LITERARY SKETCHES. 357 sentence dies away like the voice of an enchantress on his ear, he has declared a thousand times in his throbbing heart, that Athens shall be the mistress and glory of the world. benevolently designed, but as a master-piece of benevolence, a perfect Plan of goodness, long revolved in the world's great Mind. That benevolence, so conspicuous both in the sum and details of creation, meeting us at every step, arresting the attention at every point, touches upon the holier element of our being, and gives heart and morality to man. Look you, now, continues the eloquent lady, upon this glorious creation as a whole. Your physical senses perceive nothing but the properties of that which you call matter. But, tell me, what is matter? What is the interior essence, to which all these perceptible properties belong? You are silent. You await an answer. My answer is, that the essence of all matter is spirit. Subtract from any body its physical qualities, and Turning, now, her attention to the other of her guests, she changes entirely the current of her remarks. With slow and measured sentences she introduces the sublime speculations of philosophy. She begins by placing man at once in the centre of the universe. Of that universe he is the living sensorium. Every thing above and around concentrates in himself. He was made for all things, and all things for him. His lower senses-his taste, touch, and smell, are abundantly gratified by a variety of objects in the world around him. His hearing is addressed by thousands of sweet sounds, by the universal minstrelsy of rejoicing nature, by that glori-spirit is the remainder. So, going out with this inous pean that rolls downward, and rises upward, and flows in full harmony around us, from every created object, from every thing that has breath and life. His sight takes in the landscape, travels far and wide upon the wastes of ocean, and, from some beetling Olympian summit, surveys vast prospects of the great world about him. But, standing at the centre of the mighty sphere of creation, he looks still farther into the scenery of nature. He sends his vision, and with it his busy thought, to those far-off bodies that shine so resplendently in the heavens. Suns and systems roll and blaze in awful majesty above him. Ten thousand stars send down their softening influences upon him. All things address him as the only creature endowed with a capacity to understand their language, and his own correlative nature stands confessed, in the power he has of returning a fitting answer: for all the light and loveliness they lend him, he is capable of giving back again in tenfold splendor. { quiry into the universe as one vast body, should you imagine all material properties to be removed or annihilated at a stroke, you have the one Great Spirit left. It is this Spirit that informs, infills, sustains, and upholds the physical universe. Let that all-pervading, self-existing, eternal, and almighty Spirit withdraw his presence, but for one moment, from the mightiest globe that rolls in the heavens, and that globe vanishes from existence in an instant. The universe, then, is this Spirit clothed by its own agency with perceptible properties-perceptible, for we know not how many qualities may pertain to his glorious nature, unperceived and imperceptible to The universe, I may rather say, is a revelation, perhaps only a very partial revelation, of the almighty Spirit; nor can we know that there may not be other modes of revealing, by which vastly more light shall be thrown upon the mind, held in reserve for a happier age. man. Man, as we have seen, was made for the universe, and the universe for man. The one just fits the other, as well as any garment fits the person for whom it was designed. The universe, indeed, is the natural raiment, with which man is to invest his being; and naked are they all who neglect to put this glorious attire on. But he who, by profound study and meditation, inwraps himself in this beautifully flowered and starry mantle, will find it more than the fabled magic cloak, and, thus arrayed, will meet with a ready welcome to the very presence of the But, in a still higher strain of eloquence, she represents the mind of man as the intellectual centre of creation. All things having been created by an intelligent Being, there is nothing in nature that does not bear an intellectual impress. The wisdom, power, and goodness of the Creator, are beaming out from every thing above, around, and beneath us. The imagination—the faculty first developed and the leading power in our education, dwells upon the outward aspects of creation, and feeds upon the beautiful and sublime in the works of God. Beauty, like the daz-all-pervading ONE. zling light, comes pouring down upon it from above, and, trembling on every leaf and blushing on every flower, it impresses the imagination with a world of delightful pictures, thus imparting to the soul agreeable anticipations, and preparing it with a relish for enjoyments higher up in the scale of mind. Truth, too, coming like a flood of radiance rushing to a centre, rouses up reason, and thought, and genius, which, with a combined reaction, send back upon the universe a glory not its own. But nature is also to be regarded, not as merely Man is, also, a microcosm, a world in miniature, his present existence, like the universe around him, being evinced by physical properties. But, take the properties from him, remove his bodily organization, and you have his spirit left. Man is, therefore, in his interior essence, a spiritual being. Besides, just as the Great Spirit is the only real substance of the universe, all else being but assumed properties, the spirit within man is the man himself, his body being only the material part put on for temporary convenience. Death takes off the physical, and gives the spiritual another and a higher state. There is, then, another life. Death is not an eternal steep. As there is a natural so there is a spiritual world; and when the spirit is made free from matter, it goes upward into that higher sphere, where it may range through the vast fields of knowledge, without this material vail between itself and truth. The grave is the resting-place of the body, but the spirit lives a pure and unsullied life above. From the nature of spirit, we know it will, in that higher state, be capable of visiting every portion of the universe; from its expansibility we see the vast improvement it will make in truth; from its immortality we learn to form conceptions, however below the fact, of the vast results included in the ultimate destiny of undying man. As these last words were uttered, the second of the two listeners rose up, more abruptly than was his custom, and paced the ample room in a perfect transport of admiration, as if he could hardly hold the flood of new light let in upon his mind. her pupil, who was rapidly casting both them and their influence to the ground. But, worst of all, men of this age, professing to be scholars-men who have written many books for the instruction of the rising young, have not had the sense to make this simple discrimination between vituperation and truth. Let their folly and their books perish, before the good name of one such being should receive a taint at their hands! Was there ever a person of exalted talents-talents lifting him above his kind, that has not been the mark for every missile that envy and malignity could invent? Besides, it is truly surprising, that the scandal of jealous partisans, and the hired billingsgate of the low comedians, such as Aristophanes and Cratinus, should have had greater weight with our professed scholars and book-makers, than the unanswerable testimony of Plutarch and Plato! I confess I have written these last words with the more warmth, because the victim was a lady. Whenever woman is traduced, learning itself deserves no mercy. It matters not who the individual may be. Woman's nature is too angelic, too gentle, too confiding, to be treated roughly. The man who is capable of an attempt to set a blot on the reputation of a female, is also capable of any other crime, even of robbery and murder. And what greater robbery can there be, what more heinous murder, than to despoil a lady of her character, and to destroy her credit with mankind? Long live the memory of Aspasia! Let her name and fame be handed down to the latest generation! Let her virtues, her industry, her perseverance, and her success, be a pattern to every fair lady in the land! And here both the conversation and the scene must close. Here, also, I will conclude my hasty sketch. The reader, I know well, has seen through my little artifice all the way. The eloquent lady could be no other than Aspasia herself; and the two mute auditors were men, who kept silence nowhere, but when sitting within the charmed circle filled and ruled by her superior genius. One was Pericles, the first man in Athens, and the man to whom princes looked for clemency or favor. The other man was Socrates, whose presence was always the acknowledged sign for silence, to all within the sound of his instructive voice. But Aspasia, by their own confession-a confession confirmed by history-not only instructed them in their favorite pursuits, but held an ascendancy over their minds and conduct, both at that time and in after years. History records that the greatest of the schemes of the noble and patriotic Pericles were planned and pressed by his instructress; and, that Plato ever conceived the sentiments attributed to Socrates, his master, is sufficient evidence that the Athenian sage must have been faithfully disciplined, by one who could properly represent the doctrines of Thales, the great phi-endeavored to cover up his misanthropy by a show losopher of Miletus. Aspasia was that happy person; and her influence will be felt while philosophy has a name among the studious and thoughtful of mankind. Her fame is beyond all praise. From a humble station, in a distant colonial city, she rose by the force of her own genius, till, by swaying the two leading intellects of her age, she became the virtual though invisible governess of the world. But the name of Aspasia has been maligned. The faction opposed to Pericles sought to injure him by aspersing her reputation; and the sophists, who were the avowed enemies of Socrates, scrupled not to sacrifice the fair fame of a noble lady, the benefactress of the world, could they but avenge themselves on LORD BYRON, at the age of thirty-six, had lost all affection for the human race, but thought the change was in the world, and not in him. Like a genuine misanthrope, which his follies and his excesses of every kind had made him, he had no relish for the ordinary enjoyments of the social state, but fled from society, as if it had been his great enemy. He always maintained, that long life was not desirable, and of argument. He said age did not assuage our pas- SATURDAY PENCILINGS. 359 SATURDAY! thrice welcome, cheerful Saturday! How many grateful associations thrill into being at the mention of this best day-next to the Sabbath--of the whole week! Happy holyday of my childhood! no lessons, no fear of ferules, or rods, or dogeared books, unless compelled on this day to retrieve idleness of the school days. I cared little for the amusement of my sisters, and usually passed the day with a book, under a huge elm that shaded my father's door, alternately reading and watching the country people coming to market with their earthattracted plough-horses and high-backed wagons, which contrasted strangely enough with the flaunting vehicles of my town neighbors. O, the yards of yellow ribbons and calicoes that came down weekly from Gotham-the square-toed boots and yellow brass buttons of the Voluntown gentry. I have not quite lost this penchant for the study of customs and dress, but have learned to look beyond the apparel for the graces of the mind, and the honest but unpolished gem of a noble heart. Saturday! This was our composition day at the academy, and woe to the luckless Miss who fulfilled not the letter and spirit of the law. Saturday! Glorious day for my native village-dear Bean Hill. A spell be on those fashionables who would change thy tasteful name to any of the copper currency in names and titles that fill this mundane sphere! Crisper grows thy pork, and sweeter thy beans, the more thy legendary name is treasured in the hearts of thy inhabitants. Thou hast sent out sons and daughters innumerable, and the good city of Cincinnatus smiles in prosperity on many to whom the dish of beans, crisped and hot from the oven, would come like the breath of elysian flowers on travelers in a dreary waste. Do you know, stranger readers of this delightful magazine, do you know our legend? No. Let me tell you. Seventy-one years ago, a place that lay hid in a copse of green and gold, in the glorious month of June, was alarmed by the yell of savages, and the tramp of a hundred feet that approached through thicket and glade stealthily, but surely, to bring terror and death to its inhabitants. With fearless hearts the men arranged their affairs, prepared the women and children, and noiselessly stole from the colony to their fort, a mile below, and so near to the church that the holy altars threw the defense of their God upon the garrison of a persecuted people. When night came on, they were found supperless, and many were weary and faint with the labor of the day. Mrs. Eliab Hyde, one of the company, generously proposed that if any one would go back to her house, they should bring from her oven, hot and sweet, a kettle of beans and pork, and two loaves of rye and Indian bread. Two intrepid youths undertook the task, and stealing silently through the forest, achieved their desire, and with their treasure returned to the fort. At midnight, when the savages rushed from thicket and glade, their hideous yell startled only the night owl in his prowlings, and rung on nothing but the summer air; for safe within the shelter of the fort, and beneath the shadow of the holy of holies, the inhabitants of the colony were entering upon the duties of the Sabbath. That place was named Bean Hill from this event; and peace to the apostate who would change its antiquated title! Saturday to-day! How gorgeously the mellow sunlight falls upon this sheet! Now a clouds flits over it, and hides for a moment its beauty. Far away to the southeast stretches that paragon of wateringplaces-that delightful refectory of black fish and lobsters, Watch Hill. Its white buildings, and the spire of its light-house loom up in the distance like an arisen ghost in the sepulchre of the dead. Here gleams the bright Atlantic enshrining the subdued splendors of an autumn sun-a sheet of silver in a mine of burnished gold. Here and there a white sail flutters in the breeze, and a sturdy keel parts the waves, leaving their white crest broken and ruffled as the wings of a dove stricken by the fowler. Fast by the window of my room stands, or rather totters on its crumbling base, a time-ruined and dustdescending sanctuary-for twenty years the meeting-house of owls and bats-the terror of superstition, and the target of mischief. Its galleries are torn away, and its aisles filled with the decaying dust of its falling desk and pulpit. The altar has moldered from the holy place, and mingles its dust with mother earth. Hallowed memento of other days, "Peace was in all thy gates, and prosperity within thy walls!" Here was diffused a religion that sanctifies us to Christ, and makes us fit temples for the indwelling of his Spirit. Public sentiment had not yet made fashionable apparel an inseparable adjunct from public worship, and the lowly in heart trod reverently thy uncarpeted floors. Days of uncushioned seats, when people came early to church, and slept not in luxuriant ease, when staid and solemn music responded to the melodies of Watts and Wesley from the tremulous voices of the fathers and mothers in Israel-days of primitive purity and piety, where have ye fled affrighted at the pomp and vainglory of this worldly generation? Alas! alas! for modern munificence! We worship in gorgeous temples, and the swelling organ mutters its deep bass, or humors its teachable keys. The eloquence of preaching and the sublimity of prayer fill our temples; but alas! that so few from the millions who come up to "the city of our God," come with hosannas on lowly lips to the Son of David. But molder on, old church. The angel of the covenant has recorded many fervent prayers breathed at your desecrated altar. Many who led your devotions in these down-trodden seats have joined the innumerable band-the bounding pulse of youth, the vigor of manhood, and the faltering form of age. Ye who, Sabbath after Sabbath, came up to this city of Zion, who presented here your children for an ordinance which time and God's word have sanctified in your household worship, who knelt at this altar in penitence for sin, who ate of that body and drank of that blood, where are ye? and echo answers, where? "your fathers, where are they, and the prophets, do they live for ever?" Ye who doubted and feared, were you not led by still waters? Ye who saw no light in the dark valley, dawned not the Sun of righteousness upon the coming shadows of the tomb? Saturday! sweet prelude to a day of rest in the temple of God! While the shades of night gather about the loveliness of this day, send up, my heart, your devout prayers to almighty God, "confessing your manifold sins and wickedness, that on the morrow ye may enter his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise." I HAD a sister. Kind and gentle she was, and, O, so loving. Together for eighteen summers, we were permitted to pluck some of the fair flowers which border on life's pathway. Hope's sun shone brightly on the distant future, as we thought, and one clear ray was pointed out, as beaming forth our happiness unsullied. A cloud-a deep, black cloud arose in our sky. We prayed that its darkness might not overshadow us, or if it did, for grace to bear its solemn reality. Sadly and anxiously we watched the rapid movement with which it seemed to advance toward us. On, still on, it came, and at last hovered over us, then broke. 'Twas a dreadful hour for spirits twined as closely as ours had been; it snapped the brittle cord which bound us as earthly sisters; and while one was winging her flight to the bright, upper world, the other was sinking in heart-rending grief. But yet, O, even then, we could rejoice in that Jesus was with her in the sundering hour, and I for the blessed assurance she gave of her victory over death. { I know that my sister's frail form is lying in a cold, damp grave; her dark eye is closed, and raven tress composed for ever; that I have pressed my lips to her pale, icy forehead for the last time; and that now her flesh is moldering away in corruption; yet amid all this, I do not, have not dared to murmur. 'His ways are above our ways;" and although I fain would have had her to linger with me, that I might profit by her counsel, and keep warm my heart in the sunshine of her affection, yet it was doubtless in mercy that she was taken, while her heart was pure and warm, and her soul rich in intellectual beauty, and moved by the religion of the blessed Savior. O, my heavenly Father, grant that when the summons comes to me, to leave this sorrowing world, that I, too, may die in triumph. And if there is a ministering spirit sent to cheer me, while crossing the cold, boisterous waves of death, I would that it might be that self-same sister, Jesus, to steer the helm of my frail bark, to sustain and comfort me in the desolate passage, and her notes of melody to echo my welcome to the world where glorified spirits dwell. NATURE OF QUININE. - BY A QUACK. QUININE, as almost everybody knows, is an extract from Peruvian bark. There are only about forty ounces of the alkali quinine, or quinia, in one hundred pounds of the bark, even after its combination with sulphuric acid. The sulphate of quinia, or what is universally called quinine, was once almost wholly imported from France, because the acid was in that country very cheap. Now it is manufactured at home, as well as in many other countries. Its peculiar property is, that it is anti-periodic. It is beginning to be administered to many kinds of periodical diseases, besides the ague and intermittent fevers. An eastern physician has recently asserted, and given many instances in proof, that it perfectly at war with any thing in the shape of periodical irregularity in the human system. We will only add, that the word, quinine, is almost universally mispronounced, not only here, but in other countries. From its origin, the Latin quinia, the letter i in both syllables is short. The French, following their own idiom, make the first one short and the second like i in machine, placing the accent, however, on the first. In this country the i in both syllables in generally made long, as in the word time. The true pronunciation is, to make both syllables short, pronouncing the word as if it were spelt quinin. For this statement we have the authority of the original word, and the almost infallible sanction of Noah Webster. MARS-ASTEROIDS. MARS-ASTEROIDS. BY PROFESSOR WATERMAN. 361 Let us suppose, for the sphere of the fixed stars. HAVING described those parts of the solar system which are within the Earth's orbit, we now come to those that lie beyond. From the fact of their orbits being wholly exterior to the Earth's, these planets have been denominated superior planets, to distinguish them from those which revolve interiorly, and are hence called inferior. The change of relative position in the object observed, from being within the Earth's orbit to beyond it, occasions considerable change in the apparent phenomena. If my fair readers will recollect what was said, in the article on Mercury, in reference to the inferior planets generally, they will find no difficulty in readily apprecia-posed M to be stationary, which is not the case. ting the cause of the apparent differences which will now be stated. The The inferior planets never depart far from the sun. The superior ones are found at all distances from him. The inferior planets assume all the phases of the moon. The superior ones never. (A slight variation in the case of Mars will be noticed in its place.) The inferior planets frequently transit the sun's disc. The superior ones cannot. The inferior planets appear to oscillate about the sun. motions of the superior ones, though at times apparently retrogressive, are, upon the whole, progressive; so that, in time, they accomplish the entire circuit of the heavens. These, and other changes which might be mentioned, are all occasioned by the difference of position in the objects observed with reference to the Earth and sun. To illustrate this latter point more fully, let the following diagram represent But inasmuch as the superior planets move with less velocity than the Earth, and in the same direction, we may take the difference of their velocities, and attribute that to the Earth. The result will be the same as if the Earth moved with that velocity, and the planet really remained at rest. MARS. The first of the superior planets is Mars. It may readily be distinguished from others by its ruddy appearance. The probable cause of this appearance will be noticed hereafter. Mars, when viewed through a good telescope, does not always present a round disc like Jupiter; but sometimes resembles the moon a day or two before or after the full. In other words, it is slightly gibbous. The cause of this is found in the fact that the angle formed by joining the Earth, Mars, and the sun, is sometimes quite considerable. And since the illuminated hemisphere is always turned toward the sun, we sometimes have something of a side view, or semi profile, of the planet. The dark part not being visible, the outline presented to us is somewhat of an oval form. The invisible part, however, is never very great. More than seven-eighths of the breadth of the planet is always seen. Mars presents very great variation in its apparent size, as seen from the Earth. Being about 145,000,000 of miles distant from the sun, he is at times only 50,000,000 from us. At other times he is no less than 240,000,000. The consequence is, that at one time he appears twenty-five times larger than at the other! When nearest us his brilliancy is about equal to that of Jupiter. When most distant he is scarcely perceptible. These successive changes are periodical. The time occupied in passing from one to the other is about a year; so that, in the space of two years, he passes from brilliancy to indistinctness, and back through all the gradations of increasing splendor till he outshines the most brilliant of the fixed stars! The orbit of Mars is 901,064,000 miles in extent; time of a revolution, one year three hundred and twenty-two days; mean rate in its orbit, 54,649 miles per hour; rotation on its axis, twenty-four |