And smile to see thy splendors fly
In triumph o'er his closing eye.

Flag of the free heart's hope and home!
By angel hands to valor given ;
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues were born in heaven.
For ever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us!

DR. J. R. DRAKE.

XCIII.-INDOLENCE.

"How long wilt thou sleep, O sluggard? When wilt thou arise out of sleep?"

Nor until you have had another nap, you reply; not till there has been a little more folding of the hands!

Various philosophers and naturalists have attempted to define man. I never was satisfied with their labors: absurd to pronounce him a two-legged, unfeathered animal, when it is obvious he is a sleepy one. In the world there is business enough for every individual: a sparkling sky over his head to admire, a soil under his feet to till, and innumerable objects, useful and pleasant, to choose. But such in general is the provoking indolence of our species, that the lives of many, if impartially journalized, might be truly said to have consisted of a series of slumbers.

Some men are infested with day dreams, as well as by visions of the night they travel a certain insipid round, like the blind horse of the mill; they may sometimes open their eyes a little, but they are soon dimmed by some lazy fog; they may sometimes stretch a limb, but its efforts are soon palsied by procrastination. Yawning, amid tobacco fumes, they seem to have no hopes, except that their bed will soon be made, and no fears, except that their slumbers will be broken by business clamoring at the door.

How tender and affectionate is the reproachful question of Solomon, in the text: "When wilt thou arise out of sleep?" The Jewish prince, whom we know to have been an active one, from the temple wḥich he erected and the books which he composed, saw, when he cast his eyes around the city, half his subjects asleep. Though in many a wise proverb he had warned them of the baneful effects of indolence, they were deaf to his charming voice, and blind to his noble example.

The men servants and the maid servants, whom he had hired, nodded over their domestic duties in the royal kitchen, and when, in the vineyards he had planted, he looked for grapes, lo! they brought forth wild grapes, for the vintager was drowsy.

At the present time, few Solomons exist to preach against pillows, and never was there more occasion for a sermon. Our country being at peace, not a drum is heard to rouse the slothful. But, though we are exempted from the tumults and vicissitudes of war, we should remember that there are many posts of duty, if not of danger, and at these we should vigilantly stand. If we will stretch the hand of exertion, means to acquire competent wealth, and honest fame, abound; and when such ends are in view, how shameful to close our eyes! He who surveys the paths of active life, will find them so numerous and long, that he will feel the necessity of early rising, and late taking rest, to accomplish so much travel. He who pants for the shade of speculation, will find that literature cannot flourish in the bowers of indolence and monkish gloom. Much midnight oil must be consumed, and innumerable pages be examined, by him whose object is to be really wise. Few hours has that man to sleep, and not one to loiter, who has many coffers of wealth to fill, or many cells in his memory to

store.

Among the various men whom I see in the course of my pilgrimage through this world, I cannot frequently find those who are broad awake. Sloth, a powerful magician, mutters a witching spell, and deluded mortals tamely suffer this drowsy being to bind a fillet over their eyes. All their activity is employed in turning themselves like the door on a rusty hinge, and all the noise they make in the world is a snore. When I see one, designed by nature for noble purposes, indolently declining the privilege, and, heedless, like Esau, bartering the birthright, for what is of less worth than his red pottage of lentils-for liberty to sit still and lie quietly-I think I see, not a man, but an oyster. The drone in society, like that fish on our shores, might as well be sunken in the mud, and enclosed in a shell, as stretched on a couch, or seated in a chimney corner.

The season is now approaching fast, when some of the most °plausible excuses for a little more sleep must fail. Enervated by indulgence, the slothful are of all men most impatient of cold, and they deem it never more intense than in the morning. But the last bitter month has rolled away, and now, could I persuade to the experiment, the sluggard may discover that he may toss off the bed quilt, and try the air of early day, without being congealed! He may be assured that sleep is a very stupid employment, and differs very little from death, except in duration. He may receive it implicitly, upon the faith both of the physician and the preacher, that morning is friendly to the health and the heart; and if the idler is so manacled by the

chains of habit, that he can, at first, do no more, he will do wisely and well to inhale pure air, to watch the rising sun, and mark the magnificence of nature.

DR. JOSEPH DENNIE

XCIV. "PASSING AWAY.”

Was it the chime of a tiny bell,

That came so sweet to my dreaming ear,-
Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell,

That he winds on the beach, so mellow and clear,
When the winds and the waves lie together asleep,
And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep,
She dispensing her silvery light,

And he, his notes as silvery quite,

While the boatman listens and ships his oar,

To catch the music that comes from the shore?—

Hark! the notes, on my car that play,

Are set to words:-as they float, they say,

"Passing away! passing away!

But no! it was not a fairy's shell,

Blown on the beach so mellow and clear;
Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell,
Striking the hour, that filled my ear,
As I lay in my dream, yet was it a chime
That told of the flow of the stream of time.
For a beautiful clock from the ceiling hung,
And a plump little girl for a pendulum swung;
(As you've sometimes seen, in a little ring
That hangs in his cage, a canary bird swing;)
And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet,
And as she enjoyed it, she seemed to say,
"Passing away! passing away!"

Oh! how bright were the wheels that told

Of the lapse of time as they moved round slow,
And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold,
Seemed to point to the girl below.

And lo! she had changed;-in a few short hours
Her bouquet had become a garland of flowers,
That she held in her outstretched hands, and flung
This way and that, as she, dúncing, swung;

In the fulness of grace and womanly pride,
That told me she soon was to be a bride;
Yet then, when expecting her happiest day,
In the same sweet voice I heard her say,

"Passing away! passing away!"

While I gazed at that fâir one's cheek, a shade
Of thought, or care, stole softly over,
Like that by a cloud in a summer's day made,
Looking down on a field of blossoming clover.
The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its flush
Had something lost of its brilliant blush;

And the light in her eye, and the light on the wheels,
That marched so calmly round above her,
Was a little dimmed,—as when evening steals
Upon noon's hot face:-yet one couldn't but love her,
For she looked like a mother, whose first babe lay
Rocked on her breast, as she swung all day ;-
And she seemed, in the same silver tone, to say,
"Passing away! passing away!"

While yet I looked, what a change thêre came!
Her eye was quenched, and her cheek was wan;
Stooping and staffed was her withered frame,
Yet just as busily swung she on;

The garland beneath her had fallen to dust;
The wheels above her were eaten with rust;
The hands, that over the dial swept,

Grew crooked and tarnished, but on they kept,
And still there came that silver tone

From the shriveled lips of the toothless crone-
(Let me never forget till my dying day
The tone or the burden of her lay,)—
"Passing away! passing away!"

REV. JOHN PIERPONT.

XCV.-VOLNEY BECKNER, THE HERO SAILOR BOY.

WHILE Volney was yet a mere baby, his father taught him to move and guide himself in the middle of the waves, even when they were most agitated. He used to throw him from the stern of his boat into the sea, and encourage him to sustain himself by swimming, and only when he appeared to be sinking did he plunge in to his aid. In this way young Volney Beckner, from his very cradle, was taught to brave

the dangers of the sea, in which, in time, he moved with the greatest ease and confidence. At four years of age, he was able to swim a distance of three or four miles after his father's vessel, which he would not enter till completely fatigued; he would then cătch a rope which was thrown to him, and, clinging to it, mount safely to the deck.

When Volney was about nine years of age, he was placed apprentice in a merchant ship,-in which his father appears to have sometimes sailed, and in this situation he rendered himself exceedingly useful. In tempestuous weather, when the wind blew with violence, tore the sails, and made the timbers creak, and while the rain fell in torrents, he was not the last in manoeuvering. The squirrel does not skip with more agility over the loftiest trees than did Volney along the stays and sail-yards. When he was at the top of the highest mast even in the fiercest storm, he appeared as little agitated as a passenger stretched on a hammock.

Such was the cleverness, the good temper, and the trustworthiness of Volney Beckner, that at his twelfth year, he was judged worthy of promotion in the vessel, and of receiving double of his former pay. The captain of the ship on board of which he served, °cited him as a model to the other boys. He did not even fear to say once, in the presence of his whole crew, "If this little man continues to conduct himself with so much valor and prudence, I have no doubt of his obtaining a place much above that which I occupy."

Little Volney was very sensible to the praises that he so well deserved. Although deprived of the advantages of a liberal education, the general instructions he had received, and his own experience, had opened his mind, and he aspired, by his conduct, to win the esteem and affection of those about him. He was always ready and willing to assist his fellow-sailors, and by his extraordinary activity, saved them in many a dangerous emergency. An occasion at length arrived, in which the young sailor had an opportunity of performing one of the most gallant actions on record.

The vessel to which Volney belonged was bound to Port-auPrince, and during this voyage his father was on board. Among the passengers was a little girl, daughter of a rich American merchant; she had slipped away from her nurse who was ill and taking some repose in the cabin, and ran upon deck. There, while she gazed on the wide world of waters around, a sudden heaving of the ship caused her to become dizzy, and she fell over the side of the vessel into the sea.

The father of Volney, perceiving the accident, darted after her, and in five or six strokes he caught her by the frock. Whilst he swam with one hand to regain the vessel, and with the other held the child close to his breast, Beckner perceived at a distance a shark advancing directly toward him, He called for assistance. The danger was