discoveries which the industry of each individual is able to make for himself? must we throw away the advantages of experience, the accumulated wealth of all ages? By no means. I do not intend to condemn the study of classical literature, but its exclusive pursuit. We must bear in mind that what we call antiquity, is indeed the childhood of the world. To our riper age belongs the wisdom derived from experience, the maturity of judgment which attends on years. The objects which were dear to our youth, which seized our minds when our imagination was yet fresh, will always cling to our fancy. We may dwell with pleasure on the stories of the nursery-we may cherish their recollection, but we must not allow them to influence our conduct; these offsets of the imagination must not break in on the realities of life. If we continue to hanker after the amusements of our childhood, we shall remain for ever children.

Antiquity is indeed a mine of treasure, but it is not the only one; and its produce is, perhaps, more calculated for show than for use. The processes of the moral resemble those of the natural world-the knowledge of the precious metals seems always to precede that of the useful. America abounded in gold and silver, when the existence of iron was wholly unknown. Rioting in imaginary wealth, she was poor in all the comforts and conveniences of life. In the same manner, the ancients seem to have neglected the useful, for the cultivation of the fine, arts. Rich in ornamental possessions, they wanted every thing that conduces to the happiness of a people. Theirs were the toys that amuse childhood, ours the tools which we must use for our existence. If we will avail ourselves of all our advantages, we shall be the rivals not the imitators of the great orators of antiquity. For this purpose we must follow their example,

not copy their expressions. Like them we must fathom every passage to the human heart, we must lay bare all its secret emotions. We must learn to be strong in the weakness of our hearers. We must fit our words to their feelings. We must do, not what the ancients did, but what, in our circumstances, they would have done. He who confines himself exclusively to the study of the classics, acts like those painters who darkening their room, admit no light but through a single aperture; who, in their anxiety to produce effect, mistake the means. Their pictures never please but when seen by a false light.

If we will imitate the conduct of Frankenstein in the novel, we shall not be more fortunate than he was. If, like him, we will rifle the tomb, the same fate will overtake us, which ever pursues those who disturb the ashes of the dead. If our eloquence is to be dug from the charnel-house, if it be made up of the scattered limbs of the ancients, it will bear but too strong a resemblance to the monster of his creation. Though every member should be perfect, and every feature beautiful, yet this offspring of the sepulchre will have none of the lively grace of nature. It will excite no feeling but of loathing; the smell of the grave will be on its garments; the clammy sweat of death on its forehead, and its eye will glare, for the fire will be wanting that can only be snatched from Heaven.

GHOST STORIES.-No. II.

SINCE the publication of the first Number of the Album, several communications have been received, relating to the spectral appearances of the dead to the perceptions of the living. We have permission to state, that the Wynyard story occurred in Nova Scotia; and was, in all its most important circumstances, exactly as we have related it. The anecdote has been authenticated to the writer of this article, in a manner that leaves him in the difficult dilemma of either admitting the certainty of the facts, or doubting the veracity of men, whose word it were impossible even for a moment to suspect. Several narratives of spiritual intercourse have been forwarded to the publisher; they all of them relate to the appearance of the spirit to some distant friend, at the moment of its departure from the body. As the greater part of these are not accompanied by the names of the individuals to whom they occurred, they are not admissible to the present selection; the intent of which is to afford a depository for those tales which are most current in society, and of which the circumstances are connected with names of a certain importance and distinction. The purpose of the author of these articles is not to satisfy the curiosity of the public by a collection of supernatural relations; but to place those which are most popular in such a tangible form, as to render them capable of being publicly corroborated, or publicly contradicted.

The only tale which we shall insert in the present Number, is one very commonly reported of the present Marquis of Londonderry; and is given on the autho

rity of a gentleman, to whom that nobleman himself related it.

It is now more than twenty years since Lord Londonderry was, for the first time, on a visit to a gentleman in the north of Ireland. The mansion was such a one as spectres are fabled to inhabit. It was associated with many recollections of historic times, and the sombre character of its architecture and the wildness of its surrounding scenery were calculated to impress the soul with that tone of melancholy and elevation, which,-if it be not considered as a predisposition to welcome the visitation of those unearthly substances that are impalpable to our sight in moments of less hallowed sentiment,-is indisputably the state of mind in which the imagination is most readily excited, and the understanding most favourably inclined to grant a credulous reception to its visions. The apartment also which was appropriated to Lord Londonderry was calculated to foster such a tone of feeling. From its antique appointments; from the dark and richly-carved pannels of its wainscoat; from its yawning width and height of chimney-looking like the open entrance to a tomb, of which the surrounding ornaments appeared to form the sculptures and the entablature ;-from the portraits of grim men and severe-eyed women, arrayed in orderly procession along the walls, and scowling a contemptuous enmity against the degenerate invader of their gloomy bowers and venerable halls; from the vast, dusky, ponderous, and complicated draperies that concealed the windows, and hung with the gloomy grandeur of funereal trappings about the hearse-like piece of furniture that was destined for his bed,-Lord L., on entering his apartment, might be conscious of some mental depression, and surrounded by such a world

of melancholy images, might, perhaps, feel himself more than usually inclined to submit to the influences of superstition. It is not possible that these sentiments should have been allied to any feelings of apprehension. Fear is acknowledged to be a most mighty master over the visions of the imagination. It can "call spirits from the vasty deep" and they do come, when it does call for them. It trembles at the anticipation of approaching evil, and then encounters in every passing shadow the substance of the dream it trembled at. But such could not have been the origin of the form which addressed itself to the view of Lord Londonderry. Fear is a quality that was never known to mingle in the character of a Stewart. Lord Londonderry examined his chamber-he made himself acquainted with the forms and faces of the ancient possessors of the mansion, who sat upright in their ebony frames to receive his salutation; and then, after dismissing his valet, he retired to bed. His candles had not been long extinguished, when he perceived a light gleaming on the draperies of the lofty canopy over his head. Conscious that there was no fire in the grate that the curtains were closed-that the chamber had been in perfect darkness but a few moments before, he supposed that some intruder must have accidentally entered his apartment; and, turning hastily round to the side from which the light proceeded-saw-to his infinite astonishment-not the form of any human visiterbut the figure of a fair boy, who seemed to be garmented in rays of mild and tempered glory, which beamed palely from his slender form like the faint light of the declining moon, and rendered the objects which were nearest to him dimly and indistinctly visible. The spirit stood at some short distance from the side of the bed. Certain that his own faculties were not deceiving him, but sus