brought to light in the gospel," with hopes that illumined with no faint glimmering their passage to the tomb. Yet we cannot deny, nor need we, that with the truth they held the most preposterous errors. The wild caprice of the metempsychosis, and the still wilder fantasy of the eternal pre-existence of the soul, serve only to vindicate the necessity of that divine revelation, without whose aid, in so many particulars, the truth could never have been attained. The associations of that future world, the nature of its employments, and more than all, the resurrection from the dead, this mortal putting on immortality, and this corruptible, incorruption-man knows only as he learns them from the scriptures of truth. So far as enlightened reason can go, she walks hand in hand with revelation; where reason fails, faith with irrefutable evidence comes in, and revelation leads the triumphant way.

Yale.

T. T. T.

WASHINGTON AT THE GRAVE OF DE KALB.

His lofty brow is deeply calm,

As with intense and voiceless thought
He gazes on the hallowed sod,
That drank the warrior-stranger's blood,
Who here for freedom nobly fought,
And fell, where glory's deathless rays
Beamed o'er him with effulgent blaze.

O! could he wake to life again,

To see this bright "exulting day"-
See freedom's sons their offerings bring,
And hear their shouts of glory ring-

Vain thought, alas! he's passed away,
And though the conflict's wildest roar
Should thunder past, he'll wake no more.

His mighty spirit's gone, and low
In silent dust the hero sleeps-
No sculptured warrior mourns his fate-
No cypress shades the fallen great,

But Freedom o'er him bending weeps,
And with her mourns her noblest son,
The peerless patriot, Washington.

Years roll along, and hymns of joy
Break wildly sweet from hill and plain,
And peace, in radiant beauty, waves
Her olive-branch above the graves

Of those in battle's tempest slain,
But still for them our tears flow free,
Who bought with death our liberty.

Their ghastly wounds were not in vain,
Nor useless rolled the erimson flood-
Their spirits, flying through the world,
Bear freedom's standard wide unfurled,
Triumphantly o'er fields of blood;
And vanquished tyrants blench and flee
Before the banner of the free.

SCIENCE AND SUPERSTITION.

It was a delightful afternoon in July, when Albert Sterneston, a German student, shutting up a huge folio which he had been perusing, directed his steps towards the dwelling of his affianced bride. Thekla Coningston was the daughter of an eminent professor, who pursued his literary avocations in a retired village on the borders of Germany. She was naturally gifted with a high and noble mind, which had been most carefully cultivated by her affectionate father, and was not only versed in the lighter studies of the day, but a proficient in many of the more abstruse branches of science. Albert Sterneston had been first attracted by her beautiful face; then inspired with respect for her superior intellect; but he was won by the rich depth of feeling that at length centered in her love for him. The enthusiasm which shone forth in her every action and gave a new coloring to life, found in the gifted young student a fit object for its idolatry. Her gay spirits were gradually melting into the sobered cheerfulness of maturer years, and at times merged into slight melancholy. She felt that happiness was hers, but superstition faintly tinged her mind, and often forebodings would disturb its serenity.

That beautiful afternoon in July found her deeply involved in gloom. She looked out on the silvered clouds, poised in the transparent sky and mellowing the warm light, but no sunshine fell upon her soul. A well known step was heard, and she flew to meet Albert. He seated himself by her side, and with tender anxiety marked the sad expression of her lovely countenance.

"Thekla, why thus? Did you not wish to see me?"

"Yes, Albert, I ever rejoice at your presence, and now you are most welcome, for my spirit is very sorrowful. Yester-night I dreamed of you!"

"And is this so uncommon that it troubles you? Thekla is the presiding genius of my nightly visions!"

"Do not trifle, Albert," she replied, in a tone of deep melancholy. "I heard a voice which forbade our union, but I vowed that I would disobey the prohibition. Then I saw a fiery ball fall from the sky and draw near my head, which so terrified me that I awoke."

"Thekla!" vehemently exclaimed Albert, "you cannot believe this will happen. If you seek to break our engagement, it is done." "I wish it not. I will be thine," she firmly replied.

"Thank you, dearest, and now smile again. It is lovely without, let us walk to Krentzner's grove." Thekla consented, and slowly they proceeded to the spot. A beautiful plain spread before them, nearly surrounded by hills, and divided by a swiftly flowing stream.

There was a slight sound. Thekla grasped Albert's arm, and faintly articulated, "Did you hear that?" "Yes! but"-ere he could finish, there was a rumbling, as of distant thunder. Louder and louder it fell upon their startled ears, till a bright ball of fire appeared. On it swept with tremendous velocity, leaving a long train of light; then a loud report ensued, and a burning fragment descending, buried itself in the earth. All nature seemed affrighted; animals lay prostrate with fear, and the ground where it fell seemed heaving convulsively. Albert was on his knees, but Thekla stood firm, one arm around a slight tree, while her hand was still clasped in that of her lover. All was still for a few moments, till Albert cried out, "Speak, scream, weep, for heaven's sake, any thing to break this awful silence. "Twas yesterday I read to you of meteors, which like this have often fallen to the earth. Look up, dearest, the danger now is past."

The beautiful girl lowered her long eye lashes, and a tear stealing through them, fell upon her pallid cheek. At length almost mechanically she spoke.

"Albert, to-night we part for ever. My dream is fulfilled."

"Thekla, you are unharmed, and I have heard of similar coincidences, between the visions of an excited imagination and the actual phenomena of nature."

"To warn equally presumptuous mortals. When you can tell whence came the strange appearance, I will consent to become your wife."

"Whatever be its origin, are we of sufficient consequence to cause such a phenomenon? No! Thekla; God reveals not thus his will. Why not believe that the comet brings misfortune in its train ?"

"Because men can predict the period of its return. But who foretold the coming of that fearful star?"

"Thekla, I will not rest, till I explain its cause. Then, if you cannot disprove my theory, will you be mine?"

I will! But I fear yours will prove a hopeless task.”

Three months passed away, and again Albert Sterneston sought the dwelling of Thekla Coningston. How changed were they both! She, worn with hopelessness-he, pallid with excitement and unwearied study. But hope of success lent a glow of happiness to the latter, as he hastened to communicate the result of his inquiries. In silence he led Thekla to the porch, and pointed to the pale crescent moon. Then he spoke of its mountains, and depicted the probability of their volcanic summits. These volcanoes might break forth and project their fragments into the sphere of the earth's attraction. "Think you, Thekla," he added, "that a kind providence would cause a fearful eruption in yon orb, to impair the happiness of two mortals ?"

"I know not if this be even probable. But leave me now and return in an hour! I cannot think calmly while you are near."

Albert walked towards the grove, so late the scene of terror, and then returned to Professor Coningston's. In Thekla's eyes he read his doom. She sadly bade him desist from his vain pursuits for his own sake.

"Albert, the fragment was so large, that the force necessary to send it to the earth would have torn a volcano from its base."

Almost heart-broken he turned away, but determined never to renounce his undertaking.

Three months again flew away, and in the dimness of twilight Thekla saw Albert approach. Joy lighted his face, and consciousness of success lent an erectness to his figure, as he drew near the object of his devotion. His dark eyes flashed with enthusiasm when he bade her look at the planet Jupiter. A planet might once have occupied the wide space between that orb and Mars, in which the asteroids now move, and Ceres, Pallas, Juno, and Vesta, be but its remains. He paused not to imagine what sin had caused this world to be blotted from the book of the stars, but only marked the blank where it might have been; in the tremendous shock of its destruction, smaller fragments, thrown by irresistible force into infinite space, have from time to time come within the sphere of the earth's attraction, and become ignited while passing through the atmosphere. While he stated many arguments in support of his theory, hope was kindled in Thekla's bosom. Her ruby lips parted in earnest attention, and an expression of intense interest illuminated ber fine countenance. As he finished, she exclaimed, "Your eloquence has not only convinced my reason, but has heightened my love. How can I fear aught with you?" They sought to know no more on earth of the supposed planet, but looked forward in glorious anticipation to the time when, freed from the incumbrances of mortality, they might wander from star to star, and know as they were known. FENELLA

VOL. II.

21

FRAGMENT*

FROM

THE FATAL CURSE,

(AN UNFINISHED TRAGEDY.)

Аст 3.

SCENE I. A Gothic Hall.

DON GUZMAN―(discovered seated at a table-speaks.)

AYE, it is so; there is no 'scaping it,

That men are what they are because they must be.
Who says 'I will' says what another will,

Who says 'I do' says what another does,

Of which he is the poor, poor agent only-
Aye, it is so. We have kind natures given us
To make those kind about us; we have sins,
That virtue may stand out in contrast with them,
And make them beautiful. Thus Heaven is prais'd,
For Heaven is virtue,-so moves on the world.
Let no man say 'I will,' but say, Fate will,

For in the very instant and the being

Of thought that prompts the saying is a sin,

Which in the face of heaven smells rank as death,

And is on the bright soul a leprosy.

Enter ASELMO, a monk, unperceived.
Now, then, to play the hypocrite awhile-
Benedicite!

GUZMAN.

You are most welcome, father;

Your blessing.

ASELMO.

That thou ever hast, my son,

And from the moody current of your thought,

If so I read your countenance aright,

Thou hast much need of blessings.

It is hardly necessary to state that the writer intended this tragedy for one of our Literary Societies, by which he was requested to undertake it. Circumstances he need not mention have interfered with his plans, and the work is consequently relinquished. What is here given is the opening of the third Act, where the tragic Muse broke her bridle and left the writer in the mire. He has made efforts to resume the work, but as Coleridge says in the 'Ancient Mariner'—