1837.] The Nobility of Nature. 103 others, and that a poet may range through all nature's works, but so judiciously select the theme of his song, and so beautifully adorn it, as that, while he excites the admiration, he improves the heart of his fellow men. The immortal poet of the year' concealed all evil, and portrayed all good. His female reaper adorns the lowest field with mingled beauty, chastity, and innocence and sweet Musidora, in her plight, is seen only by the eye of modest love, abashed and retiring from the view. Ascending the scale of genius, for the sake of brevity, I pass the architect and mathematician, to say a word of the great mechanical inventor, whom I would place highest of all nature's eccentric and gifted sons. To that beauty or poetry of thought, sound, action, or expression, which constitutes the chief merit of the sons of genius, last under consideration, he adds utility and dignity, and furnishes the means for man's civilization. Could poetry or music be cultivated without mechanical means? Of what avail is eloquence among houseless savages, save to excite to deeds of horror? What leisure would be afforded to attend to and enjoy the efforts of genius, without the use of machinery, which has emancipated the human race from slavery to their necessities, and elevated them to the enjoyment of ease and luxury? The mechanical inventor approaches one attribute of the Divinity; he may almost be said to create ; and thus to approximate to the highest exercise of power. And yet the singer, humblest of all the children of genius, oftentimes commands more of the world's admiration than the most extraordinary mechanical inventor. There are those who would listen to the song of the nightingale, although the proud monument of Fulton's genius for the first time burst upon their view,' walking the waters like a a thing of life.' Nay, there are doubtless those in whom a sonnet would excite more interest than the spectacle of a noble ship gliding swiftly into port, propelled by the lightnings of heaven. But that is the only true estimate of mental worth, which ranks highest in the scale of importance those faculties and dispositions of the human mind which best subserve the happiness of men. Above all the sons of genius, I would rank a class of men distinguished for their talent and virtue; who together with a favorable temperament, have heads quite above the middle, but not of the very largest size; the organs of whose brain are equally and well proportioned; and whose sentiments and passions are well balanced and regulated. They are divested of the faults of the sons of genius; they have no weaknesses, except such as are incident to the best mental organization; and their passions incite to deeds of goodness, since they are under the control and guidance of noble intellectual faculties, and the higher sentiments. They avoid whatever subverts man's happiness. They are too wise to entertain schemes of dangerous ambition; too good to adopt the means of its gratification. Mankind have therefore nothing to fear from them. In the most arbitrary governments, their opinions are not disregarded even by tyrants; and under the freest constitution, their sentiments and opinions constitute the unwritten but sacred law of virtuous public sentiment, to violate which the most reckless seldom dare, and never do, with impunity. These are nature's aristocracy — and they constitute a formidable check upon the vices, and a barrier to the violences, of the mob, and overawe the daring ambition of the aspiring and desperate. The more sedulously all but these are excluded from directing the affairs of a republic, the longer will it endure. Highest in the scale of human excellence, is the individual of the same description of character as the one last described, but with a head of the largest size. Here we have presented the highest and most perfect combination of moral and intellectual power. Here is the source of those great eras in human affairs, where the mighty intellect of one man has changed the moral and political condition of nations, perhaps of the world. Above nature's aristocracy, but with their confidence and approbation, this gifted order of men pursue the greatest good with the greatest energy- accomplish the noblest ends, by the noblest means. They belong to nature's high nobility. Human and mortal though they be, yet are they the peers of angels, and second only to the gods! There was a man among my countrymen, who, whenever he appeared upon the theatre of human affairs, was always excellently great. He exhibited anger only in the form of virtuous indignation, and severity only in the cause of truth and virtue. The warrant of execution passed from his hand bedewed with his tears; and in the foeman whom he slew, would be found only the enemy of human happiness. He laid the foundation of a vast empire of freemen; he guided the reins of government with noble disinterestedness and virtue; he yielded them gladly to his successor, and with the blessings of millions, went into honorable retirement. Whether in emotion, thought or action, who has known one so pure, so great, and good? A distinguished British peer said of him, that he was the only human being, for whom he felt an awful reverence.' WASHINGTON was, indeed, the highest of the nobility of nature. 'Greatest, noblest, purest of mankind.' EMBLEMS. I. I ASK not of the golden sun, why, when at eventide, II. Thus should the soul in silence gaze, lit by pale Memory's star, And though the light of Joy be dim- though Hope's warm dream hath fled, Still let thy spirit look abroad, and onward to the rest, Which comes as twilight shadows steal across earth's verdant breast; W. G. C. 1837.] Stanzas. STANZAS. 105 'THERE is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease. Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof die in the ground, yet through the scent of water it will bud, and bring forth boughs like a plant. But MAN dieth and wasteth away; yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he?' JOB. THE reduction of a dislocated limb, in a person of muscular frame, is one of the most fearful and difficult operations in surgery; and in a lad or a female, there is much in the attending circumstances to excite the liveliest interest of the spectator. To hear the bone click, as it returns to its place; to behold the relief which is instantly experienced; the happiness so vividly depicted in the countenance; the inclination to immediate repose - every feather seeming to be a pillow to some over-strained and exhausted muscle -one cannot help cordially uniting in the feelings of the restored sufferer; nor can he restrain the smile which mantles his features, and is reflected in the lineaments of the surrounding surgeons. In a strong man, where the muscles are rigid, and every fibre seems to be converted into a wire to resist the force exerted on them, the ceremony is one of distressing cruelty. The inquisition can scarcely furnish any thing more appalling, and certainly not the practice of surgery. The pain of an amputation may be more acute; but its very acuteness assures you that it will soon be over. The edge of the knife itself is an index, keen as the scythe of Time, and faithful as his march, of the progressive succession of the moments of trial; a fiery monitor, which every instant sinks deeper, and will soon, very soon in the reality, but late, as it always must be, in the reckoning of the sufferer, reach its unswerving limits, the bone. And here the pain of the operation in a great measure ceases; for it is hardly necessary to state, that the sawing of this structure is not actually attended by any of the horrors with which vulgar apprehension has invested it. The ligature of the arteries, the dressing of the truncated member, etc., may each occasion a momentary anguish. But as to the mere pain of the operation, it is trivial, in comparison with that which an athletic man experiences in the reduction of a dislocated limb, which has been any length of time displaced. It was a luxation of the thigh. The patient was a remarkably stout man, and bade fair to put in requisition the whole retinue of the hospital. Remember, Mr. F,' said the attending surgeon, on leaving in the morning, be careful and have every thing ready every THE writer passed a few of the first years of his practice in the hospital of While in this institution, he had, as house-surgeon, opportunities of becoming acquainted with the history of cases, and of attending and assisting in a great number of highly interesting operations, many of them perfectly unique in their character, and performed by individuals among the most distinguished in this branch of the profession. To the general reader, the mere technical narration of incidents of this nature would present but a mass of dry and unintelligible jargon. One, however, who has for some time voluntarily withdrawn himself from the active duties of the profession, to follow another pursuit, may be regarded, perhaps, as capable of portraying, with truth and clearness, the vivid scenes of his earlier years. thing. There must be no delay in seeking instruments while we are engaged with the patient.' I had better bleed him, probably?' replied I, inquiringly. 'Yes; an hour or so before twelve; and have him kept in the bath until then.' I selected a double set of apparatus, consisting of very little else than a good strong block-and-tackle, and some padded buck-skin girths, and soon had them in their proper place in the 'theatre' of operations. This is an apartment of the hospital having very much the appearance of an ordinary theatre, but differing from it in being more especially appropriated to the enactment of tragedies; the play generally consisting in the lively representation of suffering on the part of the patient, and the exhibition of the coolest nonchalance by the officiating surgeons. If sometimes enlivened by an interlude between the chief actors and the subs, their sallies are wholly spontaneous, and usually fail to receive that applause which is the customary reward of such improvisations on other boards. The room is small, and ranges of boxes extend on the three sides of an ovoid, to the ceiling, forming an incommodious but commanding observatory for spectators. The pit is separated from the boxes by a thin partition. In this little space, lies the chief difference between the theatre of the hospital and more strictly dramatic edifices. The floor is the stage, on which those weekly representations take place, that seldom fail to draw crowds of students from the neighboring college, during its session; though it is not often that the spectacle of misery, (too purely unpoetical,) draws a tear from the lachrymal sac of the ardent and enthusiastic disciple of Hippocrates. The audience are, in truth, mostly exceedingly phlegmatic in their manifestations of sympathy. They behold the struggles of a luckless wretch, in the clutches of the veritable Procrustes, who endeavors to make him conform to the measure of his bed, by a few inches of stretching, in the reduction of a luxated thigh, without apparently any fellow-feeling for his pitiable situation. They behold one of the lower limbs severed quite up to the hip-joint, and rivulets of blood streaming from the divided vessels of the stump, without a tremor, or a groan, or an exclamation, to evince the simultaneous racking of their own nerves; although it is true, that some youthful spectator will occasionally betray a tendency to deliquium, when he is immediately transported to a more kindred atmosphere. The person to be operated on, was a man of vigorous constitution, and evinced great anxiety to have his body restored to its symmetry, and his limb to its usefulness. Though, as is usual in such cases, the probable severity of the operation, its duration, and the uncertainty of success, were laid before him in their true light, he was firm in his determination to have it done. Poor man! he could not bring himself to believe that there was a possibility of failure; nor did he suspect that, as strong a man as he was in resolution and bodily powers, he would be compelled, before the ceremonials of reduction were gone through with, to cry out,Give me some drink, Titinius, as a sick child.' Yet that such should be the case, shows that necessity is stronger than mortal resolution; and the same individual who asks you to reduce his limb, and then bids you cease your |