genius-such we call him, for he deserves the name-who, with a will of iron, and a heart of fire, steps up from round to round on the ladder which conducts him heaven-ward till he tread in company with angels the Infinitude of God. Such are the Fire-pillars in this dark pilgrimage of man; they are signs from heaven, evidence of what has been, "prophetic tokens of what may still be; the revealed, imbodied Possibilities of human nature." Man's capacities and susceptibilities are not different now from what they were some centuries ago. Hence it is useless to complain that there is no field on which the heroic soul may toil in these latter days and win a glorious triumph. Labor is the destiny of man; and genius is but a high form of human nature. O, what a noble thing is a great intellect bowing at the altar of Divinity! Life were a nobler scene did the real nobles of earth pour out their life-drops for the cause of truth and human happiness. Come, then, thou who feelest thyself to be something like divine; gird on thy armor for a glorious war.

""Tis infamy to die, and not be missed."

There is work and encouragement enough. The marble rock still holds the breathing statue; it waits for some master's arm to strike and the praises of the artist float on the breath of a world. The workman is all that is needed-let him come forth and he will prove no place is so dark that his eagle eye may not pierce the blackness, and his strong arm bring out to life and light the beautiful fabric which exists as yet but in ideal perfection. The poet may yet be a citizen not only of his country, but of his time. He must glitter with no lustre but his own, and then his light is a light from heaven, and shall illume the dark destinies of man. The god must again come down and tingle in all his veins, as in the days of nature's true poct-soul; then shall he speak in tones of majesty almost divine, while the whole world gaze on him and adore. The orator is still to live who is not a mere picture of fire which warms no soul, but a blazing torch that shall kindle up the dead leaves in this forest-world, till all are purified and blest. As Carlyle says of the poet, "Tears lie in him, and consuming fire; as lightning lurks in the drops of the summer cloud." The philanthropist must appear who sees the blind struggle of souls in bondage, "that high, sad, longing discontent," which is agitating every bosom; who feels in his large, susceptive heart more keenly than the gathering crowd can feel for human degradation; and goes forth, disrobing pris

ons of terrors, binding up lacerated hearts, till he becomes, if not the "spokesman of his generation," at least their acknowledged benefactor. But it is for the man of science to discover precious gems which can be found by no other. Nature will long continue to open up to him her store house, and from its mysterious chambers he may draw forth to the eyes of the multitude, living proofs of a Divinity who rules in time as well as governs in eternity. The mountains shall swell their everlasting canticles in praise of him who deciphers the hand-writing of Deity in their granite base; and the rivers shall forever murmur forth his praise who, with the true originality of genius reveals to us the wonders of a past creation, stamped with a divine impress on their beds of stone.

Such are the encouragements which may lead the original genius to work with a resolute determination in the farm-house of the world. Around him lie the materials which he may form into a new creation. Here is a field for human effort, and human glory; here where Homer wrote, Zeuxis painted, and Luther preached, for eternity. He who would change all he touches into gold, must be awake. Has he laid the foundations and modelled out the edifice he resolves to build? It were no child's play to brace it so together that it shall stand the rough blasts of Time. A new thought! It is a new world-it is impershable as the soul which wrought it. He who gave it being shall live when the hero of his hundred battles shall have vanished from the memory of man. A christian genius is God's nobleman. His name is written on the eternally fresh tablet of the human heart, and heralded in heaven. Oh, who would pass off life's stage, turn back to

dust,

"And leave no whispering of a name on earth?"

* JR.

"In ancient times, there stood in the citadel of Athens, three statues of Minerva. The first was of olive-wood, and according to popular tradition, had fallen from heaven. The second was of bronze, commemorating the victory of Marathon; and the third of gold and ivory,—a great miracle in the age of Pericles. And thus in the citadel of Time, stands Man himself. In childhood, shaped of soft and delicate wood, just fallen from heaven; in manhood, a statue of bronze, commemorating struggle and victory; and lastly, in the maturity of age, perfectly shaped in gold and and ivory,—a miracle of art!"

50

Briggs.

POEM.

DELIVERED AT THE NAMING OF MT. METTAWOMPE, JUNE 14TH, 1849.

In the first dawning of that early day,

When broke the light upon the youthful World,
And Earth and Air in the first quivering ray
Of Life and Being, with fresh tears empearled
Broke into sunny smiles and silent praise,
Voiceless but deep as an Archangel's lays;
Then o'er the waters of the silent Deep,

O'er the green fields and valleys prank'd with flow'rs,
The young winds toyed with Solitude asleep,
Marking the stillness of the vacant hours:
All Nature was at rest-and solitude

Lay like a warm caress upon the sod,
And like a timid Bride the young Earth stood,
Still trembling in the newness of her God:
Life-Light-and Oneness!-and Creation fair
Glowed yet incorporate with th' Almighty Mind,
As the pure dew-drop glittering thro' the air
Glows with the rainbow that she left behind.

-Thus o'er the western wave where golden fled
The flooded sun crimson with flaming light,
Lay a fair Land of Beauty widely spread

With sloping valley and with Mountain height;
Far to the West and South the hilly plains

Heaved their thick verdure to the summer rays,
While to the East the solitary Main

Poured in its waste of deep and silent bays,
Indented with full many a barren isle-

The Mountain summits that around ye smile:

Once o'er the valley of this lovely Land,

Where Nature smiles in her most favored mood,

Touching the Landscape with a magic wand,
Rolled the vast billows of the Ocean flood:

Here where the Springtime clothes the budding Earth
With myriad beauties, and the summer sun
Nurses the growing corn, and childrens' mirth
Rings thro' the air when the warm day is done,
Here where the Farmer with delighted looks

Stands to his waist amid the waving grain,
Watching his kine in the cool shaded brooks,

And marks the lumbering team creep o'er the plain;
And here where Autumn her most golden store
Flings with voluptuous beauty and the Earth
Heaping her yearly feast can hold no more,
Making the air we breathe a joyous mirth--
Here ages-ages past the desolate waves rolled o'er.
And Thou, Oh Mettawompe! when the floods
First fell and left thy rocky forehead bare
To.the warm sunlight and the mist that broods

O'er the young germ of flow'rs with friendly care—
Up from thy dark sides sprang the tender shoots
Of trees that lived and died long ages past,
And giving with their wide and sinewy roots

A wealth of soil, and foliage thick and vast;
While slowly at thy feet thro' years appeared
The valley-plain with barren waste o'er-spread,
Torn by the trampling waves, and bleached and seared
By the spent fury of an ocean-bed;

And ages yet, before the silent flow

Of the full river hastening thro' the vale,
Mirrored the freshness of the Pine-tree bough,
Or caught the scent of fragrance on the gale-

And all as yet was silence-not a sound

Of beast, or cry of wild bird in its flight,
Broke with its utterance the still profound

That brooded 'mid the clear and purple light
Of the long day-like a calm grief that weighs,
But not obscures the clearness of the mind,
As in the mistiness of Autumn days

We sigh but not regret the summer left behind.

Then came the day of gladness, and the song
Of rapturous birds enflooded all the air,
And the wild herd sprang boundingly along,
And Nature seemed a lovelier dress to wear,
The trees put on new foliage, and the flow'rs
With brighter lustre raised their grateful eyes
At the light sound of feet thro' forest bowers,
Or the wild sweep of wings thro' dreamy skies-
And Nature were at rest with looks most fair,
If only Man-the Soul of God-were there!

Come to the Present-long enough we've roved
In the dark ages of the past Forever,

Come to the joyous scenes so fondly loved,
From which, alas! so soon, we grieve to sever!

Oh! Mettawompe! many a circling year

Since first the white man's axe made beauty 'round,
Since first amid thy echoes soft and clear

Pealed the sweet Sabbath bell's endearing sound;
Full many a year has passed,—and thou hast seen
The pride and strength of a young nation wake,
And from thy summit beautiful and green,

Well may the notes of triumph proudly break;
But our's is sadder theme-of ages fled

Each leaves its trace in vestiges of beauty,
So we when numbered with the years long sped,
May leave our foot-prints in the path of duty—
And may this one among thy circling years

We've lived and loved so near thy summit hoary,
Be in our mem'ry like the balmy tears

That hallow in young days some childish story,
And in thy noble beauty may we find

A thought that nerves the Heart and elevates the Mind.

SKETCHES OF OUR CONTRIBUTORS.

When about to leave the paternal mansion,-when College, which before I had strongly suspected was composed of materials as unsubstantial as the Temple of Fame adorning the first page of the Spelling book, began to assume a local habitation,”-in that solemn hour I was reminded of certain relatives in the good town of Amherst, whose acquaintance I was strictly enjoined to cultivate. Easily ascertaining their place of residence, upon the first Saturday afternoon I proceeded to obey the injunctions of my honored parents. After a pleasant walk, I arrived at the residence of my friends, and in a modest and yet somewhat impressive manner, introduced myself to the lady of the house. The old lady received me with the greatest kindness, and, after innumerable inquiries respecting her friends and acquaintances, all which inquiries were answered to the best of my ability, she said she would call Solomon.