the realm, allied to the Royal Family, nephew-in-law to the king. All that, but to fall the further, and to leave a little void among the loungers of the Palais Royal.

INJUDICIOUS EDUCATION.

Moore, M. D.]

She read, she wrote, she danced, she sung,
and was the happiest of the happy; but,
while the soul thus triumphed, the body be-
came more and more delicate, and speedily
failed altogether, under the successive trans-
ports.

The brain of a child, however forward, is

[The Power of the Soul over the Body. By George totally unfit for that intellectual exertion to
which many fond parents either force or ex-
cite it. Fatal disease is thus frequently in-
Ir the nervous system allowed the mind duced; and, where death does not follow,
to attend, reason would appear in its power idiocy, or at least such confusion of faculty.
as much at six years of age as at sixty. The
ensues, that the moral perception is obscured
child does reason, then, and, that correctly, and the sensitive child becomes a man of
to the extent of its knowledge; and it is then hardened vice or of insane self-will. Many
as capable of enjoying intellectual truth as
examples of this may be found, particularly
in maturer years, provided the faculties be
among the rigid observers of formal imita-
cultivated in an appropriate manner. Per-
tions of religion and the refined ceremonies
haps the most beautiful instance of such
of high civilization. There are numerous
premature enjoyment is that furnished by
manuals to lead the infant mind from nature
Washington Irving, in his memoir of Mar-
garet Davidson, a child, of whom it is stated up to nature's God, as if it were in the
that, when only in her sixth year, her lan- nature of childhood to need manuals and
guage was elevated, and her mind so filled catechisms of botany, geometry,and astrono-
with poetic imagery and religious thought, my, to teach it the goodness of the Creator
that she read with enthusiasm and elegance and Savior. Fathers and mothers rather
Thompson's Seasons,' the 'Pleasures of need manuals to teach them how to treat
Hope,' Cowper's Task,' and the writings their children, seeing that nearly half of
of Milton, Byron, and Scott. The sacred
those brought forth die in infancy, and the
writings were her daily study: and, not- majority of the survivors are morbid both in
withstanding her poetic temperament, she mind and body. It is the paternal character,
· had a bigh relish for history, and read with in wisdom and love watching to bring the
as much interest an abstruse treatise that child into sympathy with true knowledge
called forth the reflective powers, as she did and affection, that represents and imitates
poetry or works of imagination. Her physi- the Divine Mind, as commended to our
cal frame was delicately constituted to re-study by his acts. Even the persuasives of
ceive impressions, and her mother was capa-religious discipline, instead of falling like
ble of observing and improving the oppor- the gentle dew from heaven, are two fre-
tunity afforded to instruct her. Nothing
was learned by rote, and every object of her
thought was discussed in conversation with
a mind sympathising with her own. Such
a course, however, while it demonstrates the
power of the mind, proves also that such
premature employment of it is inconsistent
with the physiology of the body; for, while
the spirit revelled in the ecstasies of intellec-
tual excitement, the vital functions of the
physical framework were fatally disturbed. I observe a sprightly eye and an open coun-

quently made hard, and dry, and harsh, as if
the Gospel were the invention of a mathe-
matical tyrant, to fashion souls by geometrie
rules, and not the expression of the mind of
love, inspiring by example. The contrast,
in personal appearance and manner, between
a child trained under the winning manage
ment of a wise, firm, commanding love, and
another subjected to the despotic control of
fear, is very striking. In the former, we

1

Where gentle waters glide; there to repose
On the green bank, while far beyond, above,
The sky, the sweet blue sky looks down and smiles.
What heavenly thoughts-what aspirations high,
Crowd on this favored hour, more ravishing,
Is one dear dream like this, than all the mirth
That ever rung, and echoed through the halls
Of thoughtless revelry.

A sordid love of gain has never heaved

His peaceful breast with deep and heartfelt sigh
For golden treasure. But the glittering bait,
And its pursuers, seem to him so vain,
He knows not if to pity, or to scorn,

tenance, with a genial vivacity and trustfulness in the general expression of the body; a mixture of confiding sociality with intelligence, an alacrity of movement, and a healthiness of soul, evinced in generous activity and smiles. Even if the body be enfeebled, still a certain bright halo surrounds, so to speak, the mental constitution. But physical as well as intellectual vigor and enjoyment are usually the happy results of that freedom of heart and generosity of spirit which skillful affection endeavors to encourage. Then, in youth and manhood, a noble intelligence confirms the propriety can never vibrate to that magic strain? of such early training; but the child who Ah! no, for moonlit skies and whispering shades, finds a tyrant instead of a fostering parent, Or evening bird might tell of some low word if naturally delicate, acquires a timid bear-In treach'rous soliloquy let fall; and then That restless eye-say is it passionless? ing, a languid gait, a sallow cheek, a pouting lip, a stupid torpidity, or a sullen defiance; for nature's defence from tyranny is either When first he saw the light, and careful watched hard stupidity or cunning daring.

For the Miscellany.
THE CHILD OF GENIUS.

BY M. A. RICE.

Ah why that restles eyel
Now gently beaming, and anon lit up,
With radiance unearthly. Why that brow,
So palely beautiful, a temple fair-
Meet for the presence of thought's deity.

Ah! who can tell
Why his young cheek is bloomless, marble pale,
Save when the gush of feeling brings once more,
The mantling flush, like as the glorious sun,
Hil from our view by floating clouds, peers through
Their shadowy veil, to reassure our hearts.

There is a seal

Upon his forehead set, which few can read;
And fewer understand. He knows full well,
His soul's a harp, to unknown music strung.
And shrinking, from the gaze of vulgar eyes,
Communes with his own spirit, drinking deep,
Of its ethereal nectar; or perchance,
Beeks wisdom from the ever open book
Of nature, wondrous fair and legible!

Life's young song

Is in his ear, and still he heeds it not,
The gay, the sportive things which others charm
Cannot allure him; for, Oh! he loves
To seek the silent shade, beside the stream,

Be most the part of virtue. Shall I say
The song of honest fame has never found
His heart responsive?-that its s range wild chords,

Though Genius smiled

His infant bed, bestowing angel dreams,
Thrilling his soul in childhood's fairy hour,
With more than wizard spell, and now in youth,
Claims him an heir of Genius, yet the world;
The world disowns him--ra her I had said,
Knows not the precious pearl, by nature hid,
In its frail casket, Oh! how few can pity
The mighty throbbing of a noble heart-
Warm, tender, craving sympathy; and yet,
Not one to sympathise, or even guess
'Tis almost bursting.

Tact, all mankind admire, but talent rare,
Few can appreciate, few duly weigh

In its first dawnings-woe that luckless, youth,
Or maiden still more luckless, when the muse
Becomes congenial guest-think not thy brow,
The laurel wreath shall twine, 'till thou hast spent
Thy lifes brief day, lonely, and unapproved.
Oh! ye blue heavens, look kindly down to cheer
This isolated one, as oft he looks
Into your boundless depths for sympathy.
And ye light fleecy clouds, that float along;
By day enhancing sunlight, and at eve,
Veiling some beauteous orb, then passing on
Leaving no tracery to dim the scene.
Be ye to him propitious, as he gazes
On your frail fleeting shadows, he may sing
Of transitory joys, of life which passes
Soon as the morning cloud. And you, ye winda
Breathe gently on his brow; whisper of hope!
Strike ye the harp chords of that tuneful heart!
Till it shall vibrate, to your minstrel touch,
Some burning thought, to flowing numbers set.
Soon shall he sink
To quiet dreamless rest, in the soft arms

Of mother nature laid. Oh! then ye
flowers
Lift your fair heads to cheer the lonely turf.
Shed fragrance on the still and solemn air,
Where sainted Genius sleeps. And well I know
In after-time unto that holy place,
Shall gifted Pilgrim come, and lowly bend
Beside the sighing grass, and bless the name
Of him who sleeps so softly there. Of him,
Who tuned the lyre, to sing fair virtues praise.
GRAND BLANC, 1851.

ments;to this communication I was prompted, not by frankness, but the supposition that concealment was impracticable, and that it was therefore better by anticipation to prevent them from having the advantage of a discovery. To the almost preternatural sagacity of my father, may trace an opinion with which I was long impressed; that whatever we think or do must sooner or

TRIBUTE OF MADAME DE STAEL later be divulged; an opinion on which I

TO HER FATHER.

have sometimes acted with a degree of culpable precipitation. To have lived with such a man as Necker was a bad preparation for the world.

It was during the last illness of my mother, and after her death, (since which ten years have elapsed,) that the character of my father in private life was most fully developed.

THE unbounded admiration for M. Necker, which I have felt, or rather with which I I have been imbued from the earliest period of my existence, far from being attributed to the illusions of filial tendernesses, should rather be considered as authenticating the reality of his virtues. In the paternal and filial relations, a father and daughter not only become most intimately acquainted with their mutual weakness, but if the passions of youth should clash with the reason Tormented with restless nights, during the of age, the child has obviously an interest in detecting the foibles of the parent-not to expose them, but simply to annul that authority which impedes the accomplishment of its own wishes.

In the course of her long malady, he lavished on her cares, of which it is impossible by description, to give an adequate idea.

day she sometimes slept, whilst she reclined her head on her hushand's shoulder; and I have often seen him several hours standing in the same position, lest he should awaken her by making the slightest movement. I will not dissemble, that I have some- Nor were those cares merely such as duty times been prompted by such motives to dictates, but such as tenderness inspires, anienter on a similar examination; and the re-mated by that sentiment of genuine love sult has been honorable to him in whom I which is preserved in pure souls through all vainly attempted to discover frailty. Never the vicissitudes of time and suffering. have I seen my father deceive himself, or It was often a solace to my mother to submit to deception; never have I known hear music. Every evening, musicians him fix a false boundary between discretion were summoned to her chamber, and she and generosity; never have I found him un- felt that harmonious sounds might inspira acquainted with the best means of attaining those elevated thoughts which can alone a determinate object; never has he failed to give to death the character of sublime serendetect the truth, however artfully concealed ity. On the last day of her life, whilst or entangled. The conviction of his sagaci- wind instruments were playing in an apartty has operated on my character in a man-ment close to hers, there was something inexner which could not but be disadvantageous pressibly sombre in the contrast between the in my intercourse with the world. Accustomed different expressions of the airs and the unifrom infancy to rest in the belief that every form sentiment of sadness with which the effort to conceal my feelings must be futile approach of death filled every heart. One and unavailing, I have often communicated day, when it happened that no musicians whatever I felt to people who could not, by were in attendance, at the request of my their own sagacity, have divined my senti- father, I sat down to the piano, and, after

having executed several pieces, began to
sing the air of Edipus Colonna, by Sacchini,
the words of which describe the cares of
Antigone;

She has lavished her tenderness and her cares:
Her sympathy has lent charms to my misfortunes,

gether in this study, during the last autumn, when we had been long engaged in the most interesting conversation, I asked him who seemed to be my guarantee from every misfortune, even from that of losing him, what would become of me if ever I should be called to this severe trial? "My child," reMy father could not listen to these words plied he, with a broken voice, and with an without shedding a torrent of tears. I ven- angelic expression of countenance: "God tured not to proceed; and for several hours tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.” after saw him at the feet of his dying wife, Alas! the storm has not spared me. Deprivwholly abandoned to that powerful emotioned of one country I returned to the otherwhich reduced a great man, a man occupied to the paternal mansion-but to find a with important interests and fortified by tomb. sublime meditation, to the mere creature of feeling, overwhelmed with grief and inaccessible to consolation.

When my mother was no more, it was not by the ravings of despair my father demonstrated a grief. He executed her last wishes with a self-possession peculiar to the deeper sensibility which concentrates all its strength in the performance of a sacred duty. Some hours after my mother's death, I entered his chamber, the windows of which opened on a magnificent view of the Alps, illumined by the morning sun. "Perhaps her soul hovers there," exclaimed he, pointing to a slight cloud that passed over the horizon; he paused and was silent. Ah! why was he not called to pronounce on me the same words? In his presence I should have had no fear of death, for in him were realized all my conceptions of religion-to whose sanctuary I seemed to have free access whilst he remained on earth; and now am left solitary and desolate, to complete my weary pilgrimage.

There is a window in my father's study which looks upon the wood, where he had erected the tomb in which his remains were to be re-united to my mother's ashes. The same window commands a view of the avenue leading to the spot; and it was there that he was accustomed to stand after I had left him, to bid adieu, waving his handkerchief till I was no longer in sight.

On one of the evenings that we spent to

In one day, and by one fatal blow, the sources of pity were dried up, and the altar of magnanimity levelled to the dust. To the disinterested sufferers in the cause of liberty it had been soothing to consider the house of Necker as a sanctuary, and cheering to reflect, that in his remote dwelling, at the foot of the Alps, one great and vigorous man existed, who participated in their sacrifices, and hallowed their exertions; and who, in his life and writings, continued to inspire that sacred love of truth and rectitude; that elevation of soul and religious sympathy, which are all sufficient to recompense pain and privation.

And all this is now over. That sanctuary is closed on earth. There is no longer a triumph for patriotism. The laurel which the suffrage of one great man conferred on a noble action is blasted. He who in his illustrious old age kindled, with a persuasive eloquence, in all who approached him the love of truth and justice, is now silent forever! In the universal veneration attached to his name, the good of every country found refuge and protection. And I am not solitary in deploring a loss which leaves in society an awful void-an universal desolation.

Other men have pursued a career more brilliant-more dazzling resplendent to the eye of ambition, and flattering to the heart, whose only aspiration is for prosperity; but never has any man of genius arisen in

France so warmly, so devotedly the friend likely he went down the Hudson by night of virtue. Never again shall such p oofs be also. Suppose he had gone up by day light, given of benevolence, of tenderness, of and across the country from Burlington to magnanimity, and heroic attachment. From Boston, and then through Massachusetts France, from the world, this bright example and Connecticut to Albany, and down the is withdrawn, for mankind-as for me, this Hudson on a pleasant day -every hour star is set forever! would have been crowded with rich and varied scenery.

AMERICAN SCENERY.

ABOUT six miles from Crown Point I caught a full view of the Green Mountains of Vermont. They were a long way off, but in the bright light of the setting sun their bold outline showed beautifully against the clear sky. I was struck with the soft blue coloring over them, like that often seen in Italy, and which is generally thought to be peculiar to that country.

A man who should visit Switzerland, and never go into the Oberlane or Tyrol, and then say there was no scenery in the country that could be called sublime, would be deemed insane; but a foreign traveler no more thinks of visiting the wild and almost untrodden portions of our land than he does of committing suicide. He expects to see every thing worth seeing, without leaving the lines of railroads, or going beyond the range of good hotels. As well might a man give an opinion of the scenery of the High

Burlington is one of the most beautiful places in this continent, though I was pro-lands after passing only from Edinburgh to voked with a remark made by Professor Von Glasgow, as speak of that of our country Baumer, one day in company with some of after traveling only on the great thoroughthe professors of the college. He said he fares that intersect it.-Headly." had traveled from Boston through the Atlantic states to New Orleans, and up the THE NEW-YEAR'S NIGHT OF AN Mississippi through Canada and back to

UNFORTUNATE.

Vermont, and that Niagara and Burlington [From the German of Jean Paul Richter.] furnished the only scenery that could be called fine, he had found in all his routes.

BY EDWIN W. SHAW.

Now so old a traveler as Von Baumer ought to be ashamed of such a remark. If In the New-Year's midnight an old man he will go through the country on railroads stood at the window, and with an eye of and steamboats, at the rate of fifteen or deep despair, looked out upon the immovatwenty miles an hour, he should not com- ble eternal heaven, and down upon the silent, plain of dearth of scenery. I have seen pure white earth, upon which now, there both continents-not excepting the Profeswas no one so unhappy and sleepless as he. sor's favorite Germany, and I affirm that in For close by him was his grave; it was only natural scenery the United States stands un-concealed by the snow of age, not by the rivalled; and if the above remark is an in- green of youth; and from a long life, he dex of the book he is about to publish about brought with him nothing but error, sin and us, I would not give a straw for it. How disease; a wasted body, a desolate mind, a supremely foolish for a man to hurry through heart full of bitterness, and an age full of the country by steam, taking all the low-regret. Now the beautiful days of his youth lands in his route, and then pretend to write returned as spectres, and brought him anew about our scenery. These three months' to that fair morning when his father first tourists are not the most reliable in the placed him at the departing-way of life, world. To add to the Professor's wisdom, which to the right, leads up the sun-path of he took the night boat up the lake. Very virtue into a wide, quiet land, full of light