accuracy and humility, that it will be apt to influence me strongly. However, when the public shall distinctly inform me that there is not enough of a redeeming quality in my writings to render my errors tolerable, I shall hope to be willing quietly to terminate my literary labors. For, if I may be permitted to quote a sentiment from the Greek, 'Twas morn: scarce visible, the gray The light that would his gleam have shamed; The stars shone out, nor seem more bright, When lighting up the depths of night; And, save the soft melodious flow, 'Twas then a cloud of awful volume Was gathering blackness o'er the passes, The foe, dark column after column, Tried veterans they, in part-in part nor few To emptied prisons thanks were due; Each province swelled the grim array: The Zacatecas mountaineer, Saltillo's brood, blown into flame, With olive, marked the mottled crew. A summons to surrender, scoffed Long ere the fatal fray, had taught The gallant band within, oppressed Nor false this hope, perchance e'en then, All reckless how their blood might flow, If blood would buy the Alamo. Then force assumed another form: Yet, as a loathing, trembling craven, In front, three columns dense and dark The force apart for storming set; While, rearward, ranks of horsemen stand, Nor of the heroes of that day, But if none else - remember him, Stranger! should in some distant day, Of human ashes mixed with earth- SUCH was the strife, and such were they Who perished in this fatal fray. That glory seemed like sun-set's light, And clouds of growing blackness sweep; On San Antonio's funeral fire, Young Texian Freedom, wrapt in gloom, Seemed hastening to a bloody tomb. False fears! the gloom was that of morn, With glance of fate, and sting of death, THE PORTICO. IN commencing that series of essays, which we propose to comprise within a work denominated The Portico,' it may gratify the curiosity of our readers to be informed of the circumstances which gave rise to this appellation, as well as of the character and pretensions of the writers from whose productions they are to anticipate the entertainment-of whatever nature it may prove - which shall be furnished to them. Having spent nearly half a century in the pursuits of study, as far as an attendance upon occasional duties of my profession would allow, while on a tour through Europe, I fell into a casual conversation with an English gentleman, in London, by the name of Bacon, who, I found, was inspired with an enthusiasm for science and literature similar to my own, and who, having been left by his father in the possession of a large estate, had been enabled from his earliest youth to devote himself exclusively to the acquisition of knowledge. This gentleman, as Dr. Johnson remarked of Mr. Burke, was a man in whose presence it was impossible to remain, even for a moment, without being impressed with a favorable opinion of his character and pretensions, from the exquisite finish and just proportions of his figure, the intellectual expression of his countenance, and the elegance of his address. Having discovered, from a more intimate acquaintance with him, that his intellectual and moral qualities fully realized all the expectations which had been exci. ted by his personal appearance, and that his mind was enriched with all the treasures of learning, his taste improved by a familiarity with the finest models of writing, as well as his heart formed for the residence of every virtue, I could not fail to imbibe an ardent attachment to his person, and desire a continuance of that intercourse which had thus happily commenced between us. With this last view, I proposed that he should become the companion of my intended journey through the Continent, which proposal being readily accepted, we travelled together through France, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, making ourselves acquainted with all their monuments of art, their sciences, their political institutions and laws, and their prevalent habits and manners. During this review, I was struck and delighted, with the profoundness of his reflections, his nice perceptions of excellence in painting, statuary and fine writing, the extent to which he had pushed his inquiries into the different branches of knowledge, and his familiarity with all the greatest productions of genius, both in ancient and modern times. Before our return to Paris, on my way to America, our prepossessions had ripened into so confirmed a friendship, that the idea of a separation from him was one of the most painful which could be presented to my imagination, and my ingenuity was excited into most strenuous exertion to prevent, if possible, so disagreeable a result. While my mind was occupied with the projection of schemes for this purpose that kind of schemes which assume, at first, the appearance of day-dreams that flit through a fervid fancy, and immediately disappear—a fortunate contingency brought us into the society of a French gentleman by the name of Rochefoucault, a collateral descendant of the celebrated author, who, like ourselves, although a politician by profession, and deeply interested in the triumph of the liberal party in Paris, had seized every opportunity of imbuing his understanding with elegant letters. now formed a trio of students, whose supreme object of pursuit was the |