The shades of the slaughtered innocents stalk, in terrific procession, before the couch. The agonizing cries of countless widows and orphans invade the ear. The bloody dagger of the assassin plays, in airy terror, before the vision. Violated liberty lifts her avenging lance; and a down-trodden nation rises before them in all the majesty of its wrath. What are the hours of a splendid wretch like this, compared with those that shed their poppies and their roses upon the pillows of our peaceful and virtuous patriots! Every night bringing to them the balm and health of repose, and every morning offering to them "their history in a nation's eyes!" This, this it is to be greatly virtuous; and be this the only ambition that shall ever touch an American bosom! Discourse on the Lives and Character of Adams and Jefferson. INDOLENCE AND INTELLECTUAL DISSIPATION. Wherever I see the native bloom of health and the genuine smile of content, I mark down the character as industrious and virtuous; and I never yet failed to have the prepossession confirmed on inquiry. So, on the other hand, wherever I see pale, repining and languid discontent, and hear complaints uttered against the hard lot of humanity, my first impression is, that the character from whom they proceed is indolent or vicious, or both; and I have not often had occasion to retract the opinion. There is, indeed, a class of characters, rather indolent than vicious, who are really to be pitied; whose innocent and captivating amusements, becoming at length their sole pursuits, tend only to whet their sensibility to misfortunes which they contribute to bring on; and to form pictures of life so highly aggravated as to render life itself stale and flat. In this class of victims to a busy indolence, next to those who devote their whole lives to the unprofitable business of writing works of imagination, are those who spend the whole of theirs in reading them. There are several men and women of this description in the circle of my acquaintance; persons whose misfortune it is to be released from the salutary necessity of supporting themselves by their own exertions, and who vainly seek for happiness in intellectual dissipation. Bianca is one of the finest girls in the whole round of my acquaintance, and is now oue of the happiest. But when I first became acquainted with her, which was about three years ago, she was an object of pity; pale, emaciated, nervous, and hysterical, at the early age of seventeen, the days had already come when she could truly say she had no pleasure in them. She confessed to me, that she had lain on her bed, day after day, for months together, reading, or rather devouring, with a kind of morbid appetite, every novel that she could lay her hands on without any pause between them, without any rumination, so that the incidents were all conglomerated and confounded in her memory. She had not drawn from them all a single useful maxim for the conduct of life; but, calculating on the fairy world, which her authors had depicted to her, she was reserving all her address and all her powers for incidents that would never occur, and characters that would never appear. I advised her immediately to change her plan of life; to take the whole charge of her mother's household upon herself; to adopt a system in the management of it, and adhere to it rigidly; to regard it as her business exclusively, and make herself responsible for it; and then, if she had time for it, to read authentic history, which would show her the world as it really was; and not to read rapidly and superficially, with a view merely to feast on the novelty and variety of events, but deliberately and studiously, with her pen in her hand, and her note-book by her side, extracting, as she went along, not only every prominent event, with its date and circumstances, but every elegant and judicious reflection of the author, so as to form a little book of practical wisdom for herself. She followed my advice, and, when I went to see her again, six months afterwards, Bianca had regained all the symmetry and beauty of her form; the vernal rose bloomed again on her cheeks; the starry radiance shot from her eyes; and, with a smile which came directly from her heart, and spoke her gratitude more exquisitely than words, she gave me her hand, and bade me welcome. In short, the divine denunciation that in the sweat of his brow man should earn his food is guaranteed so effectually that labor is indispensable to his peace. It is the part of wisdom to adapt ourselves to the state of being in which we are placed; and, since here we find that business and industry are as certainly the pledges of peace and virtue as vacancy and indolence are of vice and sorrow, let every one do, what is easily in his power --create a business, even where fortune may have made it unnecessary, and pursue that business with all the ardor and perseverance of the direst necessity; so shall we see our country as far excelling others in health, contentment, and virtue, as it now surpasses them in liberty and tranquillity. ELIZABETH MARGARET CHANDLER, 1807–1834. THIS beautiful poet and prose writer, the last years of whose short life were devoted to the cause of humanity,' was born at Centre, near Wilmington, Delaware, on the 24th of December, 1807. She had the misfortune to lose both her parents at an early age, and she was placed under the care of her grandmother, Elizabeth Evans, of Philadelphia, and there attended school till she was thirteen or fourteen. She early gave evidence of remarkable talent, and before she left school, some of her pieces were very much admired, and sought after. At the age of sixteen, she began to write for the press, and her pieces were extensively copied; but what brought her especially into notice was her poem entitled "The Slave Ship," written when she was but eighteen, and which gained for her the prize offered by the publishers of "The Casket," a monthly magazine. This led to her acquaintance with Mr. Benjamin Lundy, then editor of "The Genius of Universal Emancipation," published at Baltimore, to which paper, from that time, she became a frequent contributor. She was now acknowledged as one of the most accomplished and powerful female writers of her time, and most of her writings thenceforward were devoted to the cause of Emancipation. "It is not enough to say that her productions were chaste, eloquent, and classical. Her language was appropriate, her reasoning clear, her deductions logical, and her conclusions impressive and convincing. Her appeals were tender, persuasive, and heart-reaching; while the strength and cogency of her arguments rendered them incontrovertible. She was the first American female author that ever made the Abolition of Slavery the principal theme of her active exertions.""" Miss Chandler continued to reside in Philadelphia till 1830, when she removed with her aunt and brother to Tecumseh, Lenawee County, Michigan, about sixty miles southwest of Detroit. Here, at her home called "Hazlebank," on the banks of the river Raisin, which has been appropriately called "classic ground," she continued I apprehend that this is the reason why so little has been said or writteL of her-so powerful have been the influences of slavery to palsy the tongue, and chill the heart of freemen. And yet it will be hard to find among our female authors a style more chaste and polished, or sentiments more pure and ennobling than the writings of Elizabeth M. Chandler afford. "Poetical Works of Elizabeth Margaret Chandler; with a Memoir of her Life and Character, by Benjamin Lundy." This early pioneer in the cause of Freedom, Benjamin Lundy, has never received the attention he deserved. to write and labor in the cause of the oppressed, till 1834, when she was attacked by a remittent fever, which terminated in her death on the second of November of that year. Never did the grave close over a purer spirit, nor one more fully sensible of a strict accountability for the right employment of every talent. JOHN WOOLMAN. Meek, humble, sinless as a very child, Such wert thou-and though unbeheld, I seem Thy grave, yet gentle lip, and the soft beam Servant of Jesus! Christian! not alone In name and creed, with practice differing wide, His self-denying precepts for thy guide. Stern only to thyself, all others felt Thy strong rebuke was love, not meant to crush, but melt. Thou, who didst pour o'er all the human kind A pleader for his happiness in thee. But most the wrongs and sufferings of the slave In their existence, and couldst hold no more A separate life from them, as thou hadst done before. How the sweet pathos of thy eloquence, So unbeseeming of our country's worth, Might be removed before the threatening cloud, Thou saw'st o'erhanging it, should burst in storm and blood. So may thy name be reverenced-thou wert one Of those whose virtues link us to our kind, In thy pure memory; and we bless thee yet, THE SLAVE'S APPEAL. Christian mother! when thy prayer Christian daughter, sister, wife! Blest ones! whom no hand on earth Oh, forget not those for whom Life is naught but changeless gloom; THE DEVOTED.1 Stern faces were around them bent, and eyes of vengeful ire, "Where is thy traitor-spouse?" they said. A half-formed smile of scorn, That curl'd upon her haughty lip, was back for answer borne. 'It was a beautiful turn given by a great lady, who being asked where her husband was, when he lay concealed for having been deeply concerned in a conspiracy, resolutely answered that she had hidden him. This confession caused her to be carried before the governor, who told her that nought but confessing where she had hidden him could save her from the torture." And will that do?" said she. "Yes," replied the governor, "I will pass my word for your safety, on that condition." "Then," replied she, "I have hidden him in my heart, where you may find him." |