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Nor could he, like a hypocrite,
Blast by surmise, with looks so clean!
He, if he hinted he would bite,
Would bite, though danger stood between.

Few were more diligent to stir,
When any one the signal gave,
His answer being always “Sir!"
Or, “Madam speak; I am your slave.”

No democrat, nor fed, nor quid,
Nor partizan to stiff opinion,
He leagued with none: and what he did
Betrayed no lust for high dominion.

A water-drinker, mild and frisky,
He poisoned not, like many a dunce,
The streams of health with stinking whiskey,
And drunk was never never once.

Reader! if Fame allure thee, pause,
And screw thy virtues to this notch,
Who knows but that the same applause
May follow thee which follows WATCH?

The RECLUSE. Seminary Range.


THE following is an extemporary effusion written at sea; it is the production of a youthful pen, and as such is submitted to your ordeal.

Moonlight and calm at sea.
When every breeze is hush'd to rest,
And the soft zephyr of the dappled west

Its voice does lose;
When Dian's silver light does sleep,
O'er the smooth bosom of the deep,

How sweet to niuse!

When ocean's swelling bosom bright,
Seems studded o'er with golden light,

Of many a star;
And the wild sea fowls' harsh shrill strain
Echoing along th' unruffled main

Is heard afar; .

Tis then each rising care does sleep
With the soft stillness of the deep,

In sympathetic power.
Tis then each swelling pulse does thrill,
And sweetest bliss the heart does fill,

In such an hour.

The soul too fond is soothed to rest;
By mild serenity possess'd,

Nor thinks the storm is nigh;
But soon the placid scene is o'er,
And swelling ocean round does roar,

Contesting with the sky.

'Tis thus on life's deceitful tide,
With placid course we seem to glide,

All free from care;
But soon the too delusive charm,
Flies fast away with every calm,

And prospect fair!

Then happy they, who list'ning hear,
The voice that speaks the tempest near,

And arms for


The whirlwind blast is then disarmed,
Of many a shaft that would have harm’d,
And half the storm is still.

LORENZO. Allantic occan, June 20th, 1809.

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Various; that the mind
Of desultory man, studious of change,
And pleas'd with novelty, may be indulged.



MAY, 1811.

No. 5.



Inchiquin, the Jesuit's Letters, &c. continued from page 317. OF all the ingredients (and they are both numerous and varied) that enter into the composition of national character, there is, perhaps, none more interesting, or more extensively and importantly operative, none that can be turned to a higher account, than a wellregulated principle of national pride. This principle is so nearly allied to the love of country, that it might almost be regarded as another name for that virtuous attachment. No man can sincerely love his country, without being proud of his country--no man can sincerely love his fellow citizens, without being proud of his fellow citizens ono man can love the constitution, laws, and government under which he lives, without being proud of these national compacts. So necessarily does a sentiment of pride grow out of, and identify itself with, a sentiment of affection.

What is it but a principle of national pride? --what but a noble and high-minded emulation of the achievements of his ancestors and countrymen, that nerves the arm of the soldier, and renders his soul invincible in battle? what but this laudable and ennobling sentiment has so long and with such certainty covered the British navy with unfading laurels? The British officers and seamen, it is true, surpass all other people in their knowledge of the science and

VOL. y.



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practice of naval tactics. But it is equally true, that, take from them that enthusiastic love, that confident and determined anticipation of victory, which arises from national pride, and their mere superiority in the knowledge of maritime war, would not alone have enabled them to achieve, and wouid not now enable them to retain, the sceptre of the ocean. For we venture to assert, that those who direct the thunders, and maintain the supremacy of the British navy, surpass the marine of other countries, in national pride, as far, perhaps much further, than they do in the maneuvring of their ships, or the management of their guns. Nor are observations such as these less applicable to the invincible legions of ancient Rome, and the all-subduing armies of modern France. To the numerous and brilliant victories of these two nations, a system of rigid discipline, skill in war, and familiarity with battle, contributed much. But essential as these aids are to military success, they could not of themselves, have ensured the achievement of such an extensive and unbroken series of conquests. A high-toned sentiment of national pride, puts in a rightful claim for no inconsiderable share in the glories of the triumph. The ancient Romans were proud of Rome-So are the modern French of France. And this very principle--this very sentiment of patrial pride, lifting them in idea above other nations, has contributed to place them there in reality.

But it is not alone on the man of the sword--the man to whom the battles of his country are entrusted, that national pride is thus powerfully operative. Its agency, confined to no class or description of society, is bounded only by the limits of the state. From the chief magistrate himself, whether he be styled emperor, king, sultan or president, down to the lowest of his subjects, vassals, or fellow citizens, it shoots its all pervasive influence. It gives dignity and force to the pen of the historian, renders the inspiration of the poet more divine, and touches with brighter fire the orator's resistless tongue. It electrifies the soul, fortifies the mind, and sublimes the patriotism of the husbandman at his plough, or the mechanic in his workshop, no less than of the minister in his cabinet, or the senator in his council chamber. It is a great, diffusive, sympathetic principle, which quickens, allies, and converts into an unit the whole mass of national population. It is thus that the nation gains confidence in itself, becomes happy and exalted in peace, and formidable if not invincible in war.

But unless we are taught to regard our country, its inhabitants, and all that belongs to it, in a dignified and honourable point of view, the sentiment of national pride can never spring up, or springing up, must prematurely wither in our bosoms. As we cannot love deformity nor esteem those that are habitually depraved, so neither can we be proud of that which is ignoble and degraded. The individual who can believe his country, no matter whether his belief be true or false, to be inferior to the surrounding countries of the globe, must immediately devest himself of national pride, and with it must also resign a certain portion of personal dignity and self respect.

Could we, contrary to the testimony of nature herself, as conveyed to our mind through the medium of our senses, be induced to give credit to the representations of European philosophers, statesmen, and tourists, how could we, as Americans, be proud of our country? How could we even escape the lowest depth of mortification and self abasement? These writers, particularly the latter class of them, declare us to be, in all things, degraded below the level of the human standard—inferior in personal comeliness and strength, wanting in courage and manliness of spirit, deficient in the natural endowments of the mind, in morality, in education, in the virtues of the individual, in social qualities and in all the amiable charities of the heart. Nor is this all-Even of our country itself, they give pictures that are now humiliating and disgusting, now hideous and frightful. Our climate they declare to be constantly torn to pieces by fierce and militant extremes at one time insufferably hot, again in quick succession tormentingly cold now arid as Arabia itself, then inundated by torrents of rain--now marked by a sultry and suffocating calm, anon by the most wild and destructive conflict of the elements. In the dismal catalogue of our natural evils, pestilence is admitted to a distinguished place. Our forests are represented as infested by ravenous and ferocious beasts of prey, at mortal enmity with the life of man--the earth as haunted by hordes of serpents ready to infuse into him their deadly poison-and the atmosphere as abounding with myriads of loathsome and venomous insects,

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