"MA

IV.

115. LIFE.

"AN," says Sir Thomas Browne, "is a noble animal! splendid in ashes, glōrious in the grave; solemnizing nativities and funerals with equal luster, and not forgetting ceremonies of bravery in the infamy of his nature!" Thus spake one who mocked while he wept at man's estate, and gracefully tempered the high scoffings of philosophy with the profound compassion of religion. As the sun's proudèst moment is his latest, and as the forest puts on its brightest robe to die in, so does man summon ostentation to invest the hour of his weakness, and pride survives when power has departed; and what, we may ask, does this instinctive contempt for the honors of the dead proclaim, except the utter vanity of the glories of the living?-for mean indeed must be the real state of man, and false the vast assumptions of his life, when the poorest pageantry of a decent burial strikes upon the heart as a mockery of helplessness.

2. Certain it is that pomp chiefly waits upon the beginning and the end of life: what lies between, may either raise a sigh or wake a laugh, for it mostly partakes of the littleness of one and the sadness of the other. The monuments of man's blessedness and of man's wretchedness lie side by side: we can not look for the one without discovering the other. The echo of joy is the moan of despair, and the cry of anguish is stifled in rejoicing. To make a monarch, there must be slaves; and that one may triumph, many must be weak.

3. To one limiting his belief within the bounds of his observation, and "reasoning" but from what he "knows," the condition of man presents mysteries which thought can not explain. The dignity and the destiny of man seem utterly at variance. He turns from contem'plating a monument of genius to inquire for the genius which produced it, and finds that while the work has survived, the workman has perished for ages. The meanest work of man outlives the noblest work of God. The sculptures of Phidias endure, where the dust of the artist has vanished from the earth. Man can immortalize all things but himself.

4. But, for my own part, I can not help thinking that our high estimation of ourselves is the grand error in our account. Surely, it is argued, a creature so ingeniously (in jen' yus li) fash

ioned and so bountifully furnished, has not been created but for lofty ends. But cast your eye on the humblest rose of the garden, and it may teach a wiser lesson. There you behold contrivance and ornament-in every leaf the finest veins, the most delicate odor, and a per'fume ex'quisite beyond imitation ; yět all this is but a toy-a plaything of nature; and surely she whose resources are so boundless that upon the gaud of a summer day she can throw away such lavish wealth, steps not beyond her commonest toil when she forms of the dust a living man. When will man learn the lesson of his own insignificance?

5. Immortal man! thy blood flows freely and fully, and thou standèst a Napoleon; thou reclinest a Shakspeare!—it quickens its movement, and thou liëst a parched and fretful thing, with thy mind furied by the phantoms of fever!-it retards its action but a little, and thou crawlest a crouching, soulless mass, the bright world a blank, dead vision to thine eye. Verily, O man, thou art a glorious and godlike being!

6. Tell life's proudèst tale: what is it? A few attempts successlèss; a few crushed or moldered hopes; much paltry fretting; a little sleep, and the story is concluded; the curtain falls -the farce is over. The world is not a place to live in, but to die in. It is a house that has but two chambers; a lazar and a charnel--room only for the dying and the dead. There is not a spot on the broad earth on which man can plant his foot and affirm with confidence, "No mortal sleeps beneath!"

7. Seeing then that these things are, what shall we say? Shall we exclaim with the gay-hearted Grecian, "Drink to-day, for tomorrow we are not?" Shall we calmly float down the current, smiling if we can, silent when we must, lulling cares to sleep by the music of gentle enjoyment, and passing dream-like through a land of dreams? No! dream-like as is our life, there is in it one reality-our DUTY. Let us cling to that, and distress may overwhelm, but can not disturb us-may destroy, but can not hurt us: the bitterness of earthly things and the shortness of earthly life will cease to be evils, and begin to be blessings.

WALLACE.

HORACE BINNEY WALLACE was born in Philadelphia on the 26th of February, 1817. He passed the first two years of his collegiate course at the University of Pennsylvania, and the residue at Princeton College, where he was graduated in 1835. He studied law with great thoroughness, and at the age of twenty-seven, prepared notes, that have been commended by the highest legal authorities, for "Smith's Selections of Leading Cases in various Branches of the Law," and

"White and Tudor's Selection of Leading Cases in Equity." He also devoted much time to scientific study; produced "Stanley," a novel; and published a number of articles anonymously in various periodicals. He sailed for Europe in April, 1849, and passed a year in England, Germany, France, and Italy. On his return he resumed with increased energy, his literary pursuits. His eye-sight became impaired in the spring of 1852, owing to the incipient stages of congestion of the brain, caused by undue mental exertion. By the advice of physicians, he embarked for England in November. Finding no improvement in his condi tion, on his arrival, he went to Paris for medical advice, where his cerebral disease increased, and led to his death suddenly, on the 16th of December following. In 1855 appeared in Philadelphia a volume of his writings, entitled " Art, Scenery, and Philosophy in Europe." These essays on the principles of art, descriptions of cathedrals, traveling sketches, and papers on distinguished artists, though not designed for publication, and mostly in an unfinished state, display great depth of thought, command of language, knowledge of the history and aesthetic principles of art, and a finely cultivated taste. A second volume of his writings, “Literary Criticisms and other Papers," appeared in 1856. These two works form but a small part of Mr. Wallace's literary productions.

A

SECTION XXI.

I.

116. BLENNERHASSETT'S TEMPTATION.

2

PLAIN man, who knew nothing of the curious transmutations' which the wit of man can work, would be věry apt to wonder by what kind of legerdemain Aaron Burr' had contrived to shuffle himself down to the bottom of the pack, as an ac'cessory, and turn up poor Blennerhasset as principal, in this treason. Who, then, is Aaron Burr, and what the part which he has borne in this transaction? He is its author, its projector, its active ex'ecuter. Bold, ardent, restlèss, and aspiring, his brain conceived it, his hand brought it into action.

he was made attorney-general in 1789. He was a member of the Uni

1 Trăns`mu tā ́tion, a change into another substance or form. 'Lěg`er demãin', sleight of hand; ted States Senate from 1791 to 1797, an artful trick.

'Aaron Burr was born in Newark, N. J., February 5, 1756. His military talents secured for him the high position of lieutenant-colonel in the army of the Revolution; after which he acquired a prominent position as a great lawyer in New York, where

and the leader of the republican party. He was made vice-president in 1800; killed Alexander Hamilton in a duel in 1804: was tried on a charge of treasonable designs against Mexico, at Richmond, Va., in 1807, of which he was finally acquitted; and died on Staten Island, Sept. 14, 1886.

2. Who is Blennerhasset? A native of Ireland, a man of letters, who fled from the storms of his own country, to find quiet in ours. On his arrival in America, he retired, even from the population of the Atlantic States, and sought quiet and solitude in the bosom of our western forests. But he brought with him taste, and science, and wealth; and "lo, the desert smiled!" Possessing himself of a beautiful island in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and decorates it with every romantic embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery that Shenstone' might have envied, blooms around him. Music that might have charmed Calypso' and her nymphs, is his. An extensive library spreads its treasures before him. A philosophical apparātus offers to him all the secrets and mysteries of nature. Peace, tranquillity, and innocence, shed their mingled delights around him. And, to crown the enchantment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be lovely even beyond her sex, and graced with every accomplishment that can render it irresistible, had blessed him with her love, and made him the father of several children.

3. The evidence would convince you, Sir, that this is but a faint picture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this innocence, and this tranquillity,-this feast of the mind, this pure banquet (băngk'wet) of the heart,-the destroyer comes. He comes to turn this paradise into a hell. Yet the flowers do not wither at his approach, and no monitory shuddering through the bosom of their unfortunate possessor warns him of the ruin that is coming upon him. A stranger presents himself. It is Aaron Burr. Introduced to their civilities by the high rank which he had lately held in his country, he soon finds his way to their hearts, by the dignity and elegance of his demeanor, the light and beauty of his conversation, and the seductive and fascinating power of his address.

4. The conquest (kongk'wěst) was not difficult. Innocence is ever simple and credulous. Conscious of no designs itself, it suspects none in others. It wears no guards before its breast. Every door and portal and avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all who choose it enter. Such was the state of Eden when

1 William Shenstone, a pleasing writer both of prose and verse, noted for his taste in landscape-gardening, was born in Shropshire, England, in

1714, and died in 1763.

'Ca lyp' so, a fabled nymph, who inhabited the island of Ogygia, on which Ulysses was shipwrecked.

the serpent entered its bowers! The prisoner, in a mōre engaging form, winding himself into the open and unpracticed heart of the unfortunate Blennerhasset, found but little difficulty in changing the native character of that heart, and the objects of its affections. By degrees he infuses into it the poison of his own ambition. He breathes into it the fire of his own courage; —a daring and desperate thirst for glory; an ardor, panting for all the storm, and bustle, and hurricane of life.

5. In a short time, the whole man is changed and every object of his former delight relinquished. No more he enjoys the tranquil scene : it has become flat and insipid to his taste. His books are abandoned. His retort and crucible are thrown ǎside. His shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance upon the air in vain --he likes it not. His ear no longer drinks the rich melody of music: it longs for the trumpet's clangor, and the cannon's roar. Even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, no longer affects him; and the angel smile of his wife, which hitherto touched his bosom with ecstacy so unspeakable, is now unfelt and unseen. Greater objects have taken possession of his soul.

6. His imagination has been dazzled by visions of diadems, and stars, and garters, and titles of nobility. He has been taught to burn with restless emulation at the names of great heroes and conquerors, of Cromwell,' and Cæsar, and Bonaparte. His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse into a wilderness; and, in a few months, we find the tender and beautiful partner of his bosom, whom he lately "permitted not the winds" of "to visit too roughly," we find her shivering, at midnight, on the wintry banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears with the torrents that froze as they fell.

summer

7. Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest and his happiness-thus seduced from the paths of innocence and peace-thus confounded in the toils which were deliberately spread for him, and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and genius of another, this man, thus ruined and undone, and made to play a subordinate part in this grand drama of guilt and treason this man is to be called the principal offender; while he, by whom he was thus plunged in misery, is comparatively innocent, a mere ac'cessory! Is this reason? Is it law? Is it Oliver Cromwell, a great warrior and statesman, Lord Protector of England, born April, 1599, and died September, 1659.