandeur if not in the great valley of the Father of Waters ? Are not the scenes of man's noblests efforts, of God's rarest earthly handi- work, all around and among us ? Have / not listened to the roar of Niagara and stood by the grave of Mount Vernon ? Let me not be accused of dwelling too long on the visible and the palpable on external Nature when my theme re- gards internal Man. No reflecting mind can hesitate to admit that to a great extent the circumstances shape the man. None of us would have difficulty in pointing out among his circle one at least who would be a Catholic at Rome, a Turk ( if born such ) at Constantinople, an idolater at Pekin would it be as easy to instance one who would not be thus moulded ? As with the highest of all human affirmations Faith in God so with our lower deeds and developments. All know that the moun- taineer is more hardy than the dweller in the vales beneath the native of the rugged climate than he who is ripined beneath an equatorial sun. Have not the raw breezes from snow-clad heights been ever held an inspiration to the soul of Liberty ? Is not the sailor oftcnest born beside the heaving expanse which he chooses for his home ? I would not explain all difference of character or capacity by the action of extraneous influences on the immortal spirit the organs of the Phrenologist, the decree of the Fatalists, the circumstances of the Owenite and yet I shrink from the temerity of setting bounds to their sway. Though we speak of the inscrutable ways of the Deity, we accuse only our own imperfectness of vision. The eye of Faith, and not less that of Reason, recognizes in all His ways regular successions of effect to cause, from the warming into life of an insect to the creation of a world. If then we read that the son and heir of a wise and good ruler, proved a weak yet bloody tyrant, let us not rashly infer the procession of Evil from Good. We have yet to be assured that the good king was an equally good father that pressing cares of state, THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 69 or possibly some defect of character, did not incline him, to neglect the great duty of training up his son, and imbuing him with the seeds of all moral good. So with the reprobate and outcast scion of an exemplary house we say, indeed, that his opportunities of good were equal to those of his brethren, and his temptations to wrong no greater than theirs ; but how do we know ? It were well for the safety of our ready and confi- dent assertion if we had first assured ourselves that no inhe- rent vice of physical organization no bodily defect preceding the susceptibility to a moral impression no silent, unnoted but yet potent agency, has produced the disparity we observe and lament, before we had so positively concluded that men may gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles. Yet let us not hotly and heedlessly pursue this truth till we lose ourselves and it in the mazes of error, the opposite of that we would dissipate. There is very much of human attainment dependent on circumstances; let us not forget how much also I will not say vastly more depends on essential Man. There is a deplorably immense multitude who live but to eat boun- teously and daintily with whom the sum of life is practical- ly to compass the largest amount of rich viands and gaudy trappings with the smallest outlay of effort or perseverance to procure them this mass will be at Rome Romans, at Moscow Russians, and nothing more. There will be some small varie- ties or shadings of individual character, calculated to gratify by their study the minute curiosity of an entomologist, and inte- resting to him only. But let one of these human ephemera be awakened, however casually or blindly, to the higher impulses the nobler ends of our Being, and he is instantly transferred to a r different world or rather the world which surrounds him takes on a different aspect, and what before was bleak waste, or dull expanse of wooded height and low herbage, assumes a deep spiritual significance. To his unfolding, wondering soul, Nature is no more a Poet's rhapsody, a Chemist's generaliza- tion, but a living presence, a solemn yet cheering companion- ship. No matter whether he be in social position, a peer or a peasant, by birth Danish or Egyptian, one glance at the world within has placed him with those whose countrymen and breth- ren are all Mankind. He has no need now to change his daily 70 THE pursuit or outward condition, for he has risen by inevitable force to an atmosphere of serenity, above the influence of merely external influences and petty limitations. He has not toilsomely but naturally attained a condition in which the soul no longer blindly pants for eminence or homage, but realizes intensely that nobly to Do for the sake of nobly Doing and its intrinsic results rightly to Be for the sake of rightly Being discarding " the lust to shine or rule," is the true end of life. And here let me hazard the remark that our unquietness, our ant-hill bustle is the severest criticism on our present intellectual condition and efforts. True greatness may be said to resemble the water in some perennial fountain, which rises ever and spontaneously, because in communication with some exhaust- less reservoir more capacious and higher than itself; while the effort to be great is like the stream forced up by some en- gine or hydrant, which towers a moment unsteadily and then falls to water but the weeds by the wayside. And thus our young men of promise, who would seem to be touched by a live coal from off the altar of genius whom we are led fondly to regard as the light and hope of our age the heralds and the hasteners of that fairer future which our hearts so throbbingly anticipate seem for the most part to lack that element of natural quietude, of unconscious strength, which we are rightly accustomed to consider a prediction and an accom- paniment of the highest Manhood. Here in some rude hamlet in some boorish neighborhood there starts into view a rare youth, whom the Divine spark would seem to have quickened who bids fair to freshen by at least a chaplet the dusty path- way of human endeavor. But forthwith the genius must be bandaged into rigidity some education society, or kindred contrivance for the promotion of dulness and mediocrity, must take hold of him and place him in its go-cart there must be tomes of word-knowledge and the petrifactions of by-gone wis- dom hurled through his cranium he must be led away from all useful labor of the hands, and his already precocious intellect subjected to the hot-house culture of some seminary, no matter how unsuited to his mental or social condition ; thus losing his independence, essential and pecuniary, and putting his whole life upon a single throw of the dice, and they so loaded that the THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 71 chances are heavily against him. And this is called developing the man and making the most of his natural gifts, though it would seem quite as likely to blast them altogether. With new scenes and an utter transformation of attitude and aims, come strange and dizzying excitement, extravagant hopes, inordinate ambition, along with novel temptings to dissipation on the one hand, as well as to excessive study on the other. I will not say that the result of this course may not in most in- stances be satisfactory ; I only urge that you put at hazard the youth whom Nature has marked for noble ends, trusting to make of him the man of profound acquirements, who after all may be worth less than the material out of which he was con- structed. May we not rather trust something to Nature? Would we willingly exchange to-day the ROBERT BURNS she gave us for his counterpart educated in a University ? Would we not prefer that the poor, rudely-taught Ayrshire plough- man had never seen Edinburgh and its cultivated circles at all ? And yet I have only taken hold of one corner of the forcing system. Its widest if not its worst evils are felt by those our impromptu collegian leaves behind him in the conviction impressed upon the youth left in the hamlet that they can never be any thing but ox-drivers, because they cannot enjoy the advantages of what is termed a classical education. Thence the poison of disquiet and discontent j the irresolution to act worthily under a mistaken impression that adverse circum- stances have forbidden that any thing shall worthily be done. I confess I look with anxiety on what seems to me the per- verted aspiration so universal among us* There is an incessant straining for outward and visible advantages to be Legisla- tors, Governors, Professional men, Teachers there is too little appreciation of that greatness which is intrinsic and above the reach of accident. I am not insensible to the ad- vantages of a systematic induction into all the arcana of Science of a knowledge of Languages and a mastery of their vast treasures the possession even of power and its honors- All these are well in their way, but they are not properly within the legitimate reach of all who feel that they have souls. More intently than even these I would have our young men contemplate and be moulded upon such characters and lives as 72 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. those of our FRANKLIN, the penniless, active Apprentice, the thriving, contented, Mechanic, the peerless Philosopher, the idolized yet not flattered ambassador ; our WASHINGTON, car- rying the surveyor's chain through swamp and brier, forming with his own hatchet a rude raft for crossing the deep-shaded* savage-haunted Ohio ; long and ably defending his country at the head of her armies ; at length laying aside the cares of a Nation's destinies, resisting the affectionate entreaties of millions that he would continue to bear sway over half a continent, in order that he may enjoy for the brief remainder of an active, glorious life, the blessings of the domestic fire-side, the un- troubled sleep which comes only to the couch of private life. There is here a sweet unconsciousness of greatness, that we realize and cling to at a glance. We recognize under every change of circumstance the strong and true Man, superior to any freak of Fortune. No culture could have made these men more or less than they appear alike to us and to all observers. Is not the lesson they teach us at once distinct and in- vigorating ? Let me not be misunderstood. I value and prize Learning, Knowledge, Culture, while esteeming Self-Culture and Self- Development, the sum of them all. I would have no youth reject facilities for acquiring them which may fairly and justly present themselves, so that he may embrace them without sa- crifice of his proper independence or neglect of his proper du- ties and responsibilities as a son, a brother, a citizen. What I object to is the too common notion that the higher Education o the Schools is essential to his development and his usefulness in life, thus making the Circumstance every thing, the Man nothing. If I have not incorrectly observed, the effect of this prevalent impression is often to pervert and misplace the indi- vidual whom it specially contemplates, while it is morally cer- tain to work injury to the great mass of his brethren by origi- nal condition. A youth in humble life evinces talent, genius, or the love of knowledge and facility of acquiring it, which are quite commonly confounded with either or both. Forthwith he must be taken hold of and transplanted, and stimulated to acquirement, in an atmosphere and under influences wholly different from those which have thus far nourished and quick- TUB PRINTER'S BOOK. 78 cncd him. Now I do not say that this novel, stimulating pro- cess will necessarily mildew or distort him I do not say that he is inevitably thrust by it into a strange orbit for which he is unbalanced and unfitted I do not say that he will be educated into flightiness or dunce-hood, though such cases may be have been. What I would most earnestly insist on is this, that the continual repetition of this process confirms our aspiring youth in the mistaken impression that they can be nothing with- out a collegiate education and a profession, while it depresses and stunts the undistinguished many by a still keener humiliation. They had not hoped nor aspired to give light to others they had presumed only to sun themselves in the rays of intellect which had burst on their own unnoted sphere. In the young aspirant to whom their village, their class, had given birth, they recognised with gladness and pride an evidence of the essential brotherhood of Man a link between the lowliest and the most exalted. He has shed a redeeming halo of glory and beauty, of hope and joy, over the triteness and drudgery of their daily paths. But in the first moment of their fond exul- tation, the unfolding genius expands its new-found wings and soars beyond their sphere, leaving them to gaze with sinking heart on its ascending, receding flight, troubled and depressed where they should have been assured and strengthened. As a farmer, an artizan in their midst, he would have been their glory and blessing their " guide, philosopher, and friend," * for there is nothing in the contact of true genius which dis- courages nor disconcerts ; but he hies away to some distant city or seminary, and now he is no longer of them, but has vis- ibly enrolled himself in a different class, whose members they may admire, look up to, and even reverence, but cannot clasp in the bands of a true and genial sympathy. There are too many folds of papyrus between his heart and theirs. What I would urge then, is this, that the deep want of our time is not a greater number of scholars, professional men, pastors, educa- tors, (though possibly there may be some improvement here in the quality :) the need of new, strong, penetrating and healthy men is felt rather in the less noticeable walks of life. We need to bring the sunlight of Genius to bear on the common walks to dignify the sphere as well as facilitate the opera- 9 74 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. lions of the Useful Arts ; to hallow and exalt the pathway of honest, unpretending Industry. It is here that the next deci- ded movement is needed and will be made in the way of Human Progress not a pushing forward of the vanguard* but a bringing up of the main body. The deep want of the .time is that the vast resources and capacities of Mind, the far- stretching powers of Genius and of Science, be brought to bear practically arid intimately on Agriculture, the Mechanic Arts, and all the now rude and simple processes of Day-Labor and not merely that these processes may be perfected and accel- erated but that the benefits of the improvements may accrue in at least equal measure to those whose accustomed means of livelihood scanty at best are interfered with and overturned by the change. Not merely that these be measurably enriched, but that they be informed and elevated by the vast industrial transformations now in progress or in embryo, is the obvious requirement. Here opens a field for truly heroic exertion and achievement, far wider and nobler than that of any Political heroism of ancient or modern time, because its results must be deeper, more pervading, more enduring. I would insist then that our youth of promise shall not be divorced from the physi- cal toil, the material interests of our and their natal condition, while qualifying themselves for the highest spheres of useful- ness and endeavor. I would not have them, like Geography in our Atlases, contemplate that hemisphere in which the greatest advances have already been effected, to the exclusion of that wherein the greatest triumphs yet remain to be achieved. I would not have them bedeck themselves in the spoils of by- gone victories, and forget that the adversaries, Ignorance and Obstacle yet remain formidable and imminent. But above all, I would have no youth feel that he is debarred the opportunities of a useful and honorable, if he please, a lofty and heroic career, because the means of obtaining a Classical Education are denied him. I will not point him to the many who have inscribed their names high on the rolls of enviable fame without such Education, for the logic therein implied might as well be used to reconcile him to the loss of an eye or an arm. I will not argue to him that circumstances are indifferent or unimportant ; I have freely admitted the contrary. 75 But I would urge to such a one that the essential circumstance is the awakening of the soul to a consciousness of its own powers and responsibilities, and that this is determined in the very fact of his seeking, with eye single and heart pure, a larger development, a more thorough culture. This point attained let him doubt nothing, fear nothing, save his own steadiness of purpose, and loftiness of aim. Be not discouraged then awakened youth, in some lowly cot- tage, some boorish valley, by the magnitude of others' at- tainments, the richness of others' facilities for acquiring and investigating, as contrasted with the seeming poverty of your own ; but remember and be reverently thankful that the same high stars which shining so brightly upon the palace, the university, the senate house, have kindled the souls of philosophers, sages, statesmen in times past, now look down as kindly, inspiringly on you ; and in the fact that they have touched an answering chord within you is an earnest that their companionship shall never more be sullen or fruitless. From this hour shall all Nature be your teacher, your min- istrant ; her infinite grandeur no longer a barren pageant ; her weird and solemn voices no more unmeaning sounds. Though they should come to you no more at second-hand from the lips of her Pindar, her Shakspeare, they can never more be hushed nor unheeded ; they have passed from the realm of darkness, doubt, of speculation, and become to you the deepest and grandest realities of Human Life ! THE PRESS. THE modern Sybil, whose leaves, all written over with living truths or lying wonders, are borne on every breeze to the ends of the earth. May there be attending priests and scribes, to arrange and set forth her responses, as the oracles of God, that they who trust to them, rnay not be confounded. 76 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. FRAGMENTS. BY THE LATE WILLIAM B. MARSH. I STOOD upon a spot consecrated by the blood of our fathers the first battle ground of the Revolution, where the opposing armies of England and America first met in dreadful conflict. It was an elevated site, covered with rich green sward, sloping gradually down to the water's edge on either hand. The air of peaceful, dreamy repose, which brooded over it, contrasted strongly with the time, when its sides ran down with blood when the long grass was crimsoned with human gore ! Alas ! who can realize the depth and extent of misery which follow in the wake of sanguinary warfare ? How igno- ble the triumphs of conquerors, who, stimulated by ambition and avarice, have hewn their way to thrones through blood! Happily, no such reminiscences are awakened here. A higher, a holier principle gave the impulse, and sealed the victory. READER ! hast thou a home, to which long absence has ren- dered thee a stranger? Is that home in some quiet and romantic village, diversified with hill, and dale, and flower, and shrub its shores washed by some broad and shining river whose margin is skirted by deep old forests, vocal with the many mingled harmonies of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the moaning of the rich and cumbersome foliage ? Canst picture to thy mind the time when, in happy innocence, thou hast wan- dered among its sequestered haunts, and whiled away the hours in mirthfulness and glee ? And hath fate taken thee from these scenes of joy, and sent thee forth into the wide world in the flush of early youth, to cope, single-handed, with its trials and troubles ? And after years of alternate joys and sorrows, when hope was almost extinct in thy bosom, and thou hast fancied thyself the sport of fortune, have unforeseen events restored thee to the arms of those who had long since buried thee, as it were, forever ? If yea, thy hand perchance we may commune pleasantly and profitably together. 17 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. THE NEEDLE. BY THE LATE SAMUEL WOODWORTH. THE gay belles of fashion may boast of excelling In waltz or cotillion at whist or quadrille ; And seek admiration by vauntingly telling Of drawing, and painting, and musical skill; But give me the fair one in country or city, Whose home and its duties are dear to her heart, Who cheerfully warbles some rustical ditty, While plying the needle with exquisite art, The bright little needle the swift, flying needle, . The needle directed by beauty and art. If love have a potent, a magical token, A talisman ever resistless and true A charm that is never evaded or broken, A witchery certain the heart to subdue 'Tis this and his armory never has furnished So keen and unerring, or polished a dart ; Let beauty direct it, so pointed and burnished, And oh! it is certain of touching the heart. Be wise, then, ye maidens, nor seek admiration By dressing for conquest, and flirting with all, You never whate'er be your fortune or station, Appear half so lovely at rout or at ball, As gaily convened at a work-covered table, Each cheerfully active and playing her part, Beguiling the task with a song or a fable, And plying the needle with exquisite art. ON A LOVELY COQUETTE. A woman with a winning face, But with a heart untrue, Though beautiful, is valueless As diamonds formed of dew. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 78 THE PRICELESS PEARL. BY ISAAC F. JONES. THERE is a pearl more rich and fair Than Indian gems of value rare More pure than Ophir's gold ; A pearl whose lustre ne'er declines, Whose matchless beauty ever shines In land of joys untold ; A land no mortal eye hath seen, For death's dark shadows intervene. That pearl no mountain cave contains, Nor coral bed in deep domains, The booming wave below ; Its light is not that glittering ray, Which gilded baubles oft display, With momentary glow Its mellow rays are ever shed Around the dying Christian's bed. 'Tis not a pearl by Avarice sought A pearl from distant regions brought In ev'ry clime 'tis found; RELIGION is this pearl divine, Which on the humble heart will shine, And ever shall abound : To all who choose 'tis freely given, A foretaste of the joys of Heaven. This pearl will light the darkest way, Night's cheerless hours will turn to day, And rays of hope impart ; Dispel the gathering fears that roll Oppressive o'er the parting soul, And cheer the sinking heart And wide unfold the throne of Him, Who dwells amid the Cherubim. 79 LOVE. BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR. /. A FADING, fleeting dream! That blinds awhile with bright and dazzling ray, Until the heart is wildered by its beam, And wanders from its lofty path away, While meteors wild like holy planets gleam, To tempt our steps astray! A creature of the brain! Whom poets painted with a hue divine That, bright embodied in their thrilling strain, Makes the soul drunken, as with mental wine, While the heart bows in longing and in pain Before its mystic shrine! The shadow of a bliss! That flies the spirit hastening to enjoy That seems to come from fairer climes than this, To throw its spells around the dreaming boy, But steals his quiet with its Siren-kiss, And robs his soul of joy ! Is this that power unknown That rules the world with curbless, boundless sway, Binding the lowest cot and loftiest throne In golden fetters, which resist decay, And breathing o'er each cold and rugged zone The balminess of May? No! By the soul's high trust On Him whose mandate bade the planets move! Who, kind and merciful, though sternly just, Gave unto man that loftiest boon of love, To bless the spirit till his form is dust, Then soar with it above! 60 Tis no delusive spell, Binding the fond heart in its shadowy hall; But 'neath its power the purer feelings swell, Till man forgets his thraldom and his fall, And bliss, that slumbers in the spirit's cell, Wakes at its magic call. Where'er its light has been, But for a moment, twilight will remain; Beibre whose ray, the night-born thoughts of sin Cease from their torture of the maddened brain, The spirit, deepest fallen, it can win To better thoughts again! 'Tis for the young a star, Beckoning the spirit to the future on Shining with pure and steady ray afar, The herald of a yet unbroken dawn, Where every fetter that has power to bar In its warm glow is gone! Who ne'er hath oped his heart To that dove-messenger on life's dark sea, Binds down his soul, in cold, mistaken art, When vainly hoping he has made it free! In earth's great family he takes no part He has not learned to le! Who longs to feel its glow, And nurtures every spark unto him given, Has instincts of the rapture he shall know When from its thralling dust the soul is riven. He breathes, so long it blesses him below, The native air of Heaven! THE MAGNETIC TELEGRAPH. "The steed called Lightning," says the Fates, " Is owned in the United States ; 'Twas FRANKLIN'S hand that caught the horse, 'Twas harnessed by Professor MORSE." THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 81 THE WIDOW BY BREVET. BY N. PARKER WILLIS. LET me introduce the courteous reader to two ladies. Miss Picklin, a tall young lady of twenty-one, near enough to good-looking to permit of a delusion on the subject (of which however, she had an entire monopoly), with cheeks always red in a small spot, lips not so red as the cheeks, and rather thin, sharpish nose, and waist very slender ; and last (not least important), a very long neck, scalded on either side into a resemblance to a scroll of shriveled parchment, which might or might not be considered as a mts-fortune serving her as a title-deed to twenty-thousand dollars. The scald was inflicted, and the fortune left in consequence, by a maiden aunt, who, in the baby-hood of Miss Picklin, attempted to cure the child's sore throat by an application of cabbage-leaves steeped in hof vinegar. Miss Euphemia Picklin, commonly called Phemie a good- humored girl, rather inclined to be fat, but gifted with several points of beauty of which she was not at all aware, very much a pet among her female friends, and, admitting, with perfect sincerity and submission, her sister's exclusive right to the admiration of the gentlemen of their acquaintance. Captain Isaiah Picklin, the father of these ladies, was a merchant of Salem, an importer of figs and opium, and once master of the brig, "Simple Susan," which still plied between his warehouse and Constantinople nails and codfish the cargo outward. I have not Miss Picklin's permission to mention the precise date of the events I am about to record, and leaving that point alone to the imagination of the reader, I shall set down the other particulars and impediments in her " course of true love" with historical fidelity. Ever since she had been of sufficient age, to turn her atten- tion exclusively to matrimony, Miss Picklin had nourished a pre- 10 82 sentiment that her destiny was exotic ; that the soil of Salem was too poor, and the indigenous lovers too mean ; and that, potted in her twenty thousand dollars, she was a choice pro- duction, set aside for flowering in a foreign clime, and destin- ed to be transplanted by a foreign lover. With this secret in her bosom, she had refused one or two gentlemen of middle age, recommended by her father, beside sundry score of young gentlemen of slender revenues in her own set of acquaintances, till, if there had been anything beside poetry in Shakspeare's assertion, that it is ** Broom groves Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves/' the neighboring " brush barrens" ofSaogus would have sold in lots at a premium. It was possibly from the want of night- ingales, to whose complaining notes the gentleman of Verona " turned his distresses," that the discarded of Salem preferred the consolations of Phemie Picklin. News to the Picklins I Hassan Keui, the son of old Abdoul Keui, was coming out in the " Simple Susan !" A Turk a live Turk a young Turk, and a son of her father's rich cor- respondent in Turkey ! " Ah me !" thought Miss Picklin. The captain himself was rather taken aback. He had known- old Abdoul for many years, had traded and smoked with him in the cafes of Galata, had gone out with him on Sundays to lounge on the tombstones at Scutari, and had never thought twice about his yellow gown and fed trowsers ; but what the deuce would be thought of them in Salem ? True, it was his son ; but a Turk's clothes descend from father to son through three generations ; he knew that, from remembering this very boy all but smothered in a sort of saffron blanket, with sleeves like pillow-cases his first assumption of the toga virilis (not that old Picklin knew Latin, but such was " his sentiment better expressed"). Then he had never been asked to the house of the Stamboul merchant, not introduced to his wives nor his daughters (indeed, he had forgotten that old Keui was near cutting his throat for asking utter them) but of course it was very different in Salem. Young Keui must be the Picklia 83 s guest, fed and lodged, and the girls would want to give him a tea-party. Would he sit on a chair, or want cushions on the floor ? Would he come to dinner with his breast bare, and leave his boots outside? Would he eat rice- pudding with his fingers ? Would he think it indecent if the girls didn't wear linen cloths, Turkey fashion, over their mouths and noses ? Would he bring his pipes ? Would he fall on his face and say his prayers four times a day, wherever he should be (with a clean place handy) ? What would the neighbors say ? The captain worked himself into a violent perspiration with merely thinking of all this. The Salemites have a famous museum, and know " what manner of thing is your crocodile;" but a live Turk consigned to Captain Picldin ! It set the town in a fever ! It would leave an indelicate opening for a conjecture as to Miss Picklin's present age, were I to state whether or not the arrival of the " Simple Susan" was reported by telegraph. She ran in with a fair wind one Sunday morning, and was immediately boarded by the harbor-master and Captain Pick- lin; and there, true to the prophetic boding of old Isaiah, the young Turk sat cross-legged on the quarter-deck, in a white turban and scarlet et ceteras, smoking his father's identical pipe no other, the captain would have taken his oath ! Up rose Hassan, when informed who was his visitor, and taking old Picklin's hand, put it to his forehead. The weather- stained sea-captain had bleached in the counting-house, and he had not at first sight, remembered the old friend of his father. He passed the pipe into Isaiah's hand and begged him to keep it as a memento of Abdoul, for his father had died at the last Ramazan, Hassan had come out to see the world, and secure a continuance of codfish and good-will from the house of Picklin ; and the merchant got astride the tiller of his old craft, and smoked this news through his amber-mouthed lega- cy, while the youth went below, to get ready to go ashore. The reader, of course will prefer to share the first impres- sions of the ladies as to the young Mussulman's personal ap- pearance, and I pass, at once, therefore, to their dissappoint- ment, surprise, mortification and vexation : when, as the bells were ringing for church, the front door opened, their father 84 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. entered, and in followed a young gentleman in frock-coat and trowsers ! Yes, and in his hand a hat a black hat and on his feet no yellow boots, but calfskin, mundane and common calfskin, and with no shaved head, and no twisted shawl around his waist ; nothing to be seen but a very handsome young man, indeed, with teeth like a fresh slice of cocoa-nut meat, and a very deliberate pronunciation to his bad English. Miss Picklin's disappointment had to be slept upon, for she had made great outlay of imagination upon the pomp and cir- cumstance of wedding a white Othello in the eyes of wondering Salem ; but Phemie's surprise took but five minutes to grow into a positive pleasure ; and never suspecting, at any time, that she was visible to the naked eye during the eclipsing pres- ence of her sister, she sat with a very admiring smile upon her lips, and her soft eyes fixed earnestly on the stranger, till she had made out a full inventory of his features, proportions, manners, and other stuffavailable in dream-land. What might be Hassan's impression of the young ladies, could not be gath- ered from his manner ; for, in the first place, there was the re- serve which belonged to him as a Turk, and, in the second place, there was a violation of all Oriental notions of modesty in their exposing their chins to the masculine observation ; and though he could endure the exposure, it was of course with that diffidence of gaze which accompanies the consciousness of improper objects adding to his demeanor another shade of timidity. Miss Picklin's shoulders were not invaded quite to the limits of terra cognita by the cabbage-leaves which had exercised such an influence on her destiny ; and as the scalds somewhat resembled two maps of South America (with Patagonia under each ear), she usually, in full dress, gave a clear view of the surrounding ocean wisely thinking it better to have the geo- graphy of her disfigurement well understood, than, by covering a small extremity (as it were the isthmus of Darien), to leave an undiscovered North America to the imagination. She ap- peared accordingly at dinner in a costume not likely to dimin- ish the modest embarrassment of Mr. Keui (as she chose to call him) extremely decollete, in a pink silk dress with short sleeves, and in a turban with a gold fringe the latter, of course, THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 85 out of compliment to his country. " Money Is power," even in family circles, and it was only Miss Picklin who exercised the privilege of full dress at a mid-day dinner. Phemie came to table dressed as at breakfast, and if she felt at all envious of her sister's pink gown and elbows to match, it did not appear in her pleasant face or sisterly attention. The captain would allow anything, and do almost anything, for his rich daughter; but as to dining with his coat on, in hot weather, company or no company, he would rather " be set quick i' the earth, And bowled to death with turnips" . though that is not the way he expressed it. The parti carre, therefore (for there was no Mrs. Picklin), was in the matter of costume, rather incongruous, but, as the Turk took it for granted that it was all according to the custom of the country, the carving was achieved by the shirt-sleeved captain, and the pudding " helped" by his bare-armed daughter, with no par- ticular commotion in the elements. Earthquakes do not inva- riably follow violations of etiquette particularly where no- body is offended. After the first day, things took their natural course as near as they were able. Hassan was not very quick at con- versation, always taking at least five minutes to put together for delivery, a sentence in English ; but his laugh did not hang fire, nor did his nods and smiles ; and where ladies are voluble (as ladies sometimes are), this paucity of ammunition on the gentleman's part is no prelude to discomfiture. Then Phemie had a very fair smattering of Italian, and that being the busi- ness language of the Levant, Hassan took refuge in it whenever brought to a stand-still in English a refuge, by-the-way, of which he seemed inclined to avail himself oftener than was consistent with Miss Picklin's exclusive property in his atten- tion. Rebellious though Hassan might secretly have been to this authority over himself, Phemie was no accomplice, nat- ural modesty combining with the long habit of subserviency lo make her even anticipate the exactions of the heiress ; and so Miss Picklin had " Mr. Keui" principally to herself, prome- 86 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. ^ . nading him through the streets of Salem, and bestowing her sweetness upon him from his morning entrance to his evening exit ; Phemie relieving guard very cheerfully, while her sister dressed for dinner. It was possibly from being permitted to converse in Italian during this half hour, that Hassan made it the only part of the day in which he talked of himself and his house on the Bosphorus, but that will not account also for Phemie's sighing while she listened never having sighed be- fore in her life, not even while the same voice was talking English to her sister. Without going into a description of the Picklin tea party, at which Hassan was induced to figure in his Oriental cos- tume, while Miss Picklin sat by him on a cushion, turbaned arid (probably) cross-legged, a la Sultana, and without re- cording other signs satisfactory to the Salemitcs, that the young Turk had fallen to the scalded heiress " As does the osprey to the fish, that takes it, By sovereignty of nature," I must come plump to the fact, that on the Monday following (one week after his arrival), Hassan left Salem ^waccompan- ied by Miss Picklin. As he had asked for no private interview in the best parlor, and had made his final business arrangements with the captain, so that he could take passage from New- York without returning, some people were inclined to fancy that Miss Picklin's demonstrations with regard to him had been a little premature. And " some people" chose to smile. But it was reserved for Miss Picklin to look round in church, in about one year from this event, and have her triumph over " some people ;" for she was about to sail for Constantinople " sent for," as the captain rudely expressed it. But I must explain. The " Simple Susan" came in heavily freighted with a consignment from the house of Keui to Picklin & Co., and a letter from the American consul at Constantinople wrapped in the invoice. With the careful and ornate wording of an of- ficial epistle, it stated that EfFendi Hassan Keui had called on the consul, and partly from the mistrust of his ability to ex- press himself in English on so delicate a subject, but more par- THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 87 ticularly for the sake of approaching the object of his affec- tions with proper deference and ceremony, he had requested that officer to prepare a document conveying a proposal of mar- riage to the daughter of Captain Picklin. The incomplete state of his mercantile arrangements while at Salem the pre- vious year, would account for his silence on the subject at that time, but he trusted that his preference had been sufficiently manifest to the lady of his heart ; and as his prosperity in bus- iness depended on his remaining at Constantinople, enriching himself only for her sake, he was sure that the singular request appended to his offer would be taken as a mark of his prudence rather than as a presumption. The cabin of the " Simple Su- san," as Captain Picklin knew, was engaged on her next pas- sage to Constantinople by a party of missionaries, male and female, and the request was to the intent that, in case of an acceptance of his offer, the fair daughter of the owner would come out, under their sufficient protection,, to be wedded, if she should so please, on the day of her arrival in the " Golden Horn." As Miss Picklin had preserved a mysterious silence on the subject of " Mr. Keui's" attentions since his departure, and as a lady with twenty thousand dollars in her own right is, of course, quite independent of parental control, the captain, after running his eye hastily through the document, called to the boy who was weighing out a quintal of codfish, and bade him wrap the letter in a brown paper and run with it to Miss Pick- lin taking it for granted that she knew more about the matter than he did, and would explain it all when he came 4 home to- dinner. In thinking the matter over, on his way home, it occurred to old Picklin that it was worded as if he had but one daughter. At any rate, he was quite sure that neither of his daughters- was particularly specified, either by name or age. No doubt it was all right, however. The girls understood it. " So it's you, miss !" he said, as Miss Picklin looked round from the turban she was trying on before the glass. " Certainly, pa ! who else should it be ?" And there ended the captain's doubts, for he never again got sight of the letter, and the turmoil of preparation for Miss Pick- 88 THE PRINT E R ' BOOK. lin's voyage, made the house anything but a place for getting answers to impertinent questions. Phemie, whom the news had made silent and thoughtful, let drop a hint or two that she would like to see the letter ; but a mysterious air, and " La, child, you wouldn't understand it," was check enough for her timid curiosity, and she plied her needle upon her sister's wed- ding-dress with patient submission. The preparations for the voyage went on swimmingly. The missionaries were written to, and willingly consented to chaperon Miss Picklin over the seas, provided her union with a pagan was to be sanctified with a Christian ceremonial. Miss Picklin replied with virtuous promptitude that the cake for the wedding was already soldered up in a tin case, and that she was to be married immediately on her arrival, under an awning on the brig's deck, and she hoped that four of the missionaries' wives would oblige her by standing up as her bridesmaids. Many square feet of codfish were unladen from the " Simple Susan" to make room for boxes and bags, and one large case was finally shipped, the contents of which had been shopped for by ladies with families no book of Oriental travels making any allusion to the sale of such articles in Con- stantinople, though, in the natural course of things, they must be wanted as much in Turkey as in Salem. The brig was finally cleared, and lay off in the stream, and on the evening before the embarkation the missionaries arrived and were invited to a tea-party at the Pick lin's. Miss Picklin had got up a little surprise for her friends with which to close the party a " walking tableau" as she termed it, in which she should suddenly make her apparition at one door, pass through the room, and go out at the other, dressed as a sulta- na, with a muslin kirtle and satin trowsers. She disappeared accordingly half an hour before the breaking up ; and, con- versation rather languishing in her absence, the eldest of the missionaries rose to conclude the evening with a prayer, in the midst of which Miss Picklin passed through the room unper- ceived the faces of the company being turned to the wall. The next morning at daylight the " Simple Susan" put to sea with a fair wind, and at the usual hour for opening the store of Picklin & Co., she had dropped below the horizon. THE PftlNTEIl's BOOK. 89 Phemie sat upon the end of the wharf and watched her till she was out of sight, and the captain walked up and down between two puncheons of rum which stood at the distance of a quar- ter-deck's length from each other, and both father and daugh- ter were silent. The captain had a confused thought or two besides the grief of parting, and Phemie had feelings quite as confused, which were not all made up of sorrow for the loss of her sister. Perhaps the reader will be at the trouble of spelling out their riddles while I try to let him down softly to the catastrophe of my story. Without confessing to any ailment whatever, the plump Phe- mie paled and thinned from the day of her sister's departure. Her spirits, too, seemed to keep her flesh and color company, and at the end of a month the captain was told by one of the good dames of Salem that he had better ask a physician what ailed her. The doctor could make nothing out of it except that she might be fretting for the loss of her sister, and he re- commended a change of scene and climate. That day, Cap- tain Brown, an old mate of Isaiah's, dropped in to eat a fami- ly dinner and say good-by, as he was about sailing in the new schooner Nancy, for the Black Sea his wife for his only pas- senger. Of course he would be obliged to drop anchor at Constantinople, to wait for a fair wind up the Bosphorus, and part of his errand was to offer to take letters and nicknackeries to Mrs. Keui. Old Picklin put the two things together, and over their glass of wine he proposed to Brown to take Phemie with Mrs. Brown to Constantinople, leave them both there on a visit to Mrs. Keui, till the return of the Nancy from the Black Sea, and then re-embark them for Salem. Phemie came into the room just as they were touching glasses on the agreement, and when the trip was proposed to her she first colored violent- ly, and then grew pale and burst into tears ; but consented to go. And, with such preparations as she could make that eve- ning, she was quite ready at the appointed hour, and was off with the land-breeze the next morning, taking leave of nobody but her father. At this time the old man wiped his eyes very often before the departing vessel was " hull down," and was heartily sorry he had let Phemie go without a great many pres- ents and a great many more kisses. * * * * 11 90 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. A fine, breezy morning at Constantinople ! Rapidly down the Bosphorus shot the caique of Hassan Keui, bearing its master from his country-house at Dolma-batchi to his warehouses at Galata. Just before the sharp prow round- ed away toward the Golden Horn, the merchant motioned to the caikjis to rest upon their oars, and, standing erect in the slender craft, he strained his gaze long and with anxious ear- nestness toward the sea of Marmora. Not a sail was to be seen coming from the west, except a man-of-war with a cres- cent flag at the peak, lying off toward Scutari from Seraglio Point, and with a sigh that carried the cloud off his brow, Has- san gaily squatted once more to his cushions, and the caique sped merrHy on. In and out, among the vessels at anchor, the airy bark threaded her way with the dextrous swiftness of a bird, when suddenly a cable rose beneath her and lifted her half out of the water. A vessel newly arrived was hauling in to a close anchorage, and they had crossed her hawser as it rose to the surface. Pitched headlong into the lap of the near- est caikji, the Turk's snowy turban fell into the water and was carried by the eddy under the stern of the vessel rounding to, and as the caique was driven backward to regain it, the bare- headed owner sank back aghast SIMPLE SUSAN OF SALEM staring him in the face in golden capitals. "Oh ! Mr. Keui ! how do you do !" cried a well-remember- ed voice, as he raised himself to fend off by the rudder of the brig. And there she stood within two feet of his lips rMiss Pick! in in her bridal veil, waiting below in expectant modesty, and though surprised by his peep into the cabin windows, ex- cusing it as a natural impatience in a bridegroom coming to his bride. The captain of the Susan, meantime, had looked over the tafferel and recognized his old passenger, and Hassan, who- would have given a cargo of opium for an hour to compose himself, mounted the ladder which was thrown out to him, and stepped from the gangway into Miss Picklin's arms ! She had rushed up to receive him, dressed in her muslin kirtle and satin trowsers, though with her dramatic sense of propriety, she had intended to remain below till summoned to the bridal. The captain, of course, kept back from delicacy, but the mis- THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 91 sionaries stood in a cluster gazing on the happy meeting, and the sailors looked over their shoulders as they heaved at the windlass. As Miss Picklin afterward remarked, " it would have been a tableau vivant if the deck had not been so very dirty !" Hassan wiped his eyes, for he had replaced his wet turban on his head, but what with his escape from drowning, and what with his surprise and embarrassment [for he had a diffi- cult part to play, as the reader will presently understand], he had lost all memory of his little stock of English. Miss Pick- lin drew him gently by the hand to the quarter-deck, where, un- der an awning fringed with curtains partly drawn, stood a table with a loaf of wedding-cake upon it, and a bottle of wine and a bible. She nodded to the Rev. Mr. Griffin, who took hold of a chair, and turned it round, and placing it against his legs with the back toward him, looked steadfastly at the happy couple. " Good morning good night your sister aspetta ! per amor' di Dio /" cried the bewildered Hassan, giving utterance to all the English he could remember, and seizing the bride by the arm. " These ladies are my bridesmaids," said Miss Picklin, point- ing to the missionaries' wives who stood by in their bonnets and shawls. " I dare say he expected my sister would come as my bridesmaid !" she added, turning to Mr. Griffin to ex- plain the outbreak as she understood it. Hassan beat his hand upon his forehead, walked twice up and down the quarter-deck, looked around over the Golden Horn as if in search of an interpreter to his feelings, and finally, walked up to Miss Picklin with a look of calm resignation, and .addressed to her and to the Rev. Mr. Griffin a speech of three minutes, in Italian. At the close of it he made a very cere- monious salaam, and offered his hand to the bride ; and, as no one present understood a syllable of what he had intended to convey in his address, it was received as probably a wel- come to Turkey, or perhaps a formal repetition of his offer of heart and hand. At any rate, Miss Picklin took it to be high time to blush and take off her glove, and the Rev. Mr. Griffin then bent across the back of the chair, joined their hands and went through the ceremony, ring and all. The ladies came 92 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. ' up, one after another, and kissed the bride, and the gentlemen shook hands with Hassan, who received their good wishes with a curious look of unhappy resignation, and after cutting the cake and permitting the bride to retire for a moment to calm her feelings and put on her bonnet, the bridegroom made rath- er a peremptory movement of departure, and the happy cou- ple went offin the caique toward Dolma-batchi amid much wa- ving of handkerchiefs from the missionaries, and hurrahs from the Salem hands of the Simple Susan. And now, before giving the reader a translation of the speech of Hassan before the wedding, we must go back to some little events which had taken place one month previously at Constan- tinople. The Nancy arrived off Seraglio Point after a very remark- able passage, having still on her quarter the north-west breeze which had stuck to her like a bloodhound ever since she had left Salem. She had brought it with her to Constantinople, in- deed, for twenty or thirty vessels which had been long wait- ing a favourable wind to encounter the adverse current of the Bosphorus, were loosing sails and getting under way, and the pilot, knowing that the destination of the Nancy was also to the Black Sea, strongly dissuaded Captain Brown from drop- ping anchor in the Horn, with a chance of losing the good luck, and lying, perhaps a month, wind-bound in harbor. Under- standing that the captain's only object in stopping was to leave the two ladies with Keui, the opium-merchant, the pilot, who knew his residence at Dolma-batchi, made signal for a caique, and kept up the Bosphorus. Arriving opposite the lit- tle village of which Hassan's house was one of the chief orna- ments, the ladies were lowered into the caique and sent ashore expecting, of course to be received with open arms by Mrs. Keui and then, spreading all her canvass, the swift little schooner sped on her way to Trebisond. Hassan sat in the little pavilion of his house, which looked out on the Bosphorus, eating his pillau, for it was the noon of a holiday, and he had not been that morning to Galata. Recog- nizing at once the sweet face of Phemie as the caique came near the shore, he flew to meet her, supposing that the " Sim- ple Susan" had arrived, and that the lady of his love had 03 chosen to come and seek him. The reader will understand, of course, that there was no " Mrs. Keui." And now to shorten my story. Mrs. Brown and Phemie were in Hassan's own house, with no other acquaintance or protector on that side of the world, and there was no possibility of escaping a true explanation. The mistake was explained, and explained to Brown's satis- faction. Phemie was the " daughter" of Captain Picklin, to whom the offer was transmitted, and as, by blessed luck, the Nancy A had outsailed the Simple Susan, Providence seemed to have chosen to set right , for once, the traverse of true love. The English embassy was at Burgurlu, only six miles above, on the Bosphorus, and Hassan and his mother and sisters, and Mrs. Brown and Phemie were soon on their way thither in swift caiques, and the happy couple were wedded by the En- glish chaplain. The arrival of the Simple Susan was of course looked for, by both Hassan and his bride, with no little dismay. She had met with contrary winds on the Atlantic, and had been caught in the Archipelago by a Levanter, and from the damage of the last, she had been obliged to come to anchor off the little island of Paros and repair. This had been a job of six weeks, and meantime the Nancy had given them the go-by and reached Constantinople. Hassan was daily on the look-out for the brig in his trips to town, and on the morning of her arrival, his mind being put at ease for the day by his glance toward the sea of Marmora, the stumbling so suddenly and so unprepared on the object of his dread, completely bewildered and unnerved him. Through all his confusion, however, and all the awkwardness of his sit- uation, there ran a feeling of self-condemnation, as well as pity for Miss Picklin; and this had driven him to the catas- trophe described above. He felt that he owed her some reparation, and as the religion in which he was educated did not forbid a plurality of wives, and there was [no knowing but possibly she might be inclined to " do in Turkey as Turkeys do," he felt it incumbent on him- self to state the fact of his previous marriage, and then offer her the privilege of becoming Mrs. Keui, No. 2, if she chose to 94 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. accept. As he had no English at his command, he stated his dilemma and made his offer in the best language he had Ital- ian and with the results the reader has been made acquainted. Of the return passage of Miss Picklin, formerly Mrs. Keui, under the charge of Captain and Mrs. Brown, in the schooner Nancy, I have never learned the particulars, She arrived at Salem in very good health, however, and has since been dis- tinguished principally by her sympathy for widows based on what, I cannot very positively say. She resides at present in Salem with her father, Captain Picklin, who is still the con- signee of the house of Keui, having made one voyage out to see the children of his daughter Phemie and strengthen the mer- cantile connection. His old age is creeping on him, undistin- guished by anything except the little monomania of reading the letters from his son-in-law at least a hundred times, and then wafering them up over the fireplace of his counting-room in doubt, apparently, whether he rightly understands the contents. THE MINIATURE. WILLIAM was holding in his hand The likeness of his wife Fresh as if touched by fairy wand, With beauty grace and life. He almost thought it spoke ; he gazed Upon the treasure still, Absorbed, delighted and amazed, To view the artist's skill. "This picture is yourself, dear Jane, 'Tis drawn to Nature true,: I've kissed it o'er and o'er again, It is so much like you." "And has it kissed you back, my dear?' "Why no my love!" said he. "Then, William, it is very clear, 'Tis not at all like me!" THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 95 EXTRACT FROM AN ADDRESS, DELIVERED BEFORE THE TRADES' UNION, IN THE CITY OF NEW- YORK. BY ELY MOORE. INTELLECT, after all, is the lever by which the world is moved. I shall embrace this opportunity, therefore, of dwell- ing at some length upon the importance of cultivating it. I regard this subject of much more importance to your interests and welfare, than any other which could be introduced to your consideration at this time. Were I to discourse for a month, or a year concerning your rights and grievances the utility and importance of your vocations and the necessity of union I doubt whether you would be either much wiser or better for it. You have complained long enough, in all conscience, to have discovered by this time, the reason of your complaints. You feel the disadvantages under which you labor, but seem to be at a loss how to correct the evil. The true cause of your grievances appears to have escaped your notice. All the means necessary to elevate your standing, and establish your welfare upon a more secure and stable basis, are a greater confidence in, and a more liberal feeling towards each other ; and above all, a greater exercise of MENTAL INDUSTRY. I am aware that many ingenuous individuals contend, that the great body of the producing classes understand their interests perfectly, and that to assert the contrary, is to slander them. If this be true, why have they complained and suffered, and suffered and complained for centuries ? Or why do they suffer and complain now ? They have ever possessed the numerical strength, the physical force, and had they not wanted intelligence to direct their power, is it reasonable to suppose that they would have endured all the evils that have been heaped upon them by the managing and intriguing few ? It would be just as reasonable to affirm, that a man understood his wants and consulted his interests, who with a loaf of bread and a bottle of water in his possession, was 96 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. perishing with hunger and thirst! The reason why the great majority of mankind have been held in servitude by the few and the main cause of the disparity in the condition and circum- stances of the same people, is a want of intellectual exertion of mental industry, on the part of the many. Men, in general, are habitually indolent in mind, and sooner than exert their own understandings, would prefer to be guided by the under- standings of others. Rather than task their own intellectual faculties in analyzing and investigating the laws, whether phy- sical, moral or political, by which they are governed, would trust to chance, and abide the consequences. So long as the great body of the people choose to be mental idlers, so long they will remain mental and bodily bondmen mere slaves to the more thinking and intellectual few. And unless they cultivate their understandings, and establish a system of severe mental discipline, they may complain in vain in vain organize in vain form Unions and Associations. For proof, that a great majority of mankind are, and ever have been, mentally indolent, I would not only refer you to the follies and prevailing abuses of the day, but to the past history of the human family. Look, for a moment, at the false doc- trines, the puerile theories, and monstrous absurdities that have prevailed for ages and ages, for centuries and centuries. The doctrines of Aristotle, for example, the founder of the Peripatetic school, held the world in absolute mental vassal- age for more than two thousand years. And those who pretended to think at all, during that period, were busied in speculations concerning occult qualities and imaginary essences; and an acquaintance with certain terms, such as formality, individuality, quiddity, infinity, intention and remission, proportion and degree, with other equally unmean- ing and abstract notions, constituted the philosophy of former ages. The potency of Aristotle's opinions was not only felt and acknowledged by the heathen world, but even by Christians, Jews and Mahometans. Not only Europe, but Africa and Asia bowed to his notions, and acknowledged his sway. Indeed, such was the influence I had almost said, such was the omnipotency of the Aristotelian subtle- ties over the minds of men, that even the thunders of the TH SPRINTER'S BOOK, 97 I Vatican, awful as they were at that period, tailed to impede their dissemination ; and the dialectics, physics and meta- physics of the Stagyrite Were introduced into the University of Paris, by statute, the Decree of Pope Innocent to the contrary notwithstanding. During the reign of Francis the First, it was made a punishable offence to question the infal- libility of the Aristotelian doctrines. And in fact, in many of the Universities of Europe, it was made obligatory by law to follow Aristotle as the only guide ! What a comment upon the wisdom and sagacity of man ! What a melan- choly evidence of the credulity, apathy and indolency of the human mind ! The ingenious nonsense of one individual befooled the world for generations and generations ; and had not BACON lived, the wand of the enchanter, perchance, had still retained its magic. But the philosophy of reason and common sense, as laid down by Lord Bacon in his Novum Organttm, overthrew, at once and forever, the fanciful theo- ries, the chimerical systems, and sublimated follies of the Scholastics, Yet such is the mental indolency of man, that I question whether there be one out of fifty, even among those who make pretensions to literature and science, that are thoroughly and practically acquainted with the inductive or experimental system, of philosophy or with any other system, for that matter* The Ptolemaic system of astronomy, which mistook the apparent motions of the heavenly bodies for the real ones, and supposed the whole universe to be carried round the earth once in every twenty-four hours, was recognized and acknowledged, by even the learned, for ages. During the period which this system obtained, the most visionary notions were regarded by mankind as astronomical and philosophical truths ; and those who could discourse of centrics and ex- centrics of cycles, epicicles, and crystalline orbs, were sup- posed to be acquainted with the theory of the solar sys- tem, and accordingly, dubbed astronomers. But at length a thinker, a reasoner, the immortal Copernicus, came upon the stage, and the ancient hypothesis was exploded, and the sub- lime science of astronomy established upon the only true and infallible basis, demonstration. But alas, for the indolency 12 98 of the hum&n mind, not one in ten, even among those who are considered well informed, are conversant with either the Ptolemaean or Copernican system of astronomy. Not only in philosophy and the sciences, but also in the policy of nations and in the laws and institutions of state have the great mass of mankind exhibited a fatal lethargy -a culpable supine- ness of mind ; and most grievously have they suffered for their folly. Whilst one set of politicians were amusing the people, by attempting to prove that the only true foundation of government was an original contract, incapable of revis- ion or amendment, and in which, it was stipulated to surren- der to a certain line or family of princes the rule of the state, and that this covenant was necessarily and perpet- ually binding, always subjecting the majority to the will and control of the minority; another class, but whose princi- ples were equally inimical to the interests of the people, were contending that " Divine Right," or " Legitimacy," was the only true foundation. This doctrine of the Divine Right, held, that the warrant by which the king and his hereditary counsellors rule the state, was no less than the will of God, and consequently, that resistance to the sovereign on the part of the people, was not only unlawful, but sacrilegous ; and such was the blind infatuation ^of the people, that in the strife of the contending parties, they lost sight of the fact, that let which would triumph, their situation would remain the same that coercion was the real foundation of either system and that both recognized them as mere subjects and vassals. Mankind, almost universally, have lived and died ignorant of the fact, that the only righteous system of government, was that, which was founded upon the will of the majority, and administered by persons freely chosen by the people. And when the immortal JEFFERSON declared that '* all men were created free and equal," man began to sigh over his long lost rights ; was astonished that he had never dis- covered the important truth before ; marvelled that the world had slumbered so long and so profoundly over its privileges, jts interests and its immunities and was surprised that the discovery had never been made before, that the majority should govern, and that the people were the oly rightful sovereigns, THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 99 What a humiliating picture of man's stupidity and mental degradation does this one circumstance present ! What a com- ment on the pride and wisdom of this God-like being " this destined heir of immortality !" And where lies the fault ? with man's creator? Not so no, not so ; but with the creature. Man, alone, is culpable. A neglect to exercise the faculties which God has given him, is the cause of all his wrongs of all his misfortunes of all the difficulties and disasters that beset him through life. What can be more humiliating to the philosopher, or dis- couraging to the philanthropist, than the reflection that a majority of mankind rather seek to kill time than improve it ! It is generally those who need instruction most, that strive least to obtain it ; and hence the more ignorant a man is, the less does he appreciate the value and importance of the winged hours. Who, that is acquainted with the delights of know- ledge, with the value of reflection, and the charms of contem- plation, but must hear with deep regret those who have never endeavored to profit by the past, complaining of the tardiness of time and sighing for the future ? And why should man seek to pass his time in idleness, or in vain and unprofitable pur- suits ? Why neglect to cultivate the mental faculties which God has given him ? He can plead no excuse in extenuation. Neither nature nor circumstances can furnish him with a suffi- cient apology for such delinquency. If deprived of the advan- tages of an early education, the more anxious and industri- ous should he be to obtain one. And if so fortunate as to have acquired more information than his neighbors, the more liberal he should be in the dispensation of his know, ledge. Placed in a world rife with interest, replete with curious varieties, and pregnant with unexplored phenomena, man is urged by every motive, by every inducement, to ac- quaint himself as far as possible, with the nature and designs of that creation of which he forms so interesting and import- ant a feature. He is called upon by every consideration, to devote his time and his energies to the ascertainment and development of those truths, whether physical, political or moral, which concern the welfare of man: and he who neg- lects to perform those duties, contravenes, as far as in him lies, the purposes of his creation. 100 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. A blind veneration for antiquity, originating in the credu- lity and indolency of the human mind, is one great source of error and ignorance. Men find less trouble and labor in adopting tho opinions of others than in investigating and forming opinions of their own ; and hence their willingness to follow in the footsteps of their ancestors. So long as men act upon the principle, that the antiquity of an opinion, or the universality with which it has been received, is an indu- bitable evidence of its truth, so long will they maintain and propagate error and falsehood. Would men but reflect, that the indolent and ignorant have ever outnumbered the__rea- soning and intellectual ; and that the more ancient an opinion, the nearer it approaches to the legendnry and fabulous times, they would not so readily estimate its worth by the number of its votaries, or the antiquity of its existence. Shall I be told, that but comparatively few are capable of becom- ing habitual thinkers and correct reasoners that nature has withheld her intellectual gifts from the great majority of her children, and decided that they should be governed and con- troled by a chosen and favored few ? Let no man so far presume to question the justice and goodness of the Univer- sal Parent. I am aware, however, that there exists a dis- parity in the minds and capacities of men ; and I am also aware, that that disparity arises in a great degree from the voli- tion of the creature. Such is the habitual negligence of men and so prone are they to trifles, that a majority of them feel a deeper interest in the displays of necromancy, than in the demonstrations of philosophy ; and would listen with greater attention to the ravings of a fanatic, or the pratings of a parrot, than to the thunders of Sinai, or a voice from heaven. And why this abuse of reason, this poverty of mind and dereliction of thought ? Does the cause necessarily exist in man's nature and constitution ? By no means but in his habits and his will. The majority of distinguished indi- viduals, owe their elevation to the moral qualities, rather than to native superiority of intellect. The truth of this position is strikingly exemplified in the life and achievements of CARSTEV XIEBUHR. Born a peasant in a remote corner of an obscure province, far removed from all the facilities ''',,; ; *, ";' I*; THE P R I X T F. R ' fl BOOK. 101 of acquiring information poor and an orphan gifted but moderately by nature with a memory not remarkably retentive, and his ability of acquiring knowledge the most common yet, notwithstanding all these un propitious cir- cumstances, he became by dint of perseverance and indefa- tigable industry, one of the most distinguished men of his age. His memory will survive and flourish be honored and revered while science has a friend, or virtue an admi- rer. Of what benefit would the native genius of a. NEWTON or a LIEBNITZ have been to themselves, or to the world, with- out the aid of method and mental industry ? Not by intuition but by the deductions of reason, was the latter enabled to discover the order of fluxions, or the differential calculus and the former, the laws of universal gravitation. * It was industry and mental discipline, that enabled the immortal TULLY to sustain for a season, the fortunes of degenerate and sinking Rome that enabled NAPOLEON to control the destinies of Europe and FRANKLIN to follow nature to her hiding place, and pluck the master-secret from her bosom. All men, when their jealousies and prejudices are quies- cent, admire genius, and willingly do homage to intellectual greatness nay, regard the master-spirits of intelligence, as beings almost superhuman ; arid hence, the ancients deified their sages and benefactors and hence, the moderns speak of PLATO, as the divine of GALILEO and KEPLER of LA GRANGE and LA PLACE of MILTON and SHAK- SPEARE of JEFFERSON and FRANKLIN, as " the immortal' 1 And is it not extraordinary, that men should idolize qualities in others, which they neglect to cultivate in themselves? Is it not strange, that the love of mental ease should, so often, nay, so generally, triumph over all the aspirations of a gen- erous ambition over every impulse, every desire for intel- lectual eminence ? Most men are willing to admit, (and feel a secret pride in the admission,) that when God said "Let us make man in our own image," he meant that the resemblance should con- sist in the intellectual character and qualification of man. Admitting the correctness of this interpretation, it follows, ' )> * * .: 102 THE that in proportion as we advance in knowledge, in that ratio do we approximate to the character and likeness of our Creator. And of consequence, as we remain stationary, or retrograde, do we assimilate to the brutes that perish. There are none but would startle with horror at the reflec- tion, that they resembled in form and face the ape or the elephant ; and yet, strange and paradoxical as it may appear, the majority of mankind, rather than task their mental pow- ers, would prefer to live and die resembling in mind and habits the ox and the ass. Be stimulated then, my friends, by the reflection, that every acquisition of knowledge, if properly applied, elevates your character, augments your happiness, and increases and strengthens your resemblance to your Creator. I would not have you understand, how- ever, that the mere acquisition of knowledge, or what is gen- erally called an education, is sufficient to render you either wise or virtuous. Man is too apt to learn mechanically: and his knowledge, when mechanical, is of but little more service or utility to him, than is the faculty of articulating certain words to the parrot or the jackdaw. Without severe | mental training, and an assiduous cultivation of the just i powers of thought, and the general but strict regulation of : the faculties of the mind, the great purposes of education are seldom if ever accomplished. He who has treasured up much information, regardless of system or method, is admirably described in the following couplet, by England's greatest didactic poet, " A bookful blockhead ignorantly read With loads of leajned lumber in his head." The value of our acquirements depends, not so much upon their extent or variety, as upon the manner and capacity with which they are applied. When men learn how to think, they soon begin to think correctly. No precocity of genius no expansion of native intellect no acquisition of knowledge, can render men wise and useful without they know how to direct their powers and use their wdsdom. How strong the propriety then, nay, how imperative the duty* especially in a government like ours, where the public voice THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 103 is omnipotent, where the destinies of the republic are com- mitted to the hands of its citizens, where government is a deposit entrusted alike to all, and where all are accountable for the administration of its affairs, that all should be ac- quainted with its character and genius, and capable of inves- tigating the causes that may secure its stability, or accelerate its destruction. Our freedom, be it remembered, is not the prize of our winning not the fruit of our own procuring. No we stand in the attitude of passive recipients mere inheritors of the boon : and without eternal vigilance on our parts, that which was achieved for us by heroic sires, will be wrested from us by usurpers and political marauders. Our only security consists in the general dissemination of in- telligence, and especially of political intelligence. Political knowledge and political servitude are utterly incompatible. The existence of the one pre-supposes the destruction of the other. Where the one begins, the other ends. THE IDEAL OF A TRUE LIFE. BY HORACE GREELET. THERE is, even on this side the grave, a haven where the storms of life break not, or are felt but in gentle undulations of the unrippled and mirroring waters an oasis, not in the des- ert, but beyond it a rest, profound and blissful as that of the soldier returned forever from the dangers, the hardships and turmoil of war, to the bosom of that dear domestic circle, whose blessings he never prized at half their worth till he lost them. This haven, this oasis, this rest, is a serene and hale old age. The tired traveller has abandoned the dusty, crowded, and jostling highway of life, for one of its shadiest and least noted 104 THE PRINTER'S OOOK. by-lanes. The din of traffic and of worldly strife has no longer magic for his ear 'the myriad footfall of the city's stony walks is but noise or nothing to him now. He has run his race of toil, or trade, or ambition. His day's work is accomplished* and he has come home to enjoy, tranquil and unharrassed, the splendor of the sunset the milder glories of late evening. Ask not whether he has, or has not, been successful, according to the vulgar standard of success. What matters it now whether the multitude has dragged his chariot, rending the air with idolizing acclamations, or howled, like wolves on his track, an he fled by night from the fury of those he had wasted his vig- or to serve. What avails it that broad lands have rewarded his toil, or that all fvis, at the last moment, been stricken from his grasp? Ask not whether he brings into retirement the wealth of the Indies, or the poverty of a bankrupt whether his couch be of down or rushes his dwelling a hut or a man- sion. He has lived to little purpose indeed, if he has not long since realized that wealth and renown are not the true ends of exertion, nor their absence the conclusive proof, of ill-fortune, Whoever seeks to know if hi% career has been prosperous and brightening from its outset to its close if the evening of his days shall be genial and blissful should ask not for broad acres or towering edifices, or laden coffers. Perverted old age may grasp these with the unyielding clutch of insanity ; but they add to his cares and anxieties, not to his enjoyments. Ask, rather Has he mastered and harmonized his erring passions 1 lias he lived a true life? A True Life ! of how many lives does each hour knell the conclusion ! and how few of them are true ones ! The poor child of shame and sin and crime, who terminates her earthly being in the clouded morning of her scarce budded, yet blight- ed existence the desperate felon whose blood is shed by the community, as the dread penalty of its violated law the mis- erable debauchee, who totters down to his loathsome grave in the spring-time of his years, but the fullness of his festering iniquities these* the world valiantly affirms, have not lived true lives ! Fearless and righteous world ! how profound, how discriminating are thy judgments ! But the base idolater of self, who devotes all his moments, his energies, his thoughts THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 105 to schemes which begin and end in personal advantage the grasper of gold, and lands and tenements the devotee of pleasure the man of ignoble and sinister ambition the woman of frivolity, extravagance and fashion the idler, the gambler, the voluptuary on all these and their myriad compeers, while borne on the crest of the advancing billow, how gentle is the reproof, how charitable the judgment of the world ! Nay, is not even our dead Christianity, which picks its way so daintily, cautiously and inoffensively, which regards with gentle re- buke, and is regarded with amiable toleration by some of the foremost vices of the times ; is it not too often oblivious of its paramount duty to teach men how to live worthily and nobly ? Are there not thousands to whom its inculcations, so far as duties to man are concerned, are substantially negative in their character ? who are fortified by its teachings, in the belief that to do good is a casualty, and not a frame of being who are taught by it to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, when they thrust themselves upon the charity of portly affluence, but as an irksome duty, for which they should be rewarded, rather than a blessed privilege, for which they should be profoundly grateful ? Of the millions now weekly listening to the min- istrations of the Christian pulpit, how many are clearly, vivid- ly impressed with the great truth, that each, in his own sphere, should live for mankind, as Christ did for the redemption, in- struction and exaltation of the race and, that the power to do this in his proper sphere abides equally with the humblest as the highest ? How many centuries more will be required to teach even the religious world, so called, the full meaning of the term CHRISTIAN ? A true life must be simple in all its elements. Animated by one grand and ennobling impulse, all lesser aspirations find their proper places in harmonious subservience. Simplicity in taste, in appetite, in habits of life, with a corresponding in- difference to worldly honors and aggrandizement, is the natural result of the predominance of a divine and unselfish idea. Un- der the guidance of such a sentiment, Virtue is not an effort, but a law of nature, like gravitation. It is Vice alone that seems unaccountable monstrous well nigh miraculous. Purity is 13 v > wit 106 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. felt to be as necessary to the mind, as health to the body j and its absence, alike the inevitable source of pain. A true life must be calm. A life, imperfectly directed, is made wretched through distraction. We give up our youth to excitement, and wonder that a decrepit old age steals upon us so soon. We wear out our energies in strife for gold or fame, and then wonder alike at the cost and the worthlessness of the meed. " Is not the life more than meat ?" Ay, truly ! but how few have practically, consistently, so regarded it? 'And little as it is regarded by the imperfectly virtuous, how much less by the vicious and the worldling ? What a chaos of struggling emotions is exhibited by the lives of the multitude ? How like to the wars of the infuriated animalculae in a magnified drop of water, is the strife constantly waged in each little mind ! How Sloth is jostled by Gluttony, and Pride wrestled with by Avarice, and Ostentation bearded by Meanness ! The soul which is not large enough for the indwelling of one virtue, affords lodgment and scope and arena for a hundred vices. But their warfare cannot be indulged with impunity. Agitation and wretchedness are the inevitable consequences, in the midst of which the flame of life burns flaringly and swiftly to its close. A true life must be genial and joyous. Tell me not, pale an- chorite, of your ceaseless vigils, your fastings, your scourgings. These are fit offerings to Moloch, not to our Father. The man who is not happy in the path he has chosen, may be very sure he has chosen amiss, or is self-deceived. But not merely hap- pier he should be kinder, gentler, and more elastic in spirits, as well as firmer and truer. " I love God and little children," says a German poet. The good are ever attracted and made happier by the presence of the innocent and the lovely. And he who finds his religion adverse to, or a restraint upon, the truly innocent pleasures and gayeties of life, so that the latter do not interfere with and jar upon its sublimer objects, may well doubt whether he has, indeed, " learned Jesus." The Press of the Revolution. Its leaders set up the col- umns of Freemen, whose shooting sticks and cannon knocked the form of Tyranny into pi. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 107 THE JOUR. PRINTER'S MONUMENT. BY B. P. SHILLABER. THE sound at midnight "the steamer is in!" To the printer comes with a fearful din, As he rouses himself from his sleep profound, And groans as he calls to his mind the sound, Like Macbeth's voice, that annoyed him sore, Saying most dismally "sleep no more!" Then the black night drags to a weary close He is drowsy certain perhaps half froze And 'mid lapses of work strange fancies arise Perhaps would not come to more wakeful eyes Visions indefinite, dimly defined, Flitting like shadows over his mind, Strange blendings together of true and ideal, He hardly knows which is the false or the real, And a notion prevails in his mind's misty hue, To club it together and call it all true ; Not far from the truth is the vision below Which came to a Typo no long time ago, And struck with a fit some reckon sublime, He lugged out his pencil and " did it" in rhyme, Which shows to " all men" how a journeyman's light Can aid in dispelling error's dark night, And his old tools and toils, like gold from the mine, In wisdom's alembic as diamonds may shine, And hinting a fact, affirmed from the first, That each one's profession is always the worst. 108 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. Poor Pi, the printer, was woesome and sick, And he laid on his bed to die,; His eye was glazed and his breath grew thick, And Death with his dart gave Pi a stick, Life's frail bucket he over did kick, And a senseless heap lay Pi. It was sad to' see his form thus laid, So ghastly and so stark ; Care on his brow deep lines had made, And if ever the rays of joy there played, 'Twas but for a moment and then to fade, Like meteors 'mid the dark. His body was placed in an humble case, And borne from his garret dim; And sighs were heaved that in Death's embrace Thus had determined his hard run race ; Friends prayed for his soul as they looked on his face; What were tears or prayers to him? They left him to moulder beneath the sod, And return to primal dust; They knew he'd long felt affliction's rod Small comfort was there in the path he had trod, And they felt that while he mixed with the clod His spirit was with the just. Now Time passed on, long years rolled by, And Memory, waked the past ; Then was sought the grave of the printer Pi, A pillar to rear, both broad and high, As if to atone for old ill to try, And justice do at last. 'Twas no marble pile that upward rose To tower amid the clouds ; Nor granite shaft to record his woes, Of his hopes all crushed and his heart all froze ; These were not what the builders chose To draw admiring crowds. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 109 But they dragged from its nook the ancient press, That of yore had caused him pain ; The "voice of thought" which through his distress, Had spoken in tones the world to bless ; The dust of years on its frame did rest, And many a time-worn stain. They made it their chiefest corner stone, Then piled they the mass amain ; The crossed-legged bank 'neath a heap did groan, The ink-balls and the trough were shown, The ink-block, cobweb overgrown, The mallet and the plane. And hard old cases, in grim array, And chases thick with rust, And quoin drawers long since thrown away, And relics snatched from a doomed decay Were brought again to the light of day, All clothed in ancient dust. Then they gathered the toil and the mental pain Which had marked his earthly race ; And they gathered the hours to him all vain, Where others had reaped the accruing gain And the bitter thoughts which his soul did stain, And the sweat of his care-worn face. A crowning piece for the pile they sought, And long they sought in vain ; Till a gleam of joy or two they brought, And some Saturday nights that with rest were fraught, And moments of calm and pleasant thought, When fat heM chance to gain. Then Wisdom's light was shed on the scene And a goodly sight was there ; The incongruous mass had changed its mien, And glowing bright in celestial sheen, Its summit resting the stars between, Rose the pile through the upper air. 110 And Earth grew glad amid the light Diffusive in its ray; And darkened spots came grandly bright With new-found radiance bedight, As sunshine followeth the night, And hailed a higher day. Effulgently beamed its glory forth, And then from far and nigh Came sages as erst when Truth had birth, The wise and mighty children of earth, And laid the tribute of mind to worth On the urn of the printer Pi. And then this riddle was plainly read ; That he lives not in vain Who wrestles with woe to heart and head, Till the breath is stilled and sense is dead, And stretches his form on a martyr's bed That a darkened world may gain. THE PRESS. BY WILLIAM O. BOURNE. A MILLION tongues are thine, and they are heard Speaking of hope to nations, in the prime Of freedom's day, to hasten on the time When the wide world of spirit shall be stirred With higher aims than now when man shall call Each man his brother each shall tell to each His tale of love, and pure and holy speech Be music for the soul's high festival; Thy gentle notes are heard, like choral waves, Reaching the mountain, hill, and quiet vale Thy thunder-tones are like the sweeping gale, Bidding the tribes of men no more be slaves ; And earth's remotest island hears the sound That floats on ether wings the earth around! THE PRINTER'S BOOK. Ill HOME, BY BENJAMIN J. BRENfON* THERE is a spot that's doubly blest, A Paradise below, Where peaceful hearts may ever rest. And sweet contentment know. Where joy and pleasure fill the mind. And care to other realms is driven, And where the weary soul may find A foretaste of the joys of Heaven. Is it in the far East that fairy-like land. Where blessings are showered with a bountiful hand, Where men gather riches and wealth without toil, And reap without labor the fruits of the soil; Where the grand works of art raise their columns on high, And towers and palaces pierce the blue sky; Where all that is fair in nature is seen, Where all the year round the forests are green, And where golden streams thro' the deep valleys flow? Is it there? The heart answers no. Is it in the deep ocean some isle of the sea, Where the heart from all bondage shall ever be free : A spot that proclaims the great glory of God, By the foot of mankind as never yet trod. Thro' a sky ever clear, where the sun sheds its rays, And animate nature speaks the Great Maker's praise, Where the hills are adorned with e'er blooming flowers, And golden-plumed birds flit among the green bowers, A Paradise here an Eden below Is it there ? The heart answers no. 112 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. Is it in the far North the region ,of frost, That seldom, if ever, by man has been crossed; The cold dreary land that encircles the pole, That freezes the life-blood, and e'en chills the soul: Where the cold piercing blast sweeps over the plains, And winter eternal, in deep silence reigns, Tho' ages roll by; where no verdure is seen, Save the dwarf mountain shrub, or the pine evergreen ; Where the beauties of earth are covered with snow? Is it there ? The heart answers no. Then where is the land that by Heaven is blest ? The heart in despondency sighs ; And where may the wandering spirit find rest? Oh, where ? Thus reason replies : In search of that place 'twere folly to roam, The spot that thou seekest is here, it is HOME. THE GENTLE BIRD BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. THE gentle bird on yonder spray, That sings its little life away, The rose-bud bursting into flower, And glitt'ring in the sun and shower, The cherry blossom on the tree, Are emblematic all of thee. Yon moon that sways the vassal streams Like thee in modest beauty beams ; So shines the diamond of the mine, And the rock crystal of the brine ; The gems of heaven, earth and sea, Are blended .all, dear maid, in thee ! THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 113 EXTRACTS FROM AN ADDRESS, DELIVERED BEFORE THE PROS- PECT TEMPERANCE BENEVOLENT SOCIETY. BY ELY MOORE. ALLOW me to invite your attention for a moment, to an im- p ortant consideration connected with the subject of Temper- ance. It is well known to every intelligent and close observer, that the class of individuals most vulnerable to the vice of In- temperance, is composed of men who inherit from the Creator, in an eminent degree, the qualities and attributes which do most exalt and ennoble the nature and character of man. In proportion as our systems are delicately and exquisitely strung, our hearts and minds are sensitive and impressible. The man who combines in his nature or constitution, an ardent temper- ament with a fruitful imagination those elements of great- ness as well as of goodness is ever the most inclined to court excitement, however deleterious in its nature, and to be swayed and swerved by its influences. The more yielding and confiding his disposition, the more open and generous hia nature, the nobler and kindlier his impulses, and the warmer and richer his fancy, the more readily is his will subjugated and his judgment unhinged, and, consequently, the more liable is he to fall into temptation, indulgence and excess. Hence the vice of Intemperance is rendered doubly odious from the fact that those most obnoxious to its evils are, by nature, the most brilliant, as well as the most amiable and lovely. Not only so, but the infirmities incident to the more unsuspecting and generous natures are sure to be increased, as this vice is indulged ; consequently, those whom God particularly endows with the brighter and lovelier attributes of humanity, are apt to become, through the instrumentality of this evil, the ready dupes and victims of the unprincipled, the calculating and the mercenary. How many instances can you not call to mind, where the crafty and unscrupulous have taken advantage of 14 f!4 THE PRfNTEfl' SHOOK. this weakness in their fellow-man to defraud and undo him ? And how often have you seen the noble, the generous and the philanthropic become knaves, swindlers and misanthropists, in consequence of the wrongs, the injustice and the ingratitude which they experience at the hands of those who had oft-times pledged them in the " flowing bowl," and in whom they had believed and confided. I well remember an instance which strongly and remark- ably illustrates the truth of what has just been advanced. I allude to the history and fortunes of a dear and valued friend of my youth the loved companion of my better and happier days. Frederick, for so J shall denominate the individual in question had inherited from his father an ample estate. His education was liberal, his family connections highly respecta- ble and his prospects in life cheering and brilliant. Nature had fashioned him in her favorite mould and lavished upon him her choicest gifts. His figure was symmetrical and com- manding his bearing generous and noble ^ his heart was bold, ardent, affectionate ; and his mind deep, liberal and ca- pacious. Than him, virtue had no firmer friend, vice no sterner foe. The elevation, the happiness and welfare of his fellow-man, his common, his favorite theme j and the one which seemed to occupy and absorb his every thought. No selfish views were permitted to occupy his mind, nor a sordid feeljng to dwell in his heart. Truth, sincerity an4 beneyo^ Jence were the objects of his admiration, and of his idolatry, T,q tfye stprms, the strifes and the stratagems of life, he was a stranger. To the hypocrisy, the duplicity and ingratitu4e of the world, he was a novice. The friend of all, he fondly be- Jieved that all were friends to him. Pure in heart himself, he suspected no guile in others ; but for all mankind he cher- ished a fond and fraternal feeling. To him the world seemed pure a well as bright. In his imagination it was a world of poetry and of romance, of flowers and of sunshine. His vision had never penetrated its mysteries nor yet its miseries. Its gloomier aspects, its cold and stern realities were alike unseen and unfelt by him. Its tramp had not, as yet, deadened his pulse, nor had the rank weeds of avarice, lust and sensuality choked up the portals to his heart ; but life, with all its laugh BOOK. 115 and all its glee, was fresh and green and blithe before him. He had yet to learn " how different are the realities of life from their early seemings." Never shall I forget the day on which he attained his majority. It was in the Spring of the year, and the season was as bright and beautiful as his hopes were blithe and brilliant. I recollect that he called on me early in the morning, and desired me to accompany him in a stroll over the green valleys, and amidst the mountain wood- lands to contemplate the fair face as well as the rugged form of nature, to listen to the wild bird as he trolled his lay, and to look upon the budding leaves and the bursting flowers. Most cheerfully did I comply with his request, for notwith- standing the marked disparity of our situations in life caused us to regard the world through a different medium, there yet ex- isted between us a kindred sympathy of soul, a strong and close congeniality of feeling. There was this difference be- tween us, however 5 in his eyes all Was truth, loveliness and harmony ; and his eager heart leaped forward to the scenes and duties of life, as to a "feast and a revel." But not so mine. The vicissitudes and discords of life, had even at that early age, cast a cloud over the prospects of the future. My youthful heart had already felt the pangs of poverty, of neglect, and of hardship so that even the beauties of nature, as well as the most auspicious creations of fancy and of hope were all, all tinged with gloom and melancholy. My fears and anticipations at that time with regard to the future, have been fully, sadly realized. But, alas, how different as it respected the fond and fervent imaginings of my friend ! The visions of glory which burst upon his ravished sight were doomed to go down in night and darkness. He had no sooner launched his bark upon the ocean of life, than it was pursued and attacked by the buca- niers and corsairs of the social world. The designing, the selfish and the avaricious beset him at every step, and encoun- tered him at every turn. Through the intrigues and applian- ces of the cunning and the crafty, he was robbed of his means', and despoiled of his honor and his virtue. Possessed of a social, yielding and confiding disposition, he was first seduced into the paths of intemperance, and then into those of crime and ignominy. He first lost his sober habits, and then his for- 116 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. tune ; and with his fortune he lost both friends and respect- ability. Such is the world. When I last saw him he was the inmate of a dungeon. He had violated the laws of his country, and was then suffering the penalty due his crime. The very recollection of that interview rends my heart and burns my brain. But a few short years had intervened be- tween the time when last we parted and that melancholy hour. And oh ! what a sad and desolating change had been wrought in him within that brief period. The fires of love and of philanthropy had been quenched in his heart, the light of genius and of hope was extinguished in his eye ; all power and elasticity had forsaken his limbs, and that once strong and gifted man stood before me a melancholy monument of human folly and of human weakness, like "Sampson eyeless in Gaza, at the mill with slaves." The barriers between vice and virtue had been prostrated, the deep fountain of his sym- pathies broken up, and the bitter waters of animosity and of revenge had deluged and washed out the last kind impulse of his nature. Hope, love and charity had perished from his heart, and his sad and gloomy soul was black and cheerless as the cold and moonless midnight. On his brow the lines of care and of crime were deeply and indelibly graven ; and his bosom ached and heaved with remorse, hatred and despair. To him, the glorious sun shone in vain, for his sad eyes were no longer permitted to witness its brightness ; and in vain to him, did his ancestral trees spread out their patriarchal branches, for his sylvan sports had passed away forever, and his fireside altars were never more to be crowned with flowers. I addressed him in the language of kindness re- minded him of our early friendship, and he jeered and laughed at me. " Friendship !" he repeated, in a sneering and sarcastic tone, "what is that? What is friendship?" " It is that feeling in the heart," I replied, " which disposes one person to promote the happiness and welfare of another." " Then," said he, " I have no friend I am no friend /" " But you do not doubt the existence of the feeling ?" I re- marked. " But I do," he replied, with emphasis, " not only doubt, but THE PRINTER'S BOOK. deny its reality. It is a cheat, an ignis fatuus, the mirage of the simple and the credulous, and more fatal in its illusion than that of the desert which mocks the weary traveller to disappointment and to death by the sight and sound of ideal waters." Unwilling to discuss this subject further with him, and anxious to learn from his own lips the secret of his disgrace, and of his downfall, I questioned him in reference thereto. " It is a short story," said he, " and soon told. Know then that in the name of friendship I was induced to partake of the social cup, and my companions, my good friends as I was wont to call them, and as they were pleased to call them- selves, taking advantage of the excess of generous feeling which the fatal beverage never fails to inspire borrowed my money and my name, until the one was gone and the other disgraced. In the hour of mine adversity, I turned to my friends for aid, and they turned from me without grant- ing it. When first repulsed, my heart bled and sunk within me, and I flew to the bottle for consolation. But the deeper I drank the less consolation I found. Incensed at the perfidy of my friends, disgusted with the black ingratitude of the world, my moral powers destroyed by strong drink, and pressed and goaded by want, I resolved, in a moment of des- pondency and desperation, to commit a crime ; and I forged upon a man, who, at that very moment owed me double the amount of the forged note. The forgery was detected, and I was apprehended, convicted and sentenced to prison, and here I am as you see me a bankrupt, a drunkard and a felon !" As he uttered this last word, he turned from me threw himself upon his pallet of straw drew his tattered and humid blanket o'er his face, and wept and cursed and wept and cursed again. One week from that day he died died without repentance, perchance without forgiveness died with malice and revenge rankling in his heart, and with curses and imprecations quivering on his lips ! Thanks to the brave and generous spirits who were the pioneers in the Temperance cause ; honor, and praise and gratitude to those who volunteered to redeem their fellow- 118 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. man from the moral curse of drunkenness ; and who, like the High Priest of the Israelites, went out into the camp, and stood between the dead and living, to stay the plague which raged among the people. Oh ! that I could but present to your imaginations a true and faithful portraiture of the wretchedness and misery which is, and has been inflicted upon mankind by that monster and master- vice that devouring Ogre of the social world, Intemperance. Nay, that I could gather, and group, and marshal before you its palsied and haggard victims, in all their squalidness and degradation that you might behold if the horrid sight did not strike you blear and blind the extent and magnitude of that fiery and consuming curse, which, for a season threatened to overthrow and destroy the social and the moral world ! But even then, you would not be able to form a proper estimate of the sanative and redeem- ing influences which have been dispensed by the genius of Temperance, unless I could, at the same time summon the lovely goddess from her ethereal abode into the midst of that congregation of bloated wretchedness, that you might also have displayed before you the actual workings of her miraculous power. Behold that cadaverous and loathsome group of inebriates ! Mark, how sickening, how ghastly and disgusting their whole appearance and their every aspect! Their garments torn and tattered literally dripping filth and blood their bodies bruised and ulcerated ; their limbs trembling and palsied ; their countenances phrensied and distorted ; every vestige and lineament of mind and soul defaced and blotted out, the very atmosphere which surrounds them, polluted and poisoned by their foul and foetid exhalations. See ! see ! how the demon Intemperance, as he sways his triumphant sceptre o'er his prostrate his helpless and hopeless victims, gloats over their deep and unutterable despair, and revels, and exults in the fancied supremacy and permanency of his power. Alleluiah! his reign and his triumphs draw speedily to an end. Lo ! the genius of Temperance is descending to the rescue ; and the foul fiend starts up trembling and shrieking at the touch of her v wand. The spell that bound his subjects THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 119 in moral darkness and death is broken, and as they feel the presence of the celestial goddess, they breathe freer and deeper. She bids them arise, and they spring to their feet, She breathes into them the breath of moral life, and they stand erect in her presence in all the dignity of primeval manr hood. She stretches forth her hand, and they are healed ; redeemed, regenerated and disenthralled. Once more their eyes are turned heaven-ward, and their step is as firm and elastic as of yore. Once more they walk abroad in the sun- light of peace and of purity ; with the stamp of freedom 01* their brows its badge upon their breasts. FRANKLIN. BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR, The thunders of a mighty age May drown the voices of the Past, But thou, the Printer and the Sage, Shalt speak thy wisdom to the last. The power to stay the fleeting Thought, tJnto thy hand was early given, Till with the mind's quick lightning fraught, It learned to fetter that of Heaven. The page, where by the Printer's art, Thy voice has been eternal made, Still bears its lessons wide apart, The world to gladden and to aid. And now the lightning's wing of fire, Which first was tamed beneath thy hand, Takes on its path of slender wire The Printer's word from land to land, They both shall work, from age to age, For Truth and Right, Man's will sublime - The flash of Thought on many a page, The lightning-throb, outspeeding Time. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. THE ORPHAN MAID. BY THE LATE SAMUEL WOOD WORTH, How hard the maiden orphan's fate, Whose early joys and hopes are fled, Who vainly asks the rich and great For leave to earn her daily bread! Exposed to frowns, rebukes and sneers, In humble menial garb arrayed, While heartless fools deride her tears, And spurn the hapless orphan maid. There was a time alas ! 'tis fled When fortune, friends and kindred smiled, When sunny rays of joy were shed Around the gay and happy child; When, shielded by parental care, No pang of sorrow dared invade, Save when she saw the meek despair Of some poor hapless, orphan maid. But ah! her parents died, and left Their darling unprotected child, Of fortune, friends and joy bereft, And then the maiden never smiled. She only asked to toil for bread, She sought no unrequited aid But asked in vain! till hope was fled, And death relieved the orphan maid! EPIGRAM, FAME. 'Tis not the good, the wise, the brave, That surest shine, or highest rise ; The feather sports upon the wave The pearl in ocean's cavern lies. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 121 A FEW THOUGHTS FOR YOUNG MEN. BY REV. HARRY CROSWELL, D. D. THE way to honorable distinction in the world, is a road often sought. Few ^young men, it is to be presumed, have come to years of maturity without experiencing some longings after this distinction. Such aspirations are laudable, and we would gladly encourage them ; for we verily believe, that all true earthly greatness may be traced to the working of one of the most natural, as well as one of the strongest, impulses of the human breast : we mean Ambition. Let this decla- ration excite no surprise. We are probably too apt, because the passion has led to wicked and unjustifiable aspirations, to attach a bad sense to the term Ambition. But the reader may be sure, that we do not employ it in any such sense. By Ambition, we mean, the desire of any thing great or ex- cellent. We speak of it here, as a desire of something higher than is at present possessed. And we intend to ascribe to this natural a/nd noble stimulus, not only the rise and progress of the vast improvements of the age but we intend to take the broad ground, that ambition to excel, has laid the foun- dation of all great enterprises, and may be considered as the source, in a worldly point of view, of all true greatness. In this position, we know not how far we may be sus- tained. There may be many, who will look to other and different sources for the true spring of greatness. Some, for example, will suppose, that man becomes great by the mere force of natural genius ; others, that education forms the sole ground of his greatness ; and others, probably, that birth, ancestry, and inherited wealth, are the only sources of all that is good and excellent. These several claims may be briefly examined : and if we are not much mistaken, the result will 15 122 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. show, that neither of these, independently of an irrepressible ambition to excel, can lead to true human greatness. 1. As to natural genius : We can speak of it, only in terms of the highest respect and deference. It is a stock, on which may be engrafted every thing that is excellent; and from which may spring the most precious and luxuriant fruits. It is among the rich and noble gifts of God, for which we cannot be too grateful. But, like the wild plant, springing up from the native soil, it requires much careful culture, and laborious training, to bring it to perfection. Or, like the pre- cious minerals in our mountains, which, with all their intrinsic excellence, are of little value to mankind, until drawn from their native beds, and subjected to the operations of the fur- nace or the laboratory. The man of genius, may do much to instruct, and edify, and improve mankind ; and he may ac- quire a large share of fame and distinction ; but not merely because he is a man of genius. Without persevering effort and labor, his genius may run to waste ; and the world will never be the better for the light -which he emits ; and his fame will be little else than the transient glare of the meteor. And will this effort and labor be applied without a powerful stimulant? Never. And in what passion of the human breast will you find this stimulant? Undoubtedly in Am- bition, and in nothing else an unconquerable and irrepress- ible ambition to excel. Why are we so often called to mourn over the pitiable end of men of rare genius and fine talents 7 When they might have risen to the highest eminence, and stood among the brightest ornaments of their race, why have they sunk into insignificance and worthlessness ? Why, in so many instances, has the same sun that rose in brilliancy and splendor, set at last in thick darkness and obscurity? In all such cases, the force of genius is lost, because it is not stimulated to effort and well-directed energy. Thou- sands, relying on their mere natural endowments, and dream- ing that fame and distinction must come unsought, have despised the means of culture and improvement have fallen into habits of negligence and indifference have held public opinion in reckless disregard and have fallen from one stage of self-degradation to another, until they have become THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 123 the companions of fools, the bloated oracles of the bar-room and the tippling-house, and the by-word and scoff of the vulgar. Painful, indeed, is the contemplation of such cases. But they stand out prominent in every community, and they are full of instruction to the young. They teach them to beware of the temptation by which so many have been en- snared ; and to remember, that the mere force of natural genius is not, of itself, sufficient to secure true and perma- nent greatness. 2. But while this is admitted, there are many others, who suppose that education forms the sole ground of men's great- ness. This point claims the more consideration, because it is, probably, somewhat misapprehended. Very erroneous opinions may be entertained with regard to education ; and hence we should endeavor to understand what is its true meaning, in what it consists, and how it is acquired. Edu- cation is a term applied, somewhat indiscriminately, to any and every mode of instruction employed for training and disciplining the mind. It may begin in the nursery, or at the domestic fireside, and end in the district school. Or, advancing some steps higher, it may be imbibed in one of those wonder-working institutions, where ideas are formed and fashioned by a sort of labor-saving machinery ; and where a single course of lessons on a given subject, may be made to supply the place of many years of hard study and close application. But many suppose, that education, properly so called, must be confined exclusively to a certain systematic course of training in the higher seminaries of learning ; and even in this training, they would recognize shades of differ- ence and degrees of excellence. The style of education most approved, must be that which consumes the most time and costs the most money. A single example, may serve to illus- trate this mode of training. A lad, perhaps green in years, but sufficiently mature in his perverse passions and habits to rise above parental authority and discipline, must be sent to a boarding-school to commence his education. This board- ing-school must be designated by some well-sounding title, to distinguish it from the more common academies, where education is made a business and not an amusement. And 124 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. the institution itself, must comport with the title. It must be no mean affair lest the high-minded youth, drawn away from the extravagance and luxuries of his home, should be disgusted and dissatisfied with the plainness of his table, and the narrow limits of his dormitory. Every thing must be presented to the eye in magnificent style, and nothing must be wanting to secure contentment. The scene must be ren- dered attractive, by whatever can pamper the appetite or gratify his pride. In this establishment he must remain, until pronounced fit to enter the university. And whether he will succeed in this, must depend, in a great measure, on the lenity or strictness of his examinations. But we will suppose that he is admitted. Here, then, the young master enters upon new scenes. Fitted, by his incipient training, to find fault with every thing, he is little inclined to submit to authority, or to apply himself to study. He imagines that there is nothing in the life of a college student but privation and suffering ; and hence it will be strange indeed, if he dees not seek for some solace for fancied troubles, in forbidden indul- gence and dissipation. If he escapes expulsion, he may deem himself fortunate. He passes on through the discipline of warnings, admonitions, and rustications, and finally comes out with the honors of his college. And this is called edu- cation ! And it is education, in a certain sense ; but not in the high and exalted sense in which the term ought to be used. We will not say, with the old English satirist (Swift) that " education is worse in proportion to the grandeur of the parents ;" nor will we assert, with him, that " if the whole world were under one monarch, the heir of that mon- arch would be the worst educated mortal in the creation. " This might be saying too much. But it may be reasonably doubted, whether the most wealthy, and those who possess the most abundant means for educating their children, are always the most likely to train them up for usefulness to others or credit to themselves. The fault, in these cases, is not to be imputed to the system. The high-school and the college, send out many a brilliant scholar. In these institu- tions, the means of instruction are amply provided ; and the youth might, if he would, attain to respectability and dis- THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 125 tinction. But, spoiled by early indulgence, and never taught to rely on his own resources, there is nothing to stimulate his ambition, nothing to excite him to exertion, nothing to call forth whatever of energy or strength he may possess. His study is a task, and an irksome task. To escape a recitation, is his proudest achievement. He is dragged or forced along through the different stages of his progress, an unwilling or reluctant victim, as he conceives, to rules, as unreasonable in themselves, as they are unwelcome to him. Now, that men thus educated, should prove wholly unfit for usefulness, is not surprising ; and it would be strange indeed, if this were the only way of training the youthful mind, that man's greatness or respectability should depend in any degree on his education. But if, by education, we are to under- stand, any and every mode by which the mind is strength- ened, and disciplined, and imbued with knowledge, then it must be admitted, that education is one of the chief instru- ments by which man attains to distinction. Let the youth, impelled by an ardent and unquenchable desire to excel, enter upon the business of education, and he will succeed. No matter what system he adopts ; nor will his circumstances make any difference in the result. He may be rich, or he may be poor ; he may enjoy all the advantages of the higher institutions of learning, or he may be compelled to gather up the treasures of knowledge while necessarily employed in the active and laborious duties of a trade or profession. The end will be the same. If imbued with an ambition and determination to attain his object, success must eventually crown his efforts. He will learn the best lessons, and in the best way. And, more than this, he will know, better than other men, how to apply his knowledge to the most useful purposes, and the most noble ends. Education, in this sense, does indeed contribute its full share to man's greatness. 3. But, doubtless, there may be some, who suppose that neither natural genius, nor educatien, are essential to this end ; but that birth, ancestry, and inherited wealth, are the only sources of all that is great or excellent. It cannot be expected, that many words will be spent in the examination of this claim. It will find little favor among the hardy sons 126 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. of this young republic* In this age and country, greatness comes not by hereditary right. Titles, and honors are to be fairly won, before they can be rightfully worn. And we ac- knowledge none of that ignoble nobility (if the paradoxical expression may be allowed) which has no ' better claim to distinction, than the musty title-deed of an ancient or wealthy family. Under a system of government where " Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow" where the road to preferment and powder is alike open to all and where the high places of honor and trust are awarded to the most worthy competitors, without respect to the adventitious circumstances of birth or inheritance it would be worse than absurd to set up arbitrary distinctions of rank, or to put on airs of superiority, not awarded by public sentiment. While all men are ready to pay due deference to talents, and virtue, and integrity, and every other noble quality, by whomsoever pos- sessed, they will not bow down to a spurious aristocracy, founded and built up on the mere accident of inherited pos- sessions. We come to the conclusion, then, that from neither of these sources, nor from all of them combined, in the absence of the great moving principle which we are advocating, can man derive substantial or permanent greatness. He may possess natural genius ; he may pass through all the forms of an education ; and he may inherit a great name and abundant wealth ; and yet he may suffer them all to remain as the talent misimproved, and so become an unprofitable drone a worthless cumberer of the ground. But let him once feel the stirrings of a laudable ambition ; let the noble desire to attain to an honorable distinction, fire his breast ; let him resolve, as far as possible, to excel, in whatsoever he may undertake ; let him, with untiring industry and per- severance, apply his genius, his learning, or his wealth, to the great object most dear to his heart ; and he will be sure to rise above every obstacle, and will finally establish a name and reputation, which constitute, in a worldly point of view, all true greatness. This is our position. And the whole world is full of examples, by which it may be proved and illustrated. But we need not go abroad to seek for such BOOK. 127 examples. They are before us, and around us ; and we look with pride and gratification on the fruits of this laudable ambition, which everywhere present themselves to our ob- servation. We see the stamp of this moving principle, in all the vast improvements which have so wholly changed the appearance and character of our country. These improve- ments appear in every branch of industry and enterprise. For example, in architecture, and the various mechanic arts. And to whom, and to what, are we indebted, for the high state of perfection to which these various works have been brought? By whom have your noblest public edifices been, planned and executed ? And who has displayed so much taste and elegance in the structure of the private dwellings which, like so many gems, adorn your cities, towns, and villages 1 By whose ingenuity and skill, has the vast and complicated machinery been set in motion, by which your manufactures have been carried to a degree of finish and beauty of workmanship, not exceeded in any part of the world 1 And what has given to your press, such high claims to pre-eminence ? We turn with exultation to our young men, who have been brought up among us, and trained to mechanical trades in our work-shops: young men, often laboring under every disadvantage ; having no resources nothing to rely upon for future distinction and prosperity, but their own exertions. These are the men, prompted, stimulated, and urged forward, with the hope of excelling in whatsoever they undertake, that rise to eminence and distinction. Again, we may ask Who are your artists? Who are your engravers, your sculptors, and your painters? What has given them a name, as well deserved as it is cheerfully awarded? The same irrepressible desire to excel the same noble ambition to earn an imperishable fame. Among them all, you will find few who have enjoyed the smiles of fortune, or the advantages of an expensive educa- tion. But they have voluntarily subjected their minds to the severest discipline. They have thought, studied, strove to acquire knowledge. They have surmounted obstacles ; they have mastered difficulties ; they have enjoyed, by anticipa- tion, rich rewards for their perseverance and exertion ; and 128 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. these rewards have been abundantly bestowed. So with the professional man the agriculturist and the merchant. Who prospers best? Who is the most sure to gain a com- petency 1 Who rises to the highest eminence 1 Surely not the drone or the idler ; or the poor visionary dreamer, who amuses himself with building castles in the air, and imagines that fortune, and honor, and distinction, will come unsought, or fall into his lap by chance, or accident, or inheritance. No : such are not the men to prosper : but those, on the contrary, who, by compulsion or by choice, tax their facul- ties to the utmost ; who labor in their proper vocation with untiring diligence ; and w r ho look for a fair and equitable return for all their exertions, in the success of their enter- prises. These are the men to thrive in the world. And they are the men to whom you most cheerfully, nay, almost instinctively, award the highest honors. When selecting candidates for the places of high trust and responsibility when seeking a safe depository for the estates of your widows and minors when you would find a counsellor to advise and direct you, or an agent to transact your business to whom do you look 1 Not to the man who merely happens to pos- sess a fortune for which he has never labored, or who is only distinguished by a name which he has shamefully dis- honored by his own sloth and idleness ; or who cautiously wraps his talent in a napkin, and buries it in the earth. No : but you look to those who have felt the necessity of thinking and acting for themselves ; who have been solicitous to earn and maintain a good reputation ; who have learned the value of their possessions, by the efforts which it has cost for their attainment; and who have been content to pursue a course of patient application, industry, and perse- verance, without turning aside to grasp at the idle phantoms and wild speculations by which thousands have been tempted and beguiled to their ruin. Such examples, were there no other, are of themselves sufficient to show the correctness, as well as the importance, of the principle which we are advocating. And these examples, as we have already said, present themselves on every side, and fall under our daily observation. But we might refer you to a different class of THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 129 examples, to support our position. We might adduce the case of men greatly distinguished, by the public stations to which they have been called : your statesmen your naval and military heroes and a long list of worthies whose names adorn the history of your country. In doing this, we would not go into the political ranks, for the sake of invidiously singling out here and there one, as more excellent and dis- tinguished than another. Our remarks may embrace a great number, and we therefore speak in general terms. But among those who have attained to the highest honor, and have reached the most exalted office in the gift of the nation, we might point you to seme, who have reached- this noble elevation unaided by any of the accidental circum- stances on which too many rely for distinction. They have taken their rise in humble life. But they have started with high aspirations. Not indeed that they could have dreamed, in their early life, of the high distinction to which they were destined. Such towering aspirations such extravagant am- bition could never have fired their bosoms in their younger days. But their mark was lofty. And they willingly re- sorted to close application and laborious study. They thirst- ed and panted for knowledge ; and when the advantages of the high-school and the college were denied them, they endeavored to supply the deficiency by personal industry and steady perseverance. They became, in the outset, inured to difficulties, and familiar with opposition. But they rose above every obstacle. They triumphed over every in- terposing force. In the end, they have had the privilege of standing before the world as self-made men. To their own exertions, under God, have they been indebted, for the wreath of honor, which a grateful nation has bound upon their brow. It has been the effect of self-culture and self-dependence, stimulated and carried forward by that most powerful of all human impulses, ambition to excel. In whatever lay before them, their desire was to do better than others. They would yield to no competitor ; they would spare no pains or labor ; they would sink under no discouragement. As they gained one eminence, another presented itself; and the higher they advanced, the more steep and difficult seemed the ascent. 16 130 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. And, finally, there was a last summit to be gained ; and men who had never been accustomed to look" upon any object as unattainable, were not to be disheartened at such a, juncture. Of the result of these particular aspirations, it is unnecessary to speak ; nor do men that have attained to such an elevation, need our eulogy. These are adduced, with other examples, merely to show what may be done, by steady industry and persevering effort, prompted and urged forward by an ever- present and uncontrollable desire to attain to something great or excellent; how obstacles, and difficulties, and dis- advantages, which seem like mountains to the timid and sloth- ful, may be triumphantly surmounted and overcome, by any man who has fixed his eye upon a shining mark, and has resolved that no fabor of his own shall be wanting to secure the prize for which he is contending. By all, and especially the young, these considerations may be deemed w earth. This is an ambition, where rank, condition, circumstances, make no difference. The farmer, the mechanic, the tradesman, the merchant, and the professional man, all stand on precisely the same broad ground. The prize for excelling, is equally held out to all ; the same noble desire to reach the prize, should animate all ; and the world will ever stand ready to award the victory to the successful competitor, of whatso- ever class, or whatsoever shall be the nature of his enter- prize. No man should be tempted, by the superior ad- vantages which he may happen to possess, to relax his exertions; nor should any one sink down in despair, under the discouragements which a wise providence may throw in his way. Is he for example, a man of natural genius? Let him reflect on the fearful responsibility under which the God of nature and providence has placed him by this rich endow- ment ; and let him take care that it be not buried in the earth, nor abused by licentiousness. By a due cultivation of such a talent, he may acquire knowledge, fame, com- petency every thing within his reasonable desires. If he mistakes not the bent of his genius, he may set his stand- ard as high as he will, and he will be sure to attain to it If he starts upon his race with the laudable ambition to excel, he will soon pass and distance many an idle laggard on the way, and come to the end of his course with high and enduring honor. But let him beware how he falls into a common and fatal error. He must not presume upon the mere strength of his natural genius. It is, in itself, and without cultivation, either useless or mischievous. He can only look upon it as so much ready furnished capital, to be improved, and used, and employed, with all diligence. He 132 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. must neither lock it up, like a wretched miser, nor squander it away, like a reckless prodigal. Who has not seen the sad effects of this improvidence 1 Who has not gazed in pity on some miserable being, known to fame only as a poor genius? That is, one originally endowed with the rich gifts of nature ; but who had suffered them to run to waste, or had presumed so much upon their unassisted effi- cacy, as to leave them unimproved? To be left at last, penniless' in purse, and a bankrupt in reputation, is the hard but sure penalty of such improvidence and prodigality. Under the stirrings of a laudable ambition, he has every thing to gain ; but without these promptings, he becomes little better than an ingenious piece of mechanism, corrod- ed, cankered^ eaten up with rust, and thrown aside to be neglected and forgotten. But we turn to another case to one, who, with or without natural genius, has had the advantages of a finished education. . Admit that he has, from his very boyhood, been attentive, orderly, and industrious; that he has maintained a high standing among his fellow-students ; and that he has gained, not only a college-degree, but the distinguished honors of his class. All this is well. It is unquestiona- bly a good foundation for future greatness. But let him remember that it is but a foundation ; and if he rests sat- isfied with this, he will soon find himself as unfaithful to his own interests, and as useless to mankind, as if he had never enjoyed the benefits of mental cultivation. Know- ledge, however acquired, and however perfect, unless applied diligently and earnestly to some practical purpose, is ut- terly valueless. Education, like natural genius, may be locked up and lost to the world. The educated man, who employs his learning only as a court-dress or a military uniform, to be exhibited and paraded on gala-days or special occasions, will be as little known to fame, as the veriest blockhead in community: and if he is obliged to throw himself back upon his college-honors, for all the distinction which he can acquire, he will find them empty and una- vailing. His whole history is written in the college-cata- logue, with perhaps this great man, or that good man, for THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 133 bis class-mate; and were it not for this distinction, his name would never reach beyond his own family circle, nor farther into futurity, than, the age in which he lives. What young man would not be ashamed of such a destiny 1 Who would be content with a respectability framed of such materials 7 Who would not strive for something more honorable? To accomplish all his better desires, is perfectly easy, if the purpose be fixed, and the aim be not misdirected. Let the advantages of mental discipline be actively employed, in exploring, deeper and deeper, the sources of knowledge ; in unfolding, more and more, the phenomena of nature ; and in carrying the arts and sciences to the highest pitch of perfection ; and then will education prove a most in- valuable acquisition. It will not only excite, but gratify, the most lofty aspirations, and secure, at last, an imper- ishable fame. It will reflect back honor upon the institu- tion where its foundation was laid, and shed many brilliant rays upon records, which would otherwise be lost in ob- livion. But suppose, again, that with or without either of these advantages, the young man has inherited an honorable name Or abundant wealth? Does he imagine that these alone are a passport to the homage of his fellow-men, and to the high places of trust and honor? If he has no other claim to distinction, he will soon find himself sadly mistaken. He will be passed by, with as little respect as the graven mon- ument, which merely serves to show what expense of treas- ure and labor may be lavished on a senseless block. His fancied greatness, will receive no prop or support from the hands of the wise or intelligent among his peers ; and in due time he will himself learn, .that inherited dignity, like the ancient mansion or moss-covered tower, though grand and imposing in the distance, may betray, in its internal garniture, nothing but dilapidation, decay, and poverty. But let a laudable ambition stir up the latent energies of his mind ; let him resolve to step into the ranks of the active and diligent classes of his fellow men ; let him employ his name, his wealth, and his influence, in promoting the great enterprizes of the day ; let him be found standing side by 134 TrtE PRINTER'S BOOK. side with other public benefactors ; and let the community in which he lives feel, to its remotest pulsations, the effects of his energetic action : and then may he hope nay, he may be certain, that the great name which he has inherited, will lose none of its dignity, while in his possession ; that the monuments of his worth, will rise up on every side ; and that he will transmit to his posterity, all his ancestral hon- ors, undiminished and untarnished. But suppose the young man has none of these advanta- ges? Suppose he starts on the journey of life, with a per- fect consciousness that he possesses nothing above mediocrity, either in talents, or literary attainments, or wealth ? Nay, suppose that he should in all or any of these respects, fall far below the medium standard of those around him? Is this any reason why he should be content to grovel forever in obscurity, and make no effort to rise into the respectable if not the distinguished, classes of his fellow-men? Cer- tainly not. He lies under no ban of exclusion. He may never indeed make a great statesman. He may not be se- lected for the highest places of political rank. And perhaps it might be idle for him to indulge in any such aspirations. But he can do what is infinitely better. In whatsoever cir- cumstances Providence may have placed him, he can make the place he occupies honorable. Be the occupation what it may, the way is open to respectability to competency to a reputation worthy of all commendation. Steady ap- plication, persevering industry, scrupulous integrity and self- respect, all stimulated by a laudable ambition to excel, will accomplish every thing. And the obscure and humble young man, who rises by his own efforts to honor and respecta- bility, may be assured that he runs no risk of incurring the envy, or jealousy, or hatred, of the world. The reverse of this is witnessed every day. He who will help himself, will see thousands of hands stretched out to help him. None but fools and coxcombs, cast scorn upon his origin, or sneer at his low birth, or poverty, or meanness of intellect. But all stand ready to bid him God-speed, and cheer him on his way to merited distinction. THE PRINTER'S BOOK, 135 . .' . CAKOLINE. BY A. E. GORDON. SMILED the moon from heaven brightly, Radiant shone the stars above, Watching o'er the dim earth nightly* Watching with a parent's love! Upward strove the swelling waters, Pleased with Luna's magic sway, Like to Earth's most lovely daughters When their hearts have flown away Faithful, though all else betray. Silent sat a gentle maiden, Sat her lover silent there: Ne'er was bark so precious laden He so gallant, she so fair! Sadness gloomy seemed to hover, Melancholy drear to 'twine, O'er the heart of him, her lover, And the beauteous Caroline; Feelings none can e'er define. Calm and smooth the lake was flowing, Glided o'er its face the bark; While, unheeded, swift was growing All the sky with vapors dark. First, the breeze came moaning lowly, Like a strain of music sweet; First, the ripple moved but slowly Upward, once again to meet, And its playmate fondly greet. Higher, fiercer toss'd the billow Quicker, faster rush'd the wind; And the bark, like branch of willow Trembling, left the shore behind. See the lady, bending tearful! See her lover deathly pale! Lest the boat that sped so fearful, Should, the morrow, tell^ a tale Fraught with cause of deepest wail. 136 THE PRINTER'S BOOK Roared the angry tempest madly, Raged the turbid waters high, While the lovers 'round them sadly Gazed, with wild and anxious eye. With a crash the bark was riven, Riven with a mighty blow: Then arose a shriek to heaven Such a- cry of. bitter wo, Trust we, none again may know! Onward to the mighty ocean, Trembling with the sullen tide, Floated, with a gentle motion, They, the lovers, side by side. Faithful to each other cleaving, Though the stoimy wave beneath; Not each other ever leaving, Even to their latest breath '.Till within the grasp of death. Sought their friends and kindred over Land and water all in vain; For, fair Caroline and lover They will ne'er behold again! Far beneath the ocean billow Now their forms serenely rest, Heeding not their stony pillow, As their faithful spirits, bless'd, Upward flew at God's behest. LINES. BY T. W. RENNE. As with small means in life we first essay, And win to wealth, by slow degrees, our wayj So must our wit make small advances first, Till the full sun of knowledge on us burst; So genius struggles up the heights of fame Gains present honor, and a deathless name. Will what thou may'st, thou shalt thy purpose gain, If firmness urge, antl prudence hold the rein. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 137 LA FIORAJA. BY 3 . BAYARD TAYLOR. MILD, solemn October the twilight of the year! The \vinds have not yet forgotten their summer softness, and late asters twinkle like stars through the shade of thickets. But the leaves are falling ; morning after morning you can see them dropping thicker and more frequent, loosened by the early frost, till all day long there is a shower through the tall woods. They are dropping around me now, with a sound like soft rain, and the many clasping arches through which I see the sky, are fast losing their tracery of painted arabesques. A clear, broad stream is below me blue and fathomless for it holds the autumn heaven ; and away, through the light haze, some purple hills rise with a long curve above the horizon. The crystalline brightness of the atmosphere touches them with a clear, glowing purity ; and gazing on their soft outlines, my soul goes back to Italy. It is but a thought a moment of electric fleetness and I am in Florence. I wander over the Fonte Vecchio, looking through its central arches at the Appenines, or bargaining for luscious figs with the merry contadini; I stroll for hours through the Royal Gallery, or, in the matchless Tribune, lose myself in enraptured trance before the divine St. John, or the sad beauty of Guercino's sybil. How freshly after two years' absence, come up again the slightest incidents, the most trifling objects, even the very thoughts of my happy sojourn ! There is scarcely a stone in the streets I do not remember. I could paint the laurel avenues, the clumps of fan-like pine, and the spiry shafts of the cypresses in the Boboli Garden, bough 18 138 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. for bough, as they looked when I last saw them. Delightful Florence ! how often do I climb in thought to the convent of San Miniato, and look down on thy dome and airy belfries, and over that Paradise of Val d'Arno ! Many Autumns must pass before I shall see again the fair valleys of Tuscany yet to- day I will re-trace my old wanderings, for Memory needs neither passport nor conveyance in her travels. Will you hear a simple, yet I trust, not entirely profitless record of a character, whose remembrance I cherish with a deep and ro- mantic interest ? Opposite my rooms in the Via Vacchereccia, was one of the handsome cafes which abound in Florence spacious, showy establishments, where men of all nations meet, to talk over the gossip of the world, over their coffee, or a flask of the golden vintage of Orvieto. The tourist is always certain of finding there the principal sheets of Paris, Marseilles, Rome, and Genoa, as well as Galignani's universal "Messenger," and the equally familiar Augsburg Gazette. Politics, however, are tacitly avoided, at least in the lingua Toscana ; for though the government is disposed to be liberal, other influences are mingled in the affairs of Italy, and the stranger is by no means certain that there is no secret agent of the police within hearing of his words. Social intercourse is less trammelled, and the cafe often proves a convenient neutral ground, from which friendships of the strongest character often date their com- mencement. Even the Englishman there at times forgets his nationality ; the German who is everywhere at home, and the American, who can make himself so, if he will, have less dif- ficulty in domesticating themselves to cafe life. Having, therefore, rendered my countenance familiar to the Swiss garzone, I felt perfectly at home at the "Cafe di Minerva." In the mornings, when the bell of the Palazzo Vecchio woke me with its musical chime, I hastened down to enjoy " Le Siecle" over a cup of coffee; and often after our jovial dinner in an old palace but a few paces from the birth-place of Dante Alighieri, we returned a genial company of paint- ers, sculptors, and one humble scribe to lounge an hour over the marble tables, and talk of our homes beyond the sea. At such times we were sure to be visited by La Fioraja THE PRINTERS BOOK 139 charming Fioraja whose vivid Italian beauty we admired even more than her basket of breathing flowers. At least, I always saw the eyes of my friend, the young painter, grow bright with admiration, or it may be with so much gazing on her own, as she came up to us with a graceful cour- tesy. He tried hard to catch their color and dewy lustre, but his memory invariably forgot its duty. He would have painted them from the lovely model, but La Fioraja was proud her very glance checked the artist, when he would have proposed this. Perhaps I have already said enough to explain the melodious title by which we knew her. She belonged to a class, which springing up originally in Florence, seemed to have been a growth of the simple and poetic Tuscan character. The foreigner is charmed with the beauty of these flower-girls, who, in their broad straw hats, the rim of which falls on their shoulders, and their fragrant baskets on their arms, enter the hotels and cafes, and bestow on the guests these offerings of their genial climate. They ask nothing for their daily gifts ; every morning they are brought with a smile, or when the face grows kind and familiar, a few words of cheerful gossip* and it is left to the stranger's generosity to repay this delight- ful attention by a parting donation. There is something exceedingly poetical in this absence of all bargaining a recog- nition of sacredness in the delicate gifts themselves which invests the custom and those who follow it, with a character of beauty not always belonging to them. The profession, if such it may be called, is now invaded by less worthy follow- ers, and having been adopted in other cities, is beginning to lose its local characteristics. The flower-girls of the Champs Elysees, witty and vivacious as they undoubtedly are, still cannot borrow the charming simplicity of the Tuscan Fioraja. The language spoken by these latter, is that of Petrarca and Boccaccio, and it loses none of its music on their lips. Although generally of humble extraction, they have a taste and natural refinement of feeling, which at first notice sur- prises the stranger. But when Florence is more familiar to him when he strays through its unequalled galleries, and sees the peasant feasting on their treasures of Art, with a less 140 THE perfect appreciation, doubtless, but with as deep-felt an admi- ration as the prince he ceases to wonder. Where every street is adorned with some work of an immortal master, which is familiar from childhood to the eyes of the people, the common mind partakes unconsciously of a pure spiritual fount, too often sealed to the rich and prosperous in our own land ; and hence it is, that a love for the arts seems to be a natural element in the Italian character. Our Fioraja seemed to have an unerring perception of character and taste, and never failed to bestow her flowers accordingly. It was to me an interest- ing study to watch her quick choice of boquets, and its justifi- cation in the countenance of the receiver and rarely indeed did she seem to make a wrong disposal. Once she laid a few blossoms before an old gentleman who was sitting opposite to me, buried in the perusal of a newspaper, which he had monopolized the whole morning, notwithstanding the polite hints of the waiter, that others had repeatedly desired it. He merely lifted his eyes and looked at her : the hard, cold expression of his countenance was unsoftened by a single gleam of feeling or " speculation," and as he rose to leave, he left the flowers where they had been laid. They were the last she ever offered him. Another time, I observed a young man, apparently a German, whose face was marked deeply by the traces of some settled sorrow. She hesitated but a moment in approaching him, and placed upon the table a cluster of roses. I thought her gift inappropriate ; but a second glance showed me that the blossoms were white, and bound up with them was a sprig of the mournful cypress. The stranger took them mechanically, and though his face did not change its sad expression, I saw that his eyes grew dim with tears. She had recognized the tone to which his spirit soonest responded. La Fioraja and I were soon acquaintances as far as my broken Italian would permit conversation. My room in the tall house opposite was kept continually fragrant by the myrtle, heliotrope and roses she brought me every morning. As the clear, cold days of November came on, and sharp winds, that had been sweeping around the snowy top of Monte Morello, came down into Val d'Arno, some of the more delicate blossoms faded, and at last she had only the 141 hardy geranium and the beautiful Tuscan rose, which blooms along sun-shiny terraces the whole winter through. " Fioraja," said I, one cold morning, " why do you not bring us the same sweet flowers as formerly? Your basket is getting much lighter than it used to be." " Ah, signor," she answered, speaking of the flowers with a manner that reminded me of Nydia's song: " Hark, what the poor things say, For they have a voice like ours!" " Ah, signor, non vogliono fiorare piu. They do not like to blossom in these cold days. I shall have to let them sleep till the Spring comes ; and then I shall have violets for you." " But, Fioraja, I shall not be here when the Spring comes. And when the violets blossom I hope to gather them at home." "Signor, can you leave Italy can you leave beautiful Florence ?" "My own country," said I, "is dearer to me than even Italy ; and if you were there, you would say that it was nearly as beautiful. We have flowers, too, in America, as bright and abundant as these." " In America !" she exclaimed ; adding in a lower tone, " you are then an American ?" " Yes," replied I ; " did you never see one before, you seem so surprised ?" " I never ask the signori whence they come, but I knew some one once who went to America." " Ah, bella Fioraja, is it some one very dear to you, who has gone to my country ?" For an instant there was something like a proud dignity in her countenance, but resuming her usual playfulness, she answered with, I thought, some sadness in her voice : " Yes, signor, it was one dear to me molto, molto caro !" and it is impossible to describe the melting tenderness which these words have on an Italian tongue. She took up her basket and left me. I respected what I thought an artless avowal of some early attachment; and though she sometimes questioned me with great apparent in- 142 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. terest respecting America, I was careful to avoid referring to a subject which I supposed might awaken sorrowful re- membrances. Still, 1 could not help feeling some curiosity as to the domestic relations of La Fioraja. Words escaped her almost unconsciously, at times, that showed her to be pos- sessed of a mind, which, even though ft might have been ex- panded by a limited share of education, must have been naturally superior to those of her class. But there was a quiet dignity in her manner, which repelled the questions I felt tempted to ask. I was convinced that there was serious thought, and perhaps experience hidden behind her every-day gayety. One evening I was sitting alone in the Cafe di Minerva. There were but few guests present, none of whom were known to me. La Fioraja entered as usual, and, laying aside my paper, I waited her coming up the hall, stopping here and there at the half-deserted tables. But a short distance from me, sat a young Frenchman, whose gay, careless deportment, and air of unabashed selfishness and self-possession, marked him for one of those wandering roues, who often find it con- venient to leave Paris for a season, and seek amusement in the intrigues and jealousies of Italian society. As she was in the act of leaving him her accustomed gift, he seized her hand with a bold familiarity. She quietly withdrew ft, and was about to proceed, when he made some whispered remark, whose insolent freedom roused all the indignant pride in her nature. Step- ping back hastily, she cast upon him a look, whose withering scorn even he could scarcely support. As she turned towards me, her lip had still its disdainful curve ; and the soft lustre of her eyes, which my artist-friend was so enthusiastic in prais- ing, had kindled into lightning. Child-like as she usually seemed, she was now all woman. I could not but mark how suddenly she changed again to the lively flower-girl. There was always an under current of earnestness, even in her gayety, which prevented the thought of lightness ; and I knew she was not one from whose heart the memory of either injury or kindness would easily pass away. " Fioraja," said I, with some share in her own indignation, "in my country, you would find more respectful treatment THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 143 You must not think as many do here in Italy, that we are a nation of savages. We have something of the chivalry which your ancestors once had, and we pay everywhere honor and respect to woman." La Fioraja's heart must have been a proud one, for her glowing look seemed to thank me for my country's sentiment. She paused, as if pondering some sudden thought; she looked at me, in doubt then, as if something had confirmed into resolution the half-formed design floating in her mind, she bent nearer, and whispered : " Signer, since I knew you came from America, I have wondered whether I might ask a favor of you. But it is a fa- vor which cannot be granted without your learning a secret of my own a secret known to no one beyond the walls of my dwelling. After what has passed to-night I think I can trust you ; the more especially as you say you have but a few days to spend in Florence. It would be a happiness to my father to see one who comes from America, and you may on your return home, be able to do us all a great kindness. I ean tell you no more now, for see the signori are noticing my delay ; will you not meet me, to-morrow evening, at this hour, at the Fountain of Neptune, which you know stands in the square, beside the Palazzo Vecchio ?" I assured her earnestly that she might trust in my com- pliance, and in the faithful keeping of any trust she should deem me worthy of receiving, and parted from her, made com- pletely impatient for another day ; for the least trace of romance in one single human history is far more interesting to follow, than the novelist's most elaborate and exciting inventions. Eight was chiming from the tall, turreted tower of the Pal- azzo, and the rich moonlight came pouring into the square through the arches of the Uffizzi, silvering over the dryads be- fore the palace-door, and the colossal David the divine work of Michael Angelo as I stood beside the fountain. Neptune and his bronze Tritons cast up sparkling showers from their twisted shells, and their muscular figures seemed animate in the moonlight. I did not wait long for La Fioraja. She came lightly and quickly across the open square, with an empty basket in her hand. " Thanks, signor !" said she, huriedly ; " let us not delay !" 144 THE PRIN TEH'S BOOK. We passed down the brilliantly-lighted Via Calzolajo, the Florentine Broadway = crossed the Cathedral square, with the shining marble belfry towering above us, till the stars seemed but ornaments on the tracery of its needle-like spires. Then we entered one of the long narrow streets which lead in the direction of the Porta della Croce. We said but little; La Fioraja had lost her sprightliness, and I was too deeply inte- rested in the issue of my adventure, to question her prematurely. We passed between the tall, black prison-like palaces, as old as the days of Cosmo de Medici, with which this part of the city abounds. Scarcely a single person was to be seen ; the iron-barred windows, and huge massive gateways had some- thing stern and forbidding in their appearance ; and the nar- row, crooked streets shut us out from the genial moonlight. Down a narrow alley I caught a glimpse of Santa Croce, and knew that we could not go much further without reaching the city wall, whose square embrasures were already visible. Turning into a street which ran parallel to it and opened upon the Arno, we stopped before an old palace, which, in its palmy tfays, might have been among the richest in Florence. But its aspect was now dark and deserted. No light came from its grated windows, and no sound was heard within to give token of cheerful existence. " This is the place, signer," said La Fioraja ; " knock, and you will be admitted. The rest you will learn within." With these words, she entered a small garden-door and disappeared. I did not hesitate, but knocked at once and loudly. After a pause, footsteps were heard slowly approaching, and the rusty lock grated with the turn of an unwilling key. The door was at length opened, and an old servant holding in her hand a tall iron lamp, saluted me. " Enter, worthy signor," said she ; " the lady Fiammetta is expecting you." " But," I asked, somewhat surprised at this speech, " where is La Fioraja ?" " You will see her before you leave." She closed the door after me. We crossed a low hall, the ceiling of which was admirably painted in fresco, in the style of the old Tuscan master, Volterrano. In the centre was a THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 145 sculptured escutcheon, At the end of this hall, a flight of broad marble steps led us to a lofty vaulted chamber, hung with old knightly portraits, which, from their lines of resemblance, and the changing styles of costume, were evidently those of a fam- ily which could trace back its ancestry to the days of the Me- dici. A few master-pieces by the old painters completed the decorations ; the only furniture was a marble table, wrought in rich mosaic, and a few stately-looking chairs, which seemed as ancient as the pakice itself. A light stood upon the table, behind which a tall mirror doubled the cheerless splendor of the apartment. I waited some minutes in intense expectation, wondering what mystery had made me its subject. I looked at the table, the pictures I stepped to the window which opened upon a terrace filled with flowers and gazing into the moonlight, was fast losing myself in a labyrinth of conjectures, when I heard a footstep. A side-door opened, and a lady entered, before whose stately beauty I involuntarily made a low reverence. Her dark hair was braided on her head, and clasped by a cir- clet of small pearls ; she wore a rich satin robe, and a single diamond of surpassing lustre glittered on her breast. She came up to me with a smile, and I started back astonished at beholding La Fioraja ! The same, yet how changed ! Her pure peasant beauty was heightened into the grace and lofty bearing of a princess ; the gleam of the dark eye was firmer the curve of the red lip prouder, and though the pure, sweet brow was unaltered, it seemed radiant with the invisible halo of thought. She might have been placed with the jewelled dames who looked on us from the walls, (and now, for the first time, I saw their features in her own.) and bden honored as the noblest of them all. " Fioraja ! pardon me, signora !" I stammered. " Nay, my friend," said La Fioraja, or the Lady Fiammetta, as she really was, in the same sweet voice as ever, yet with- out its tone of careless gayety : you must forgive me for this evening's mystery. You now know the secret which I scarcely dared to reveal. This is the palace of my father, Andrea di Lavagna, and I have asked you hither in the hope that you might tell him of the country in which his unfortunate son has 19 146 found refuge, and it may be, give him the clue to some knowl- edge of my poor brother. 1 am now his only child, and the last of the Lavagnas. It is a bitter thought to my father, that his name, once among the proudest in Genoa, should be extin- guished and he so loved Antonio ! Oh signor, if you know of any comfort for him, Fiammetta di Lavagna will bless you for it !" " Lady," said I, deeply moved, " doubt not that I will do all I may, to serve you. But tell me of your brother." " Alas, signor, it is a sad story. I was many years younger when Antonio was forced to leave us. All my father's hopes were fixed on him ; he had seen his other children taken from him, one by one, till only were left Antonio, the best and bravest of all, and myself who was then a child. He had giv- en all his estates in Lombardy and Parma to Antonio's keeping, reserving only this and some other trifling property, for the support of his few remaining years. Antonio was generous and noble-spirited ; he could not bear the foreign yoke which was upon Italy : and, stimulated by the remembrance of his heroic ancestor, Fiesco, in an unfortunate hour, joined a con- spiracy against the government. The terrible fate of the Car- bonari, but a few years before, hung over him ; but when the band was broken up, and its members seized, he escaped to the Appenines, and after the most cruel hardships, reached Florence. A day only could he remain with us he had con- demned himself to eternal banishment, and, tearing himself from our embraces, hastened to Leghorn, whence he sailed to America. Our poor father was nearly heart-broken. His pro- perty, too, was lost with Antonio's condemnation. The little left us was not enough to provide for our wants, and preserve the last dwelling-place of our ancestors. The two or three ser- vants we retained were faithful to me, and have kept my se- cret but, signor, my father does not, must not know that you have seen me as La Fioraja !" " What, lady ! have you thus nobly sacrificed your pride of birth to filial affection, supporting him by the painful alterna- tive of assuming a character far below your station below the soul you inherit ? Oh, lady, this is nobly done ; but could you not have spared yourself this experience, which must be hard THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 147 to bear ? Here are paintings, which would bring you gold in abundance." " Signor," replied Fiammetta, with the old stateliness in her look and tone, " this palace and these paintings are all that is left to the name of Lavagna. They have been inherited from father to son for centuries. They will be the only legacy we can give to Antonio, if he ever returns. I would beg in the streets of Florence, sooner than part with them. They are my own consolation they remind me that I am of proud and princely blood. If in the streets and cafes I put on the soul as well as the costume of La Fioraja, here, at least, I feel my- self a Lavagna !" The excited blood rushed to her cheeks and forehead, as she stood with one arm extended towards the rare paintings on the walls. In the silence of the moment, as the loud, rich melody of her voice died away, I could have believed myself existing in that romantic age, whose very spirit seemed to live again in her. " Let us seek my father ; he has been told that a stranger will visit him," she said at length. I followed her through a vaulted passage, at the end of which she knocked gently at a door. " Enter, my child !" said a voice that trembled with excess of age. We passed into a cheerful, and even luxurious chamber. Vases of rare flowers filled the windows divans of velvet graced the walls and a lute curiously carved and inlaid with pearl, lay upon the floor. An old man, whose beard, snowy with eighty winters, fell upon his breast, was seated in a large cushioned chair. Fiam- metta, pressing his hand tenderly to her lips, said to him : " This, my father, is the signer of whom I spoke." The old man bowed his head, and, faintly beckoned me to advance. " You are from America, signor, my Fiammetta tells me. My poor Antonio fled to your country. Oh, if you have heard but one word of him, tell it to me. I am old and feeble : I can- not live long but before I die, I would hear of Antonio, since I may not see him on earth." His voice grew indistinct : Fiammetta's face was hid in his bosom, and his tears fell upon her head. How I longed for some angelic messenger some spirit of earth or air, com- 148 pelled to my will, to bring tidings of the exile ! How I tor- tured my memory in the vain search for some name or form which might have been their Antonio ! Taking the hand of the old man, I knelt beside him, and tried to soothe him. I told him that many of the political exiles of Italy had found refuge in America ; that some of them had risen to honor ; that in my country there were paths of honest life and ambition open to all, and that the generous, manly spirit of his son would be sure to win him friendship and a home. Finally, I promised to seek for him on my return, and send, if possible, some tidings of his fate. He listened, and his grief seemed quieted ; laying his hand on Fiammetta's head he murmured: " God has still been mer- ciful : he has left me one dear child !" Oh, the unutterable love and devotion which answered from the eyes of that child ! " Blessed Virgin !" she cried, " watch over our Anto- nio, and lead him back to his home and the hearts that are breaking for his loss !" I joined my tears to their own : that fountain of the heart, which had been early dried to my own sorrow, gushed forth again at the wo of others. I asked and received the old man's blessing, and we arose and departed. When we again reached the picture-chamber, Fiammetta said, as she gave me her hand at parting : " Forget that Fiammetta di Lavagna lives, when you again see La Fior- aja. We have been happier for this interview ; may you be able hereafter to make us happier still !" I wandered slowly back to the Via Vacchereccia, deeply touched with this unexampled instance of filial love and heroic devotion. I wished for gold, for rank, for political power, that I might aid them, and haply restore the exiled Antonio. But I was a poor, powerless wanderer, and could give them but a wanderer's sympathy. A day or two afterwards I left Florence. In the cafe I again met with La Fioraja the same bright, artless creature as ever, to all but myself. I took her offered bouquet in silence ; this time it was composed of the rarest and richest flowers. My words, at parting, were for the flower-girl, for strangers were near ; but my glance was for the descendant of T H E P R I N T E R ' S BOOK. 149 Fiesco. In obedience to the universal custom, I would have made her a parting gift : but she foresaw my intention, and said, in a low, firm voice : " Not to me, signor !" Many a day after that, in toiling through the wintry Appenines, on my pilgrim-way to Rome, did I rest at the foot of an olive or wild fig tree, and opening my knapsack, inhale the faded fra- grance of the last Tuscan roses I received from her hand. Two years have passed since then, and I have not found Antonio. Meanwhile, a new freedom is dawning over Italy, and I still trust that he may one day return to Florence to his old father, and Fiammetta, the princely Fioraja ! THE REFORMER. BY WILLIAM O. BOURNE. A PROPHET, speaking in the HOLY LAND, With Promise on his tongue, and sight that pierced The cloudy vista of the coming years, Made known MESSIAH ! Thought profound and vast, That inspiration gave, and burning words, And revelation of the plan of GOD, In awful imagery or tender strain, Gave Hope to angels who had hung their harps On willows sad, and spoke of Hope to Man. Poor wanderer from paths of endless life. Lo! when the fulness of the time had come, A man of sorrows, pouring out his tears, That meekly walked, and spoke eternal life To dying man ; that lowly bowed with grief To give unending bliss ; that had no place To lay his head ; that spoke divinest words Of glorious love ; whose voice gave life in death, And sweetly bade the erring world FORGIVE ! 150 THE PR INTER'S BOOK. No royal birth made herald of his day ; No earthly pomp proclaimed his titled name ; But angels, in their glory, stooped on wings Of heavenly grace, and sung their holy strain Of Peace on Earth, that brought Good Will to man. CHRIST the Redeemer, with his fallen race Came down to dwell ! To walk in mortal form, And prophesy of peace where discord reigned To give immortal food to souls that loved To die ! To break the captive's chain, and set The prisoner free ! To bid the troubled sea, That ever tossed its waves of strife, " BE STILL !" To rend the tomb, and o'er its portals write, " I am the Resurection and the Life !" And seal the Promise with Eternal Love. The Godhead dies in Man ! Despised of men, The worm rejects his God! The proud contemn, The evil curse, the scorners mock, the vile Deride the Pure ! Messiah dies to breathe The God-like word, FORGIVE! The Giver yields To death, and bears the sin-avenging stroke, And leaves His Spirit to Reform and Save. Then Prophets, with the gifts of many tongues, Declared His name. The Parthian hung his bow, The sacred fires went out on Persian hills, And Greeks, that trod the classic shades, and reared Their altars high, adored "THE UNKNOWN GOD!" Egyptians left their Nile, and where their gods Of every form were worshipped, spoke His name ; Arabs that roamed the dreary waste, were tamed ; The balmy Ind sent forth its sweet perfume To mingle with the praise ; and strangers came And learned, and spread the tidings o'er the world. The Pantheon, where demons sat enthroned In mystery, and led the soul to death, Was wrapped in Lethe's night, and fabled gods, In shrines forsaken, mourned their worshippers. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 151 Faith took her glorious form, and Truth, unbound, Spread o'er the world her Hope-emboldened wing. TRUTH, THE REFORMER, met the hoary Lie, And gave him battle ! Deeds of glory crowned His brilliant race, and from the Pagan thrones, And sunny plains, and from scholastic walks, He hurled the Azrael legion down to doom. But Error lingered in her crimson garb, And o'er the nations wove her dreamy spell, In years of Night. She took the radiant page, And with Tradition's web obscured its light, And hid in secret cells the holy word. Art took the throne of Reason ! Gorgeous piles, The monuments of Thought that strove to gain The Ideal Beauty, reared their costly domes, And shrouded in the pictured beam of light The Worshipper. Old Superstition won The trusting Faith, and Revelation dimmed With oft-repeated tales ; and Priests and Kings, Enthroned in power, or sitting in the place Of GOD, led millions in their bloody paths, And bound their faith in Fear's corroding chain. Then THE REFORMER left his lonely cell, And standing high in Heaven's commissioned right, Sent forth the lightning-flash, and rent the gloom. Oh, glorious dawning of the coming day ! That called the waking soul from shades of death, And bade it seek the Eternal ! O'er the hills, The rays went leaping on to distant lands : From Alpine peaks to where the Pyrenees Look down on flowery Spain or Britain's isle Is laved by Northern Seas ; or Norway's strand, Where sweeps the Maelstrom to its centre driven; Or where the chosen vine with purple grape Gave joy to Gallia's sons ; and Teuton tongues Their vespers sung; and soft Italia's sky Was flushed with beams of Heaven's imparted bliss. 152 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. But, single tongued, the Prophet could not speak And wake the world ! Then Genius gave to Art Inventive Power. In night's long toilsome hours, And weary days of care, and anxious thought, Slow shaping to its end, the lab'rer tasked His longing mind ! Great thought of struggling life ! To multiply the page and scatter wide The leaves that healing gave to wounded hearts ! To catch the words divine, and give them wings Of flashing light to break the midnight deep, And on the moving world in rapture pour The swelling flood, when FAUST revealed THE PRESS ! O ART OMNIPOTENT! Beyond my pen Aright to name! that woke the slumbering world, And, at the sacred font baptised in Truth, Gave first in labors long the Holy Word !* NOBLEST OF ARTS ! Thus consecrate to man ! REFORMER in the robes of heavenly light! Thy rapid feet o'erstepped the giant hills, And crossed the dreary waste, o'erleaped the- wave And, speaking in the ears of nations dead, Woke Freedom's cry for ever! Soon the chains Fell off in rusty links ! The free-born mind Burst from its shackles, and its race began. And though the Smithfield fires the page consumed, And fierce anathemas were madly hurled Upon thy way, triumphant still thy voice Was ever heard! REFORMER clothed in might! The angel flying o'er the world to wing * It is a singular and beautiful fact in the History of the Art of Printing-, that the BIBLE was the first printed Book. It occupied ten years, from 1450 to 1460, to execute the task. In the year 1457 Faust issued the Book of Psalms, marking a step in the progress of the work. The public exhibition of his books, in Paris, under the pretence of their being manuscripts, gave rise to the popular story of " Faust and the Devil." Being charged with these unholy dealings, he was imprisoned, when, in order to obtain his lib- erty, he was obliged to disclose the process of his new art. The pretended charge against him, and his imprisonment, were probably designed to extort the secret by which he could make so many copies exactly similar to even the minutest strokes and points. THE fRi.NTER'a- BOOK* 1531 The everlasting Gospel, and proclaim Oppression's doom ! To bid the sightless eye Look up and see its Maker ! To the dumb, Who bore the fetter, give resistless power ! And where the pris'ner in his dungeon lay, Or. rayless night hung round the toiling slave, To speak Redemption in the captive's ear! No more the scribe with trembling pen consumed His waning years ! No more the parchment rolled, With page illuminate, in monkish cells Confined; no more the oft-repeated tale Was heard unweighed; Inquiry stripped the mask Tradition wore, and Learning stooped to win The simple child who else had died untaught. With Science, arm in arm the Prophet walked ; When proud exploring led the lofty mind From sphere to sphere, where systems circle round Th' Eternal Throne, or in abysmal search Brought wonders from the earth's remotest caves, He caught the impress, and diffused the ray! t The Poet harped, and millions heard the strain ; The nunibers rolled, and swift o'er many lands They gave pulsation to the quickened heart And woke its smothered fire ! Where freedom rung Her clarion peal, and on the mountain peak Lit beacons up, or in the lowly vale, Where quiet hamlets slept in lasting peace, They stirred the patriot band! The Prophet tongue Was silent as the page, but words of fire Made hearts to burn, and kindled up the vows, That,, sworn at Freedom's altar, ne'er shall fail ! Prophet of many tongues ! that reached the throne Where despots sat, or in the lowly cot, With strain impassioned, spoke of right divine! THE WORLD'S REFORMER ! in thy thunder peals Old tyrants heard their doom ! The quaking earth Rocked wildly at their feet, and swallowed up 20 j 54 T H I P R I N T E R ' ' JB O O K . Pretensions absolute and " right of kings ;" The heaving sea that nevermore shall rest, Till HE shall speak the raging waves to peace, Lashed round their tottering thrones, and swept away The sinking sands, and on the ruins left The promise of the Future ! Grasping still, Like skeletons that walk in films of flesh, Their ancient power, they hold the sceptre forth With trembling fingers, while their pulsea beat With speechless dread ! The Ahabs who have led The people to their graves ! Whom, cursing deep, The Profjhet points to famine in their prime ! The Herod crew who lay their butcher hand Upon the prophets who would bring them life. THE WORLD'S REFORMER! Millions hear thy voice, And rising from their chains, in native might, Demand thy tones ! In upright form they stand, And bid their tyrants loose thy potent tongue ! With arm uplifted high, to Heaven's blue vault They fling the promise forth,/ and where thy voice Proclaims thine altar, there they stand and swear, By life and death, by cherished love for home, By hate for damning wrpng, by earth's broad By Heaven's eterna) name, THEY WILL BE FREE! O WONDROUS ART ! By thee Columbia speaks ! By thee the nations of the earth are blessed ! Where'er her name is heard and Freedom's star Shines through oppression's gloom, thy thrilling power Breathes o'er the waking world ! The freeman treads On distant shores, and tribes of men resound His earnest cry ! THE PRESS, inspiring Hope, Makes prophecy of Love. It points the eye To western skies where earth is still unstained. Sclavonian races watch the guiding star, And with Milesians mingle in the race To Freedom's throne. The Teuton serf awakes From dreamy sleep, and Alps to Ural ring The thunder peal. On Tiber's muddy bank, t Or where the Lazarones bask out their days, y famed Geneva's lake reflects the stars. THE PRINTER'S B o o k . 1 55 tts lightning flash is speaking from the sky. The pris'ner sees it in his cheerless cell! The slave rejoices though in rusty chains ! Arid ancient hills, where Dion trod to dust His bleeding foes, return the rolling hymn. t O ART PRESERVATIVE ! Thou giv'st to thought tlncounted utterings ! Discovery Breaks The seal of mystery, and swift she flies With countless tongues to tell a waiting world, Where science leads to secret walks, thy path f Is known. And where Philosophy explores Long hidden Truth, it takes thy fbllest ray. RECORDING ART! Historians love thy birth,' And Commerce spreads her sails at thy behest. To thee all Art is bound from thee receives New power and form preserving all that gives Impress of beauty to the inner life. The Sculptor shapes his marble, but to thee Must bow ! The Painter makes the canvass sneaky But few can feel the impress ! Music dies In undulating sound, and harps ate still ! And Orators, that poured impassioned words Of Eloquence, give up their sway to THEE! ENNOBLING ART! What honored names are thine! Scholars like him that versed the holy page* Philosophers that turned the lightning's path And poets who have tuned the winning lyre ! The soul, bright effluence from the Sun Eternal* Orbing its circuit in its godlike sphere, Is full of Promise ! Forth from bliss it came: Baptized in angel harmonies that rung From sphere to sphere, when morning stars awoke ., *, ROBERT STEPHENS, a Printer and accomplished scholar, of Paris. The Bible having been divided into chapters by a Roman Catholic Cardinal, in the year 1240, the Old Testament was subdivided into verses by a Jewish Jtabbi, in the year 1440. Stephens accomplished the subdivison of the New Testament in his leisure hours, while on a visit from Paris to Mar- seilles, in 1563. 1 56 TrtE PRINTER 's BOOK. Their seraph strain! when Heaven's divinest choirs And earth's unsullied scenes, and Ocean's waves, That joyous worshipped round Elysian Isles, And winged birds, and harmless beasts that roamed On verdant hills, and in the sunny ray Insects that hummed their busy hymn of love, And Nature, in her virgin robe attired, Looked up, with dewy eyes of grateful love, And poured their praise in Heaven's attentive ear! Great destiny of being ! thus to hear, First sound that caught Perception's listening sensej The blessing of the Giver! Countless spheres, And circling systems in unmeasured paths Rejoiced that Goo had given another orb To love's domain ; where Joy immaculate And holy Faith, that linked the new-born soul To glory infinite, should reign supreme. ' Dwelling of GOD in Man ! Great thought in being ! That linked Divinity to dust that made Earth's dust a temple, where His spirit breathed And bade Hope swing her censer ; while with Faith, And Harmony that drew the strains of bliss From spirit harps that round the Tree of Life Were ever strung, they caught the living fire. Love's golden altar set with radiant gems Of pearly deeds ; life-giving Truth that shone With Glory's seal, and Purity that looked With angel eye on Earth, then sought her God. Dwelling of Man in GOD ! That woke the dust And gave it life that took a wondrous form, And walking forth in Earth's first sinless hours, With thought contemplative, enwrapped in bljss, Adored th' Eternal Author ! Child of light, He sought th' Unfailing Source! Endued with thought, He soared in lofty mood, and walked unfrayed. At evening shades with Mind Unsearchable! The air was full of Him! The breathing winds That swept o'er flowery meads and fanned his brow 157 Spoke silently of GOD. The cooling shade Was worship's holy veil. The lofty trees With rustling leaves spoke symphonies of praise. The flowing stream that mirrored forth the stars Spoke of the River from the Throne. The birds Woke melodies that thrilled the soul with strains Of gentle love ! The lion spoke of GOD With kingly voice ! T^he noble beasts that roamed O'er vocal hills, and finny tribes, and things Of humming wing, replied in many tongues, Or flashing gleam, and with Creation's- lord Kept sweet companionship! All spoke of GOD ! All pure, all praising, all in worship led The mind to GOD! The stars allured the eye To heaven's blue depths, where full in beauty rolled The virgin moon ! The sun woke morning songs, And all day long, and in the evening walks, And night's deep shades, the soul communed with GOD Him seen. Him known, Him worshipped and adored. But soon an angel from the dusky realm Of death and gloorn, The Tempter, came and broke The holy chain : Unloosed the pearly gates, '* % Unbound the worshipper, his incense turned To gloom, his faith to doubt, gave Hope distrust, Bade Love sink down to self, made Truth a lie, And turned the robe of Purity to dross. Time brought the silvery crown for aged man, And made his Paradise a Vale of Tears! Earth bore her thistles loving beasts went forth And fought untamed and lightnings flashed their wrath, And thunders awful spoke from heavy clouds That wrapped the sky, and man from glory fallen, Bore Sin's condemning stain to seal ihe doom. Tall Anakims of sin that trod the earth In iron mail, and bound the captive tribes To chariot wheels that dragged the victims down To hopeless dungeons in the vales of woe, 1 68 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. Built thrones of gold, and set them round with things Of costly birth the toil of millions wronged The tears of generations turned by lust To crystal gems the alchemy of death, That made the sigh of one breathe joy for him Who wrung the pang that made the bleeding vein Yield iife for him who slew his brother welled Sweet nectar forth from springs of deep despair. The Anarch in confusion sought and found His Golden Age! Where Riot's tempest ruled And swept the Earth, whence Order fled dismayed^ And Peace resought her native home on high, He sported mid the Ruins ! Reaching forth With dastard hand he tore Love's altar down, And set his Ashtaroths in chosen groves, With Fraud's insensate brood of Baalim Innumerable, and on their altars burned Hate's incense with the offerings of the dead. Nimrods, that hunted down the human flock In Babel strifes, spread War's remorseless woe In blood and carnage. With their robber hosts Well marshalled, and their swords of lust and fire; They slew the weaker : Made a central law Of Might, round which they wove their ruffian plei Of conquering Right, and gave the world a* creed Of infamy and wrong: With despot heel Trod o'er the helpless victims, while they wrung Their bitter cries from pierced hearts, and cursed With deep despair the feeble soul! The plains, Made fertile with their blood, gave harvest fruits ; The reddened streams the feet of mountains laved, And wide domains, that else had trimmed the vine And pressed the autumn juice, filled goblets up With crimson draughts, and dyed the Warrior's hand. The Sea, that spoke sublimely of its God, And made her harmony in Nature's choir, Type of the Unchanging One who made its shores, Gave sport for man. who mocked its sforms and fears THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 159 In Crime's pursuit ; who dar,ed his puny barJ$; Upon its mountain wave, in search of sin; Who rode its boundless waste for GOLD,, and left. His guiding-star, his' landmarks sure, his all, For cheating GOLD ! The God of fallen man T The altar whe.re were slain uncounted souls ! The shrine wher.e deathless spirits offered up Infinite bliss, and took the yellow dross Of grovelling Earth for Heaven's eternal fields !" The mart where Glory at a discount fell In Mammon's bid ; where Love, by ingots weighed, Corrupted, lost her name ; where parents sold Their children's fame, and took their pay in GOLD. Kings bartered millions of their slaves for GOLD. Princes were dead to all things else but GOLD. And Justice, in her temple blinded well, And Priests, that taught the oracles of life, Learned Death from GOLD. Debasing all that caught Its winning charm, it paved the way to Death! O World ! how deeply fallen from thy sphere^ O Mind ! how lost thy noblest wing of thought ! Soul ! how base thy form how lost art thou To GOD'S similitude how deep thy stain ! O ART DIVINE * In thee the world shall find Its GREAT REFORMER ! Knowledge springs from thee As flashes light in noonday's golden beam ! On darkened minds thy leaping rays shall pour, And where the written page outweighed the gold, And mouldered silent, or to archives gave Surpassing worth, the child shall toy in thee ! The sightless win thee from the printed page ! The deaf have visual prophecy of bliss ! And they whose tongues were never loosed to speak Rejoicing words, can break their silent spell! PROPHET OF MANY. TONGUES! To truth divine Thy foot was consecrate ! O'er distant lands Thy path has led, and long-untutored tribes Thy presence feel, and learn the brighter way. 160 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. Thy handmaid, Faith, that points the darkened eye From earthly sense to Hope's seraphic wing Giving true law to nations springing- now From Error's night, and bearing healing leaves From Life's loved Tree, that in its freshness blooms. The exile from his home who flies to teach The wandering soul, with thee declares the balm. Where China's millions at their altars bow, And Japan's children tread the Christian's Cross Beneath their feet ; and on the balmy plain Where Brama leads the Hindoo to his shrine, To where the Tartar roams, or driving snows Sweep down Siberian hills to Northern Seas Thy voice shall speak. From where Pomare* gave First uttering to thy voice, to coral isles That breast the rolling surf, or giant peaks That lift their hoary brows o'er beating waves ; Where wild Fijiis demoniac orgies hold O'er conquered foes, and grand Marquesan hills Preserve their silent reign ; to Austral wastes, And o'er the Countless Isles, thy power shall speak! The jargon tongues of Afric's burning sands Shall take their written language from thy skill, And mystic hieroglyphs, that hide the lore Of Egypt's brightest age, shall give to thee Their secret thoughts and mossy monoliths That deck Palmyra's wastes, shall bow to thee. The classic walks where sages stood and spoke Their cherished words, and ancient hills, where rose The polished marble on their summits high, Byzantium's crowded gates, and steppes vast Of Russia's wide domain, Italia's scenes, The towering Alps, the fields of sunny France, And where the ice-bound shores address the Pole * Pronounced Po-ma-re. He introduced printing into Polynesia, by set- ting up the first types on the 10th, and taking the first impressions on the press on the 30th of June, 1817. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 161 With stormy surf, and bright Auroras light The wintry sky, thy countless tongues shall speak! All round the world thy Prophet path shall shine! REFORMER thou! with gift of every tongue. Thy sway shall reach the sons of every clime ! NOBLEST OF ARTS ! REFORMER ! A RT DIVINE ! To Truth first consecrate ! Thy spirit be Imparted from on high! The Gospel wings To every land by thee ! Thy name shall pour Extatic light on Adam's wandering race. Faith puts her trust in thee in earnest prayer ! Hope spreads her wings and with awaking power Bids Love put on her sandals clothed in Peace ! And bearing Knowledge on thy speeding way, With Science aiding Truth, our God to thee Shall give his Spirit to reform the world ! SONNET. JAMES, chap. ii. v. 116. BY THOMAS W. RENNE. DID your hearts feel the truths your lips profess Did faith and life harmoniously blend, Nor that to heaven, and this to mammon tend How many then the life they curse would bless, Who pine in vice, and want, and wretchedness ! Ye self-deceived! a willing ear who lend To the false spirit that calls Heaven your friend! God will the wrongs of poverty redress : Go on, and heap up riches pile on pile To mock the woes that compass you around ; But know, the vengeance doth but sleep the while, That on your heads shall fall with sudden bound, And strike you from the temples you defile, As rotten branches cumberers of the ground! 21 102 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. THE CHURCH-YARD. WHO is there that in walking over the mounds, or in con- templating the tombs of the Church-Yard, has not experienced a sensation of sadness? Here stands the marble and gilded monument of wealth, and by its side humbly rises a little hil- lock of earth, scarcely denoting its meaning true emblems of worldly reality. " The pomp and circumstance" of pride and power would fain endeavor to preserve their fictitious distinctions though the body had become dissolved in dust; the humble hillock of the poor presents a proper contrast ; and as the storms of time assail it, the mound meekly sinks to its level, and the spot where rests the plebeian is forgotten. Yet not long can pride continue the contrast, for the winds and the rains assault, too, the marble and the gilt, and the brightness of the stone's record is obliterated. Though above the surface the distinctions and grades of life may be preserv- ed for a time, beneath here rests the test all is equality; the ashes of the rich, the poor, the haughty, and the humble, mix promiscuously; and, as said the good bishop Donne, "The winds scatter the dust sweep it into the aisles of the chapel, and it is trodden under foot by the living. The sexton gathers it up ; but can he sift it, and say, this is the patrician brand this is plebeian dust? p. c. B. The Primary School and the Steam Press. Powerful aux- ilaries for educating the people into a clear understanding of their rights and wrongs. May their influence hasten the time when Republican Liberty shall become universal. The Press. THE cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night given to lead man from out the wilderness of super- stition and ignorance. t H K PRINTER'S BOOK. 163 THE D E A D M A R I N E BY H. C. JOHNSON. THE pleasures of society, the comforts of home, the warm grasp of the hand of friendship, the welcome fireside of Winter, and the agreeable relaxation at the close of a sul- try Summer's day, are luxuries which the sailor hears spoken of with sensations like those we feel when we hear enjoyments adverted to peculiarly the province of another. They "who go down to the sea in ships and do business upon the great waters," are sometimes reflectingly spoken of by those who should know better. From the nature of their calling, seafaring men are almost wholly deprived of what constitutes the landsman's sum of earthly joy. They are ever revolving upon the verge of society's ameliorating influences ; they become habituated to deprivations, and indifferent to the claims of their fellows by being alienated from them. Those who have experienced something of " a life on the ocean wave," can appreciate the force of this reasoning, and know full well that the life of a sailor is a practical illustration of the doctrine, that where little is given much should not be required. To be self-exiled from the sweets of home and country, while ambition fires the heart, and the cheek is redolent with youth and vigor, is not so severe a trial but that young Hot- spurs take pleasure in its measured indulgence : it is the bright coloring of the picture. But to stand by the hammock of a shipmate in a foreign land, in the lone hour when the soil is summoned to put on her robes for the great audience chan - her of eternity, with no mothers hand to wipe the death damp from the whitening forehead, no sister's tears to bedew the pillow of the dying, is indeed a bitter task. How have I 164 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. seen the mysticisms of the materialist and the aimless dogmas of the infidel paled to gossamer transparency, before the searching light emanating from the " great white throne" of Omniscience, at such a moment. The soul assumes her pre- rogative then, and the subtle reasoning which convinced in health, loses its potency when the vivifying essence of man essays to launch, without a compass, upon the unknown ocean of eternity. There was a marine on board our vessel in whose welfare I felt a deeper solicitude than sailors are apt to cherish for a soldier : the general calamity of shipwreck having prostrated those barriers usually existing between the two classes, and a "sense of fellow-feeling" imperceptibly led us to act kindly towards each other. Unintentionally, young Donaldson had offended the captain's cook, a huge St. Domingo negro, who would not hear a derogatory word spoken of his master with- out reporting the author. The difficulty between them had settled into a fixed dislike, about the period of our misfor- tune, and the revengeful black was anxiously waiting for an unguarded word to fall from Donaldson's lips. The men grew mutinous when it was reported that an effort was to be made to get our dismantled craft back over the quicksand bar, on which she had suffered so severely. The idea was scouted as a desperate undertaking, and inuendoes passed from one to another which, if traced home, would have rendered their authors amenable, to a court-martial. A group of sailors were angrily discussing our doubtful prospects one evening, and Donaldson, who was standing by, sided with the men in the opinion, that he must be insane who' seriously proposed going to sea in a vessel in the sad condition of ours. The idea was attributed to the captain ; and his cook, passing at the moment, overheard the remark. The trap was sprung, and the poor marine was the victim. The' next morning, while the mess, of which he was a member, were gleaning a scanty breakfast from fibrous sweet potatoes,, and pulverized farina, the master-at-arms came down with a pair of handcuffs, and he was ordered into the brig (i. e. placed under arrest). Lying nearly under the equator, on a barba- rous coast, with our provisions nearly exhausted, and no pros- pect of a fresh supply, the days and nights grew irksome to those who had permission to roam at will. How galling it must have been to young Donaldson, his limbs ironed, a sen- try stationed over him, and with the liberty of only a few feet of the deck in which to stretch his stiffened limbs. To add to his loneliness, we were moored in a narrow stream, skirted on either side with wood, and at night the beasts of the forest filled the air with their frightful howls. His sensitive nature bore up against the indignity for a time, but the dread of a court-martial, its possible verdict, together with the oppressive sultriness of the climate, and the feverish water we were obliged to use, at length prostrated him a victim to the malaria incident to the coast. Placed in his hammock, by order of the physician, he raved in feverish deli- rium almost incessantly. At times he would talk of his sisters- and absent friends ; picture the enjoyment in reserve for them when he should return ; the many happy hours they would wile away listening to the story of his adventures. Then he would plead with the captain for his release, offering his youth as an extenuating feature for an unintentional offence. When- reason resumed her throne, he would be too weak to con- verse and though suffering little bodily pain, he was gradually sinking. One evening as I sat by his hammock, I took his emaciated and almost transparent hand in mine, and observed that it was- nearly wasted away. Looking me full in the face, with an expression, the remem- brance of which clings to me with vivid distinctness, while the muscjes of his mouth twitched convulsively, he said: " Yes, yes and my my heart, too !" I felt a choking sensation about my throat, whilst the big tears chased each other in quick succession down the poor fel- low's altered countenance. After a moment he continued : "Isn't it hard to feel that we are leaving the world so far from those we love, and who love us ? I am not superstitious, but I hear those monsters ashore howling dismally through the night for my body, and my heart tells me their longing will soon be appeased." I tried to dispel the sadness gathering round his heart to 166 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. cheer up his drooping spirits, but I left him with gloomy fore- bodings. I recollect I retired to my hammock unusually sad that night, and though we stood quarter-watches, and I should be called at three, yet full an hour before we were summoned to our stations, I was walking the deck alone. The more unob- servedly to indulge in pleasant memories of home and absent loved ones, I ascended to the top-gallant forecastle. Not a sound broke upon the stillness of the hour, save the occa- sional sharp crack of the dry twigs as they yielded beneath the ponderous feet of the hippopotamus returning to his home in the delta below us. The stars gazed down in mellowed radi- ance, upon the scene, and all the hour and place invited to pensive melancholy. As I crossed the deck, an object eleva- ted above it, attracted my notice, and stepping up to learn what it might be, I beheld a broad piece of white canvass spread over a prostrate form, stiffened and rigid in death ! Poor Donaldson ! The interview I have related, was the last lucid moment he ever enjoyed, and with the mantle of obscurity wrapped about his mental vision, he had been ushered within the vestibule of futurity. The following morning he was conveyed ashore by a guard of marines to a spot scooped out in the hot sand, where were deposited the wasted remains of the young soldier. As the blue smoke curled up over his humble mound from the dis- charged muskets of his sorrowing comrades. I fancied it an incense offered up to the manes of the departed. I have often remarked at sea, that one calamity frequently pilots the way to its fellow. In less than one week .after the fatal sequel to the marine's arrest, the Captain was called by an awful casualty, to follow the dead soldier to tread the dark " valley of the shadow of death" and his body was deprived of the rites of sepulture by the pitiless waves of the sea. The Inventors of Printing. Truth's trustiest champions Superstition sold them to Satan Knowledge redeemed them Humanity crowned them \\ith undying Fame. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 167 MAN'S STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS. KNOW THYSELF.' BY PETER C. BAKER MAN is the sublimest structure of Nature the master of the material world moulding and subjecting to his will the roughest and richest of earth's possessions, and using all as implements of his skill and as playthings of his fancy. View Man in the midst of the world's wonders "the monarch of all he surveys" marking the track he would take, and bidding the sea follow his footsteps; striking the rock with his rod, and commanding it to stand back, and leave a path for his iron-hoofed horse ; staying the subtle, electric courier, and making it bear his message to distant parts on threads in air ; curbing, by his genius, the strife of the elements, and setting bounds to their fury. See him in the storm, when the thunder and the lightning, the ocean and the whirlwind, are all warring for the mastery. Unmoved, unawed, he stands; small in stature, feeble in strength, as but a mote upon a mountain, mildly marking in his "mind's eye" the tumult and terror of the tempest. See him while the waters lift their heads to the clouds, and sport with the ship as with a feather, dashing and lashing the bound- ing bark raising to the fearful summit, and engulphing in the awful chasm below threatening destruction and death with every roll, and yet daring not to destroy ! See him then, confident and fearless, combating with winds and waves, and steering steadily on his destined course. Undaunted and un- conquered he ascends the mountain crest, and sweeps the deep gulf, till the cheering sun and the placid calm greet his cry of victory ! The roar is hushed, the winds are stilled, the waves 168 THE are vanquished, and the spirit of the storm sinks in slumber, leaving the tiny cup the mistress of the sea ! Man is supreme the sea-king and the lord of the land. The winds waste their violence, and the lightnings shoot their fire upon an iron rod ! The kite is in the sky -the philosopher beneath the rain and amid the storm, fingers the fiery fluid as a toy, and places on the house-top a herald of safety; the lightning is captive. man is secure, and conqueror ! Man is monarch the moulder and the builder but sub- ordinate to his Maker, in whose image he was created, and whose attributes he inherits. What a noble, and yet a fearful thought, that each mind is a spirit emanating from Divinity a soul immortal ! Man's mind is made to reason and reflect ; to ascertain and act. Mind is free - free to exert its powers for great good, or immense evil ; it can be nurtured and strengthened, or weak- ened and debased. Its capabilities, its limits of expansion, we cannot define so vast the field, so sublime the means; and yet, ignorant as we are of our own powers of acquisition, we do know how low man may be brought -below animal instinct, to the very verge of dumb, dormant existence a sun without a light ! True it is, that he who can bend the elements to his will, and wield them at his pleasure, he, who as vicegerent of Deity, can cause the dormant mass to glow and teem with life, and the darkness of the depths of sea and land to reveal ** gems of purest ray serene." and make the wild and desolate become the abode of elegance and refinement majestic man, the arbiter of his own destiny, and the lord of the material world, may, heeding not his innate, immortal impulse, become the abject slave of his own subject ; the poor, pitiable, be- sotted beggar, craving and crying for the deadly drug which drains his blood, and drags him down the abyss of ruin ! The terrestrial God the great giant of Nature giving impress and office to the lower world the intellect which illumines and arranges the darkness and confusion of chaos, and without whose presence all creation is as nothing the keeper and tiller of the garden, is deluded by the false tongue of the serpent, falls asleep in his snare, and is coiled THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 169 and crushed ! Oh, mysterious Nature ! Magical Demon ! Poor dupe, couldst thou not see the glittering, envenomed eye of the basilisk, mocking at thy glee, and aiming at thy heart! Couldst thou not scent the poisoned breath, or hear the fear- ful hiss ! No ! Thou wert too strong, too gigantic and great, to cope with so mean a foe ; and, secure in thy impregnable might, wert conquered by thy weak vassal, thy false friend ! It is truly a matter of surprise that the nobler qualities of our nature are often dethroned and deprived of their proper office by the most casual and insignificant causes. Think, for a moment, upon the wreck of many a noble spirit which, but for some small, trifling event, would have blessed the world, and been blessed in return, and confess your wonder at the influence of so mean an instrument. There is oftentimes only a single, short step between tran- quil security and the most dreadful peril.' The mere sight or countenance of a thing even doubtfully dangerous, may lure the unsuspecting, ingenuous heart, into the snares and folds of the fallen. A man may face and defeat, by his energy and resolve, dangers and trials almost unearthly ; he may see death stalking before him, and strong in resolution, will over- awe and disarm his adversary; and yet the same valiant and unconquerable hero hearkens to the siren's song, and without a struggle or a murmur, surrenders to the most merciless of foes, deemed too weak to require resistance. The absence of thought upon this element of our nature, or a disregard for this truth, has, we are free to declare, occasioned the wreck of more minds than all the united assaults of open, unmasked depravity. It not unfrequently happens, as all must have observed, that the man most noted for great abilities and transcendent tal- ents, is yet, upon many so-called smaller matters, surprisingly defective. The strange anomaly is often presented of one strong in intellect, mighty in reason, and wise in the abstract and abstruse, so feeble in strength of moral character, as to confess himself the abject slave of his own appetites. The opposite to this is also sometimes seen; that of a man, mean it may be, in intellect or station, and yet the control 10 of his passions his own master; the serf of no serpent 23 170 sin ; but poor and humble as he is, the keeper of himself I Which, think you, is the wiser man the high and gifted, or the poor and lowly the one, though capable of swaying the million at his will, yet too weak to govern his own thirst ; the other, humble and alone, with none to hear his words, but still the ruler of his own soul ! A neglect of, or a regard for, first or primary principles, explains the contrast. The small, minor matters were too insignificant for the consideration of ihe mighty mind, and hence the humiliating spectacle of a giant without strength a Samson and a Delilah. But to the lowly laborer the little links were deemed necessary to form the true, strong chain of character, and hence his strength, his safety. Would we keep our hearts pure, and our minds free, the very appearance of evil must be shunned, and first attention bestowed upon the smallest, simplest temptations, which, though appearing weak and impotent in themselves, yet contain the germs of direst evil. " Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As, to be dreaded, needs but to be seen ; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace." He who will not study the weakness of his nature, and passes by primary principles, can never reach or remain secure in a lofty station. Firm, lasting fame can only be gained step by step. It is the result of gradual progression. The foundation must be built stone by stone closely cement- ed and bound by the keystone of virtue not leaving a breach here and a break there, by which the arch is weak- ened and finally falls ; but commencing correctly, and pro- ceeding slowly and cautiously, laying each block, the small as well as the greatest, in its appropriate place, a basis may be laid fitted for the superstructure of highest honor. He who has sounded the depths of his soul, and knows exactly where lie the rocks and quicksands of life, will always so steer as to avoid danger, and gain the haven of his hope ; while the ignorant, unskilful pilot, who has never thrown out THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 171 line or plummet, or looked at the chart of life, must inevitably be shipwrecked and lost ! Man can truly know his strength and his weakness by studying himself; and God has commanded him to do this. The precept, " Know thyself," is an imperative duty we owe to our Creator and to ourselves. We must study our natures the evil as well as the good our strength and our weakness. We must ascertain exactly what we are, who we are, where we are, and whither wandering. Every faculty must be made the subject of study. By this study we shall discover much that is very evil, but we shall also find much that is good and lovely. An exact know- ledge of each particle of good and bad will enable us always to see the true state of our souls ; and when trials and tempta- tions beset us, show us where to fortify ourselves, when to give battle, when to retreat, or when to surrender. What is the study of ourselves but the benefiting of our- selves, and who is not seeking, in his own way, his own good or benefit ? If " the true study of mankind is man," by know- ing ourselves we shall truly know the rest, for we are all of the same material, only differently moulded and tempered by circumstances. Would you fortify your heart so that you may be safe from threatening evils ? Then know the way by knowing yourself. Would you control others? Learn first to control yourself. Would you be useful, influential, and happy? then "Know thy- self." How ? By study, application, and discipline. To gain strength, seek for your weakness ; to teach others, be taught ; learn first your own nature look into your own mirror be- fore you hold the glass to the face of another ; and if in doubt regarding your powers, your prejudices, or passions, ask friends and even enemies, for there is truth in the sentiment of the Scottish bard : " Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us To see ourseFs as ithers see us." "Know thyself," thou who wouldst be truly great thou who wouldst know thy strength and thy weakness. " Know 172 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. thyself," thou who wouldst smile serenely when storms and tempests assail thee thou who wouldst laugh at temptations which would destroy thee. " Know thyself," thou who wouldst be wise, for this is the beginning and end of wisdom a pre- cept of God, pointing to the throne of Heaven, and bidding us press forward and upward ! MUTATION. BY A . E . GORDON. Lo! across the heaving surges Of Time's raging, troubled sea, Mix'd with sad and solemn dirges, Onward towards Eternity Floats Mutation, with its changes To the fickle things of Earth Friendship severs, love estranges, Hushing every sound of mirth. Though our lives are bright and fairy As a merry morn of May; Yet, like summer, they may vary, And our gladness flit away; Though the beams of hope are brightest. And the future seems but fair; Yet what now alone delightest May be changed to dark despair. Sad and strange, and so uncertain, Being thus the course of time, Should we seek to raise the curtain Where the future hours chime? No ! on earth while yet we tarry, Let us live, that when we die, Angels will our spirits carry To the realms of bliss on high ! THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 173 A FRAGMENT. BY JAMES J. BRENTON IT was a beautiful and bright Sabbath morning in June ; the dust which for some time had almost blinded and choked the traveller on the turnpike, had been laid by a cool, refresh- ing shower, and the air, loaded with perfumes from the flow- ering fields and neighboring gardens, was stirred by a gentle breeze that gave life and animation to all around. The woods resounded with the loud notes of Nature's sweetest min- strels, as they chanted their wild anthems of praise, that another day had come to bless and cheer the inhabitants of Earth. All was light and happiness here ; but all was dark- ness and sorrow in the house whither our journey was di- rected. In the chequered pathway of life man is called upon to wit- ness many scenes that stir the feelings to their very centre when deprived of friends ripe with age, whose lives have been crowned with deeds of usefulness and honor, the loss is miti- gated by the reflection that it is only the ordinary course of nature ; but when youth and beauty are cut down by the re- lentless hand of death, like some young tree with all its grace- ful foliage around it, the stroke is heavy indeed. Nothing but a firm reliance on the will of Providence can soothe the sor- rows of the surviving friends under such circumstances. A sermon was to be preached on the occasion of the death of one who had been a dutiful daughter, a beloved sister, a kind mother and an affectionate wife. Snatched from the busy scenes of life at an early age, still there were comfort and consolation in the thought, that " Those whom God loves die early ;" 174 And that our friend was one of those who had chosen that good part which shall not be taken away, from her,* and had gone to reap her reward in a better and never ending exist- ence in the invisible world. Cradled in the lap of luxury, and reared among the refining influences of polished manners, she retained those graces only which adorn and characterize the Christian ; and became the centre of a circle which gradually widened with each suc- ceeding year. And when death laid his icy hand upon her, and sorrowing friends surrounded her bedside when life's pale taper flickered in its socket she alone remained calm she alone was happy. Resting but a moment, before entering upon the scenes of immortality, she comforted her friends with the assurance that "All was well :" O mourn not thy loss why should she delay In a life full of grief, and a world full of sorrow, For the spirit that toils 'mid the cares of to-day, May rest from all labor in Heaven to-morrow. O mourn not the loss of the faithful departed, O heave not a sigh o'er the death-bearing bier, So brief is this life to weak mortals imparted, If a Christian seek rest, can it e'er be found here ? O mourn not thy loss. The spirit in Heaven Longs not for the joys that Earth can afford, In the words of our Saviour may comfort be given: "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord." The sacred services of the day reminded us of our earthly pilgrimage, and that preparation for eternity was the great business of life. Never shall we forget the soul-subduing in- fluences that seemed to quiet the sob of sorrow, and dry the tear of affliction, as the Messenger of Peace proceeded to demonstrate the necessity of our having, like " our departed sister" "our loins girded about and our lights burning;" so that when the Lord calls, we also might say, "All is well" It seemed as if her spirit, by some mysterious means, was pres- * Luke x. 42. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 175 ent, mingling with the spirits of the bereaved, in heavenly communion, and whispering in accents of love, the comfort- ing words, ' c Weep not for me for All is well." In a quiet and romantic spot in Greenwood Cemetery repose the mortal remains of * * * *, there to rest until called forth at the resurrection morn, changed and transformed into celestial beauty to enjoy eternal and ecstatic bliss in the pres- ence of her Redeemer. THE DEATH-BED OF BEAUTY. BY THE LATE J. O. ROCKWELL. 'SHE sleeps in beauty, like the dying rose By the warm skies and winds of June forsaken ; Or like the sun, when dimtn'd with clouds it goes To its clear ocean-bed, by light winds shaken : Or like the moon, when through its robes of snow It smiles with angel meekness or like sorrow When it is soothed by resignation's glow, Or like herself, she will be dead to-morrow. How still she sleeps! The young and sinless girl! And the faint breath upon her red lips trembles ! Waving, almost in death, the raven curl That floats around her ; and she most resembles The fall of night upon the ocean foam, Wherefrom the sun-light hath not yet departed; And where the winds are faint. She stealeth home, Unsullied girl ! an angel broken-hearted ! O, bitter world ! that hadst so cold an eye To look upon so fair a type of heaven! She could not dwell beneath a winter sky, And her heart-strings were frozen here and riven. And now she lies in ruins look and weep ! How lightly leans her cheek upon the pillow ! And how the bloom of her fair face doth keep Changed like a stricken dolphin on the billow. 176 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. THE TWO CARPENTERS. BY H. C. JOHNSON. CHAPTER I. THE thriving and populous village of Williamsburgh did not always re-echo to the puff of steam-propelled ma- chinery, nor were her thoroughfares erst familiar to the din of the whirling cab or heavy omnibus. Within the mem- ory of our young men, even, the McKibbon property, Judge Skillman's, and Judge Conselyea's broad lands were used for pasture ground ; when the Schols' estate was undisturbed by the presence of a street, its surface wa-s annually smoothed by the glittering scythe. The Boerums and Richardsons seldom consulted on the price of lots then, but discussed, over a social glass of home-made, the product of their farms. It was the golden age of the " Nation" the Knickerbocker dynasty of our archives. They were good old times, too, but the spirits that made them such are fading away before this age of progress. Occasionally, like a shadowy visitant from another world, one is observed, forgetful of the times he has been spared to see, elbowing his way, with borrowed grace, along our jostling streets. His antique garb renders him the sport of the school-boy the wonder of the crowd. Strange objects greet his eyes ; unnatural sounds grate upon his ear ; he turns from the sea of unfamiliar faces ; and as he crosses the street, the sharp crack of the omnibus whip warns him to accelerate his feeble steps ; "he is a stranger in a strange land." Tow- ering steeples, long rows of elegant houses, with the hurry and bustle of a village fast merging into a city, now occupy the home, the gardens, and the pasture-grounds of the Knick- erbockers of Williamsburgh. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 177 At the close of a pleasant afternoon in 183-, two young men were busily plying their calling in a snug little carpenter- shop, the site of which is now occupied by a stately private mansion. They were earnestly discussing the merits of a misunderstanding into which one of them had fallen with their employer, Mr. Davenport. Charles Carson, *the elder of the two young men, was the son of a poor farmer, and had been favored with but limited opportunities for improvement. Blest with a warm-hearted and Christian mother, he had early been taught that virtue and charity should ever constitute the prominent characteristics of a young man, and that no man would be truly great whose character failed to embody both. Of a naturally warm tem- perament and quick perceptions, he had often been made keenly susceptible of his want of education. In the early period of his apprenticeship, his rising with the sun was mainly prompted by a laudable ambition to excel in his call- ing. This gradually yielded precedence to a higher aim a longing after mental strength. His leisure moments were now wholly devoted to carefully selected books. The hours usually passed by boys of his age in frivolous pastimes, were by him studiously employed. At the commencement of our story, two unexpired years of his apprenticeship only remained. His uniform good conduct had won for him the title of the " studi- ous carpenter." Every confidence was reposed in him by his employer, and the patrons of Mr. Davenport frequently remained longer at the shop than they would, had Charles been absent. His efforts at advancement had won the sym- pathy and esteem of men, whose countenance and approba- tion it was better than riches to merit. And yet Charles, least of all, realized the advance he was making, his improve- ment had been so gradual and even. Sydney Allen, his shop-mate, was in nearly every particular, his antipodes. Reared within the poisonous suburbs of a great city, little parental restraint had ever been exercised to curb the headlong passions of his turbulent mind. When sent to school, if he saw fit, he would obey ; if not, he sought the company of boys whose lawless conduct was a painful evi- dence of the want of a good example at home. The trade 178 he was now apprenticed to learn, was the third attempt his parents had made to establish him in something permanent. It was ever his misfortune to be in the employ of a morose, tyrannical master; the work was too laborious, or some equally frivolous pretext, which his credulous parents never took the trouble to investigate, was sure to return Sydney Allen home at the expiration of a few weeks. He had now passed his seventeenth summer. In stature a man ; in habits but we will not anticipate what will reveal itself all too soon. His present employer had held his acquaintance longer than either of his previous ones. This was mainly attribu- table to the influence which the equable temper and steady industry of Charles had imperceptibly gained over him, and he conceded to the claims of a good example, what compul- sion had essayed in vain to produce obedience. Charles strenuously urged a compromise with Mr. Daven- port, but Sydney, with a sullen air, resisted all attempts at a reconciliation. As if in anticipation of evil, the former pressed the matter with some warmth ; urging, from his own experi- ence, that crossings and vexations must be borne in learning a trade. " And, finally," said he, " we are both young, and have much to learn ; and it appears to me the part of com- mon discretion to secure the advantages within our reach. To us this is the * day of small things :' Williamsburgh is but in its infancy ; from its proximity to New-York, it must grow with her growth ; let us grow up with her ; our prospects will brighten with her advancement; if we miss this oppor- tunity another may never occur." But all to no purpose. The self-will of Sydney could ill brook reproof from a stranger, and once more he was afloat upon the tide of chance, with no definite idea of his future purpose of life. After lounging about the gathering corners of his idle associates until tired of the monotony, he ventured into a ship-yard, and sought for employment. Unfortunately for him, the list of trades does not furnish one more laborious than that of the hard-working ship-carpenter. Beneath the sweltering sun of Summer, and exposed to the blistering cold of Winter, the hardy mechanic toils on. Huge spars are suspended on their Herculean shoulders, which it 179 would appear little short of temerity to molest. Their inge- nious hands form the cradles, in which are rocked the com- merce and wealth of the wide world. How often have the hopes, the fears, the lives, and the happiness of hundreds, aye, thousands, hung suspended on the faithful blows, the stalwart arms, and the unrewarded precaution of the noble-hearted ship-carpenter. Sydney remained in the ship-yard until night-fall, but he heartily resolved not to be caught there again; it was too much like work. Several abortive attempts were now made by his parents and friends to secure a situation for him, but with the failure of each effort, his disposition to industry weakened. Venturing upon a retrospection of his indefinite mode of life, remorse made him uneasy, and he resolved on an inter- view with : his exemplary friend, the "studious carpenter." On his way to the boat, he was accosted by an acquaintance, who persuaded him to forego the visit. Once in the power of the dissolute and abandoned, he tamely yielded to passions he had not the moral courage to control. " The ocean lashed to fury loud, Its high waves mingling with the cloud, Its peaceful, sweet serenity To Passion's dark and waveless sea!" At the early age of twenty-one, Sydney Allen had lost nearly every redeeming feature of his character. The fine tone of moral feeling, which once assumed the shape of a regard for virtue for the good its possession yields, daily nurtured by the precepts and examples of Charles Carson, had fanned the spark of self-respect into a flame, and he had begun to view the object of his being as elevated to that of men, when the redeeming influence was rudely sev- ered by his own ruthless hand. He was again left to his worst enemy his passions. Hurried on by the dangerous excitements of a constitutional ardor, he pursued a course of unbridled debauchery and licentiousness. His parents beheld 180 with anguish the blight of hopes, till now fondly cherished. They besought him to reform, but " Vice had bound him in her wizard spell And Ruin followed." He had gone too far to recede ; the moral stamina of the heart had been crushed ; the rein lay loose on Passion's neck, and wildly, madly, she hurried him onward. Daily in the so- ciety of an abandoned horde of gamblers, with their over- tures he at length closed. It was all they sought, and loading his person with their spurious gold, instant preparation was made for a Western tour. Thus, step by step, he sank to be the sworn confederate of a loathsome set of outcasts, and a participant in all their unwritten crimes, and their execrable accompaniments. While he revelled in dissipation by day, and steeped his heart in crime by night, like Damocles at the fearful banquet, above him, suspended by a single hair, hung the glittering sword of justice. CHAPTER II. In the meantime, Charles Carson, in the simplicity of unam- bitious merit was quietly pursuing the " even tenor of his way." The circle of his influence, like his knowledge, had been widening and deepening with each revolving year. He had now been for twelve months his own master, and the most interesting period of his life was drawing nigh. That the reader may know the secret I will venture to intrust him with the key- It was at the close of a long, sultry day in June, that a lady and gentleman took their way down First street towards " The Cottage." In the upright carriage and manly air of the gentleman, the reader will recognize Charles. On his arm con- fidingly leaned a lady, her cheek just tinged by its eighteenth summer, whose happy satisfaction of countenance plainly indicated she was in the company of him whose deep tones first awoke her soul to the impassioned language of love. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 181 Their conversation was carried on in a low but earnest key, Of its purport we may judge by the words of Charles. " Ellen, dear, I am unused to coin words of love for woman's ear, and yet I feel no desire to restrain the impulse that prompts me to express in words, what my actions must have often be- trayed in our evening rambles. We are told that the voyage of life, like yon flowing river, has its shoals and quicksands ; but would you fear to launch upon the swelling bosom of its waters with one whose bright cynosure you have been for years?" " Your happiness has ever been near my heart, Charles,'' replied the blushing Ellen. , " Dare you then sacrifice your prospects of a wealthy alliance, and rest your future happiness with the humble carpenter ?" " I have no higher ambition," echoed the confiding maiden, while her willing hand nestled in his. Life seemed all golden sunshine to Charles and Ellen, as they seated themselves on the rustic bench under the dew- laden trees of " The Cottage," that evening. The sun had set in unclouded beauty ; its fading splendor gilding spire and dome, the star-studded brow of night, and the mighty river as it rolled on in its majesty to the sea, laving the bristling forest of shipping resting quietly in its bosom. But " The Cottage" is no longer the lover's resort ; its carpet of green, its venerable locusts, its bending willows are fast disappearing before the merciless hand of improve- ment ; and even as I write, the " deeds" are drawn, closing up forever, the lovely prospects, so often enjoyed under the welcome shade of the dark old trees of " The Cottage." CHAPTER III. " Tis midnight reigns around Midnight, when crime and murder quit their lair; Their footsteps, like their conscience void of sound ; Their mission, blood their recompense, despair!" ON a dismal evening in November, 1 840, five as villanous 182 countenances as ever lust, debauchery, crime, and bloodshed stamped with their impress, were closely huddled together in the dark corner of a loathsome den in Cross-street, New- York. They were the shattered wrecks of what once consti- tuted men. No love of virtue, no reverence for God, no thought of reform met a response in a single bosom there. Inured to crime, their thoughts dwelt on deeds of horror : and even as they sat, v ictims of vice and its concomitant curses, plans of violence were busy with their thought. The vigi- lance of an Argus-eyed police, kept them in hourly dread ; and fearfully venturing forth by day, like noiseless shadows they stole along the streets while others slept. Fearfully had their numbers been thinned. The gallows had claimed two. Violence hurried three others from amongst them, and only the night previous, they had been recognized as members of the dreaded Allen's gang. At length their leader (for such he assumed to be) a second Abellino, whose scarred and bloated visage bespoke a demon, with a fearful oath decided that a descent upon the suburbs was at present their only resource. It was acceded to. At a late hour a skiff might have been seen stealthily ap- proaching the Williamsburgh shore. It was past the hour of midnight when they effected a landing; and having no time to lose, they secured their boat at the foot of South Fifth street, and scattered through the village with an injunction to be back in one hour. One hour .to be devoted to preconcerted crime. At the expiration of that time, all save their chief had re- turned. Presently, he appeared, staggering under a rich load of plate, jewelry, and clothing. The boat lay close under a pile of old timber, and tossing the valuable bundle into it, he essayed to step from the timber into the boat, when his foot slipped, and he fell heavily backward, his form partly striking the gunwale of the boat, his head coming in contact with the iron thole pins. The boat half filled as she careened to the shock, and the midnight robber Sydney Allen sunk be- neath the waves, made crimson from the fearful fracture in his head. He rose to the surface, but the boat, caught in the strong current of the tide, which runs here with fearful rapidity, was fast leaving the spot. He implored assistance THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 183 of his fellows he could not swim. He shrieked, he howled, he clutched the air in his phrensy he sunk in the gurgling water ! When the body rose to the surface again, it was too horrid a spectacle to look upon ! With his bloodshot eyes protruding from their sockets, his head all matted and gory, his convulsively extended hands, wildly thrashing the dark waves in their impotent might ! Oh ! " If there are tears in heaven, angels might weep At such a sight as this!" Sydney Allen sunk beneath the eddying whirl of the tide his body went to feed the fishes of the gulf his disembodied spirit passed to that world whose dread realities he disre- garded. Who shall attempt to portray the sorrow, the misery, the crime, the multiform horrors, the self-reproach, the endless array of evil flowing from the execrable practice of gambling ! It is Pandora's box robbed of its redeeming feature. It trans- forms the kind husband into a soulless brute ; it robs the cheek of health ; the purse of its contents ; the soul of virtue ; time of contentment ; eternity of bliss. Young man ! as you would shun unmitigated remorse, beware of the GAMING TA- BLE. The seasons in their " annual round," leave traces of their footsteps, and time, in its flight, had traced with his finger the brow and heart of Ellen and Charles* Sorrow had been in their midst. Charles Carson had been called to perform the last rites of affection to his tried friend his second father Mr. Davenport. His manly sorrow, his tenderness towards the bereaved family, partook of a sacredness hushing to silence the whisper of the careless, and winning for him encomiums the proud might envy. His sorrow was deep and heartfelt, and well it might be, for Ellen Davenport was his wife. Reader, saunter with me up Grand street to Fourth, turn- ing down which, we will take a stroll on the North side of the village. Already have we passed where Charles Carson may 184 be seen daily at his bench. We are now in the vicinity of a collection of neat dwellings. Let us venture to intrude upon the courtesy of this one on our right. The mistress is at home ; her face is not unfamiliar. What a tidy air every thing wears. Shall we enter the parlor here simplicity and taste strive for the mastery. The most prominent feature in the room is a well-stocked library. Paintings and mezzotint engravings, of choice selection, adorn the walls. Over the mantel ornaments is suspended a plain rosewood frame, en- closing a certificate of membership of an order who " drink no wine !" The door opens, that friendly grasp, how it sends the warm blood through our veins ! We cannot be mistaken, we have been taking a cursory view of the residence of Charles Carson and Ellen Davenport. The table is spread, and while we obey the friendly request to partake of their hospitality, listen to the language of the husband : " O Thou, whose presence lightest up Eternity Thou who art the poor man's solace, the rich man's comfort, lead our hearts to be as charitable to others as Thy fatherly hand has been bountiful in spreading this our humble board." Shall we leave them here? Where could we leave them so well ? Blest with the full fruition of every earthly good, looking up through the beautiful economy of nature to Him, in the hollow of whose hand, " Vast worlds hang trembling." VERSES, WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. Long may the album of the songster speak Whose ripened age his tender tone belies ; Who, finding thee so candid, fair and good, Was for a moment duped by thy bright eyes. Through love ah, no ! his loving days are o'er But through thy flattering notice led astray, He deemed fond fool ! that boauty's passing smile Beaming on him was glory's lasting ray. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 185 FRANKLIN: HIS GENIUS, LIFE, AND CHARACTER.* BY JOHN L. JEWETT. IT is permitted to every human being, at some early stage of his existence, to enjoy a season of comparative purity and innocence, a season of unselfish and devout aspiration to live in harmony with every kindred intelligence. From this, as from a landmark, he takes as it were his departure, when entering, freighted with its responsibilities, upon the perilous voyage of life. And as the mariner, becalmed in tropical seas, fevered and exhausted with vertical heats, yearns and sighs for his native land, until his parting glimpses of its green fields and meadows rise in vision before him ; so also does the voyager upon the sea of life, weary and soul-sick with its heartless strifes and maddening passions, recur to his sad farewell of the native home of his mind, to its season of peace and purity, until it rises in recollection like the last rays of a beautiful sunset the golden age of his early unclouded years. Experience unfortunately teaches us, that to many individuals their residence in this Eden of the mind must be briefer than a summer's morning. Still, we have reason to believe that no one is wholly destitute of some cherished remembrance, some oasis in the desert of his memory, from which an influence ever and anon steals into the mind, like breezes blown from the spice-islands of youth and hope. Sad indeed is it for us, when no voice is echoed from the repose * An Oration delivered before the New-York Typographical Society, on the occasion of the Birthday of Franklin, at the Printers' Festival, held January 17, 1849. Published by order of the Society. 24 186 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. of bygone years, when even memory fails to renew the golden age of our youth ; for around it cluster all our hopes of peace. It is the nucleus about which are gathered, as by a celestial magnetism, all our desires for true moral and spiritual advancement, all our aspirations worthily to fulfil the high ends of our being. There is something analogous to this individual experience in the history of Nations and States of Societies and Asso- ciations ; all have their golden age. Whatever opinions may be formed of what are generally considered the fabulous ages of antiquity, it is historically true that our own country at least, and many of the countries of modern Europe, have had their golden age. Who can read the history of good King Alfred of Eng- land, and contemplate his simple uprightness of heart, and his manly virtues, and not feel that his was the golden age of his country? And who does not see that the memory of his virtues has been the lamp that in every age has guided the feet of the noblest of our English ancestors, that his valiant deeds have been the torch that has never ceased to kindle the flame of patriotism in their breasts ? France, too, had her golden age in the reign of St. Louis, who administered justice to his people in person, reclining against an oak in the forest of Vincennes ; and in the sainted Maid of Orleans, who to peerless beauty, and all womanly virtues, united martial enthusiasm and prowess that rescued her country for ever from the yoke of the invader, and drove mailed knights and haughty captains in terror and disgrace from her soil. At the bare mention of these names, every true-hearted Frenchman feels that the highest and holiest sentiments of his nature are summoned to go forth into action. Need we say that the serene majesty encircling like a halo of light the head of our WASHINGTON, will for ever stamp the era of his life as the golden age of our own beloved country ? Not indeed the age of her outward success and prosperity not her age of gold for she was then in her hour of dark trial and deadly conflict but the age when were sown those genuine seeds of public and private virtue that THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 187 gave promise of so golden a harvest. How glorious a legacy to the youth of America is the history of his unequalled patriotism and devotion his faith, and firmness, and self- sacrifice, in the thickest night of his country's despondency ; his own gallant achievements, and his unfeigned joy at the achievements of others ; his freedom from all vulgar ambition, and the spotless purity of his unostentatious life ! Who can tell, amid the degeneracy into which we have undoubtedly fallen, and to which we cannot wholly shut our eyes, who can tell the amount of vaulting ambition that has been nipped in the bud, the corruption that has blushed to see the fair face of day, in consequence of the severe rebuke, silently but effectually administered to every unhallowed purpose by the memory alone of the Father of his country ? Can we think of him, and not feel that his virtues possess a creative power, a fructifying life, that will cause them to spring up anew, and be re-embodied again and again, in every succeeding age ? Societies, associations, and every body of men organized for the attainment of a specific purpose, or for the perform- ance of an important function in the community these too, as well as individuals and states, have a golden age in their history. It will of course be seen that outward prosperity, pecuniary success, or even the apparent attainment of the ends for which men associate, are not necessarily included in our idea of a golden age. The annals of every organized society or fraternity will furnish abundant evidence of the fact we aim to elucidate. Each and all of them look back to some period in their history, when the ends and objects of the institution, its capabilities for beneficent action, the purposes it aimed to accomplish, the importance of the use it designed to perform, were pre-eminently well understood, and held in their genuine simplicity. Each and all of them refer to some individual whose intellectual endowments, whose moral worth and integrity, whose devotion to the true ends of the institution, entitle him to be held in grateful remembrance by his successors some one whose example is constantly held up to incite to praiseworthy action. It is in this spirit, and for this purpose, that we have met this evening to do honour to the BIRTHDAY OF FRANKLIN. 188 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. We are assembled to burn no unhallowed incense at any shrine to bow in servile worship of no mere man like ourselves. But we have met to refresh our minds with a recollection of the wise maxims and virtuous deeds of a philosopher and a sage; we would quicken ourselves to renewed exertions in the path of duty, by recalling the noble example of one endeared to us by the ties of a common profession, by and through which we proffer a claim which he himself would not have shamed to acknowledge. We seek not to monopolize the glory of Franklin's name ; we would indulge no spirit of exclusiveness in relation to one who was an honour'not only to his profession and his country, but to the human race and the world. At the same time, we claim as legitimately ours, all the benefit we may be able to derive from his example ; we claim as ours every inference in favour of the capabilities of our profession, and of the melio- rating influence of its associations upon the intellectual and moral character, which may fairly be drawn from his great attainments and his blameless life. Franklin enjoyed among his early contemporaries the highest reputation as a workman ; his skill and industry placed him in the foremost rank of practical printers. By the diligent and faithful exercise of our art, he attained a competence of this world's goods, and thus laid the foundation of his great subsequent usefulness. The daily and continued exercise of his profession, as a means of subsistence, was made compatible by him with the attainment of great and varied knowledge, which fitted him for the highest stations in the gift of a grateful country. His purity of life, and fidelity in the discharge of every trust reposed in him ; his unwearied activity, and the consecration of all his powers and acquire- ments for the good of his fellow-men ; his moral and intellectual greatness, conceded by every civilized nation in the world, elevate him far above every other name in the annals of printing. In view of these facts, and in view of the inesti- mable value to the members of our profession of so high an example an example which can never cease to act as an incentive to every virtuous impulse we claim the age of Franklin as the golden age of our art. Not that printing, in THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 189 his day, reached perfection, or that it received from him or his contemporaries any striking improvements ; not that the practice of our profession was then more lucrative or respect- able than it had previously been. Not for these reasons do we recur with pleasure and pride to the time when Franklin was one of our number identified with us by one of the most intimate of social relations ; not for this do we contemplate his life as forming an era in our art. Far other and higher reasons have influenced us to claim for it this pre-eminence. It is because his life was a living, practical, and ever-enduring demonstration, of the moral, intellectual, and social eminence that may be attained in our profession, by a faithful perform- ance of its duties, by a diligent improvement of its oppor- tunities, by an unrepining submission to its privations. It is because he has proved to us what can be made of our lot in life; because he has shown that we have* no occasion for unmanly regrets that we do not inherit the advantages of fortune or station, no cause of complaint that our youth was not passed in academic bowers. True it is a truth we do well to remember that we can- not all be Franklins. Though he was mainly indebted for his eminence to his persevering industry, his strong control of his passions, and his obedience to conscience, yet it cannot be denied that he was endowed by his Creator with rare gifts of intellect. These it was that fitted him to fill a peculiar place to perform an allotted task specially his own. We are not all called to fill a like place, or to perform a similar task. Still, his example, on that account, is not the less valuable to us not a whit the less available. We learn by it that a resolute and uncomplaining performance of duty, whatever our condition in life the desire and the effort to be useful to our fellow-men, in the humblest as well as in the highest relations is the infallible method of developing our highest capabilities the only sure road to that peace and repose we all so earnestly seek. This was the lamp by which Franklin's feet were guided, the compass by which his bark was faith- fully steered. He did indeed obtain wealth and station and these are things not to be despised ; he received the approba- tion and applause of the wise and the good and these he by 190 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. no means undervalued. But his happiness from this source can no more compare with the serene repose and joy that crowned his days, and supported him under every trial and vicissitude arising from the consciousness that he had devoted all his powers to their best and highest use than the transient flash of a meteor can compare with the steady light and warmth of the noonday sun. Franklin's history, as written by himself that inimitable piece of autobiography is familiar to us all ; and though no story of a life ever lost less of its interest by being repeated, yet a selection of incidents illustrative of his character, or suggestive of reflections which may be used for our own advantage, may be most appropriate to this occasion. One of the striking points in the life of Franklin, is the very early and almost premature development of his character. The loftiness, ajjd yet the soberness of his aspirations the manliness, and yet the feasibility of the ends he proposed to himself, must strike every reader of his memoirs. Thus, shortly after entering upon his apprenticeship, which com- menced at the early age of twelve years, we find him studying with interest, among other works of a grave character, Xeno- phon's Memorabilia ; a Treatise on Logic, by the Society of Port Royal ; and Locke's Essay on the Conduct of the Human Understanding works generally supposed to be relished only by matured intellect and cultivated taste. About this time he also devoted much of his leisure to the practice of English composition. He seems to have been fully aware, even at this early age, of the great advantage it is to every one, in every condition of life, to be able to express himself clearly, forcibly, and elegantly in his native tongue ; and he spared no labour or pains to attain this accomplishment. His days and nights, as Dr. Johnson afterwards recommended, were there- fore given to Addison and the Spectator. Barely to be able to make himself understood to acquire that style of easy writing which is said to constitute the hardest reading was not suffi- cient for Franklin. He had little faith in Dogberry's notion, that reading and writing come by nature, even to the fortunate tenant of a printing-office; and he did not cease from his efforts until he felt satisfied and few will say he was deceived in THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 191 this that he had at least approximated the excellence of his model. Franklin's early love of justice and liberty, and his hatred of intolerance and oppression, were worthy of both his New England and his Old England origin. He lived in an age when children and youth were treated by their parents and relatives with great harshness and severity. His elder brother, to whom he was apprenticed, seems to have been a man of irritable and violent temper; and more than once, for light and venial offences, he inflicted heavy blows upon the embryo philosopher. Though Franklin never after manifested resent- ment for this cruel treatment, but sought rather to find excuses for it, it is evident that, at the time, it deeply wounded his feelings. It induced him to take what, under other circum- stances, would have been an unjustifiable advantage of his brother, and clandestinely to leave his home and friends, at the early age of seventeen, and throw himself, friendless and poor, upon the wide world of adventure. No man ever made a better use than Franklin of the injuries done him. He permitted them to remain vivid in his mind, only that they might nerve his resolution never in his turn to inflict like injuries upon others. Removed from paternal direction, he became exposed to all the temptations that beset the path of the inexperienced. His religious principles were shaken, and he fell into serious errors. He was made the dupe of a heartless imposition by Governor Keith, and was thrown upon the world of London, as friendless as when he first ate his roll in the streets of Philadelphia, and quenched his thirst in the Schuylkill. This was his hour of peril the ordeal from which so few escape unscathed. A year and a half spent in England added some- thing to his knowledge and experience, but contributed little to his morals or his purse. He returned to Philadelphia, and soon after went into business with a partner, in the twenty- second year of his age. It was then that he reflected seriously upon his principles and his conduct. He had been religiously educated by his parents, and the golden age of his childhood revived in his memory. He looked at his Deistical principles in the light of experience ; he tested the tree by its fruit, 192 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. and the result was, a conviction of its worthlessness. He saw that his friends the free-thinkers, who boasted their superiority to vulgar prejudice, were also found to be above moral obligations. " I grew convinced,'' he says, " that truth, sincerity, and integrity, between man and man, were of the utmost importance to the felicity of life, and I formed resolu- tions to practise them ever while I lived." Franklin now began deliberately to shape his course for the future. All his actions were governed by fixed principles, and were made subservient to some important end. He had the sagacity to see, that whatever may be the object which men propose to themselves as the result of their labours, yet, really and substantially, all their happiness is derived from action from the constant and vigorous exercise of some or all of their faculties. He saw, that although the man in pursuit of wealth looks forward to a period when he hopes quietly to enjoy the fruit of his gains ; and the ambitious man anticipates the time when he may repose upon his laurels, and regale himself with listening to the approbation and applause of the world, still, in neither case are their ends ever realized. An inexorable law of our nature has associated pleasure and delight only with activity. The habits formed for the attain- ment of an end become incompatible with the enjoyment of the long-sought object. The couch of luxury is transformed to a bed of thorns ; and the garlands of ambition become more withered and worthless than the fading leaves of autumn. Franklin's philosophical mind saw this at an early age, and he proposed to himself the noblest end to which human endeavour can be directed a life of active benevolence and usefulness to his fellow-men. This principle, early cherished, to which all things were made subservient, grew with his growth, and became the delight of his life. If we lose sight of this his ruling motive, we fail to understand his character. He was industrious and frugal, and laboured hard to procure wealth ; and he frankly acknowledged that he was not without ambi- tion that he valued the esteem of his fellow-men ; these, however, were but means to a worthier end. Through life his actions testify, that his ambition and love of wealth were subordinate passions, which he was ever willing to sacrifice THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 193 to his ruling desire to be useful to his friends, to his country, and to the world. Injustice has been done to Franklin, both in England and our own country, by not distinguishing between the principal and the subordinate in his character. He has been repre- sented as the impersonation of mere thrift, and the patron saint of worldly wisdom and prudence, as a man whose teachings would sacrifice all generous emotion at the bidding of a low expediency and for personal advancement. No greater injustice can be done him than this. No man who has attained celebrity ever less deserved such a portrait. Franklin knew well that independence in pecuniary affairs, freedom from the thousand embarrassments of harassing penury, are not only essential to the comfort of life, but no mean guardians of independence of mind ; he also knew that they are the first requisite, the indispensable condition, of every one who would effectually serve either his friends or his country. Having settled this in his own mind, he chose for himself the surest, most direct, and feasible means of attaining this condition. His example and precepts on the subject of economy on the means of obtaining independence and com- fort are therefore the best the world affords. But though Franklin was well aware that no structure can endure that is not built on a firm foundation, though he insisted upon this as of the first and highest importance, yet no one was ever less in danger of mistaking a mere foundation for the edifice itself. As a means to an end, he insisted upon pecuniary independence as a sine qucL non ; but, as an end in itself, or as a means to mere personal and felfish gratification and aggrandizement, he looked upon it with all the contempt it deserved. Few men have ever succeeded so well as he, in practically assigning to the gifts of fortune their true import- ance and actual value. As one among many instances that might be mentioned, to prove that Franklin had higher ends in view than wealth, we may refer to the fact of his having invented the stove that goes by his name, so well known to our mothers and grand- mothers; which was so much used even in his own day, that several fortunes were made by the manufacture and sale of it. 194 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. Governor Thomas, of Pennsylvania, was so well pleased with it, that he offered to secure to the inventor a patent for the sole vending of it for a term of years ; " but I declined," says Franklin, " from a principle which has ever weighed with me on such occasions; namely, That, as we enjoy great advantages from the inventions of others, we should be glad of an oppor- tunity to serve others by any invention of ours ; and this we should do freely and generously " Injustice has also been done to the religious character of Franklin ; for though it is true that he could not be classed with any denomination of Christians of his day; and though it is also due to truth to declare our belief in a deeper and higher religious experience than he ever attained; still, the devotional habits of his mature years, his belief in a future state of rewards and punishments, and his firm reliance on a particular Provi- dence, exercising a constant and guardian watchfulness over the affairs of men, take him out of the ranks of any class of skeptics of either ancient or modern times. A favourite article of his creed, and one that lay at the spring of all his actions, was " That the most acceptable service to God, is doing good to man." These were his views so early as the twenty-seventh year of his age. Franklin was probably the original founder of the many institutions existing among us for mutual improvement. He was one of the first to see the advantage of associated effort for mental and moral purposes. We are all familiar with the history of the " Junto," instituted by him in his twenty-third year, and which, forty years after its establishment, became the basis of the American Philosophical Society, of which he was the first president. It is probably to the wisdom and liberality of the rules which Franklin drew up for the govern- ment of the "Junto" that it owed its protracted existence. We may also add, that Franklin, in his turn, was doubtless mainly indebted to the "Junto" to its discipline, and the practice it afforded him in the consideration and discussion of questions of the highest moment for the practical wisdom and readiness which he afterwards brought to the public councils of his country. The debates of the club were under the direction of a president, and conducted in the sincere THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 195 spirit of inquiry after truth, without fondness for dispute or desire of victory ; and, to prevent warmth, all expressions of positiveness in opinion, or direct contradiction, were made contraband, and prohibited under pecuniary penalties. A revival and adoption of the rules of the " Junto," would have saved from shipwreck many of the associations that have been started in our midst for similar purposes. The uncommon good sense and liberality of the four questions put to a person about to be qualified as a member of this little society, must be our excuse for repeating them here : " 1st. Have you any particular disrespect to any present members ? Answer. I have not. " 2d. Do you sincerely declare that you love mankind in general, of what profession or religion soever ? Answer. I do. " 3d. Do you think any person ought to be harmed in his body, name, or goods, for mere speculative opinions, or his external way of worship ? Answer. No. "4th. Do you love truth for truth's sake, and will you endeavour impartially to find and receive it yourself, and communicate it to others ? Answer. Yes." Franklin married, in his twenty-fifth year, a lady as much disposed, he says, to industry and frugality as himself. By her assistance and co-operation, and his own untiring industry; by the valuable aid which his character for integrity soon induced his friends to volunteer to him, and by avoiding every temptation to embark in speculations for becoming suddenly rich, he obtained a competence while yet in the flower of his age. At the same time, hand in hand with his daily labour to better his material condition putting into type his own articles for his newspaper, and sharing in the severe toil of working it off on the old-fashioned press he had been pursu- ing, constantly and systematically, a course of study which fitted him for a high sphere of usefulness. It ought to be remembered to his honour, that Franklin ne- ver forgot the obligations which the assistance he had received from friends imposed upon him. He never neglected an op- portunity to be useful to others in the same way in his turn. Many of the first printers in our country were started in busi- 196 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. ness by Franklin ; and his terms to them were always liberal, and his conduct kind and indulgent. Nor did he end here. At the close of his life he bequeathed in his will one thousand pounds sterling to the city of Philadelphia, and a like sum to the city of Boston, to be loaned in sums of 60 pounds sterling, at a low rate of interest, to young married mechanics of good character. Nearly 500 persons have availed themselves of Franklin's generosity ; and the fund, greatly increased in amount, still exists for the benefit of mechanics. Franklin never ceased to love the profession by which he had risen to eminence. He always retained a fondness for the conversation of printers, and was ever ready to enter into their schemes, and to aid and suggest improvements in their art. Even while he associated with statesmen and courtiers, and had stood in the presence of kings, the same habits continued. So far was he from being reserved on the subject of his early condition and pursuits, that he often alluded to them, as giving value to his experience, and as furnishing incidents illustrative of his maxims of life. Franklin was indebted for his first important success in life, and for his introduction to public notice, to his superior work- manship as a printer, and his ability to write with clearness, precision, and energy. His newspaper, " The Pennsylvania Gazette," excelled in neatness and accuracy any thing of the kind that had been seen before in the colonies, and the elegant contributions of his pen made it eagerly sought for. His rival, Bradford, who was printer to the Legislature, had struck off an Address of the House to the Governor in so blundering a manner, that Franklin was induced to reprint it neatly and cor- rectly. He then sent a copy to every member. The next year he was voted printer to the Legislature. From this time he gradually rose in public favor. He declares that he never sought for office, and never declined to serve in any capacity where he could be useful. But his private virtue and integri- ty, his modesty, intelligence, and ability, were so conspicuous, that his fellow-citizens were always desirous to secure his ser- vices. From being printer to the Assembly, Franklin rose to the office of its Clerk. He was afterwards appointed Postmaster THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 197 of Philadelphia, the duties of which trust he performed to ge- neral satisfaction ; and at length his fellow-citizens chose him to represent them in the Legislature. This office afforded him an appropriate and conspicuous field for the exercise of his great and brilliant talents. From this period, which was twen- ty-six years before our Declaration of Independence, Franklin probably contributed more, by his wise and prudent counsels, and his public acts and writings, to prepare the people for that great event, than any other public man in our country. Time will not permit us to detail the many great and im- portant measures originated by Franklin during his legislative career. We must not, however, omit to mention, that as, dur- ing the period when he was employed in his profession, per- forming manual labor, he found opportunity to acquire the knowledge that afterwards gave him eminence as a statesman ; so also, while faithfully serving the state in many capacities, his unremitting industry gave him leisure for pursuits and ori- ginal experiments which raised him to the first rank among scientific men and philosophers. In his 48th year the degree of Master of Arts was, of their own motion, conferred on him by the two highest Colleges in our country, Harvard and Yale ; and he was shortly after, without solicitation on his part, elected a member of the Royal Society of London. A few years later, the degree of Doctor of Laws was conferred upon him by the University of St. Andrews, in Scotland ; and he was subse- quently elected a member of nearly all the principal scientific and literary societies of Europe and America. In 1753 he was appointed Postmaster-General for the Ame- rican Colonies, and in this capacity he was deputed by the Pennsylvania Assembly to wait upon General Braddock, who had been sent over from England with two regiments, to put an end to the old French war. Franklin suggested to him some important cautions, which, had they been heeded, might have saved that ill-fated commander from rushing upon his ruin; but his blind confidence in the invincibleness of the King's regular and disciplined troops, led him to disdain advice which, he acknowledged, might have been wholesome for raw American militia. Notwithstanding Braddock's headstrong obstinacy, Franklin pledged his own private credit the peo- 198 THE pie refusing to trust the commander of the King's regular troops to procure horses and wagons, for the expedition ; and he very narrowly escaped being ruined in his fortune to redeem his pledge. The French war being ended, a controversy which had long been carried on between the Pennsylvania Assembly and the Proprietaries of the colony who claimed exemption from taxation of their immense estates, even for the defence of the country was again revived. Franklin had always taken the side of the Assembly and the people in this controversy ; and he was now deputed agent of the Assembly to the British Court, to petition the King for a redress of grievances. His reputation as a scholar had preceded his arrival in England. During the five years he remained in that country, his company was sought after by the first scientific men and philosophers of the age. By his perfect knowledge of American affairs, and the clear light in which he unfolded it ; by the urbanity of his deportment and sincerity of his conduct, he made a deep im- pression on the Administration then in power, and was often consulted by them on the general business of the colonies. He also succeeded in obtaining the end of his mission ; and even the Proprietaries of Pennsylvania, whose interests were strong- ly opposed to the views he had come to advocate, were com- pelled to acquit him of any conduct which they could censure. Franklin's sterling honesty, his superiority to all intrigue, and reliance upon the justice of the cause he had espoused, secured to him constant composure and self-possession, and enabled him at the same time to read, to evade, and to pity the arts and sub- terfuges of his opponents. We here see how deep and strong, by his knowledge and experience in public affairs, were thus early laid the founda- tions of his ability to serve his country in the great contest that was to ensue. He returned to America in 1762. His stay in his native land, however, was of short duration. The controversy between the Assembly and the Proprietaries still continued. The people now petitioned for a radical change of government, which should abrogate the authority of the Pro- prietaries, and substitute a royal government in its stead. The Assembly sustained the prayer of the petitioners, and Franklin, THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 199 who had always been a favourite in that body, was now elevat- ed to the office of its Speaker. His adversaries, however, suc- ceeded in defeating his election by the people for the subse- quent session, and the Assembly appointed him as a special agent to proceed again to the court of Great Britain. In ad- dition to his commission to take charge of the petition for a change of government, he was also specially instructed to re- monstrate against the passage of the famous Stamp- Act, which had just then been proposed, as well as to manage the general affairs of the province of Pennsylvania. Franklin arrived again in England in 1764. His duties now devolved upon him the conduct of affairs of the gravest moment. The difficulties between England and America had assumed a serious aspect. The passage of the Stamp-Act aroused the most determined opposition in all the colonies ; and Franklin was considered the fittest person to remonstrate against it, and urge its immediate repeal. In addition to his duties in behalf of Pennsylvania, he was also solicited to act as agent for Massachusetts, New Jersey, and Georgia, in rela- tion to the Stamp- Act. It was at this time that Dr. Franklin was called before Parliament to be examined respecting the state of affairs in America. His answers were wholly unpremeditated, no pre- vious notice having been given him of the tenor of the ques- tions intended to be put to him ; but his noble bearing on that occasion, the fearlessness with which he defended the conduct of his countrymen, and censured the measures of the Parlia- ment, left a deep impression upon that assembly of great states- men, and inspired universal respect for his character, as well as for the cause he had so warmly espoused. Franklin remained eleven years in England, making occa- sional journeys to France and other countries of the Continent, where he was received with the highest marks of respect and esteem. During all this time he was unremitting in his efforts for the welfare of his country. He exerted his utmost ability, and in many instances with signal success, to procure the re- peal of measures oppressive to the colonies. He spared no pains to conciliate and reconcile the two countries ; and when at length he saw that a collision was inevitable, he was intimi- 200 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. dated by no danger he might incur from urging the colonists to prepare themselves for the contest. The English ministry, knowing the high place he held in the love and esteem of his countrymen, were deeply anxious to gain him to their interests ; and accordingly they left no means untried to compass their end. Flattery and promises of promotion, threats and intimi- dation, were in vain exhausted for this purpose. Franklin re- mained true to the cause of his country, not less from convic- tion of its justice, than from predilection for the home and the friends of his youth. His firmness procured his dismissal from his place at the head of the American Post-Office ; and it was also hinted to him by the high officers of state, that it was best for the colo- nies to come to an understanding with England, since their seaport towns might so easily be laid in ashes. " I replied," says Franklin, " that the chief part of my little property con- sisted of houses in those towns, and that they might make bonfires of them whenever they pleased ; that the fear of losing them would never alter my resolution to resist to the last the claims of Parliament." Franklin remained long enough in England to present the Petition of the first Continental Congress to the King, which was laid before Parliament, and speedily rejected with evident marks of contempt. He returned to Philadelphia in 1775, and, the day after his arrival, was chosen by the Assembly of Penn- sylvania a delegate to the second Continental Congress. Franklin was now no longer young. Seventy winters had shed their snows upon his venerable head : toil and hardship, and sorrow had done their work, and the infirmities of age were upon him. Death had severed the strong attachments of his early years. The wife of his youth slept in her peaceful grave, and his only and cherished son had at once cruelly turned his back upon his father and his country. At such a crisis, when the vigorous blood of mature manhood no longer flowed in his veins when his knowledge, gained by long expe- rience, of the uncertainty of human affairs the promptings of nature, soliciting safety and repose and all the prudential sug- gestions that accompany declining years, would so naturally counsel and justify caution, hesitancy, and reserve ; at such a THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 201 moment, Franklin was summoned to embark with his country- men upon the wreck-strewed ocean of revolution ; called to risk the humble fortune he had acquired by honest industry, so needed to provide for his growing infirmities, to expose to the jeers of the scoffer his good name, and the reputation for wis- dom and foresight he so deservedly enjoyed throughout Eu- rope, to place even the little remnant of life remaining to him in imminent peril of the ignominious death of the scaffold. None of these things moved him. For weal and woe, for life and death, he had consecrated himself to the cause of truth, and justice, and his country, and he asked only how he could do most service in its behalf. In the spring of 1776 he was appointed by Congress a Commissioner to proceed to Canada, to assist the Canadians in forming a provisional government, and to regulate the operations of the army. Though his mis- sion produced little or no effect, and his health was greatly impaired by the hardships of his journey ; though he had the mortification to see the American army retreating from Que- bec, pursued by a well-disciplined enemy, superior in numbers and amply supplied, yet his zeal and devotion to the cause of freedom never for a moment abated. Immediately after his return he resumed his seat in Congress, and engaged in its bu- siness with unabated activity and cheerfulness. In that body of illustrious men, which the Earl of Chatham, pronounced the most honorable assembly of statesmen since those of the ancient Greeks and Romans in the most virtuous times, no one was more conspicuous for the wisdom and matu- rity of his views, or for- the decision and boldness of the steps he counselled, than Franklin. His colleagues honoured him with the highest mark of their confidence, by placing him on the memorable committee of five that was chosen to draft the Declaration of Independence. There is something in the popular estimate of Franklin's character, that is averse to associate his name with the stirring scenes of '76, and particularly with the first conception of that wonderful instrument that thrilled the nations like the sudden blast of a trumpet, and secured at once and for ever the inde- pendence of our country. It is because in every character approaching perfection, as in every perfect work of art, so lit- 25 202 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. tie is revealed to a superficial glance, and so much remains unseen, to surprise and delight the attentive observer and stu- dent, that Franklin's mind, in common with that of many men of the highest endowments, has been liable to be underrated, at least, if not greatly undervalued. But the daring boldness and decision of Franklin, in a cause which his reason fully approved, is a trait in his character which no one acquainted with his whole history would venture to dispute. In ardour, firmness, and courage, in his own appropriate sphere, he was excelled by no one of the great men of the Revolution. No one of them gave a more decided support to the Declaration of Independence. Let who would falter or waver, never a doubt existed as to the course Franklin would take, when the instru- ment that perilled all earthly hopes for the cause of freedom was presented for his signature. A life-long training had fitted him for that hour. Beneath the placid and modest exterior of the philosopher and sage, there swelled as brave and heroic a heart as ever beat in a human bosom ; and he asked no higher boon, no worthier climax to his long and useful life in the cause of humanity, than permission to enroll his name with that band of immortals, " that priesthood of liberty, who stood up unmoved, undismayed, while the ark of their salvation thundered, and shook, and lightened in their faces, putting all of them their venerable hands upon it, nevertheless."* Four months had scarcely elapsed after the Declaration of Independence, when Franklin was again called to take charge of the interests of his country in a foreign land. The Conti- nental Congress were solicitous to secure the good will of France in the struggle upon which they had entered, and also, if possible, to obtain the favour of loans in money, or the muni- tions of war. The high esteem in which Franklin was held by the most cultivated minds in France, could not fail to de- signate him as the fittest person in America to be intrusted with this weighty commission. He held himself in readiness, as he had ever done, to obey the behest of his country. Previous to embarking, however, he gave the highest evidence of his devotedness to the cause of that country, and of his confidence * Edinburgh Review. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 203 in the result of her perilous struggle, by raising all the money he could command being between three and four thousand pounds sterling and placing it as a loan at the disposal of Congress. . After a boisterous passage, during which the vessel in which he sailed, being chased by British cruisers, was kept constantly prepared for action, Franklin arrived in France. The noble French people, ever ready to do honour to distin- guished virtue, received him with an enthusiasm seldom mani- fested even towards princes and nobles. In their eyes, Frank- lin had won for himself a nobility in whose splendour that of ancestry grew pale. " Men imagined," says a contemporary French historian, " that they saw in him a sage of antiquity, come back to give austere lessons and generous examples to the moderns. They personified in him the Republic, of which he was the representative and the legislator. They regarded his virtues as those of his countrymen, and even judged of their phy- siognomy by the imposing and serene traits of his own. Hap- py was he who could gain admittance to see him in the house which he occupied at Passy. This venerable old man, it was said, joined to the demeanour of Phocion the spirit of Socrates. Courtiers were struck with his dignity, and discovered in him the profound statesman." How valuable to his country in her hour of extremity was then the fame of her illustrious son ! And Franklin generously devoted his fame, as he had before his life and fortune, to the service of his country. Again and again did he consent to be- come as it were a suppliant for her at the French Court, even at the risk of wearying the cabinet by his importunity. The important aid which Franklin obtained for the colonies in Eu- rope, at this critical period of their history, can hardly be over- rated. There can be little doubt that the veneration in which he was held in France had great weight in inducing the Mar- quis de Lafayette, that dearest foster-son of our country, to leave the land of his birth, and the society of his young and beautiful wife, and the brilliant career which his great wealth and family connections opened to him, to share the fortunes of a handful of brave men in a distant wilderness, proscribed as rebels and outlaws by the most powerful government on earth. 204 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. The appearance of so eminent an advocate for America at the Court of Versailles, and the prospect of an offensive and defensive league between her colonies and her most ancient and inveterate foe, was the cause of no little uneasiness to England, and excited against Franklin the jealousy and hatred of her ministers. They accordingly set in motion all the well- known machinery of diplomacy, to destroy his influence, and induce him to abandon his mission. Flattery, promises, and threats were again resorted to. Agents were specially deputed, kindly to inform him that he was surrounded by French min- isterial spies. When at length it was hinted that even his life was in danger, Franklin thanked his informant for his kind caution, " but," added he, " having nearly finished a long life, I set but little value upon what remains of it. Like a draper, when one chaffers with him for a remnant, I am ready to say, ' As it is only a fag-end, I will not differ with you about it ; take it for what you please.' Perhaps the best use such an old fellow can be put to is to make a martyr of him." Franklin remained nine years in France, in the almost con- stant performance of arduous and valuable services for his country. At length her independence, of which he had assist- ed to lay the foundation, was crowned and consummated by its full recognition in a Treaty of Peace with England, the ne- gotiations for which at Paris he had been the principal agent in conducting. He had now unexpectedly survived the ac- complishment of a great work. He had assisted at the first and last acts of that memorable drama which constitutes an epoch even in world-history. When his beloved'country first summoned her brave ones to the onset, when insulted Li- berty " Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn," he was foremost among the first to rally to her standard, and to peril fortune and fame, ease and preferment, and even life itself in her sacred cause. And now that a benignant Heaven had signally smiled upon trusting hope and earnest endeavour ; now that in his aged hands had been placed the olive-branch of peace to be borne to his natal soil, well might he exclaim, in THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 205 fulness of heart, with the aged Simeon "Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace !" Franklin was now in his eightieth year. A painful disease had fastened upon him ; and his earnest desire to spend the remainder of his days in his native land, induced him to solicit his recall. The Congress granted his request. On the occa- sion of taking his leave of them, no mark of attention or res- pect was omitted on the part of his ardent and numerous friends in France. His departure was anticipated with regret by them all. His bodily infirmities not permitting the motion of a carriage, he was conveyed to the seaport of Havre de Grace in the Queen's litter, which had been kindly offered him for his journey. His leisure during this his last sea-voyage was occupied in writing valuable papers on scientific subjects, which were afterwards read before the American Philosophi- cal Society, and published in a volume of the Society's Trans- actions. He arrived in Philadelphia in 1785. Although he had considered his public life at an end on leaving France, and anticipated that he was henceforward to enjoy, in the midst of his friends, complete repose from his labours, yet in this he was disappointed. Notwithstanding his age and infirmities, so high was the value set upon his service, that he was chosen President of Pennsylvania (an office corresponding to that of Governor in the other States) for three successive years after his return home ; and was only then released from ser- vice by constitutional ineligibility. He was also chosen a delegate from Pennsylvania to the Convention for forming the Constitution of the United States. Though then in his eighty-second year, he attended faithfully to the duties of the Convention. The published record of speeches he then made, shows no abatement in his benevo- lence, his patriotism, or his intellectual vigor. Franklin continued in public life till within a year and a half of his death. After this time, though often consulted on public affairs, he never again held office. His painful disease now left him but few moments of repose. For the last twelve months of his life he was chiefly confined to his bed. Still his cheerfulness and serenity never deserted him ; his readi- 206 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. ness and disposition to do good awoke at every interval of his pains. Only twenty-four days before his decease, he finished a paper in behalf of humanity, which, for happy conception and sound reasoning, is said to be not inferior to any of his writings. No repining or peevish expression ever escaped him. Calmly, and with ineffable peace, on the 17th of April, 1790, in the eighty-fifth year of his age, his sun sunk to the horizon, to rise again in a purer sphere, in the vigour and beauty of eternal youth. We have thus essayed to trace a few of the leading inci- dents in the life of Franklin. Do we not well to honour his memory ? Ought we ever to let slip an occasion like this to refresh our minds with a recollection of his great and noble virtues ? His was indeed a character of rare excellence a union of great qualities seldom found existing together in the same individual. He united in himself the two great princi- ples of wise conservatism and enlightened progress. He was free alike from a blind worship of time-honoured error, and a superficial contempt for those monuments of wisdom and ex- perience that have survived the storm and wreck of cen- turies of desolation. While he maintained the position of a bold experimenter of a man who feared not to question, by a rigorous logic, even things that had been held almost too sacred for human scrutiny yet no one ever stood in less danger of being hurried away by the mere current of innova- tion. All other things might admit of change, modification, or re-construction ; but the great principles of Truth, Justice, and Integrity, could never yield in his mind to further the suc- cess of any cause, however beneficial its apparent character. These, with him, admitted of neither change nor improvement. They were fixed, immutable, and eternal. And though he witnessed with interest the first throes and upheavings of that great revolution, whose shocks have been felt since his day in nearly every country on the globe, he yet felt assured that the transient only and the perishable would yield to its convulsions. He had a deep and abiding faith and conviction in the legi- timate supremacy of moral principle : a faith not merely of the head or the intellect ; not a bare formal assent to the com- THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 207 mon-place axioms of philosophy or religion ; but a faith that descended to the heart and the affections, and became a rule and guide of* all his conduct. This it was that enabled him to view with complacency, and even with joy, the breaking up and passing away of hoary institutions, on which more timid minds were fain to believe that even the foundation of human society reposed. Franklin looked higher and deeper for this great substructure ; and though " Seas should waste, and skies in smoke decay, Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away," he yet could utter with assurance the words of the Apostle : " Nevertheless, the foundation of God standeth sure." THE GENIUS OF THE PRESS, BY EDWARD A. M'LAUGHLIN. Canst thoa send lightnings, that they may go, and say unto thee, Here we are ? JOB. O'er Reason's dim, beclouded heaven, The potent GENIUS moved sublime, Where Moral Night her car had driven Along the centuried Course of Time : Save here and there a misty ray That twinkled forth the boundless cope, The mental skies in darkness lay, And slept beneath, the cherub Hope. Midway the Spirit stayed his flight, Where sev'nfold gloom involved the sphere, Reversed the wheels of Moral Night, And chained the Demon charioteer. 208 THE PRINTER'S BOOK He called ! From out the sullen vast The Intellectual Lightnings came, Swift to their mighty master passed, And stood revealed in Tongues of flame. They bow their homage, " Here we are !* As unto each he gave command, These to illume the Isles afar, And those to light the broader Land. Then broke the Day, so long confined Beneath the Night of moral gloom, And warmed to life and bloom the mind, As spring awakes from winter's tomb. What glories meet the spirit-eye, Far in thy depths, Eternity, Where burn, in that untravelled sky, The quenchless lamps of Destiny, The destiny of being, here, Spann'd by the bow of promise bright, While GEHIUS, with Ithuriel spear Transforms the darkness into light. Vicegerent of OMNISCIENCE, him All art, all science, shall obey ; Winged like the four-faced cherubim, To guide the car of MORAL DAT : Roll on, roll on the burning wheels, Ye spirit Tongues your fires impress, Till Earth, with all its Household, feels The hallowing influence of THE PRESS. THE PRINTING OFFICE The Mint at which the treasures of the mind are coined and made to pass current in the com- munity. May the workmen always find plenty of quoins in the drawer. THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 209 THE TRIUMPH OF TEMPERANCE. BY PETEE C. BAKEE. No cause ever presented stronger claims upon every lover of his country and race than that of Temperance, and yet no cause has more to surmount. But we must not be dishearten- ed. As the silent, unnoticed drop gradually wears away the flinty rock, so shall the Pledge finally find its way into the stubborn, stony heart. Labor constant, unremitting labor is however, our only hope. Public Sentiment is the all-potent power we must make our own ; but this cannot be secured without we reach all the various classes of society. The Press, the Pulpit, the Bench, the Bar, the Merchant, the Me- chanic, the Laborer, and the Gentlemen who include the res t must all be brought to subscribe to the doctrine of the Pledge. Every pursuit and profession must wear the badge of temperance. Then, and not till then, when we have made the Pledge of Abstinence the only current certificate of cha- racter, which like gold will pass throughout the world, Public Opinion and Victory will be ours. He who cannot show the coin stamped in the national mint, will find himself obliged to beg or begone ! and those who seek to live by counterfeiting, will learn that "some things can not be done as well as others." When we shall have thus purified the public heart, and made it beat in unison with our own, what a day of rejoicing what a jubilee there will be in Heaven as well as on Earth! When the last drunkard shall dash away his cup, and sign the Pledge of Freedom, then old Earth shall rise refreshed, re- newed, and become a paradise again. Man shall no longer slay his fellow for gold, or lay traps for his fall, but hand in hand, heart to heart, they shall walk the earth as brothers, and make war no more ! 210 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. WHAT ARE YOU GOOD FOR?" BY B. E. BAELOW. Perhaps the young man who reads this will think the above question silly in this connection, but let us see whether it is not suggestive of some profitable reflections, and may not be made to yield some advantage to those who are willing to consider it for themselves. What are you good for ? " Why to be a statesman or a general, to be sure ! Was not Benjamin Franklin a printer's devil once ? was not Roger Sherman a shoemaker ? and are there not hosts of names belonging to the illustrious among men, that have risen from the beclouded ho- rizon of humble mechanical pursuits ? One of the men of the present day, who holds a prominent position in the political circles of this country, was once a poor wandering Vermont boy, driven by necessity to seek in the wide world a livelihood, at an age when other children are in the leading-strings of careful mammas, and through many years of careful, hard-work- ing starvation as a journeyman, has finally arrived at a high position, and profitable withal ; and why may not I be a philo- sopher, a statesman, a general, like Old Zack, or an editor? I am good for any of these posts only put me in either position." But the question is, What are you good for now ? not, what will, or would, or might you be good for if you were any thing or any body beside yourself, or in different circumstances. Now, to-day, you have a part to perform; and whether it be your destiny to draw lightning from the clouds, or stand before kings as their equal, or to stick types as a ' jour' printer, it is equally important for you to determine what your talents or education, or sphere in life, make it imperative upon you to perform. Benjamin Franklin was the most accomplished printer of his time ; not merely a printer because he could not be any thing higher, but while he followed his trade he gloried THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 211 in the reputation of a thorough workman, " what was worth doing at all was worth doing well." If he, or such as he, had been a boot-black, my word for it, he would have been the best boot-black in town. He was undoubtedly ambitious, anx- ious to excel ; but it seems equally certain he desired all the credit of his attainments. When he rose to the position of a philosopher, it was not merely because men then for the first time discovered the inherent qualities of the man, but because the man himself had by patient toil worked up the material of his intellect, and caused it to stand up by its own strength in the sight of men. No doubt he was as much surprised as any at his own discoveries and advancement, and he rejoiced at the success of his exertions physical at the press, and mental by the midnight lamp, because it taught the great philosophical truth, that steady application and repeated effort will accom- plish wonderful results in any and every pursuit in life ; and that there is no greater luxury in life than the consciousness that we are not indebted to man for the reputation or means we may enjoy. These general truths will apply to the circum- stances of every " self-made man." But notwithstanding in the course of a long life of constant study, other and higher intellectual powers are developed, at the time when young men step upon the stage of active life, there is a peculiar course or pursuit to which their education or propensities lead them. Some naturally select a mechanical pursuit, and enter upon it " in the love of it," whether to build churches, manufacture steamboats, or spell out other men's manuscripts, and very soon they learn, or ought to learn, whe- ther they are adapted for the work. Generally the first selec- tion is the best, and if persevered in results happily for the one ' most interested. " Second sober thoughts" as to the choice of; another trade are not always correct. Well, a trade is select- ed now what are you good for ? not with the idea of giving up mechanics for law, physic, or divinity, but, how much of all these branches of knowledge can you acquire and make available? A man in the West, who during the day sawed and planed boards, and by the light of a pine knot at night studied Blackstone, turning over the leaves with his bruised and stub- by fingers, ere long astonished the learned doctors of the law 212 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. by his legal acumen, and swayed the minds of court and jury by his eloquence. He was "good for something," and he proved it, even while he sawed boards for a living. If a poor man has talents which by cultivation may enable him to com- mand a high position among men, he is certainly none the worse off, for having a trade upon which to rely for support, while he uses the time not necessarily employed in feeding the body, in educating the mind. Nay, the contrary is the fact. Many instances can be cited to show, that if any situation is a favorable one, the tradesman is in that. To work with the hand even at tent-making, is better than to be dependent, for which we have the highest authority. Poor students, must teach, farm, work at a trade, be errand boys, beg, or starve, the choice is kindly left to themselves. A journeyman may be a student, but need not be a poor one. A case in point. My friend F , was a man of kind and endearing quali- ties well educated, and of strict morality. He conceived he possessed talents fit for a lawyer, and he resolved that a law- yer he would be, and hoped to realize the pleasing, and to his mind moderate, anticipations of success. Certainly he did not expect to " lead the bar" immediately, nor to outstrip all the young aspirants for legal fame, who entered with himself the lists of law. He built no castles in the air, founded upon the success he was sure to meet. He had heard and believed that in this great city, a young man of strict integrity and steady industry must finally succeed, and he believed he possessed the first, and intended to practise the last, of these two cardinal virtues. He had friends, many of them, and their promises of patronage assured his heart in the plans he formed. He had relatives, and he counted upon their countenance and support. It seemed that all the circumstances by which he was sur- rounded favored his choice, and it would hardly be wise to ne- glect so fair an opportunity to secure to himself a place and name among men, by the exercise of the talents with which he had been endowed by his Creator. Suffice it, he was admitted, and styled himself "Attorney and Counsellor at Law." Some three years after this event I became acquainted w ith F . He still clung to his profession, though I soon learned that it produced him but a precarious support. For THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 213 many months he had consoled himself in his unemployed hours, and days, and weeks, by the consideration that a reputation and a profitable business were not the creation of a year, or two, or three, and by a diligent application to his books sought to pass the time of probation, tie succeeded in the latter undertak- ing too successfully, for he had testimony unimpeachable that his expenses exceeded by far his income ; and as he ran his eye over the expense account on the one side, and the bills receiv- able on the other, he was compelled to feel that his profession would not satisfy his wants without a practice corresponding. He hoped and strove, as far as his situation permitted. Law, litigation I should say, is not, with the mass of men, a thing of actual necessity, and legal abilities may not be forced upon a market like the handiwork of the mechanic. While the latter is certain to dispose of his wares, and meets a speedy return for his outlay, the legal gentleman, with perhaps greater will- ingness to labor in his profession, must of necessity wait until an unfortunate circumstance in other men's affairs shall make his assistance necessary. Is it a matter of surprise that " hope deferred" should often have its natural effect, and that many are hurried away by despair from a world, where, by a more proper estimate of powers and a lowlier ambition, they might have long lived to be happy and useful ? Besides pecuniary difficulties, my friend had a heart, and there was a gentle being whose image was daguerreotyped therein. If F looked forward, Hope held up her mirror in which he saw the picture of prosperity and peace, and a life of happiness with the object of his affections, while every point in the surrounding landscape was softened in the mellow light of love. If he looked back, he saw no cheering token upon which to found his calculations for the future, while the pre- sent scarce allowed existence to hope. Years had elapsed since their betrothal, even before he had passed the ordeal, and been licensed to practice. . Then, they had looked forward to that period as the time of their union, but that time had come and gone long since, and still, as an honest man, he could not risk her happiness by urging their union under his circum- stances. Ye who have felt, like him, may realize his anxious 214 THE expectation and heaviness of heart as weeks passed into months, and he could count years of hoping. Unfortunately his associates were young men accustomed to the society of the wealthy, and practising some of the vices of young men of leisure and affluence. The wine cup was no stranger, and was not, seemingly, an enemy to them. Unfortu- nately, I say, for F , these habits were not deemed disgrace- ful, but on the contrary evidences of gentility. His latterly anxious mind readily received the proffered cup, as a solace and relief from the effects of anxious care. He did not drink wine to drown his care, but the fact that it relieved the pres- sure for the time, seemed to him no argument why he should not comply with the invitations of his friends, and fall in with the general practice of society. But the enemy once admit- ted, made fearful havoc upon mind and intellect, and soon from being an occasional visitor, became a master and a tyrant. It seemed that the very anxiety to succeed and accomplish the dearest purpose of his heart, drove him for relief to that which destroyed the only chance of success. It was too late when perceived by his friends, that the passion for drink had the mastery of him ; and then in vain they strove to destroy the devil they had unintentionally nursed in the breast of their friend. Even the kind entreaties of her who seemed dearer to him than life, were powerless for any length of time. Though she should succeed in rescuing him for a time from his foe, he would be drawn or forced back into bondage, seemingly more helpless than before. But why extend ? Poor F was found at last in his room senseless on the floor, where he had fallen on his return the evening before, in a state of intoxication. He lingered a day or two and died of epilepsy, as reported by the attending phy- sician. A sad instance of the effect of disappointed ambition, through misdirected abilities! When I saw him among his associates, a leader in pleasant enjoyment, and heard the dis- course of scenes of intellectual encounter, and thrilling anec- dotes of professional men, I was tempted to lay aside my trade, or at least to wish that I too were a lawyer, or something be- side a practical mechanic. Poor F ! you are gone to the land where the question is never asked " What was your call- THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 215 ing in the world from which you came ?" No names, no wealth, no power follows man there, nought but the recollec- tion of the actions which filled up the life, and the principles which governed while on the stage of existence. What am I good for ? Is not this an important question ? Am I endowed with reason, speech, and all my senses to make money, which seems to be the principal end to be attained in the choice of a business ? Are there no greater treasures to be sought and attained than the possession of a few dollars ? " Yes," it may be said, " there is glory, as a soldier, statesman, or as the occupant of any high and world-seen position!" But this cannot be attained by all ; the very scarcity of such reputation gives the estimation which is awarded to it. There is a sphere in which each may act the part that will be useful and honorable to himself, and those who have acquired a trade by which their immediate wants are supplied, may realize the height of happiness in the fulfilment of the duties and the use of the privileges which surround them. Look around, and not one man can be found who has it not in his power to enjoy the greatest wealth the world can afford ; none so humble but he may be looked up to as a benefactor, and possess within himself the most unfailing fund of self- gratification. You may give your money, and the gift shall leave a void behind; but strive by word and action to inspire in others a spirit of confidence and kind regard for their fellows, and you impart that which enriches them, and repays into your own bosom more than the benevolence which prompted your acts. This, to do good to man, is the grand principle of success and an honorable reputation. Napoleon may have been feared and dreaded, and his fame shall be imperishable, but what point in his character shall excite an equally universal affec- tion? what benefit flowed from his career upon earth, unless incidentally, not necessarily from the principles of his actions? But from the host of men who have illustrated the benevolent principles of Christianity take one name, that of Howard, and what heart so hard as not to beat in admiration of him, and approve the spirit which led him on in his career of mercy and good- will ; and while the great commander is commemorated by statues of brass and marble, which tell of martial deeds, 216 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. and a world in uproar, the philanthropist is enshrined in the hearts of all mankind, and the mention of his name touches a chord which vibrates harmoniously through a world of hearts, liable, by the tenure of their existence, to sorrow and distress. What are you good for? Surely, you do not intend merely to labor, eat, sleep, and die! The poorest drudge, that has been endowed only with instinct, will do that. Will you remain inactive until some fortuitous circumstance shall " make" you a man ? he is but a sorry man who is made so by circumstance! All the fortunate occurrences in the history of the world might cluster around a sluggard, and he would never be aught but a sluggard, while misfortunes, in the experience of the active and vigilant, are made to redound to his honor. "There is a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them as we will" no doubt, but we must rough-hew them. The broadaxe of industrious intellectual and physical effort must clip away the score of ignorance and prejudice, before we may anticipate the polish and beauty of a complete structure. I am inclined to believe that accident has very little to do in the advance- ment of man in the scale of influence and fitness for useful- ness. There is no fatality in birth or occupation, which decreeing one man to reign, dooms another to hopeless ser- vitude. From the child of a day, onward through life, the talents with which all are endowed by their Creator are developed by untiring effort. He that waits for nature, unassisted, to make him a perfect man in performance, will die a child at an hundred years. Gray hair will come ere he has learned to be useful. What is the substance and summing up of that which has here been written ? It is this. That he who in youth may be compelled to smuggle his juvenile production before the world, is by that anonymous effort laying the foun- dation for future greatness, whose corner-stone alone will far excel the life-labor of him who in indecision, and waste of time, trusts to the future to give him what he now wants the energy to deserve. Therefore, " What are you good for ?" THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 217 THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST. BY N. P. WILLIS. It was a green spot in the wilderness, Touch'd by the river Jordan. The dark pine Never had dropp'd its tassels on the moss Tufting the leaning bank, nor on the grass Of the broad circle stretching evenly To the straight larches, had a heavier foot Than the wild heron's trodden. Softly in Through a long aisle of willows, dim and cool, Stole the clear waters with their muffled feet, And hushing as they spread into the light, Circled the edges of the pebbled tank Slowly, then rippled through the woods away. Hither had come th' Apostle of the wild, Winding the river's course. 'Twas near the flush Of eve, and, with a multitude around, Who from the cities had come out to hear, He stood breast high amid the running stream, Baptizing as the Spirit gave him power. His simple raiment was of camel's hair, A leathern girdle close about his loins, His beard unshorn, and for his daily meat The locust and wild honey of the wood But like the face of Moses on the mount Shone his rapt countenance, and in his eye Burned the mild fire of love. As he spoke The ear lean'd to him, and persuasion swift To the chain'd spirit of the listener stole. Silent upon the green and sloping bank The people sat, and while the leaves were shook With the birds dropping early to their nests, And the gray eve came on, within their hearts They mus'd if he were Christ. The rippling stream Still turned its silver courses from his breast As he divined their thought. " I but baptize," He said, u with water ; but there cometh One The latchet of whose shoes I may not dare 26 218 THE Ev'n to unloose. He will baptize with fire And with the Holy Ghost." And lo ! while yet The words were on his lips, he rais'd his eyes, And on the bank stood Jesus. He had laid His raiment off, and with his loins alone Girt with a mantle, and his perfect limbs, In their angelic slightness, meek and bare, He waited to go in. But John forbade, And hurried to his feet and stay'd him there, And said, " Nay, Master ! I have need of thine, Not thou of mine /" And Jesus, with a smile Of heavenly sadness, met his earnest looks, And answered, " Suffer it to be so now ; For thus it doth become me to fulfil All righteousness." And leaning to the stream, He took around him the Apostle's arm And drew him gently to the midst. The wood Was thick with the dim twilight as they came Up from the water. With his clasped hands Laid on his breast th' Apostle silently Followed his Master's steps when lo ! a light, Bright as the tenfold glory of the sun, Yet lambent as the softly burning stars, Enveloped them, and from the heavens away Parted the dim blue ether like a veil ; And as a voice, fearful exceedingly, Broke from the midst, " THIS is MY MUCH LOV'D SUN IN WHOM I AM WELL PLEASED," a snow-white dove, Floating upon its wings, descended through, And shedding a swift music from its plumes, Circled, and flutter'd to the Saviour's breast. THE JOUR. PRINTER. A man of many professions ; like the lawyer, he feels the advantage of a good case ; like the doctor, from his practice is his gain ; like the parson, he zealously seeks for errors and corrects them ; like the poet, he dwells amid types ; like the military chieftain, he marshals his thousands ; a man of great craft, and no wonder, when the devil helps him. 219 ADDRESS, DELIVERED AT THE PRINTERS' FESTIVAL, BOSTON, APRIL 14, 1849. -.:"' BY B. PEELEY POOEE. " Our History and Name !" The archives of Europe con- tain many a record which proves the high social position of Operative Printers in the olden time a rich inheritance, which their successors should endeavor to regain, with that time-honored appellation THE PRESS, of which they have been despoiled ! Not very many months have passed away, since I was a wanderer on the vine-wreathed hills which enshrine the picturesque and beautiful Rhine, and visited, with feelings of peculiar interest, the quaint old house in the city of Mayence, whence, in the year 1457, issued the first complete printed book, from the press of Johannes Faust and Pierre Schoeffer. And hard by in the spacious market-place, I saw the bronze statue of Johannes Gutenburg, the inventor of movable types, and the father of the art which has made man immortal. It is of bronze, from a model by Thorwaldsen, and stands on a red marble pedestal ornamented with inscriptions and bas-reliefs, one of them in honor of the craft on our continent. The cos- tume is historic ! There stands the illuminator of the mind, animated apparently by a sort of mysterious impulse. His movable types are grasped in his right hand his right foot is advanced, as if to mark a sudden step in human progress a proud expression of joy beams from every lineament of his noble face and a spectator can almost hear his bronze lips re-echo the Divine command : " Let there be light !" And there was Light ! Such is the graven legend on the sheet which the statue holds in its left hand, fresh, as it were, 220 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. from the press at its side the commencement of a "full token" of benefits which Printing has conferred upon huma- nity. That discovery of Johannes Gutenburg's was the key- stone in the arch of civilization, which shines like a rainbow of promise over the pathway of life, and whose brightness, like that of the sacred fires of Vesta, cannot be dimmed. Meteor- like rays of truth went out from that press at Mayence, to awake Christendom from an inglorious slumber, and their dazzling radiance shone into the dark recesses of feudal op- pression, lighting up the hearts of the vassals with hope melting the chains which had fettered the freedom of opinion blunting the edge of persecution's sword, and nerving the arms of the oppressed people with Liberty's dauntless spirit. " Lord ! taught by thee, when Printers bade Their silent words forever speak ; A grave for Tyrants then was made, Then cracked each chain which yet shall break." The Troubadours re-strung their lyres to sing the heroic odes " worked off" in the old black letter Luther and Me- lancthon found in the printed Bible a mighty ally, whose flaming sword drove off their oppressors, while from it the light of revealed truth shone on the blindness of the masses great and wonderful improvements in Mechanics were chroni- cled, and, being known, were perfected Europe read with avi- dity of the discoveries made by Columbus of the lands whereof Plato and Seneca had spoken, far to the Westward beyond the " Pillars of Hercules " the calculations of Galileo guided other astronomers in fixing upon earth the laws which rule the firmament of Heaven the philosophers of Greece and the heroes of Rome were called from their tombs, as it were, to improve and instruct succeeding generations, who found in printed books the once locked-up treasures of universal an- tiquity. Indeed, it may be said that the clang of the first press brought Minerva from the cloistered halls where she had remained in monkish seclusion, to cultivate the mental faculties of the masses and to elevate their tastes. And the " ribs " of that press were thus a commencement of the railway of in- THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 221 tellect, upon which so many richly loaded " beds " are now hurried by the giant power of steam. High were the honors, my friends, paid to Printing in those palmy days of its infancy. And Printers, then, were honored as well as honorable men. Frederic the Third of Germany granted an armorial bearing to the " Typothetae," and it was the right of the members, by virtue of a clause added to the sumptuary laws of those days, to wear gold and silver jewels, and the furred robe, and the slashed doublet, and the sword. No man was taught the " art and mystery " who was not well versed in his vernacular tongue, and most Printers were so distinguished for their scholastic attainments, that the fraternity occupied a prominent place in the Republic of Letters. We find that Ulric Geering was honored with the especial favor of Louis the Eleventh of France, and that he received from the famous College of the Sorbonne at Paris the " privi- leges of hospitality" that is, apartments in their spacious edifice, and a seat at the table of the learned Doctors of the Law and of Divinity. Robert Etienne was the favorite of Francis the First, who used to pay frequent visits to his com- posing-room, and gave him a " font " of Pica, the matrices of which are now at the Royal Printing Office in Paris. Nor could the gallant monarch have found a more learned man among his subjects than this same Printer Etienne ! He was not only profoundly versed in Latin, Greek and Hebrew himself, but, marrying the daughter of Ascencius the Printer, Petro- nella, who was a woman of rare talents, Etienne had no other language spoken in his household save that in which was the work then on his press whether it was Latin, Greek, or the French mother tongue. L'Hopital, the model magistrate of France, formed the Printers of Paris into a community or Union, and in 1618 they obtained Letters Patent from Louis the Thirteenth, who had such a love for the art that he established an amateur printing-office in his palace at St. Germain. Here, over a century afterwards, the Prince Royal, heir to the throne of St. Louis, printed a small work called " Moral and Political Maxims," copies of which he preserved with great care. When called to the throne, he used to give them occasionally 222 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. to his favorites, and presented one to Benjamin Franklin, when that brother typo came as ambassador to his court. Little thought Louis the Sixteenth, as he "imposed'' that work in his boyhood, that in after years he would be beheaded for " errors " in the " royal form " of government which he sought to " impose " upon his " coinless " people. The history of England tells us that Edward the Fourth, when driven to the Duke of Burgundy's court to seek succor against the rebellious Earl of Warwick, was on the most intimate terms with one Master Caxton, who, from an Ambas- sador Plenipotentiary, rose to be a Printer. Ferdinand the Third, King of Naples, received Sixtus Russinger as his guest when that revered Printer carried a press from Germany to the volcanic metropolis, and learning that it was his intention to return home after having set it in operation, he offered him a noble bishopric and other honors if he would remain. And elsewhere too, were Printers treated with the deference the importance of their calling demanded. In Venice, which was then the proud bridegroom of the Adriatic in Germany, where the Teutonic rule was all powerful in those commercial marts where the wealthy burghers of Holland hoarded their gains and in the Gothic belfry 'd Flemish cities, where the germ of civil liberty first bore fruit yes, in all these lands, and elsewhere throughout Christendom, the Press was re- spected Printers were honored. Pleasant are these recol- lections of the once proud position of the craft " Like a vase in which roses have once been distilled You may break you may ruin the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will linger there still.'* The fabulous tree of knowledge was realized in the Press of those days, as it towered above other professions in altitude, in beauty and in strength, while its roots, stretching far and wide, extracted all that was excellent and nourishing for the embellishment and sustenance of its leaves. And these leaves afforded nurture for the infant mind there the light-hearted found their gay carols there were doctrines disseminated and laws promulgated there did science find a retreat shaded from THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 223 the reflexions cast by the mirror of Folly and when the mailed hand of religious persecution was uplifted, those leaves of the Press, imprinted with the Divine word, softened the agony of the martyr for conscience sake, and mitigated the sufferings which followed that memorable epoch, when " The heavy night hung dark, The hills and waters o'er, As a band of Pilgrims moored their bark On the wild New England shore." Others trees perished or died. The Village Oak, under whose verdurous roof the ale-house gossips drank and the Trysting Elm, through whose graceful branches the moon- beams served as a light to fond lovers were alike short lived. The interested or the powerful could fell them the light- ning's flash or the storm's fierce blast could level them but steadfast stood the Tree of Knowledge, and the people loved it well. Centuries have elapsed, and generations have passed it by yet the Tree of Knowledge stands proudly yet. But, my friends, those who were once its masters, are now its slaves. The successors of Gutenburg of Etienne of Caxton in- stead of being honored, like those typographers, because of their calling, find the " art of arts " a sort of treadmill, where they toil that others may be enriched. And if, perchance, one of them succeeds in mounting to a fixed position, it is said of him, that he has risen from a printing-office. Risen, fellow-craftsmen, from a place which was once a high platform of honor, only accessible to a few. The Press, the most powerful moral machine in the world, which, it has been justly remarked, " exercises a greater influence over the manners and opinions of Society than the united eloquence of the Bar, the Senate and the Pulpit," is to a great extent controlled by a class of Mammon's devotees called publishers, who direct it in such a manner as to fill their own pockets, while the legiti- mate members of the craft toil and slave at their bidding. I said that ,the Press, the figurative Tree of Knowledge, stands proudly yet. Ay, but its glories, those typographers of :-:-4 TB the Old SftMQv Whose WOlki have never been excelled, gradually dropt from it like many-hued and brilliant autumnal leaves, and have been trodden down into the soil beneath, The present verdure of the Press is not its own, A parasite ivy, which of itself was a feeble plant, caught the Tree of Knowledge as it grew up, and gradually entwined itself around its trunk and branches, thrusting its myriads of roots into its heart, and extracting aft ill nourishment The Press itself is now but the huge anatomy of a strong-limbed giant a leafless and bare tree, enshrouded in the green and flourishing ivy Printers toil and struggle, but Publishers wax and grow fat, And a portion of them those who issue news-sheets, are not content with extracting, ivy-like, the fruits of Printers' labor, but, even as a certain animal we read of in the fable endeav- ored to pass for a Lion, they call themselves The IVess* Let us look at their title to this time-honored appellation, It has generally been, asserted that newspapers followed the invention of printing, which, it is said, was in a measure created that they might exist as we find the manufacture of locomotives and steamboats following dose upon the invention of the regular-acting steam engine, We are told of the Gmnttms of Venice, which took their name from the copper coin for which they were sold, as the earliest news-sheet ; and of Monsieur le Docteur Renaudot of Paris, who, finding that his oral tales of the times were valuable remedial agents, in- corporated them into his moferui merftcc, and obtained a license from the Cardinal Richelieu to administer his printed doses of gossip once a week. But the earliest newspaper in our vernacular tongue, we are taught to ascribe " to the wisdom of Queen Elizabeth, and the prudence of Burleigh," when the Spanish Armada threatened to conquer the sea-gin Isle. The English Mercuric, according to Disraeli, was originated in a wise policy, " to prevent, during a moment of general anxiety, the danger of false reports, by publishing real infor- mal The first number bears dale, July ^3, 1588, and was imprynted at London by her highnesses printer." This, we are told, was the legitimate commencement of the Press, The ponderous folios the bulky quartos or .the respectable octavos, which had been published in abundance by the fathers THE FEIWTER'S BOOK. of the art, are not taken into consideration, for the public are now-a-days expected to believe that newspapers form the actual mental aliment of the community, and that newspaper publishers are alone to move the world, Archimedes like, with that moral lever whose fulcrum is the Press. Now, my friends, it is wrong for these news-publishing gentlemen to assume this position, for History shows that their trade existed centuries before Jean Gutenburg "locked up" his first " form'' at Mayence, although, like the ivy of which I just now spoke, they never possessed any great importance until they clung to, and commenced sucking the vigor from the Press. Plutarch tells us of the " Ephemerides" of the Greeks that people who, according to St. Paul, " spent their time in nothing else, but either to tell or to hear some new thing." I have myself seen the polished stone tablets erected in Thebes, whereupon the local-item men inscribed for their owners, daily, the height of water in the fertilizing Nile the price of sesame and of oil and the current gossip of the day. These tablets could be perused, Herodotus says, by the lunar pay- ment of a small sum although that learnd historian saith not whether an extra charge was made when such important intelligence arrived as the "Destruction of Pharaoh and his army in the Red Sea" the " Discovery of new gold mines at Ophir," or " The latest news from the emigrating party on their way to Canaan " all of which was perhaps received by special express, in advance of the Royal Egyptian Mail. Frequent mention, too, is made by the classic writers, of the " ludibria ventes '' or flying records written daily by the Roman priests but the real spirit of the modern newspaper passed the Rubicon, and arrived in Rome, with Julius Caesar. The whole being of the great captain "who came, who saw, and who conquered," was divided between ambition and glory. He naturally considered the latter, earned by anxiety and sacrifices, as too ephemeral, so long as his deeds were not recorded ; and, having a taste for Literature, Caesar wrote his Commentaries. There were here, however, limits to self- praise, and the form of the record did not allow of its dissem- ination. Caesar, therefore, first instituted regular newspapers 226 THE PRINTER S BOOK. in the Eternal City, and Suetonius tells us he decreed that the daily acts of the People, as well as of the Senate, should be drawn up, and published. Scribes performed the labor that Printers are now so ill-requited for, although we do not learn that publishers in those days called themselves THE PEN. The first idea of a newspaper, or to speak more correctly a news-papyrus, once started, it became a general mania and we find that there were " acta populi " " acta urbis " and "actaruris." " Acts of the people " "acts of the city" and " acts of the country," sprang up as we see legions of journals in our own time " Like bubbles on the sea of matter borne, They rise they break and to that sea return !" Each locality and each class had its allotted share of intelligence, of the description which most interested them though History has not recorded whether there was also a distinction in price respectable "sixpennies" for the noble families of the patricians, and " penny " morsels of papyrus for plebeians, with "fourth editions," heralding the latest mail news of the times with fee-like industry, from the then infant colonies in France and England. The publisher "by authority," in those days, was Chroestus, who had an interview with Caesar every morning after he came from the bath, and had received the reports of his civil and military officers. There Chroestus, who was a quick-witted mercurial Greek, took the note which his " organ " was that day to sound. Then repairing to his writing-room, where his scribes were in waiting, " stick in hand," (for their pens were reeds,) he " made up " his journal, " displaying " the news of military or political victories in large characters, with more space between the lines than have the "double-leaded leaders" of our day while " untoward events " figured in marvellous confusion and obscurity. Nothing was wanting of those supposed " improvements " of which modern publishers now make such boast and we find that beneath the public ros- trum, as the orators succeeded each other, the subrostrani THE PRINTER BOOK. 227 were posted, to report "expressly" for that journal every speech long or short, with favorable comment or bitter satire, according as they were palatable to the powers "in authority," of whose tastes Chroestus was an admirable judge. The accounts of the debates at the Capitol embraced the acts and the resolutions of the Senate, the rescripts of the Executive, the reports of magistrates or committees, the names of the voters (like that of Thrasea Psetus, whose silent dissent was watched with such eagerness by the provincials) in short, they were of that perfect and yet pleasant char- acter which we find now-a-days in the Boston Post. Chit- chat for idlers, and on-dits for scandal-mongers were also to be found in Chroestus's columns extracts from the local registers of births, marriages, divorces, deaths, and funerals. New public buildings were described the gladiatorial shows were duly "puffed" in advance, and all accidents and inci- dents were recorded. The humorous department was created at Cesar's particular request, he giving orders that Cicero's witty sayings should be regularly added to the other current matter, and we read extracts from the " Theatrical column," which show how Rome was convulsed by the enthusiasm of the partisans of rival actors their feuds exceeding the paper warfare which our tragedians carry on. The theatrical factions fought in the pit ; the soldiers and their officers, sent in to quell the disturbance, joined in the battles, and the centurions were occasionally slain. Nay, it is even recorded in one " Diarium " that when " Felix, the leader of the red faction, was placed on the funereal pile, one of his partisans threw himself into the flames, declaring that he could not survive his favorite performer. The blue faction, piqued at this demonstration, and determined to diminish the triumph of the red faction, came out with " a card " asserting that the man was drunk, when he thus offered himself up as a sacrifice to histrionic devotion." The Roman journals, like our own, were the receptacles of all tragical and marvellous occurrences, and it is from them that Pliny derived many of the improbable stories inserted in his Encyclopaedia. It was first recorded in the "Diarium" that on the day when Cicero defended Milo, there descended 228 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. a shower of bricks from heaven that under Augustus a burgh- er of Paesulae walked to the Capitol in a procession formed by his own sixty-three descendants that when a slave of the un- fortunate Titus Sabinus had been executed by Tiberius, his dog watched the corpse, carried food to its mouth, and on its being thrown into the Tiber, swam after it and strove to bring it to land and that in the reign of Claudius a phoenix from Egypt was publicly exhibited in Rome. In short, the Roman journalists seemed to act upon the principle that the foibles of the foolish form the stock in trade of the shrewd, and when at a loss for news, they described monsters as existing upon earth, and as many wonders in the heavens as afterwards were chro- nicled by the astrologers of the middle ages. Sometimes, too, they awakened some great personage who had slighted them, from his dignified composure, and frightened him from his pro- priety, as Chrcestus did with regard to Cicero. This distin- guished writer had a full human share of mortal foibles ; and huge was his dudgeon, immense his annoyance, when one fine morning that he had breakfasted upon lampreys and Cyprian wine, he read in Chrcestus's " Diarium" that Old Cicero was dead. History goes no farther, and it is a matter for specula- tion whether or not he " stopped his paper." Chroestus made money, or rather it was made for him by his scribes and his editor, for though he pulled the wires and pocketed the gains, the mind of his " Diarium" was its editor, a Roman knight called Coelius. Handsome, gay, witty, well- connected Coelius had a taste for every thing which consti- tutes the attraction, the interest, and (if I may use the expres- sion) the vitality of a journal. He had been, while sowing his wild oats, a friend of Catiline, which led him into grievous errors, and into debts which forced him to mortgage his pen to Chrcestus, but his " leaders" won for him a high position. He was so eloquent an orator as to excite the admiration of the hypercritical Quinctillian Tacitus mentions his aptitude as a historian and, many years afterwards, the all-wise and excellent Emperor Marcus Aurelius was wont to read his arti- cles with special delight. Coelius rose to be CEdile, Prastor and Tribune of the people, though he was cut off in his career by a mortal wound received in that favorite amusement of the edi- THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 229 tors of the present day in some sections a street fight. His " gossiping articles" were very much like some we now read, only that they were longer, and that, not content with " hesi- tating dislike/' " killing with faint praise," and administering the reproof of covert and polished satire, Coelius was notorious- ly abusive. He prided himself on his rouerie and his position in good society, and evidently sought to make the " Diarium" while under his charge, a malignant Home Journal, where would be found the Spirit of the Times. The Roman journals, though they opposed individual pre- tensions to merit and worth, were always advocates of "the Administration ;" for although in those days " Post-Office ad- vertising" did not exist, there was a plenty of " government patronage." The editors had no words of praise sufficiently laudatory and superlative for the virtues of Tiberius and Nero; they loudly demanded that temples should be erected to the black-hearted Domitian they overflowed with delight and ad- miration when Caligula sent his horse to the Senate and they were enthusiastic when Claudius (forestalling the Popes, his successors in Rome,) canonized his paramour Poppaea, rais- ing her, "per se," to the rank of one of the goddesses of Olym- pus, malgre Minerva, despite of Juno, and in the face of Ve- nus. But surely I have clearly shown that news-sheets, pub- lishers, and editors, existed long before printing, while all know that printing was a great and glorious profession before these same publishers, ivy-like, clung to it. The publication of news has expanded into giant proportions, but its features re- main unchanged. We find many a Chroestus, a " citizen of credit and renown," who invests his capital in types and ma- chinery, and regards the descendants of the " Typothetse" as he does the laborer who supplies his steam-engine furnace with coal. And should his gains be diminished, either by the want of tact or talent displayed in his columns, he cuts down, with the same avaricious indifference, the wages of the man who uses his strong arms in the coal-hole, and of the men in the composing room, who exercise their judgment, whose rea- soning powers are continually in operation, whose quick thoughts are chained to their nimble fingers. Mammon is a 230 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. sad leveller, and knows no distinction, save the numerative rank on the tax-list. Perhaps our modern Chrrestus " is not as other men are," but makes his sheet a high beacon of light, and truth, and love, pure and holy, regardless of the position of those whose hands erect it, and who crouch around its base. Philanthropic in his nature, he would cheerfully join the "Society for providing the negro children in Cuba with flannel waistcoats," even though he knew that his own journeymen were destitute of clothing in a New England winter. Anxious to educate the children of the Hottentot, he knows that the pale-faced boys who feed his presses are grossly ignorant. Profoundly griev- ed at the existence of polygamy in the land of Solomon, he in- troduces unsophisticated country girls into hot-beds of crime. An apostle of temperance, and an ostentatious follower of Him who first proclaimed that "the laborer was worthy of his hire," he would fain compel Printers to use Cochituate from some neighbor's pipe as their entire nourishment, and when they " ask for bread, he gives them" an order on a re- ligious book-store. Shame on those Boston publishers, whose conduct led to this record, which has gone forth over the world " In the offices where the least parade is mad a of the cardinal virtues, journeymen are most fairly dealt with and in those offices where there is great pretensions to sanctity, he is screwed down to the last farthing." Most of the successors of Chrcestus have, as he did, an editor, who cudgels his brains to carry out their gold-produc- ing schemes, and feeds their presses with patriotic leaders, or recommendations of Russia Salve. They descant upon the power and importance of newspapers, yet how very few publishers educate their sons as editors ! No : they know that it is an easy matter to find some modern Coslius, some lawyer who " followed his profession " at a great distance some physician, whose fee'd visits were like those of angels, " few and far between " some politician, who hopes to receive " mileage " or " an outfit " some unfortunate author, who does not find that national protection given to the coinage of his thoughts, and the fruit of his studies, which is bestowed upon the shoemaker or the tailor. Generally "free" THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 231 wherever they go, these gentlemen quietly seat themselves in their well-cushioned arm-chairs, to ply the scissors and the quill, protesting the while that they are horribly annoyed by calls for "copy." And when their daily quota has been written, and cut out, and pasted in due shape, it is handed over to the printers. They, poor fellows, must take good care to render all into good English, (as a bear licks her cubs into shape,) and must bear the blame of any lapsus penna. Late into the night do they toil, until their eyes are dim but the modern Coelius and the modern Chroestus go away to their amusements or families. Yet they majestically style themselves THE PRESS. In my humble opinion, one might as well call Nathan Hale the water pipe or Moses Kimball the drop curtain or Abbott Lawrence the spinning jenny as to call a publisher or an editor, who is not a typographer THE PRESS ! Let it not be for a moment inferred, that I would decry journalists ; or that an editor myself I do not appreciate their power ; which, independent of its direct action, and its immense utility in the social relations of man, and in the intercourse of nations, secretly warps and distorts, or benefi- cially prompts and guides, the opinions of nine hundred and mnty-nine persons out of each thousand, without their being themselves aware of it. The newspapers of America are at once an object of national pride, and of foreign admiration, as (unshackled by the arbitrary dicta of a censorship) they are like the window which the old philosopher wished placed in his breast, and show the palpitations of the human heart. The large " dailies," whose powerful articles guide thousands of partisans, as they move along with the force of a mighty river flanked by dull morasses of ship-news and price- currents the smaller " pennies," which like some tiny moun- tain stream, leaping over the crags, are bright, and sparkling, and free the "weeklies," which like an Olive Branch of wholesome verdure, are waved over all parties, with the quiet, composing effect which a Museum of pure literature always produces ; or like a keen Yankee Blade, whittle humors and fancies from lively brains ; or with a steady aim of good, shout Excelsior as a rallying cry all classes, in 232 THE short, of the myriads of journals in our land, contend for the legitimate rights and welfare of the people and their conductors, like so many sentinels upon the watch-tower of Freedom, seek to uphold the Flag of our Union, and to sustain the honor and glory of these United States. While their pens are unfettered, no historian shall write " illium fuit " on the monument of the Union. Universally acknowledged as the champions of right, the guardians of science, the patrons of art, and the advocates of refinement in our land ; why need our editors call themselves THE PRESS ? Why can they not abandon that appellation to Operative Printers? Journalism would thereby be benefited, for now, in the ranks of the Press, are an almost countless and a motley host, embracing the very errand boys in the book-stores. But let editors form themselves into an independent profession here, and they will soon acquire the importance they possess in France where Journalism, like the gigantic bird of the fable, envelops and overshadows with its wings the land which with its talons it is constantly ploughing up in its restlessness. In " Journalism," Guizot has found his first firm footing, whence to rise to that supreme power which he so cruelly abused in " Journalism," Thiers won his first laurels it is in the offices of the "Journalists" that are created these French Revo- lutions, which, like Saturn, devour their own children and there are few young French reporters, who do not indulge in a dream of wild ambition, which dream is generally realized. In England, on the contrary, where newspapers are the " fourth estate " of the Realm, (and more powerful than the other three,) newspaper writers '' the Press " are very low in the social scale. Some successful scribbler may blaze up like a rocket, but he soon descends like the blackened stick ! We never hear of a member of the " British Press " at his sovereign's court ! Some may think that I am making much ado about a mere term, and that, even as "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," Printers need not stickle for their rightful appellation. But in my humble opinion, this is an all important point. Mankind are naturally clannish, and ever THE PRINTER'S BOOK. 233 animated by a powerful esprit de corps. We see this in our religious sects and in our public charities in the army and in the navy in our literary and in our scientific institutions in our colors and in our nationalities. Let the successors of those time-honored Germans who composed the " Typothetse," feel that upon them rests the proud task of restoring it, stripped of its ivy, to its natural beauty, and the old Tree of Knowledge would soon become verdant again. Each Printer's ambition would be roused first to elevate the Press and secondly to become a worthy member of the Press ; and ambition is, after all, the mainspring of humanity, without which the moral activity of society would degenerate into lethargy. Fifty thousand of our bravest citizens, unorganized and des- titute of esprit de corps, could not have equalled the brave frac- tion of their number who conquered at Buena Vista each man animated by an ambition to distinguish himself! Were every able-bodied man in Boston to rush to the next fire, their united but unorganized force could not compete with the destroying element as would our active " Department," in which each gal- lant Sykesy strives to maintain the honor of his " machine" and to claim " the pipe.'' 'Twas ambition which attuned the harp of Homer to heavenly sounds, strung the lyre of Horace with chords immortal, and made the ancient cities vocal with the lays of Virgil. Even the ladies are ambitious, and their example is always excellent. Some " flounce in furbelows and dress for fame ;" others are equally ambitious to shrink from the world's gaze in unpretending modesty, the sweetest flowers that bloom in beauty's rich parterre. Some, unlike the maiden in the song, will " go to a nunnery and pine away and die ;" whilst others seek public admiration and applause ; like Madame Roland, master the mysteries of politics ; like Miss Mitchell, discover comets ; like Joan d'Arc, head the em- battled hosts, and lead to victory ; or like Elizabeth of Eng- land, " in maiden meditation, fancy free," aspire to empire. Each has the honor of her sex at heart, and is ambitious in her peculiar phase, whether it be to adorn a domestic circle, or to rule a realm ; to dance a polka or to " twirl a distaff;" to flirt with all, or reign relentless arbitress of one. Let then Printers raise high the standard of their ambition, 27 234 THE PRINTER'S BOOK. and build their hopes of regaining their ancient position upon the Press itself, not indulging in Utopian ideas, but animated by a legitimate esprit de corps. The young enthusiast, fired by the new lights and the march of intellect, is apt to despise the past. But wait awhile, time wears on, some day he in his turn is becalmed. He then sees the impassable horizon, and feels the iron grasp of the finite power which controls the strides of the would-be-giants of earth. Then, when he finds all progress arrested, he measures backward the limit of the moral range of man, and finds through history, that in past epochs our age was equalled, if not eclipsed ; and that nations so remote as to have scarce a page of record, have left, even on the desert, and amid the mountains, works as superior to ours as the Mastodon is to the Elephant. And why cannot the