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ly calculated to develope the beauties and graces of the human soul,— laying open to the great eye of humanity, wonders more wonderful than all the gigantic piles of Egypt-the workings of man's heart! There are those who are sent to be leaders in the efforts of society, and their work is great. It is not mere child's play which is the part of such men. Great souls bring forth nothing small, Plutarch tells us, and they should not. They should feel that a thousand eyes are fastened on them, expecting proper counsel; a myriad hearts beat anxiously to learn and do their will. What is there which in this little span of life we look on, more like our ideal of divinity, than the god-like man as he stands up with heart throbbing, ear listening, eye seeing, to sway a multitude of human beings by his eloquence, to inspire in them a feeling of horror against vice, and to lead them on in their lofty efforts for the promotion of human good? Yet this man is not the mere demagogue, rather is he a Burke, an Adams. His is a spirit which has lofty communings with the beautiful, the true; his is a heart which beats in unison with the great pulsations of all humanity, his a prophet's ken to learn the wants of mankind, and his a will inflexible as Jove's to accomplish the sublime purposes planned by his gigantic intellect. The great, the real man, then, is a light to illumine the path which, the feebler and duller must tread. Like Prometheus he seizes fire from heaven, and holds up over the crowd which press around him, the torch which bears no illusive light, or kindles his lamp at the smouldering ruins of the Past, where Wisdom unfolds her teachings and presents it as a beacon to his race.

He stands up like the tall tree of the forest, and looks down over the plodding world-weary pilgrims through a desert waste. They all need his aid, and he gives it. There are but few Luthers, Washingtons, yet there are many whom we call great. These may live among men and feel the very fire of their heart is caught from sympathy with kindred natures, and yet

"The recluse Hermit oft times more doth know
Of the world's inmost wheels, than worldlings can."

Such may live unseen by mankind and yet kings tremble beneath the lashings of the whip of justice which they shake.

The hero who stands upon "the pinnacles of state" may move mankind no more than the poet who cultivates the muse in some silent glen. The philosopher who bottles up the lightning of heaven,

This re

may indeed learn its nature, but he himself should be the lightning spark which shall kindle up the dead leaves in this forest world. America now calls for heroic labors from her great men. public is not built on a rock which never moves when the billows of popular feeling roll over it; a lofty and world-astonishing structure it may be, yet it shall sink beneath the surge, when its mighty ones forget their mission.

Grasping after wealth and power, the nation needs some to rise up and speak out the dictates of sober reason as well as the useful lessons of experience. This is an age of utility. Hence there arises a philosophy of mere expediency which is proclaimed as the only right basis of action. We see on every hand its devotees drinking in its' spirit deep and long, and exhibiting the fatal consequences of such a belief. It effects no less our literature than our commercial transactions. It makes the law of self the foundation of all wisdom, and sets up a false standard around which all are called on to gather. They assemble and cry out, "Protection! Protection "--but from what! From the demands of just laws and the clairs of the whole people. They forget that the poet spoke truly,

"He that is merciful

Unto the bad, is cruel to the good."

A false, destructive compassion sways them, for even the most guilty should go but slightly punished, according to their philosophy.

To instance but one example in which may be seen the injurious character of such opinions, and to remedy which the great are in duty bound, we may notice the excessive pity of many for criminals. They would cage up in a gloomy prison the murderer, whose heart throl bed wildly for his brother's blood, while God and Reason demand for him a halter; they would put the villain's brain into a leaden cap, that all his various organs may be kept down, when they should drag him off to justice; the good of the offender they would make the only design of punishment; whatever seems for the immediate benefit of men, though it end in ruin, they encourage, and still boast aloud of the glorious advances our land is making in art and science, in practical knowledge and true benevolence. Such men forget there are fundamental principles which remain unshaken as the sea-girt rock, though the waves of passion and excited feeling dash around, and beat tumultuously over it. These principles must be the guide to all per

manent utility. Banish the teachings of experience from our counsels, and our ship of state will soon be wrecked on the breakers—even now their roar is heard,-the tempest is gathering and sending on its strength, it is the mission of the great to see that all is secure, and that the buttresses which support the edifice our fathers built on the basis of justice, virtue, truth, are not washed away. There is danger that our people are grasping bubbles in their efforts rather than substantial truth. Let then a loud voice go through the land, echoed from the breasts of all the great-"Adhere to principle," and then shall be secured not a transient but lasting utility. To insure this end, poets, philosophers, statesmen, must rise up and convince the halftrained intellect, which would pull down the pillars our fathers built to support the dome of Liberty, that it may erect an imaginary Paradise for men to walk in, that sound principle, eternal truth alone can be the immoveable basis of any valuable structure.

Let then the suns which have already set in glory, whose brightness still lingers in the sky to warn and encourage, not be forgotten, and let them who now walk our land the acknowledged guides to a great and noble destiny, see that their light points out to men the pathway to enduring good. This is their mission; let it be fulfilled. What nobler object does the world exhibit, than a god-like man who, in struggling to resist the tide of depraved and corrupting opinions which seem threatening to engulf all that is great, and glorious, and good, stands

"Like the firm rock, that in mid-ocean braves
The war of whirlwinds, and the dash of waves!"

Be he the poet, changing human sadness into joy, while he paints the prospects of man when seeking out life's duty; the philosopher, filling the soul with thoughts of virtue, while he leads on, as if by magic power, a nation at his will; the divine, bowing down the multitude gathered round him, while he tells the unalterable decree of punishment for vice, and the equally immutable decree of reward for virtue, whoever he be that stands up and speaks out eternal principles, and makes men obedient to their power,-such an one is a light beaming athwart human darkness-a star whose glory cannot fade. Be, then, ye great ones, mindful of your mission, for on you rest the hopes of men. Act for their good, and they shall prove the poet's declaration true, that

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EDITORS' TABLE.

EDITORS' TABLE.

Poland.

Technical Verse.

"Quis? quid? ubi? quibus auxiliis ? cur? quomodo? quando?"

"Idle time not idly spent."

Year of the World 5852. 31⁄2 o'clock, P. M.

"Well gentlemen, you've heard "Poetical Ima"In medias res" "Put it through gery, the Evening;" shall it be published?" said the chairman. the Scaean gates by daylight," replied Nestor. "I'm for it," said Brass; the rest assenting, it was laid aside for publication. "Quodville No. 2"-this was admitted of course. "Come fellows," said the chairman, "here is the "Modern Tendencies to Democracy." "Hang politics," muttered Quilp. "Read it," cried Samson Brass. This done, "shall it be admitted ?" inquired the chairman. "I don't think there's much Democracy in it," yawned the Great Unknown; "There was hardly a word about the great principles of our party, and I think Cass and Butler "True, it was not very well adapted to the prewere not so much as mentioned." sent Presidential campaign,” responded Ichabod, “but I think we should publish it." Anything else?" asked Quilp. "The Birth of Time," said the chairman. "Let it be read," quoth Ichabod, "it may be of practical use to us when in want of "I should be very glad to learn some." "Just so," rejoined the Great Unknown, its pedigree." When it was read, Quilp observed that he had always supposed Time to be a little chunk broken off from Eternity, and because of this coincidence of idea he should vote to admit the piece.

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Here's some poetry-A Hunt of last Vacation.'" "Here it is then"chairman," cried Samson,

"One day last month I took my gun

"Give us a taste of it,

And dog, and went out to have some fun;

It was a little the 'cutest hound

Anywhere in the parts to be found."

"Hold!" exclaimed Nestor," that's altogether too dogmatic to suit my fancy; I shall veto it." "So shall I," said Samson. "Well," replied the chairman, "since 'de gustibus non disputandum est,' take it Quilp and light up those dying embers in the grate there: pity it should'nt serve us some way, now we've been at the bore of reading it."

The "Curse of Knowledge," and various other pieces being now disposed of, and the chairman proclaiming that there was no further business, silence reigned for a moment's time among the Editors.

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