And how are they passing with thee, reader?-didst thou listen to that splendid performance of Beethoven, Christmas eve? It would have done honor to the "Handel and Hayden." And then the array of sparkling beauty in our galleries! Ha, ha! we wish Christmas would come every week.

For reflections suited to the close of the year, we refer our readers to

THE LAST NIGHT OF 1838.

WHAT potent charm hath this unusual hour,
Which hangs a pall of gloom around the heart?
What magic spell-what overwhelming power,
That bids all light and mirthful joy depart?

Why ceased so suddenly that raging storm?
Why changed the roaring winds their fearful note?
And moaning now, as if in grief forlorn,

Come, like sad dirges, from the hills remote?

Ah! well may nature feel the mighty power-
Well may the mind be filled with saddest gloom;
For this is lonely contemplation's hour:

Now stern reflection summons from the tomb,

The long forgotten deeds of by-gone days,
The sins and follies of our early youth;
And memory slowly threads the mighty maze,
Expelling darkness by the light of truth.

We've reached a goal in life's sad pilgrimage;
Another year is basting to its end;
And many a troubled thought and dire presage,
O'er its dark grave in solemn silence bend.

All nature too with man doth sympathize,

With mournful black she hangs the erst blue sky;
Now rolling clouds on clouds majestic rise,

And deeper yet the folds of darkness lie.

The portent of this hour creation feels,
Prophetic of the final end of time,

Through every part the saddening influence steals,
The earth, the air, the sea, to mourn combine.

But human thoughts the future troubles not,

The past, the dreadful past, doth chill men's hearts;
To some hath disappointment been a lot,

To some disgrace, or keen affliction's smarts.

Perhaps ambition's flame has seized the soul,
And fired the mind for glory and renown,
Or the warm heart has owned sweet love's control,
Firmly in strong affection's fetters bound.

But honor's devious paths are paths of pain ;
O'er steep ascents-through dismal vales they lie.

But few do glory's radiant temple gain,

While most are left to wander and to die.

And soft affection is a tender vine,

That yields and bends to every passing gale;
Till round pure friendship's tree its shoots entwine,
E'en then, alas, too oft the prop proves frail.
As now we gaze from this high eminence,
This lofty mountain in the path of time,
The winding way we've come beholding thence,
Scanning with tearful eye the varying line;

So when we tread eternity's vast shore,

Will life's whole journey rise at once to view;
Then searching truth its sunlight rays will pour,
And unchained memory light her torch anew.

G.

We most heartily sympathize with our readers, in imprecations upon the printer, for not fixing his types closer, and giving us more room. Our splendid article, upon which we had so much prided ourselves, is cut down to these two or three square inches, and wishing our readers delightful New Year's calls, and a pleasant vacation, we are compelled to close with only a very brief sketch of a scene in a late editors' meeting.

All were present. Phaon had thrown himself back in his chair with his usual air of consequence. Fadladeen had got the better of Morpheus, and was sitting with eyes and ears distended, as if apprehensive of some gathering storm. Boniface was carefully conning over some manuscripts, to detect the authors by their chirography. Tubal, with more than usual restiveness, began muttering about the small number of notices to correspondents in our last, and inquired the cause.

Og (always on hand for a rencontre) promptly replied, "that this had been accurately ascertained, and that it was not from the fact, that there were but few communications, but that Fadladeen yielding to his indomitable propensity," of sleeping of course," interrupted Tubal,-"no, of filching," continued Og,-" took some half dozen poems which have not been seen until since our last meeting. Whether he meant to transcribe, and present them as his own, or because he was so captivated with their excellence I cannot determine."

During this exposure, Fadladeen looked any how but the white man, and was about to commence his defense, when Boniface moved that a few stanzas be read from each, that we might decide on their merits, and, above all, discover the taste of our critic of critics. The president called to order, and commenced :

"Traveller in ——.

"It was a dark and dismal night,

Nor ought of moon or star was seen;
The wind was raging in its might

As ever has in December been."

"Majestic!" cried Phaon," what a description! Homer and Milton outdone! Surely Fadladeen has a taste beyond cultivation."

"Ode to my Tobacco Box."

"No wonder he hooked that," cried Tubal.

"When Raleigh first this heavenly poison found,
He little thought 'twould spread the earth around,
Still less that I the Muse of love should woo,
To sing its praises while I sing of you;
But so it is-time on its fated course,

Is always going like a carman's horse,
Though rather faster."""

"That's a fact," roared Og," and it has outstripped the author. His communication would much better become the dark ages.'

The remaining business was transacted with closed doors.

'For remainder, see cover.

THERE are men, who praise those, while living, respecting whom, when dead, they are silent or speak only for the purpose of traduction. On the contrary, there are those, who not only concede nothing to the merits of others, while living, but are even active in disparaging their character; and upon the same persons, when dead, they are forward in the bestowment of praise:

The motives which prompt to these opposite courses of conduct, are obvious. A sense of obligation for favors received, a dependence upon the patronage of others, a knowledge of only the better traits of their character, or a viewing their principles and measures, only in the light of the present, and not proving them by time and trial, often induce to the expression of real or professed opinion of the excellence of living men. But death weakens the sense of obligation which binds the beneficiary to the benefactor; it breaks the stay upon which the dependent has rested for support; it unveils the darker, and before unseen, traits of character; and time and trial often shew the unsoundness of principles, which were before thought valid, and the folly of measures, which had been esteemed wise. The reasons for the entertainment of a favorable opinion have ceased to exist; and those of an opposite kind have now taken their place.

On the other hand, a jealousy of increasing power, and a wish to check its advance; an envy of present greatness, and a desire to lessen or obscure it; or a dislike of new policies and principles, which have not yet been ratified by the public approval, prompt men to depreciate the worth of their cotemporaries. When, however, those, who have thus been vilified, have run their career, and the grave has closed over their remains; it has also closed over those baleful feelings, which found a residence in the breasts of their detractors. Jealousy has closed her green eye to ope no

more. Envy has ceased to rankle. That line of policy, and those principles, which seemed pregnant with evil, have gained the approval of all. Those, who have survived them, look back upon their career, forgetting all that was wrong and remembering only the good; and a returning sense of justice, prompts them to make amends for their past neglect, by meting out a late but full measure of praise.

That spirit, which bids us readily acknowledge those excellences, which we think we discern in our fellow men, cannot be too highly commended: and when, upon a further acquaintance with their character, either before or subsequent to their decease, when, after gaining an admission to its more hidden recesses, we discover that we have been deceived, and that what before appeared fair and beautiful, is only the exterior of the sepulchre; that frankness of feeling and independence of mind, which, in disregard of seeming inconsistency, prompt us boldly to avow the change in our opinions, also commands our sincerest admiration. But who can commend that monopolizing littleness of mind, that would check rising talent, lest it should encroach upon its own precincts; that malignant envy, that would obscure the splendor of another's name, that it may increase the relative brightness of its own; that slavish bowing to popularity, that would reject the most exalted principles and bring odium upon their author, because they have not yet received the approbation of the multitude? And, when the subject of such deep wrongs has passed beyond the pale of man's influence, how much can we praise those who have endeavored to repair their deeds of evil,-to appease the manes of the noble man,—by erecting to his memory a monument of posthumous fame?

We may, then, be permitted to trace some of the lineaments of Roger Williams' character, which, however agreeable to the eye may have been the original, and however faithfully it may have been drawn by later writers, was by his cotemporaries too often portrayed in faint and unattractive colors.

That he was one of those, who, about the beginning of the seventeenth century, differed from the English Church, on some points of doctrine and discipline; who, consequently, incurred her displeasure and suffered by her persecution, and who, finally, for the enjoyment of liberty of conscience, were driven to seek a then wilderness land, is too well known to need repetition. It is equally unnecessary to add, that he first disembarked and settled upon the shores of Massachusetts, from whence, on account of his peculiar civil and religious opinions, he was subsequently banished, by the public authorities, and compelled to fly to a region, which, under his auspices, came afterwards to be recognized as Rhode Island.

The extent and variety of his literary acquirements, the conspicuous position which he held as one of our early American writers, and the intrinsic value of his writings themselves, seem to require that we should first bestow a passing notice upon him as a man of letters. This obligation is strengthened by the consideration that his superior education contributed, in no small degree, to increase the usefulness and prolong the continuance of his valuable labors. He was a scholar by charity. The precocity of his genius recommended him to the favor of the celebrated Sir Edward Coke, under whose patronage he was permitted to enjoy the advantages of Oxford University. Upon the completion of his studies at that institution, he commenced the study of law, which, however, was soon laid aside to make way for a branch more congenial to his taste, that of theology. After taking orders, he was allowed, on account of his obnoxious puritanical notions, for a short time only, to discharge the duties of his sacred office; though in that short time, he acquired the reputation of being a popular and successful preacher. There are reasons to suppose that he wrote nothing for publication, before his departure from England. The first work, which he produced, as an American, was a treatise respecting the invalidity of the English claims to the Indian soil. It contains evidence of a mind original in its conceptions and bold to think, and advances doctrines whose soundness few, at the the present day, will be disposed to question. This treatise was soon followed by a philological work on the Indian languages, which evinced learning and genius on the part of its author. It attracted the favorable notice of the learned in England, and, after the lapse of two centuries, is considered as a work of such valuable original research as to warrant its republication. This was succeeded, in order, by three other large tomes, bearing the quaint, but significant titles: "The Bloody Tenet," "The Bloody Tenet Yet More Bloody," "The Hireling Ministry None of Christ's." These last mentioned books embody those great principles respecting toleration and the separation of church and state, which it was the grand object of the author's life to establish; and they are there stated with a clearness of order, and fortified with a severity of logic and a strength and elegance of expression, which would do honor to the more polished writers of a later age. The last work, that came from his pen, is the report of a public controversy, held between himself and some of the emigrant Quakers of New England, upon the orthodoxy of their faith. That some of the warmth, excited by the discussion should appear in the written report, is allowable, and cannot be considered as detracting from its general merit, characterized, as it is, by fullness of thought and force of style.

Not the least valuable evidence of the variety of his information and the value of his thoughts is to be found in that extensive cor