source of their creation; he knows not how to fix the fleeting shadows as they pass; and the gorgeous day-dream vanishes like the dim vision of the night. Knowledge has not entered the fairy microcosm of his fancy: it is yet an Eden, with the fruit of power untasted and untouched. He knows not that his lonely musings are emanations of the creative power of that genius, which of all earthly qualities is 'likest God's, and which is, indeed, the first attribute of Divinity. He is what the world calls idle ; but let the rude touch of reality change these dreaming hours, and rouse the spirit into action ; let ambition call forth the hidden energies of mind; let the knowledge of his untried capacities come in whatever form it may—and he stands forth the image and similitude of intellectual energy; he strikes the Orphean lyre with the full tone of inspiration, or fulmines over the heart with the resistless sway of eloquence.

Mental indolence often arises from the want of a proper self-appreciation. We magnify the power of others, and underrate our own capacities, because self-knowledge has never taught us the mode in which that power is evolved. We have never descended into the mental laboratory; we are too much accustomed to think that the sublime conceptions and brilliant fancies of the orator or the poet are the free and spontaneous effusions of taste and genius. Blinded and dazzled by the brightness of the scintillations, we heed not the fervid and ponderous strokes, the hammering of the mind, by which they are struck off.

We should look within ourselves, and revolve the answer of Demosthenes to the reproach of Pytheus, who told him, tauntingly, that all his arguments smelt of the lamp.' We should remember, that if we would become laborers in the rich mine of intellect, we must delve unceasingly by the pale light of the solitary and conscious lamp,' ere we may hope to grasp the prize which will reward our toil — the talisman which is to transmute even our own words into the breath and accents of that fame which constitutes the meed of the present and the inspiration of future ages. We must steadily persevere in that long and painful course of previous study and patient thought, which alone can entitle us to join in the triumphant prophecy of Horace, or prepare us for the struggles, and the glories of that hour, when, like Demosthenes, we may be invoked by the common voice of our country to speak for her salvation.'

Should such opportunity be never realized, or should we fail in our high-directed efforts, we will still retain the ennobling consciousness of meritorious exertion, and derive heart-felt comfort and renewed hope from that consolatory reflection, in magnis voluisse sat est.'

W. H. R.

GENIUS.

Genius! - oh didst thou know its fate,

Thou 'dst wish not to possess it ;
Thou little know'st how envious Hate

And cold Caprice oppress it :
How slow Fame lends her sunny ray,
And oh! how fast it fades away!

M.

AUTUMN LEAVES.

It is the season when the yellow leaves,
Mingled with red, are seen along the woods,
And the wild, scentless flowers bloom lavishly,,
And the long grass has reached its utmost height,
Forming a covert for the grasshopper,
And merry cricket, piping constantly
Through the mild sunny day: when evening comes
Cooler and damper through the reddening sky,
And stars shine brighter, and the nights are still
And chilly in their length’ning hours: it is
The solemn, holy Sabbath of the year.

A calm and lovely morn! I sit within
A chamber looking to the warm south-east;
The mild October sun is pouring in
Upon the floor a chequer'd light, that waves
As by my window waves the trembling shruh,
No longer fresh with summer foliage.
It is a sweet and silent time! I hear
The frequent and the varied sounds of morn
Ring through the blue, half-misty air: and hark !
The gushing melody of birds awakes,
As if it were the first bright day of Spring.

There is a change on the fair face of earth :
Tbe forests in their undulating range
And silent depths have listen to the voice
Of nature, and are changing fast their robes
Of living green for a rich garniture
Of mingled teints, to meet the dying year
That waneth to its end. And now the earth
Is calling down the leaves : see! one by one,
Slowly at first, then faster, they obey,
And go like weary children after play,
Home to their mother's breast, to seek repose.
List to the song of earth, while thus she calls :

"Come to my bosom, come! Leaves of the summer, come to my warm breasts Come, frail and wither'd ones, and find a rest,

A tranquil home!

Long have ye woo'd the sky -
Long have ye moved in music to the breeze;
Long have ye sung your chorus in the trees,

How joyously!

Gay revellers ! the hour
Ig o'er when ye breath'd gently in the night,
Or danc'd amid the cool and sparkling light

Of suminer shower,

No more, in silence stirr'd, When the cool night-wind whispers dreams of peace, Bidding each tumult of the breast to cease,

Your voice is heard.

No more, in summer's day, Shall ye look down upon the wearied one Who sought your shade when his stern toil was done,

And sleeping lay.

For ye are withering fast :
The frost hath touch'd you with his magic wand
Before his silent power ye may not stand

The sighing blast.

Come to my bosom, come!
The bird hath left his cradle in the tree,
The summer breeze and showers their harmony -

Come to your home!

Come, find a cranquil rest!
Hark! the chill north wind stirs among the boughs --
The cold, white frost holds o'er the mountain brows

His gleaming crest.

Come to your winter home!
And I will hide you in the warm south vale,
Where ye shall never feel the wintry gale

Come, children, come!

Come to your mother's breast !
Earth that hath given, must e'en now call away;
Heaven cannot charm you now — ye cannot stay —

Come to your rest!'
Mortals ! doth not earth call to you? Like leaves
Silently falling in the frosty air,
Or while the sun smiles warmly down once more,
Or when the filful winds come rushing through
The patient boughs: like these frail, fading leaves
Ye too are falling : ye too find your graves,
Whether the sun be warm, or wild winds blow,
Or nipping frosts steal o'er the countless throng
Of men. "Death cometh in his might to all,
And many a bright hope scatter'd, vanisheth.

So teach me, Father of our destinies!
To number every day thou lendest here,
That when the hour of dissolution comes,
Like autumn leaves — as calmly, and as bright,
And beautiful - I too may pass away,
And the mild sun still shine upon my grave,
And the sweet spring of youth still coine to man.

C. P. c.

THE FLYING DUTCHMAN.

A SKETCH.

BY THE AUTHOR OF 'JACK MARLINSPIKE'S YARN,'

THE ESCAPE,' ETC.

The sun was setting in a sea of clouds, while his yellow beams glared forth through their many embrazures like the rays

of some mighty conflagration through the walls that enclosed it. Huge masses of heavier and darker vapor were piling up to windward, and lighter scuds were seen hurrying wildly across the heavens. The sea grew blacker, and dashed against the firm sides of the Great Frederick with a deep, hollow hoarseness, and the breeze came fresher and colder across the agitated expanse. Still the gallant ship continued to move along under her top-gallant canvass, and it was not until every thing indicated a heavy and instant blow, that the veteran skipper concluded to take another reef in the top-sails.

There was one fair being on board the ship who had never before beheld the elements in so terrible a convulsion. Leaning on the arm of her father, she stood upon the quarter-deck, listening with awe to the roaring of the wind, as it howled through the cordage, and the thunders of the deep, as each wave rolled over its precur

sor.

At times, a vivid flash from some overcharged cloud would light up the scene with terrible splendor; and it was then that all the fearful magnificence of the tempest became apparent; and the fair girl would tremble with affright, as she saw each giant wave above her threatening to all certain destruction in its descent.

*We are now off the Cape of Good Hope,' said the father, 'and it is in these latitudes that one of our unhappy ancestors is doomed to cruise until the last day.'

The daughter shuddered at the recollection of her mysterious relative, and only grasped her parent's arm in reply.

All this while the Great Frederick had been before the wind, dashing onward at a tremendous rate. The commander himself was at the wheel, watching each coming wave with anxiety, and disposing the rudder to receive its shock without prejudice to the huge fabric it guided. The braces were kept manned fore and aft, so that in case the ship broached to, she might be restored to her former course with the necessary promptitude. The pumps, too, were rigged, the hatches battoned down, and, in short, every precaution was taken which the safety of the ship required. At length the gale increased to a perfect hurricane, and the commander determined to bring the ship by the wind, as he was fearful of her being brought by the lee, which must have proved her immediate destruction. This delicate man@uvre was successfully performed, and the Great Frederick was now placed with her huge bows toward the direction of the wind and sea, in comparative security for the remainder of the night.

One of those long-continued gleams of lightning, that seems to make every thing as brilliant as itself, flashed over the heavens, and discovered to the startled crew another and a heavier ship to windward, and close aboard. The information was conveyed by twenty voices at the same moment, and every one strained his vision to observe more closely the form of the stranger. Four or five successive flashes showed her to be a heavy Dutch East Indiaman, under her maintop-sail, close reefed, fore-top-mast, stay-sail, and mizzen. It was observable, too, that her construction was of a more ancient order of naval architecture. Her stern rose unusually high from the level of the sea, and her bow-sprit had a more than ordinary steeve; but what most added to the surprise of those on board of the Great Frederick, was seeing a boat push from the side of the stranger, and row in the direction of their own ship, although the sea was running with a fearfulness that threatened certain destruction to those who, in so frail a thing, should dare attempt to cross its surface. Every moment was looked for as productive of death to those in the boat; but the little vessel rose and fell with safety, and in a few moments was seen pulling up under the quarter of the Frederick. Not a word had been spoken on board of the latter, so intense was the astonishment and anxiety of every one; but now, the commander gave the order : ' A line there for'ard for the boat!' and twenty dark forms moved to obey. The ready cordage was cast and caught, and a tall form sprang from the stern-sheets of the boat, and ascended the gangway. The stranger, on gaining the deck, paused for a moment, and by the light of the side-lanterns, it was observed that he was attired in a costume as antique in fashion as the construction of the

ship to which he belonged. His features were perceived to be dark and stern, although but imperfectly seen, as he wore a slouched hat.

•Where are you bound ? asked he, in a deep and hollow voice. "To Amsterdam,' answered the commander of the Great Frederick. • Will

you do me the favor to deliver this packet at Amsterdam ?' The captain replied in the affirmative ; and taking the proffered bundle, invited the stranger below.

If there was any thing appalling in the features of the stranger, as seen by the dim and transient glare of the lanterns on deck, it was rendered doubly so by his removing his hat, and exposing them to the glare of the cabin lamp. His eyes were black and glowing, though sunken far in his head, and his face was of a bluish tinge : his whole countenance was supernatural, and each feature betrayed excess of sorrow and fatigue. The father started back aghast, and the daughter shrieked in terror. The commander of the Great Frederick, too, retreated apace, and looking alternately from the stranger to the packet which he still held, exclaimed, in a voice of horror:

''Tis Vanderdecken, and we are lost!' The mysterious visitant spake not a word, but uttering a deep sigh, lifted the fainting maiden, and gazed long and earnestly in her face. At length he spake, in a voice soft yet sepulchral:

“That face,' said he, 'was just like her's when I left her long, long ago. That dark hair, her very tresses

and those blue eyes, by my soul! were hers.'

The stranger paused a moment, as if retracing the records of memory: at length, shaking his head as if he had been disappointed in the search, he asked the terrified maiden her name.

She replied, and the mysterious inquisitor started as if a thunder-bolt had fallen at his feet. A softer expression came over his brow-and gazing earnestly at her features, he seemed to read with avidity each line of her countenance. Long and anxiously he gazed ; and at length, stooping down, he said: Ellen, I am your ancestor, and have one favor-one blessing- to ask of you. I am doomed to a horrible destiny, but you may save me.'

• What shall I do?' asked the terrified girl.

The stranger was about to reply, but a fierce growl of thunder rolled across the heavens. Again he essayed to speak, but the same fearful warning interrupted him.

his hands for a moment in agony, and listening until the last reverberation had died away, turned once more to address the shrinking maiden: but now, crash after crash of heavy thunder broke above their heads, flashes of blue lightning sported through the skies, and the wind howled with tenfold violence through the cordage.

'I come! I come!' shrieked the stranger : and turning a last look of melancholy fondness toward the lovely

being before him, he seized the packet which he had given the commander of the Great Frederick, and rushing up the ladder, threw himself into his boat, and was a moment after seen rising and sinking with the motion of the billows.

Suddenly the sea went down the rain ceased the wind abated—the clouds broke up in the heavens, and the elements were again at peace.

R. B.

He wrung