tance to Hartford was not less than one hundred and forty miles; much of the way was through a wilderness, and in several places there were dangerous falls and rapids. With a bearskin for a covering, and his canoe well stocked with provisions, he yielded himself to the current, and floated leisurely down the stream, seldom using his paddle, and stopping only in the night for sleep. He told Mr. Jefferson in Paris, fourteen years afterwards, that he took only two books with him, a Greek Testament and Ovid, one of which he was deeply engaged in reading when his canoe approached Bellows' Falls, where he was suddenly roused by the noise of the waters rushing among the rocks through the narrow passage. The danger was imminent, as no boat could go down that fall without being instantly dashed in pieces. With difficulty he gained the shore in time to escape such a catastrophe, and, through the kind assistance of the people in the neighborhood, who were astonished at the novelty of such a voyage down the Connecticut, his canoe was drawn by oxen around the fall, and committed again to the water below. From that time, till he arrived at his place of destination, we hear of no accident, although he was carried through several dangerous passes in the river. On a bright spring morning, just as the sun was rising, some of Mr. Seymour's family were standing near his house on the high bank of the small river that runs through the city of Hartford and empties itself into the Connecticut River, when they espied at some distance an object of unusual appearance, moving slowly up the stream. Others were attracted by the singularity of the sight, and all were conjecturing what it could be, till its questionable shape assumed the true and obvious form of a canoe; but by what impulse it was moved forward, none could determine. Something was seen in the stern, but apparently without life or motion. At length the canoe touched the shore directly in front of the house; a person sprang from the stern to a rock in the edge of the water, threw off a bearskin in which he had been enveloped, and behold John Ledyard, in the presence of his uncle and connections, who were filled with wonder at this sudden apparition; for they had received no intelligence of his intention to leave Dartmouth, but supposed him still there, diligently pursuing his studies, and fitting himself to be a missionary among the Indians. We cannot look back to Ledyard, thus launching himself alone in so frail a bark, upon the waters of a river wholly unknown to him, without being reminded of the only similar occurrence which has been recorded-the voyage down the river Niger, by Mungo Park, a name standing at the very head of those most renowned for romantic and lofty enterprise. The melancholy fate, it is true, by which he was soon arrested in his noble carcer, adds greatly to the interest of his situation, when pushing from the shore his little boat Joliba, and causes us to read his last affecting letter to his wife with emotions of sympathy more intense, if possible, than would be felt if the tragical issue were not already known. In many points of character, there was a strong resemblance between these two distinguished travellers, and they both perished, martyrs in the same cause, attempting to explore the hidden regions of Africa. THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. The acts of the Revolution derive dignity and interest from the character of the actors, and the nature and magnitude of the events. Statesmen were at hand, who, if not skilled in the art of governing empires, were thoroughly imbued with the principles of just government, intimately acquainted with the history of former ages, and, above all, with the condition, sentiments, feelings of their countrymen. If there were no Richelieus nor Mazarins, no Cecils nor Chathams, in America, there were men who, like Themistocles, knew how to raise a small state to glory and greatness. The eloquence and the internal counsels of the Old Congress were never recorded: we know them only in their results; but that assembly, with no other power than that conferred by the suffrage of the people, with no other influence than that of their public virtue and talents, and without precedent to guide their deliberations-unsupported even by the arm of the law or of ancient usages-that assembly levied troops, imposed taxes, and for years not only retained the confidence and upheld the civil existence of a distracted country, but carried through a perilous war under its most aggravating burdens of sacrifice and suffering. Can we imagine a situation in which were required higher moral courage, more intelligence and talent, a deeper insight into human nature and the principles of social and political organizations, or, indeed, any of those qualities which constitute greatness of character in a statesman? See, likewise, that work of wonder, the Confederation-a union of independent States, constructed in the very heart of a desolating war, but with a beauty and strength, imperfect as it was, of which the ancient leagues of the Amphictyons, the Achæans, the Lycians, and the modern confederacies of Germany, Holland, Switzerland, afford neither exemplar nor parallel. In their foreign affairs, these same statesmen showed no less sagacity and skill, taking their stand boldly in the rank of nations, maintaining it there, competing with the tactics of practised diplomacy, and extorting from the powers of the Old World not only the homage of respect, but the proffers of friendship. The instructive lesson of history, teaching by example, can nowhere be studied with more profit, or with a better promise, than in this Revolutionary period of America; and especially by us, who sit under the tree our fathers have planted, enjoy its shade, and are nourished by its fruits. But little is our merit or gain that we applaud their deeds, unless we emulate their virtues. Love of country was in them an absorbing principle, an undivided feeling; not of a fragment, a section, but of the whole country. Union was the arch on which they raised the strong tower of a nation's independence. Let the arm be palsied that would loosen one stone in the basis of this fair structure, or mar its beauty; the tongue mute that would dishonor their names, by calculating the value of that which they deemed without price. They have left us an example already inscribed in the world's memory; an example portentous to the aims of tyranny in every land; an example that will console in all ages the drooping aspirations of oppressed humanity. They have left us a written charter as a legacy, and as a guide to our course. But every day convinces us that a written charter may become powerless. Ignorance may misinterpret it; ambition may assail, and faction destroy, its vital parts; and aspiring knavery may at last sing its requiem on the tomb of departed liberty. It is the spirit which lives; in this are our safety and our hope, the spirit of our fathers; and while this dwells deeply in our remembrance, and its flame is cherished, ever burning, ever pure, on the altar of our hearts; while it incites us to think as they have thought, and do as they have done, the honor and the praise will be ours, to have preserved, unimpaired, the rich inheritance which they so nobly achieved. LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY. LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY is the only child of the late Ezekiel Huntley, of Norwich, Connecticut, where she was born on the 1st of September, 1791. In her earliest years she gave evidence of uncommon abilities, and when eight years old began to develop those poetical talents which have since made her name so widely and favorably known. The best advantages of education which could be attained in her childhood and youth were secured to her; and, upon leaving school, she herself engaged in the instruction of a select number of young ladies, -a position to which she had long aspired. In 1815, Miss Huntley was induced by Daniel Wadsworth, Esq.,-an intelligent and wealthy gentleman of Hartford,-to give a volume of her poems to the public. It was published under the modest title of Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse, and showed very clearly that an author who had done so well could do still 1 better. In 1819, she was married to Charles Sigourney, Esq., a leading merchant of Hartford, and a gentleman of education and literary taste. Henceforth her career was to be that of an author. The true interests of her own sex and the good of the rising generation stimulated her efforts in such works as Letters to Pupils: Letters to Young Ladies; Whisper to a Bride; and Letters to Mothers. The guidance of the unfolding mind, impressed on her as it was, night and day, by the assiduous home-culture of her own children, called forth the Child's Book ; Girl's Book; Boy's Book; How to be Happy; and a variety of other juvenile works, which have been deservedly popular. A conviction of the importance of temperance suggested Water-Drops; of the blessings of peace, Olive-Leaves. Scenes in my Native Land portray some of the attractions of the country that she loves; and Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands give us life-pictures of a tour in Europe. Those "who go down to the sea in ships" find a companion in her Sea and Sailor; the forgotten red man is remembered in Pocahontas; the harp of comfort for mourners is hung upon the Weeping Willow; while the young and blooming may hear her Voice of Flowers among the lilies of the field. Sayings of the Little Ones, and Poems for their Mothers, express her sympathies for the helpless stranger just entering life; Past Meridian, for the wearied pilgrim trembling at the gates of the west; while Lucy Howard's Journal shows the influence of a right home-training on the duties and destinies of woman. Since she entered the field of authorship, between forty and fifty volumes, varying in size, have emanated from her pen; and she yet continues, with unflagging industry, her intellectual labors, enjoying, with unimpaired powers, that happiness of existence which sometimes brightens with age. Every thing that she has written has been pure and elevating in its whole tone and influence: other writers have had more learning, more genius, more power, but none have employed their talents for a higher end, to make the world wiser, happier, holier. An accomplished critic3 has remarked of her poems that "they express, with great purity and evident sincerity, the tender affections which are so natural to the female heart, and the lofty aspirations after a higher and better state of being, which constitute the truly ennobling and elevating principle in art as well as nature. Love and religion are the unvarying elements This was quite favorably noticed in the very first number of the "North American Review," May, 1815. Little did she then dream that so long a literary life was before her, a life of pure beneficence, and that forty-two years after, the same review would notice her forty-second published work (Past Meridian) in still warmer terms of praise. 2 "Mrs. Sigourney has never before written so wisely, so usefully, so beautifully, as in this volume. In saying so, we yield to none in our high appreciation of her previous literary merit; but, unless we greatly mistake, this is one of the comparatively few books of our day which will be read with glistening eyes and glowing heart, when all who now read it will have gone to their graves. It is written by her in the character of one who has passed the meridian of life, and addresses itself to sensations and experiences which all whose faces are turned westward can understand, and feel with her. It is devotion, philosophy, and poetry, so intertwined that each is enriched and adorned by the association. Above all, it blends with the serene sunset of a well-spent life the young morning beams of the never-setting day."-North American Review, January, 1857. 3 Alexander H. Everett. of her song. If her power of expression was equal to the purity ard elevation of her habits of thought and feeling, she would be a female Milton or a Christian Pindar." WIDOW AT HER DAUGHTER'S BRIDAL. Deal gently, thou, whose hand hath won Yet hear her gushing song no more. Deal gently with her: thou art dear, The wreath of changeless love shall twine, And blend her holiest prayer with thine. Deal gently, thou, when, far away, 'Mid stranger scenes her foot shall rove, Nor let thy tender care decay, The soul of woman lives in love: And shouldst thou, wondering, mark a tear, That man's strong heart may ne'er partake. A mother yields her gem to thee, And by thy trust to be forgiven When judgment wakes in terror wild, NIAGARA. Flow on forever, in thy glorious robe Keep silence, and upon thy rocky altar pour |