Penn could not so belie his philanthropy as to thus play the cheat with members of his own race, beneath whose red skin there were pulsations such as the best of men are wont to feel.

In planning the frame of his colonial government, Penn thus plainly expressed his purpose: "In the matters of liberty, I propose that which is extraordinary-to leave myself and successors no power of doing mischief, that the will of one man may not hinder the good of a whole country."

Need I say that there is much to admire in this simple declaration of a man who gave the proof that he could, at the same time, be a ruler and a philanthropist?

But I must hasten to speak of other and brighter incidents in the life of this great apostle of philanthropic equality.

You can recall the time, reader, when, away back in your earliest youth, you used to read the simple record of "William Penn's Treaty with the Indians." A beautiful story that was to you, then; and I well know you can not have forgotten it all yet. One thing at least you still remember. It is the picture of him of whose large and pure philanthropy that record was a brief unfolding. There you saw him, represented in his broad-brimmed hat and loose dress, standing, with a scroll in his hand, among the Indians of the neighboring tribes whom he had gathered around him under a tree. You thought, as you looked at his pictured face, that it shone with a lovely light; and as you shut the old book, among whose pages you had thus taken a look at the form and countenance of the generous Quaker, you felt, in the simplicity of your trustful heart, that no better man ever lived in the world than William Penn. It may delight you, now, to meditate upon the broad doctrine of equality, which led that noble Quaker to call those Indians around him, under the great elm-tree of Shak-amaxon, and make a treaty with them there. It was an instance of the truest philanthropy put in practice that philanthropy which recognizes in

broad pathway of good faith and good will; no advantage shall be taken on either side, but all shall be openness and love. I will not call you

dren too severely; nor brothers only; for brothers differ. The friendship between me and you, I will not compare to a chain; for that the rains might rust, or the falling tree might break. We are the same as if one man's body were to be divided into two parts; we are all one flesh and blood."

What a noble confession of the equality of human rights is here! Who can wonder that the hearts of those Indians should have been touched and made as tender as the hearts of guileless children? Who can wonder that they should have handed over to the peace-breathing philanthropist, at once, the belt of wampum, as the only proof they could give of the beautiful conquest he had gained over them? Who can wonder that they should have declared with one voice, "We will live in love with William Penn and his children as long as the moon and the sun shall endure!" And who can wonder why it should have been, as the historian has told us, that "not a drop of Quakes blood was ever shed by an Indian?"

Reader, you have heard of that great city, next in magnitude to the greatest of American cities, the city of "brotherly love"-Philadelphia. Who laid the foundations of that city? It was the same great Quaker who first proved that gunpowder is not the best means of conquering Indians. Who gave to that city its happy name? It was he who so well knew the beauty and bliss of "brotherly love." It was he who advocated the equality of natural human rights, who believed that peace was better than war, who assumed that "God discovers himself to every man," and that "the instinct of a Deity is so natural to man, that he can no more be without it, and be, than he can be without the most essential part of himself.” It was he who declared every man to be "a little sovereign to himself," who could prove that the terms, "My Lord Peter and My Lord Paul are not

to be found in the Bible," and that "My Lord Solon or Lord Scipio is not to be read in Greek or Latin stories." It was he who, prompted by the conviction that his great doctrine of the equal birthrights of humanity had been mocked at and trampled upon in every instance of hereditary succession to the pride and privileges of caste or royalty, could exclaim, "What a pother has this noble blood made in the world!" Yes; on a spot of ground between the Schuylkill and the Delaware a situation which he who had seen the cities of Europe from Bremen to Turin, pronounced to be "not surpassed by one among all the many places he had seen in the world"— there, between January and February of the year sixteen hundred and eighty-three, William Penn began to build the city of humanity, the asylum of oppressed lovers of freedom, the seat of a community whose bond of peace was to be the tie of "brotherly love." "Here," said he and his coadjutors, "here we may improve our innocent course of life on a virgin elysian shore."

THE TWO BUBBLES.

BY E. C. ROSE.

ONE Sweet and lovely morn in May,
When earth was clothed in fair array,
Unto a rippling brook I strayed,

And watched the glories there displayed.
The sunlight on the waters fell,
And sparkled in each tiny swell,
Which rippled sweetly at my feet,
With many a circling eddy neat,
And noisy whirlpool's greedy call,
Inviting foam-crests, waters, all
To its embrace; in short, the place
Was dressed in Nature's fairest grace.
I watched the brook as on it wound,
Unnumbered points and bends around,
And soon, borne on the rushing tide,
Two airy crests of foam I spied;
Like two young friends they, side by side,
Together down the streamlet hied;

I marked their course, resolved to see

The nature of their destiny,

When suddenly one's course was changed,
As though it had become estranged
From its companion, and, long ere
I had supposed its end so near,
Into a whirling pool 'twas drawn,
And in an instant's time was gone.
The other reached a little bay,
Where calm and still the waters lay,
And there to hoary age was spared,
When with its ill-starred mate compared.
I pondered, and I saw a near
Similitude of man's career

In those two bubbles and their fate-
The luckless and the fortunate.
That there are mortals who pursue

Tumultuous paths is very true;

Whose acts, adventurous and rash,
Often produce a woeful crash;
Who, like the bubble that forsook
Its twin companion in the brook,
Behold, too late to change their way,
Themselves to ruin dark a prey.
And then th' exact reverse we find,
Among the millions of mankind;
Some show a preference to stay
Within the smooth and quiet way,
Away from tumult's crazing din,
And countless luring wiles of sin;
Preferring age and calm repose,
To the dull joyousness which flows
Through vexing tumult, sin, and strife,
Which hasten the decline of life;
And of this class a likeness near
The fortunate bubble seems t' appear.

THE FLIGHT OF THE SEASONS.

BY H. C. BALLARD.

SPRING came to earth from regions mild and vernal,
And bore a vase of flowers of every hue,
Culled from the gardens of the great Eternal,
And sprinkled with his dew.

Along the banks of brooklet, lake, and river,
In fragrant meadows and in woodland bowers
They grew, while groups of children blessed the Giver
For heaven's transplanted flowers.

Then Summer came and found the hands of childhood
Filled with the choicest, latest gifts of Spring:
She held her leafy shield above the wildwood,
And spared its offering.

All round the fields, where manhood's toils had centered,
To wring from earth subsistence for us all,

Some paths were found where childhood's feet had entered

The forest's floral hall.

Mild summer waned and autumn's morn-September-
Dawned 'neath the glory of a cloudless sky;
But soon the howling tempests of November
Swept like a whirlwind by.

The woodland dells gave forth no shout of gladness,
The autumn winds had rocked the flowers to sleep,
While groups of children, in their heart-felt sadness,
Had sought their graves to weep.

At last there came a sound of rushing pinions,
Like the old ocean in its checkless flow-
The storms had fled the ice-king's lone dominions,
And heaped the world with snow.

Thus shall we journey through the earth together,
Now in the light of an unclouded sky-
Now in the darkness of life's stormy weather,
Until we droop and die.

Yet will the flowers regain their lost existence,
When the cold drifts are borne from off their breast,
And the tired spirit, in a nameless distance,

Will find an endless rest.

A CENTRAL AMERICAN PARADISE;

OR, NOTES UPON AN EXPEDITION THROUGH
COSTA RICA.

COSTA

OSTA RICA is that one of the Central American states, which, possessing in portions the most favorable climate, and the finest natural advantages for the successful prosecution of agriculture, has been also least convulsed by internal strifes and revolutions. Although it has attracted less attention than it merits, from the colonizing or fillibustering spirits of our Union, it has for some years been a favorite field of operations for German speculators and colonizationists, being held up by these as a kind of "promised land" to the hungry and homeless masses of Germany. That these have not succeeded in forming permanently profitable settlements in the land of their choice, is to be attributed more to a certain lack of power to adapt themselves to a land, climate, and life, new and strange, than to any lack of advantages in the country. But if these colonists have bettered themselves little, the world is gainer in the valuable results of their explorations; detailed, as these are in general, with true Teutonic honesty and prolixity.

In point of soil and climate, Costa Rica is near being "all things unto all men." Along the seashore, at the base of the range of mountains which stretches across the land from south-east to northwest, is a region of exuberant fertility-tropical no less in this than in its oppressive heat, its fatal diseases, and its unceasing rains. This is the land of the cacao, the sugar-cane, and the palm; the tapir, the toucan, and the boa-constrictor; the musketo, the scorpion, and the rattlesnake.

If

sinks lower than sixty-five degrees. The neverceasing rains of the coast are exchanged for the regular alternations of dry and wet seasons. the northers, which, during the dry season, fill the country with dust-clouds and malaria, are as prevalent on the highland as in the valleys, there are here no such swarms of musketos, no such abundance of scorpions and centipedes, snakes and lizards, as there.

The third region-there is a third-begins at an elevation of 5,000 feet. Here wheat, barley, and other cereals flourish, and yield two crops per year. This portion of the country is more thinly settled than either of the others, and, till the roads are better, and the state of agriculture is materially improved, must remain in the back-ground.

So much for the country in which some German traveling savans were disposed to find a paradise, ready-made, and only wanting appreciative inhabitants. Embarking at Greytown-it was a few months before that town perished under the hands of Com. Hollins-they steered up the San Juan as far as the mouth of the Saraquipi, there entering the Costa Rican territory by that stream. Their anticipations, gloriously sanguine as they left New Orleans, were considerably moderated by a very brief intercourse with the natives of Greytown, who, to the disgust of our travelers, cared less for their science than for their silver, and moved more readily for dollars than for philosophical discourses. "The Californians have corrupted them," says one, mentioning to him the distasteful fact that that class of rovers-Californians-obtained more respect than any other. Botanizing, and hunting-the last with a lack of success very surprising to them-they at last reached the head of navigation. After a stay of some days, during which they persistently, but ineffectually, chased and fired at every running, flying, and creeping thing, in the dense woodsfrom the jaguar to the parrakeet, from the alliga

moved forward on their overland journey, across the Cordilleras to the city of San Jose, the capital of this paradise.

The thermometer, which ranges between seventy-two degrees and one hundred degrees in the valleys, is at its maximum at eighty-two degrees on these table-lands, while the mercury never

As they were about to start, their band was reinforced by four stalwart fellows, "whose countenances were a safe index to their characters, show

bonds." One of these, a seven-feet Kentuckian, a carpenter, and a silent man, was, in part from this unfortunate habit of silence, partly from some random words dropped by him, supposed to have murdered his wife-an accident in his history which of course added nothing to the charm of his society. One would like to know the opinion

entertained by this silent seven-footer of his companions, who, incumbered with numberless specimen boxes, vials, and cases, and all the paraphernalia, appropriate and inappropriate, to hunters, fishermen, explorers, and German philosophers, in sage and cautious silence tramped across these Costa Rican wilds.

Our travelers seem to have fallen upon the wrong time of year for explorations. The narrow road, bordered by lofty forests, was rendered almost impassable in consequence of accumulated waters, to which the stubborn clay refused entrance to the lower earth. Brooks were swollen to streams, and streams were impassable. It was not without many groans and much toil that they made their way through the damp thickets-their weary mules urged on by the loud voice of Don Sancho, their owner, and the travelers' guide. This Don Sancho seems a fair sample of the native Costa Rican-polite, serviceable, and selfish. He was about fifty years of age, tall and lank, and was the possessor of a hacienda, a large family, a remarkable hooked nose, and most singular hang-dog expression of countenance. Mule-driving and traveler-cheating seems to have been his natural vocations; and that he fulfilled his double mission faithfully and well, the record of our travelers bear abundant witness.

Journeying by day, through brier and thicket, making vain attempts upon the lives of parrots who persistently perched upon the tops of high trees, out of reach of their shot-guns-and jaguars, whose howls they were permitted to hear, without being favored with a vision of the howlers, the wayfarers-including the tall Kentuckian-were obliged nightly to camp in a small hut, called a rancho, and possessing evidently both the disqualifications of Jack Straw's house-being neither wind-tight nor water-tight. The first of these ranchos was deserted, and the travelers were fain to recline in cheerless discomfort upon rude benches, placed at the sides of the well-ventilated walls, and forget their longings for supper in a troubled sleep.

The next evening, however, they "came to" at an inhabited hut, where the senorita was already engaged in preparing tortillas, doubtless in expectation of her guests. Hereupon, one of our wearied philosophers sits himself down, and, nothing daunted by the dismal discomfort of his surroundings, enters into a calculation, the result of which is, that, to make the quantity of tortillas used in Costa Rica-by the natives alone-would occupy 15,000 women, or one-tenth of the entire population, regularly fourteen hours each day. The moral deduced from this calculation is,

that if the Costa Ricans would use fewer tortillas and more animal food, their women would find time for other, and perhaps more congenial employments, than mixing, spreading, and turning these abominable cakes.

After a week's journey the party finds itself at San Miguel, where they were able to overlook the Cordilleras. San Miguel is a town consisting of some dozens of straw huts, and remarkable chiefly as the residence of the guide, Don Sancho, who, after cheating them for a week, insisted on lying over here for a day, in order to afford him opportunity for saying his arrearage of prayers. This duty performed, they once more advanced upon their way.

It must be borne in mind that our philosophers, although enduring much in flesh and clothes upon this luckless tour, very persistently botanized, and in other ways accomplished, or sought to accomplish, those scientific objects which they had in mind on setting out.

They were now entering the higher regions of the Cordilleras, and the face of nature no longer glowed with tropical splendors. The forests were no less dense; but the oak, the poplar, and the willow took the place of the palm, the cocoa, and the banana. Huge ferns gave a peculiar and picturesque tone to the landscape. The birds were less bright of plumage, and more melodious of voice; finally, the musketos disappeared, giving place to vast swarms of sand-fleas.

Carri Blanco was the next rancho after San Miguel. Between this and La Paz, the succeeding station, they crossed two mountain streamsthe Rio de San Angelos, and the Rio de la Pazthe latter, so say they, the most important mountain torrent of Costa Rica.

This region is the home of the cilgero, a bird whose mellifluous tones our travelers can scarce find words sufficiently to praise, declaring its voice superior even to that of the nightingale or the American mocking-bird. A persistently adverse fate, which would create sympathy, if it did not awaken a smile, denied to them the happiness of shooting, or ever seeing this much lauded songster. "In vain did we seek to steal upon him. He sat always in the very densest part of the thicket, and we were unable to reach his haunts."

From La Paz the road leads to Varra Blanca, and thence to Desenjano; which last may be considered as within civilized territory. Here the party once more tasted bread-real bread—not tortillas, on which they had been for a number of days subsisting. Here, too, for the first time since their entrance on Costa Rican territory, they sa regularly tiled roofs; so evident an improvement

saw

A few hundred feet above the village is the actual pass through the mountain. Standing at the western extreme of the gorge, they saw spread out before them a vast extent of country, reaching over hill and dale, to the far-distant, yet visible shores of the Pacific, and the Gulf of Nicoga. Enthusiasm filled all the party, at this glorious view. "Even the long-limbed American," remarks one of the travelers, "manifested surprise and delight. His satisfaction was complete, when he learned, shortly afterward, that in this country a good cow sold for from eight to ten dollars, while draught oxen were worth still more-prices which seemed to him extravagant, in comparison with those ruling in Texas, his last home. That was all that was needed to make the Yankee love this picturesque region." It is not necessary to answer this sneer.

Heredia is the first town beyond the pass of Desenjano. It is the chief place of a department, and consists of quite a number of onestoried, tile-roofed houses, inhabited by a simple people, who it being Sunday-turned out en masse, in clean shirts and gowns, to receive the strangers.

From Heredia to San Jose the road is wider, firmer, and winds pleasantly along between hedges of cactus, which mark the boundaries of the different haciendas. So that but few groans are expended upon this portion of the Costa Rican domain.

The city of San Jose has, we believe, never before been described. It is of recent growth, and succeeded Cartago as the capital and chief commercial place of Costa Rica, upon the destruction of the last-named city, by an earthquake, in 1841. San Jose is a city of about 16,000 inhabitants. It is pleasantly situated on an elevation, in the middle of a plain, and fronting two small rivers, which empty their waters into the Rio Grande de Costa Rica. The streets are poorly paved; the houses are mostly of one story, and built of clay and reeds—a material which is supposed to be proof against the disturbing influences of earthquakes. Glass windows are exceptional, and wooden floors and plastered walls seem to take rank as articles of luxury. A table, a few chairs, and the never-failing hammock make up the interior garnishing, with the addition of a crucifix and print of some patron saint, which are indispensable in this country.

"The people display neither the cleanliness of the Hollander, nor the comfort of the Englishman," says our traveler-as how should they,

Gambling seems to be their pet sin. In all else their habits are sparing, but only to devote all to play. It must be mentioned, too, that all manner of gambling is strictly forbidden, except cock-fighting, which last forms, with the trade in tobacco, brandy, and powder, a monopoly of the government. The cock-pit is the center of attraction for the Costa Rican. Here rich and poor, rogues and honest men, high and low, meet on equal terms, and bet to the extent of their purses. From Don Jose Joaquin Mora, brother of the President, general of the army, and skillfulest trainer of cocks in all Costa Rica, down to the veriest ragamuffin in his army, all enter into the excitement, and win or lose their real or peso, on the favorite bird of the day.

Of other amusements than this national one, there seems to be a lamentable scarcity in San Jose. There is a theater, which is quite as poorly attended as it deserves to be; and there are numerous religious processions, masquerades, balls, and feasts-all of which are enjoyed by the natives, in a sleepy way, which excites the ire of our travelers, who exclaim, "The tame and indolent character of the people seems to have caught also the brute creation. The dogs bark ferociously, but never bite; the tiger attacks man only when asleep; and it is scarcely possible, with the help of innumerable torches, to force the bulls to combat."

He says nothing of the musketos or the sandflies.

We must not, however, forget the weekly markets, which the Costa Rican attends, as a matter of both duty and pleasure. Men, women, and children turn out to this, and roam through the extensive bazar; some buying, but most looking All manner of goods are exposed for sale on these occasions-glass, stone, earthenware, and hardware; hammocks and hats; muskets and milk; rosaries and rice; soap and saints' pictures ; dolce, cacao, and paper cigars.

on.

Market day is a general holiday. Not that the Costa Rican needs this rest from labor. Work is something which he appears most assiduously to eschew; administered even in the most infinitesimal doses, it seems to have a deleterious effect upon him. Market day serves rather as a summing up of the week's idleness-the grand climax of listlessness, lounging, and, if not too far gone in poverty, cock-fighting.

Take them for all in all, the Costa Ricans would, we fear, suit us-Yankees-but little better than they did our friends whom we have so far accompanied on their grumbling way through