being disgusting in ours. If we consulted our principles more, and our tastes less, it would cure us of this sharp inquest into their infirmities.

Yet, on the other hand, if religious but coarsely mannered persons, however safe they may be as to their own state, could be aware how much injury their want of delicacy and prudence is doing to the minds of the polished and discriminating—who, though they may admire Christianity in the abstract, do not love it so cordially as to bear with the coarseness of some of its professors; nor understand it so intimately as to distinguish what is genuine from what is extrinsic; if they could conceive what mischief they do to religion, by the associations which they teach the refined to combine with it, so as to lead them inseparably to connect piety with vulgarity, they would endeavour to correct their own taste, from the virtuous fear of shocking that of others. They should remember that many a thing is the cause of evil, which yet is no excuse for it; that many a truth is brought into discredit by the disagreeableness which may be appended to it, and which, though utterly foreign, is made to belong to it.

DEATH OF WILBERFORCE.

I HEARD loud praise of heroes. But I saw

The blood-stain on their tablet.

Then I marked

A torrent rushing from its mountain height,

Bearing the uptorn laurel, while its strength
Among the arid sands of Vanity

Did spend itself, and lo! a warning voice

Sighed o'er the Ocean of Eternity,

"Behold the warrior's glory."

History came,

Sublimely soaring on her wing of light,
And many a name of palatine and peer,

Monarch and prince, on her proud scroll she bore,
Blazoned by fame. But, mid the sea of time,

Helmet and coronet and diadem

Rose boastful up, and shone, and disappeared,
Like the white foam-crest on the tossing wave,
Forgotten while beheld.

I heard a knell

Toll slow amid the consecrated aisles

Where slumber England's dead. A solemn dirge

Broke forth amid the tombs of kings, proclaiming
Man is dust. And then a nation's tears

Fell down like rain, for it was meet to mourn.
But from the land of palm-trees, where doth flow
Sweet incense forth from grove, and gum, and flower,
Came richer tribute, breathing o'er that tomb
A prostrate nation's thanks.

Yes, Afric knelt,

That mourning mother, and throughout the earth
Taught her unfettered children to repeat
The name of Wilberforce, and bless the spot
Made sacred by his ashes. Yes, the world
Arose upon her crumbling throne, to praise
The lofty mind that never knew to swerve
Though holy truth should summon it to meet
The frown of the embattled universe.

And so I bowed me down in this far nook
Of the far west, and proudly traced the name
Of Wilberforce upon my country's scroll,
To be her guide as she unchained the slave,
And the bright model of her sons who seek
True glory. And from every village haunt
And school where rustic science quaintly reigns,
I called the little ones, and forth they came
To hear of Afric's champion, and to bless
The firm in purpose, and the full of days.

L. H. SIGOURNEY.

LINES

WRITTEN ON RECEIVING FROM DR. RUSH OF PHILADELPHIA, A PIECE OF THE ELM TREE UNDER WHICH WILLIAM PENN MADE HIS TREATY WITH THE INDIANS. BLOWN DOWN 1812.

FROM clime to clime, from shore to shore,
The war-fiend raised his horrid yell,

And midst the storm which realms deplore,
Penn's honoured tree of concord fell.

And of that tree, which ne'er again

Shall spring's reviving influence know,

A relic o'er the Atlantic main

Was sent the gift of foe to foe.*

But though no more its ample shade
Waves green beneath Columbia's sky,
Though every branch be now decayed,

And all its scattered leaves be dry;

* Alluding to the war then existing between England and America.

Yet, midst the relic's sainted space,
A health-restoring flood shall spring,
In which the angel form of peace

May stoop to dip her dove-like wing.

So once the staff the Prophet bore,
By wondering eyes again was seen
To swell with life through every pore,
And bud afresh with foliage green.

The withered branch again shall grow,
Till o'er the earth its shade extend,
And this the gift of foe to foe-

Become the gift of friend to friend.

ROSCOE.