at large, by an application, on liberal and Christian principles, of the riches which we at this moment possess.

Oh! into what a blissful scene might this ruin of a world yet be transformed, were covetousness thoroughly subdued, and were only those who profess to be Christians to come forth with unanimity, and lay down their superfluous treasures at the foot of the cross! In the short space of little more than half a century to come, we might behold celestial light diffusing its radiance over the most distant and benighted regions of the globe; the idols of the nations abolished; the savage raised to the dignity of his moral and intellectual nature, and his mind adorned with the beauties of holiness; the instruments of warfare broken to shivers, and peace shedding its benign influence over the world; temples erected in every land for the worship of the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ; the minds of the young irradiated with Divine knowledge, and rising up in wisdom, and in favor with God and man; the principle of crime extirpated, and poverty and wretchedness banished from the earth; the moral wilderness of the heathen world cultivated and adorned with every heavenly virtue and grace; the wastes and wilds of the globe transformed into fertile regions, and arrayed in all the beauties of Eden; the hatred and jealousy of nations changed into benevolence, and a friendly and harmonious intercourse established between all the tribes and families of the earth!

BENEVOLENCE EXPANSIVE AS ETERNITY.

We have every reason to conclude, that moral action extends over the whole empire of God-that benevolence exerts its noblest energies among the inhabitants of distant worlds-and that it is chiefly through the medium of reciprocal kindness and affection that ecstatic joy pervades the hearts of celestial intelligences. For we cannot conceive happiness to exist in any region of space, or among any class of intellectual beings, where love to the Creator, and to one another, is not a prominent and permanent affection.

It is, therefore, reasonable to believe, that those virtuous benevolent characters which have appeared in our world, have been only in the act of training for a short period, preparatory to their being transported to a nobler scene of action, and that their moral powers, which could not be brought in full exercise in this terrestrial sphere, were intended to qualify them for mingling with more exalted intelligences, and co-operating with them in carrying forward that vast system of universal benevolence to which all the arrangements of the Creator evidently tend.

Whether then, it may be asked, does it appear most consistent with the moral powers of man, and with the wisdom and goodness of God, to suppose that such illustrious characters as Alfred, Penn,

Sharp, Clarkson, Venning, Howard, and Wilberforce, are now for ever banished from creation, or that they are expatiating in a higher scene of action and enjoyment, where all their benevolent energies find ample scope, and where every blossom of virtue is fully expanded? The exertions which some of these individuals have made in the cause of liberty, in promoting the education of the young, in alleviating the distresses of the poor, in meliorating the condition of the prisoner, and in counteracting the abominable traffic in slaves, will be felt as blessings conferred on mankind throughout succeeding generations, and will, doubtless, be held in everlasting remembrance. And if there is a God, and if wisdom, benevolence, and rectitude form an essential part of his character, we cannot doubt for a moment that such characters are still in existence, and shall reappear on a more splendid theatre of action in the future scenes of eternity..

SAMUEL ROGERS, 1762.

"And thou, melodious Rogers, rise at last,
Recall the pleasing memory of the past;
Arise! let blest remembrance still inspire,
And strike to wonted tones thy hallow'd lyre!

Restore Apollo to his vacant throne,

Assert thy country's honor and thine own."-BYRON.

SAMUEL ROGERS, one of the most elegant poets of the present century, was the son of an eminent banker in London, and was born in that city about the year 1762. He presents a rare instance of great wealth allied to great talents, untiring industry in literary pursuits, and pure morals. No expense, of course, was spared in his education, and, after leaving the university, he travelled through most of the countries of Europe. On his return, he published, in 1786, an "Ode to Superstition, with other Poems," which was well received. About six years after, when he had attained his thirtieth year, appeared The Pleasures of Memory," which was received by the public with universal applause, and at once established his fame as among the best of our modern poets. The subject was most happily chosen, for it came home "to the business and bosoms" of all, and it was executed with exceedingly great care. It has been said that no poem of equal size ever cost its author so many hours to produce. Not satisfied with correcting and re. correcting it again and again himself, he read it to various friends for the benefit of their criticism; and the result is, that it is perfectly finished throughout, each part harmonizing with the other, and every line carefully and tastefully elaborated. "It acquired," says a writer in the "Edinburgh Review," "a popularity originally very great, and which has not only continued amidst extraordinary fluctuation of general taste, but increased amidst a succession of formidable competitors. No production so popular was probably so little censured by criticism.

It was approved by the critics as much as read and applauded, and thus seemed to combine the applause of contemporaries with the suffrages of the representatives of posterity."

In 1798, Rogers published his "Epistle to a Friend, with other Poems," but did not come forward again as a poet till 1812, when he added to a collected edition of his works his somewhat irregular poem of "The Vision of Columbus." Two years after, in company with Lord Byron's "Lara," appeared his tale of "Jacqueline," which, though well received, contributed but little to his reputation; and, in 1819, he published his "Human Life," which, next to his " Pleasures of Memory," is our author's most finished production. The subject was a good one, for it was drawn from universal nature, and connected with all those rich associations which increase in attraction as we journey onward in the path of life. It is an epitome of man from the cradle to the grave, and is executed throughout with the poet's wonted care.

In 1822 was published his first part of "Italy," which was soon after completed, and has since been published in the most splendid style, illustrated by numerous engravings. This is his last and longest, but not his best performance, though there are certainly many beautifully descriptive passages in it-delightful glimpses of Italian life and scenery, and old traditions; for the poet was an accomplished traveller, a lover of the fair and good, and a worshipper of the classie glories of the past. But it is chiefly as the author of the "Pleasures of Memory" that he will be known to posterity, though, at the same time, some of his minor poems are among the most pure and exquisite fragments of verse which the poets of this age have produced. In all his works, however, there is everywhere seen a classic and graceful beauty; no slovenly or obscure lines; fine cabinet pictures of soft and mellow lustre; and occasional trains of thought and association that awaken or recall tender and heroic feelings. His diction is clear and polishedfinished with great care and scrupulous nicety; but it must be admitted that he has no forcible or original invention, no deep pathos that thrills the soul, and no kindling energy that fires the imagination.2

In society, few men are said to be more agreeable in manners and conversation than the venerable subject of this memoir. "He has been enabled to cultivate his favorite tastes, to enrich his house in St. James's Park with some of the finest and rarest pictures, busts, books, and gems, and to entertain his friends with a generous and unostentatious hospitality. His conversation is rich and various,

1 "The poet looks on man, and teaches us to look on him not merely with love, but with reverence; and, mingling a sort of considerate pity for the shortness of his busy, little career, and for the disappointments and weaknesses with which it is beset, with a genuine admiration of the great capacities he unfolds, and the high destiny to which he seems to be reserved, works out a very beautiful and engaging picture, both of the affections by which life is endeared, the trials to which it is exposed, and the pure and peaceful enjoyments with which it may often be filled.”—Edinburgh Review, xxxi. 325.

In a review of Rogers's Poems, in the "Edinburgh." October, 1813, the writer (who is no less than Sir James Mackintosh) thus remarks:-" Perhaps there is no volume in our language of which it can be so truly said, as of the present, that it is equally exempt from the frailties of negligence and the vices of affectation. The exquisite polish of style is indeed more admired by the artist than by the people. The gentle and elegant pleasure which it imparts can only be felt by a calm reason, an exercised taste, and a mind free from turbulent passions. But these beauties of execution can exist only in combination with much of the primary beauties of thought and feeling. These are permanent beauties. In poetry, though not in eloquence, it is less to rouse the passions of a moment than to satisfy the taste of all ages; And Rogers has most certainly taken his place among the classical poets of his country."

abounding in wit, eloquence, shrewd observation, and interesting personal anecdote. He has been familiar with almost every distinguished author, orator, and artist for the last fifty years. His benevolence is equal to his taste; his bounty soothed and relieved the death-bed of Sheridan, and is now exerted to a large extent, annually, in behalf of suffering or unfriended talent."1

EARLY RECOLLECTIONS.

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village green,
With magic tints to harmonize the scene;
Still'd is the hum that through the hamlet broke,
When round the ruins of their ancient oak
The peasants flock'd to hear the minstrel play,
And games and carols closed the busy day.
Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no more
With treasured tales and legendary lore.
All, all are fled; nor mirth nor music flows
To chase the dreams of innocent repose.
All, all are fled! yet still I linger here!
What secret charms this silent spot endear!

Mark yon old mansion, frowning through the trees,
Whose hollow turret woos the whistling breeze.
That casement, arch'd with ivy's brownest shade,
First to these eyes the light of heaven convey'd.
The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grown court,
Once the calm scene of many a simple sport,
When nature pleased, for life itself was new,
And the heart promised what the fancy drew.

Childhood's loved group revisits every scene,
The tangled wood-walk and the tufted green!
Indulgent Memory wakes, and lo, they live!
Clothed with far softer hues than Light can give;
Thou first, best friend that Heaven assigns below
To soothe and sweeten all the cares we know;
Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm,
When nature fades and life forgets to charm;
Thee would the Muse invoke!-to thee belong
The sage's precept and the poet's song.
What soften'd views thy magic glass reveals,
When o'er the landscape Time's meek twilight steals!
As when in ocean sinks the orb of day,
Long on the wave reflected lustres play;
Thy temper'd gleams of happiness resign'd
Glance on the darken'd mirror of the mind.

The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses gray,
Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay.
Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn,
Quickening my truant feet across the lawn;
Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air,
When the slow dial gave a pause to care.

"Chambers' Cyclopædia."

Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear,
Some little friendship form'd and cherish'd here,
And not the lightest leaf but trembling teems
With golden visions and romantic dreams!

Pleasures of Memory

HISTORIC ASSOCIATIONS.

Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire,
As summer clouds flash forth electric fire.
And hence this spot gives back the joys of youth,
Warm as the life, and with the mirror's truth.
Hence homefelt pleasure prompts the patriot's sigh;
This makes him wish to live and dare to die.
For this young Foscari,' whose hapless fate
Venice should blush to hear the Muse relate,
When exile wore his blooming years away,
To sorrow's long soliloquies a prey,

When reason, justice vainly urged his cause,
For this he roused her sanguinary laws;
Glad to return, though hope could grant no more,
And chains and torture hail'd him to the shore.

And hence the charms historic scenes impart ;2
Hence Tiber awes and Avon melts the heart.
Aerial forms in Tempe's classic vale

Glance through the gloom and whisper in the gale;
In wild Vaucluse with love and Laura dwell,
And watch and weep in Eloisa's cell.
'Twas ever thus. As now at Virgil's tomb
We bless the shade and bid the verdure bloom:
So Tully paused, amid the wrecks of Time,3
On the rude stone to trace the truth sublime;
When at his feet, in honor'd dust disclosed,
The immortal sage of Syracuse reposed.
And as he long in sweet delusion hung,
Where once a Plato taught, a Pindar sung,
Who now but meets him musing when he roves
His ruin'd Tusculan's romantic groves?

In Rome's great forum, who but hears him roll
His moral thunders o'er the subject soul?

He was suspected of murder, and, at Venice, suspicion is good evidence. Neither the interest of the Doge, his father, nor the intrepidity of conscious innocence, which he exhibited in the dungeon and on the rack, could procure his acquittal. He was banished to the islari of Candia for life. But here his resolution failed him. At such a distance from home he could not live; and, as it was a criminal offence to solicit the intercession of a foreign prince, in a fit of despair he addressed a letter to the Duke of Milan, and intrusted it to a wretch whose perfidy, he knew, would occasion his being remanded a prisoner to Venice.

3" Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses; whatever makes the past, thi distant, or the future predominate over the present. advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and far from my friends be such frigid philosophy as may conduct us, indifferent and unmoved, over any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is little to be envied whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plains of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of lona.”JOHNSON.

"When Cicero was quæstor in Sicily, he discovered the tomb of Archimedes by its mathematical inscription."-Tusc. Quæst, v. 3.