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thoughts and his language, flowing, now, fresh and clear, like the springs of their mountains. They had been told that the Presbyterian preachers were "mighty high larnt;" but here, to their surprise, was one whose sermon was quite intelligible to them-as much so as if he had never been at College.

Gradually the congregation nearly all rose to their feet, and gathered around the preacher, evidently desiring to lose not a word of the sermon. What they heard was both new and sweet to their ears. They had heard Johnson's thunder, and very good thunder it was. But they were used to that. But now they heard what they had never heard before— preaching that charmed, like the melodious song of the Syrens. It drew their ears and their hearts with a mysterious power, like a magnet. Unconsciously they still crowded nearer to the preacher, who noticed that the congregation was more numerous than he had supposed. Being encouraged and exhilarated by their eager attention, he grew more animated and more eloquent, until he concluded his sermon.

He did not by this discourse satisfy his hearers. Both the congregation and Mr. Johnson begged him to preach again the next day. He did so in the Courthouse, to as many as could crowd in. A number of the town's people, whose Sabbath idleness and disorder had grieved him the preceding day, now went to hear him;

though the tavern adjacent to the Courthouse lot was not quite emptied of its daily tipplers, even by the soft notes of this dove-like minister of the gospel.

Then Mr. Willson pursued his journey with a better opinion of Kanawha, than he had before he attended the Baptist meeting in the woods.

Reader, this story is true; and it suggests several reflections-1. How amiable was the Christian courtesy and liberality of Mr. Johnson towards a strange brother of another denomination!—2. Even rude backwoodsmen can appreciate true eloquence when it clothes itself in the natural garb of simplicity. Let learned preachers imitate the great and good Archbishop Tillotson, who would not use a word in his sermons which was not intelligible to the meanest of his hearers. Auditors of a truly refined taste prefer this style of preaching, and all classes of people can profit by it. The best effect of learning in the pulpit, is, when it has upon all minds the effect of optic glasses upon all eyes,-to give a perception of what was not seen, and a clear perception of what was dimly seen. This comprehends both instruction and persuasion; neither of which can be conveyed through a cloud of hard words or a glare of false rhetoric.

ΡΗΕΝΟΜΕΝΟΝ.

THE FALLING STARS.

The idol of old worship had but one,
And a grim aspect,-simply to inform
With a base terror. Even the Beautiful
That harboured in the Pagan sky declared

For secret dangers. There were hungering Fates
That lurked in sunny and sweet scented bowers;
The Demon watched from hollows and from heights;
And mocking elves and satyrs were at hand
To goad and drive to wild extremity,
Finding their pleasures in the pain they gave.

The Gods that ruled the primitive world was fierce As the wild tribes, the savage beasts, that roam'd Their forests;-man their prey, while Innocence, With suffering, made their sport!

Their hungry lusts

Went raging through the nations, to the cost
Of their own worshippers. Their very shrines
Were rear'd in fear and trembling; never in love,
For the superior attributes of grace

No less than grandeur, which should still describe,
Gods of great majesty. The Powers that sway'd
Their spirits from the skyey thrones they watch'd
Wore one dread aspect ever of a Hate,
Red-armed for judgment!

Different far the God

Of these advancing ages. We have pierced
The true sky through the darkness; and the Terror
Recedes ever as we near it; while more near,
The Love stands waiting, and with soothing grace,
Beckons forward, all despite the grisly shadows
That grimly frown discouragement, through Death,
Unwitting of the smiling, loving angels,

That overlook their shoulders, and still cheer,
With wooing promise, to the trembling spirits,
That, hovering on the verge, still need the hope,
Against the dark hostilities of doubt!

Hence all our best security. Our God
Tramples each grisly Terror under foot;
And welcomes Love; and offers, in return,
Superior Love, enduring-that renews
Its promise with each rising of the sun;
And smiles with fond renewal of the promise,
Even through his setting!

Nor, in the caprice

Of the still flexible elements-whose task
Is restless ardour, and resistless change,
This being the secret of vitality

In common nurture, the necessity
That guards against stagnation; ever leaves
The gracious hope and promise unrenew'd,
That teaches Love as the great gift of Power,
Even in the sovereign.

Whatsoe'er the change,

In the capricious seasons,-though each hour
Puts forth fresh garbs and guises; though the God
Looks forth in storm and thunder; though the sword,
Shot by his arrowy pinions through the void,
Of the sharp lightning smites the black blown cloud;
And the great mountain's rock; and the wild seas,
Make ravenous rush upon the shrinking shores,
As to devour; yet, in all, we see

The Beauty through the Terror, and the Blessing,
Still watchful to disarm the hurrying Fate!

Never the changing aspects in the sky, Affright our confidence! Never we doubt The Mercy that is present in the Might— The Love that soothes the Power!

With placid souls,

We watch each wondrous progress through the void,
In curious calm, and loving interest;
Satisfied that the marvel means not wrath,
And the capricious change is born of Law,
By a benevolent wisdom 'stablish'd long,
Beyond caprice of Power. We see but Love,
In all the several aspects of the God,
Who claims our service; in the violent storm
As in the zephyr; present in the cloud,
That ruffles the blue beauties of the sky,
As in the delicate blooms of field and flower;

In every change, with proof of permanence
Making assured our faith-strengthening the trust,
In the inevitable Will that sways

Through Love, and makes the Beautiful his pledge,
Above the Terror; as the arching Bow
Spans the black chasm, and through the raging sea,
Sends light to bridge the waters, or divide!

Thus, to our eyes, through all the changing time, His promise gives security 'gainst change, As against Terror!—and we gaze with awe That feels no apprehension, at the sights Of wonder, that persuade us from the sky To ravishing thought and fond solicitude, To read the mystic meaning of the scroll Thrown wide before us from the highest heaven; Each letter writ in starlight, and each star,

In action, in a mazy dance, that speaks

For some most marvellous drama in the spheres,

Whose motive mocks our thought, but cannot fright!

Oh! with what different aspect doth the God
Shine out for us, than for those erring tribes
That knew him but in terror, not in faith,
And watch'd his coming, not in love, but fear!

Thus, wondrously array'd in ancient time,
As now, in the accumulating change
Of glory upon glory,-how the seers
Of the barbarian ages had grown dumb!
How had the Chaldean shepherd, in affright,
Struck sudden, crouch'd beneath his idol's feet;
Or, with a helpless horror,-gathering up

His household goods and Gods,—with hasty stride,
His shrieking women grasping still his neck,
And his group'd children round him,―stood aghast,
Upon his cottage threshhold; hush'd with fear,
Ready for flight, yet nerveless with despair!

ADRIAN BEAUFAIN.

FRANCIS LIEBER.*

Francis Lieber, Professor of History and Political Philosophy and Economy in the State College of South Carolina at Columbia, a member of the French Institute, and author of numerous volumes which have for their range the most important topics of government and society, was born at Berlin, March 18, 1800. His boyhood fell upon the period of the Napoleonic "state and woe," and of the oppression of his native country. As a child his feelings were so impressed by the gloom of his family, that when the French entered Berlin in his sixth year, he was so moved by the spectacle as to be taken from the windows in a fit of loud sobbing. He himself relates another instance of sensibility in his life, when he first stood, in his youth, before the Madonna di San Sisto of Raphael, at Dresden. In a student's journey he walked there from Jena, living on bread and plums by the way. He was so overcome by his feelings before the picture, that his emotion attracted the attention of a lady, whom he afterwards discovered to

be one of the daughters of the great Tieck. She spoke to him, and encouraged his sentiment.

The generous, sensitive nature of the boy was soon to be tried in a rugged school. At the age of fifteen, while he was studying medicine in the royal Pépiniêre, the war broke out anew against Napoleon. Lieber escaped the appointment of army surgeon, which his youth revolted at, and entered as a volunteer with one of his brothers the regiment Colberg, which was stationed nearest the French frontier. He fought at Ligny and Waterloo, and received two severe wounds at the assault of Namur, on the 20th June. He was left for two days on the battle-field. On his return home he became a zealous follower of Dr. Jahn, while at the same time he prepared himself with ardor for the University of Berlin.

In 1819, soon after Sand's murder of Kotzebue had directed the attention of the government to the patriots, Lieber was arrested. After an imprisonment of

* From Duyckinck's Cyclopedia of American Literature.

four months he was dismissed, as it was stated "nothing could as yet be discovered against him," except general liberalism, while he was informed that he would not be permitted to study in a Prussian University, and that he could never expect "employment" in the state. He went to the University of Jena, where he took at once the degree of Doctor, to acquire the privileges of an "academic citizen" of that institution.

In 1820 the government informed him that he might pursué his studies in the University of Halle, but that he must never expect employment in "school or church." He passed his time here in the most retired way; yet the police interferences were so annoying that he resolved to live in Dresden. In the autumn of 1821 he travelled on foot through Switzerland to Marseilles with a view of embarking there as 'Philhellene' for Greece. After a life of great privations in Greece for several months, during which he was reduced to the utmost want, he found himself obliged to re-embark for Italy, where, in the house of the Prussian minister, Niebuhr, at Rome, (which held at that time the distinguished Bunsen as Secretary of Legation), he found the kindest reception. In Niebuhr's house he wrote his German work, Journal of my Sojourn in Greece in the year 1822. (Leipsig, 1823.) This work was translated into Dutch, with the tempting title of the German Anacharsis, with a fancy portrait of the author. The Dutch publisher sent a box of very old Hock to the author, as an acknowledgment of the profit he had made out of the involuntary Anacharsis.

After about a year's residence in Rome, Lieber travelled with Niebuhr to Naples and back to Germany, where, in spite of the most positive assurances that henceforth he might live unmolested in Prussia, he was again imprisoned, in Köpnick, chiefly because he resolutely declined to give information concerning former associates. During this imprisonment, when he was allowed book and pen, he studied vigorously, reading Bayle's Dictionary and writing poems. When the investigation was over, he was offered a fellow

prisoner as a companion; but he preferred his books and verses. At length Niebuhr was called from Bonn to assist the Prussian Council of State, and did not rest till he saw his friend once more out of prison. When Lieber was released he selected some of his poems and sent them to Jean Paul, with whom he had no acquaintance, asking the veteran philosopher for a frank opinion. Not hearing from him, Lieber set down the silence for disapproval. disapproval. He was soon obliged to leave the country, and many years afterwards, when he was settled in South Carolina, Mrs. Lee, the American author of the Life of Jean Paul, wrote to ask him whether he was the famous Lieber to whom Richter had addressed the beautiful and encouraging letter on certain poems of his composition. Upon inquiry it was found that Jean Paul had written to Lieber, but the letter had never reached him. Jean Paul was now dead, and Lieber in a distant eountry, no more wrote German poetry. He penned, however, a sonnet on the occasion, which was widely circulated in Germany.

The poems written in prison he published in Berlin, under the assumed name of Franz Arnold.

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