we prove it, that is, reduce it to the measure of our own min by meditations-it is not our own, such as we can use dexterously and to advantage. Thinking gives us the true art of managing our knowledge, and we shall acquire the habit of thought more surely and thoroughly, by writing one page per day from our stock of ideas, than reading an hundred pages of the thoughts of others. But we need a stimulus to induce us to write. It is a trouble and labor which we cannot undertake without an aim. The Social Lyceum offers this aim; and without the parade of coming before the public as an author, our reflections may be methodized, recorded and read, and our own minds will certainly be benefitted by the exercise.

ELIJAH.*

JUDEA's sun rose proudly, and his light
Fell on rejoicing thousands, for the rain,

That many months had stayed froin the parched carth,
But yesterday was granted; and the sweet

Life stirring fragrance of the flowers arose,
Incense of Nature's offering to God.
Above, stretched out the deep ethereal blue,
In all its heavenly purity, that seemed
As it might draw a spirit from the Earth,
Or welcome angels down; and every damp,
Urged by the coming day, that softly stole,
From hill or lowland, seemed as wafting up
The hymn of waking Nature just revived
From her deep, burning lethargy.- -"Twas still;
And then a voice came gently o'er the mount-
"What dost thou here, Elijah?" and the soul
Of the lone seer was bowed in agony:

An outcast, hated, hunted for his life,
Stranger to all save only as a foe,

And Ephraim's trouble, he had fled away
To the hid caves of Horeb, far below.

Circling the dim horizon, till the eye

Tired of its useless straining, turned away,
Lay the bright land of promise, and he gazed
Intently on it, and the future rolled

Its hidden things before him, and he saw

* This poem, and the succeeding prose article, were read at the Social Lyc

The dark, long line of evils sweeping on
"To mar the pride of Judah." Aye, and there,
Down in the vale of years, he saw the burst
Of its now gathering thunders; there he saw
Ephraim, his people scattered o'er the earth,
And none but cursed them; and his spirit shrunk
From the dread prospect in unuttered woe.
"What dost thou here, Elijah ?" "Oh, my God!
Israel forsakes thee, throws thy altars down,
Hath slain thy prophets, and I, even I

Alone am left to thee."

-It passed-'twas God!

The mountain trembled, mighty rocks, whose strength Had scoffed of old at ruin, brake away

Before the sound like water; towering trees,

Whose tops held converse with the clouds, were rent
From their deep rooting. Earth with terror shook,
As that alone were wanting to complete
The wreck of elements-it seemed the things
That cluster fearfully in unknown space,
Tired of their hidden silence, had burst forth,
And hell itself had joined the chaos storm.
"Tis hushed-But lo! a burning, vivid flash,
Wide as the windows of etherial space,

Swept down on Horeb.-Where, O where was God!
Rode he the tempest? did the hollow roar
Of wasting matter thunder his decree?
Was the fire-God? O no, he was not there.
All still, and then a gentle zephyr passed,
Light as a spirit's breathing-on its wing
Awaked a still small voice--and this was God.
"What dost thou here, Elijah?" oh! it came

From the pure breath of heaven: and when he heard
The sound of its sweet moving, he stood forth,
Wrapped in his holy mantle on the mount,
Before his God! Oh, when the heart is wrecked
On the dark shoals of sorrow; when the springs
Of mighty feeling strive within the soul,

And yet are stayed ; when burning thoughts pour up
From the deep fount of misery, and the world
Seems but a curse; how the lone spirit loves
To lean upon its God in confidence,
And call him Father!-

VALERIUS.

CITY AND COUNTRY.

"Which is most favorable to intellectual improvement—a residence in the city, or in the country?"

SOME say locality has no influence, that the mind makes its own place. This, like all general axioms, must not be received without many qualifications. Certain it is, that opportunities of mental and moral improvement are, in some degree, always within our own power; but yet we know there are favorable occasions and situations, which materially affect our train of thought, and incite to efforts which would otherwise never have been attempted. There must also be a distinction made between the acquisition of knowledge, and its judicious application. A man may write a book under circumstances which would by no means permit him to qualify himself for writing. And if the proposed question be considered with regard to early intellectual improvement, as laying the basis of a sound, vigorous, and original intellect, I am decidedly in favor of a residence in the country.

The human mind always takes its first impressions from sensible objects, and it is so constituted that the works of God, (nature does not express the truth, and why should Christians use the term?) naturally make the liveliest, the deepest, and the most salutary impression. In the country, the child is, as it were, carried at once into the presence of the Deity; all that is most conspicuously before the observation of the young mind, is the handy work of the Creator, and the difference between the clear and abiding idea obtained from his originals, to that uncertain, wavering light which is imparted by the descriptions or illustrations of men, is as important as that between an object and its miniature picture. Ideas must precede words, or, though we may instruct others, we shall know nothing ourselves. Children may have been taught from books, and by the aid of pictures, to describe animals and plants accurately, and yet their minds have received no definite ideas of the subjects taught. Here, then, is the advantage of educating children in the country-they learn from things. They acquire notions, (a more definite term than ideas for our first impressions,) for themselves. They will not usually possess, I acknowledge, the facility of using words like children brought up in the city,

and enjoying the advantage of its permanent schools. The country girl may not repeat the beautiful descriptions from Thompson's Seasons with the grace of a city Miss-but then the former knows and feels the truth of the poem. She has seen the seasons change-she has seen the seed cast into the earth, and watched the springing plant; its buds and bloom and fruitage are all familiar things-she has seen the "dead leaves strew the forest walk;" and all the grand and glorious changes of the atmosphere, storms, clouds, the deep darkness, the brilliant stars, the silvery moon, have all been objects of her contemplation, without the intervention of that common-place nullifier of all poetic associations, the lamp-lighter.

The city Miss may talk of the thermometer, and Fahrenheit, and zero, and the meteorological tables, and puzzle her country cousin sadly; but send the two children into the open air, and ask their opinion of the changes which the sky portends, and their reasons for the opinion expressed, and we shall soon find the country education has given ideas, real and useful knowledge, while the city training has made the mind dependent on the ideas of others; and the knowledge acquired is that of words only. The intellectual improvement of the country scholar is therefore superior; that is, the mind is better prepared to understand and relish the beautiful descriptions of poetry, and the sublime speculations of philosophy, and certainly to appreciate the truths and delineations of Natural History.

I once thought that a residence in the city must be most propitious in fostering a taste for the arts, or, in other words, a curiosity respecting the works of men, which would lead children and youth to a familiar acquaintance with the discoveries, inventions and sciences that supply the civilized world with its riches and luxuries. I have taken some pains to ascertain this point, and the result is not so favorable to the city residence as I expected. The multiplicity and the constant presence of artificial objects, appear to deaden the curiosity which they would, if more rarely exhibited, excite. It is not the city boy who breaks his drum to find what makes the noise-for he has heard the sound so early and so often, that he feels no curiosity about it. In truth, the human mind does not seem to acquire its selfmoving power, or feel the impulse to expand, unless trained, in some measure, to an acquaintance with nature. And hence, of all human beings, the born and bred operatives, in a manufacturing establishment, have their intellects the most "cabined,

cribbed, confined;" because God, by his works, has held no communion with their souls; they seem scarcely to have felt the influence of his breath, and are but animated machines, a part and parcel of those they keep in motion.

But, when the mind has acquired a stock of notions from the observance of things, and the instruction of nature, and we wish to clothe our ideas in pure, appropriate language, particularly when the ore of thought, the discovery of secret and solitary meditations, is to be wrought and fashioned for circulation through the minds of others, then the city offers, in its libraries and works of art, and in its social intercourse with the gifted, educated and refined, facilities and advantages which the country does not possess. Yet a good and stable foundation is more indispensable to the real worth and permanency of a structure, than the carving and gilding, though ever so exquisitely executed, or lavishly laid on; and, in like manner, that training, which forms the basis of self-sought intellectual excellence, is more essential to our improvement, more effective on our character, than the acquisitions and accomplishments which, when seen by the world, are termed education-but are indeed the name, and not the thing.

A pompous display of the thoughts of others, does not prove we can think; and though readiness in school-exercises shows that a child has a tolerable memory, and a patient instructor, it does not follow the child has knowledge. Learning, as the term is commonly used, means only studying what the learned have written, and does not certainly imply intellectual improvement. The intellect that improves must act. Without volition, the mind is as palsied as the body without motion. True, we may talk by rote, (some talk very prettily in this manner for a whole evening,) and be moved about in a go-cart, but neither the mind or limbs are exercised thereby.

The first and most important step in intellectual improvement is, to incite ideas in such a manner as shall, while it constantly gratifies, as constantly stimulate the curiosity; and this is most surely effected in the country. The records of eminent and illustrious minds will show this fact. But a very small number of the mighty in intellect have been reared in cities. True, the city has been a theatre for the display of mind, because the proper objects of its energies, the minds of others, are there congregated; and so multitudes, who have no better claim to the boast of being refined and enlightened, than that they live in the