ear of his heart hears their soft footsteps, and decorated with chaste image, and shadowed their voices so low and sweet. Have all of with pensive sentiment, like the hand of us not at times such angel visits! Are we manhood laid gently upon the billowing not at this moment summoned to look up, head of a child. and see and hear them? Ah! we know The character of a translator's own genius that strong, deep-furrowed face, that lofty may be gathered with considerable accuracy brow, those locks sprinkled with gray, that from his selection of pieces to translate. In eye, restless with the fire of intelligence, and general, the graceful bends to the graceful with the light of paternal affection. We the pensive sighs back to the pensive, and know too, too well, that young form, that the strong shadows the strong. Longfellow step light as the roe's upon the mountains, has not dared any lofty heights, or sounded that clear blue eye, tha brown curling head, any dark hollows, of foreign poetry. The that forehead so high, that face so pale and exquisite patriarchal simplicities of the Swebeautiful, over which, ere her ten winters dish ballad have attracted his kindred spirit. had passed, death had spread a ghastlier paleness-it is our Agnes, at once sister and child! And we cry— "O God! if it be thus, and thou It is not "deep calling unto deep." It is one corn-field responding to another, across the hedge, under one soft westerly breeze.-Need we do more than allude to "The Children of the Lord's Supper," which, both in verse and spirit, is the model of "Evangeline." Thus he characterizes himself as a Longfellow's writings are in general pro- translator:-"The translation is literal, perphetic of, and preparatory for, the grand reconciliation of man, both as regards man the the author a wrong, by introducing into his haps to a fault. In no instance have I done individual, and man the species. In his "Arsenal," and his "Occultation of Orion," lishments of my own. any supposed improvements or embelhe shadows forth the "coming of the milder the measure, that inexorable hexameter in I have preserved even day," when there is "Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals, And both in “Hyperion" and "Evangeline," eye, work which, it must be confessed, the motions of the English muse are not unlike those of a prisoner dancing to the music of his chairs; and perhaps, as Dr. Johnson said of the dancing dog, the wonder is not that she should do it so well, but that she should do it at all.'" We close our paper with feelings of gratier plants in the soul's garden, is abundantly tude and respect for our transatlantic author. recognized. Perhaps still another "Pilgrim's It is pleasant, in this melancholy world, to Progress," cut out through rougher ways, "light upon such certain places," where dark ined by deeper shadows, and exhibiting more the teaching of error than either "Hyperion" or "Sartor," is still desiderated by the age beautiful dreams, and lofty, generous aspirations, lift us up, on a ladder, into ideal regions, which are yet to become real; for every such aspiration is a distinct step upwards to meet our expected New Jerusalem of man, "coming down as a bride adorned for her We cannot linger much longer with this delightful writer, He has scattered many other delicious drops of song along his husband." Every volume of genuine poetry, course. Such are "Rain in Sutomer," "To besides, constitutes a cool grotto of retreat, a Child," "To the Driving Cloud," and "The with the altar of a bloodless sacrifice standOld Clock on the Stairs." These are all ing in the midst. We love, too, even bette amiable carols, inspirited with poetic life, than the poetry of this volume, its sunny, Vol. 6, No. 2-5. genial, human, and hopeful spirit. Perhaps ally, and still be an ignoramus. We can no there are more depth and power, certainly more estimate the value of a man's intellec there are more peculiarity and strangeness, in Emerson's volume, but over many parts of it is suspended a dry rainless cloud of gloom, which chills and withers you. You become, it may be, a wiser, but certainly a sadder man. Longfellow sheds a chequered autumnal light, under which your soul, like a river, flows forward, serene, glad, strong, and singing as it flows "Let us then be up and doing, For the Miscellany. THOUGHTS ON READING. BY DE WITT C. LEACH. The people of the United States are a nation of readers. Men, women, and children, of all ranks, and of all grades of intelligence, devour books, pamphlets, periodicals, and newspapers, with an avidity that would seem to indicate that health and happiness, if not life itself, depend upon the amount of their reading. At home and abroad, in the railcar and in the packet, in the stage-coach and on board the steamboat--wherever there is a tual acquirements by the number of volumes It becomes, then, an important inquirywhy are these things so? Why so much reading, and so little wisdom as the result? Why are not great readers always well informed? Now it is usually much easier to ask questions than satisfactorily to answer them; yet I apprehend, that, in this case, there are many obvious reasons why so little good results from so much reading--to a few of which, I invite the reader's attention.Among them are reading too much-reading carelessly, without aim or method-and reading improper works. That an individual may read too much, is very evident. The mind, as well as the stomach, may be overloaded; and as overmoment's leisure from the demands of busi- loading the latter deranges, and, if persisted ness, reading is resorted to, either with a de-in, finally destroys the energy and vigor of sire to inform and cultivate the intellect, or to while pleasantly away time which would otherwise hang heavily on our hands. the physical system, so overloading the former deranges the mental faculties, and, if carried too far, sometimes dethrones reason itself, and then "the dome of thought, the palace of the soul," becomes the abode of wild fancies, if not of ungovernable furies. The truth is--as a people, we cannot bear idleness. We may despise labor-we may resort to every expedient to escape toil-yet idleness is equally insupportable, and, as a Not only may an individual read too consequence, we read, if for no other or much, but he may read carelessly, without higher purpose, merely to "kill time." Now aim or method, and with no object in view, this habit of reading, if controlled by reason, save the passing away of the present hour. is one of the best traits in American charac- Such reading, if it becomes habitual, is unter-one which may be turned to profitable profitable in the highest degree. He who account, and the tendency of which to im-reads thus is none the wiser for his reading. prove the intellectual condition of our peo- He seeks nothing but amusement, and he is ple, is all-powerful. Yet it is a lamentable profited nothing. No matter how pleasing fact, that a person may read almost continu- the style of his author, or how brilliant his imagination, how logical and profound his and, as a consequence, dreams of princely reasoning, or how interesting and important lovers, and romantic adventures, and midthe facts of which he treats-it all avails night elopements-what can she do with the nothing—it is carelessly read, makes no im-sober realities of every-day life? What pression, and is easily and quickly forgot-taste has she for articles possessing a high order of literary merit? Can she, after, for ten. Again-a person may read no more than a length of time, pursuing such a course, enthe mind can properly digest, and may read joy a treatise upon science? Will she dewith the utmost care and attention; yet, if light in history, or biography, or anything he is careless or injudicious in the selection but the silly love-tales to which she has haof his reading matter, not one-half the ben-bituated her mind? Certainly not. A conefit that might otherwise be derived from firmed novel-reader has no taste for a sound, careful reading, will be realized. And here, healthy literature. His mind is enfeebled I believe, is an evil of great magnitude, and | and diseased, and turns with disgust from one for the correction of which every good whatever requires patient and laborious citizen should use his influence. Look at thought. The wonders of the world, and of the extent of the evil. Consider the great the myriads of worlds which sparkle in the number of fictitious and immoral publica- firmament above us, have no charms for such tions with which the land is flooded. Look a mind. Diversion is all it seeks. It craves at the immense sales of the many publishing nothing but present amusement. The fuhouses engaged in the "light literature" bu-ture is forgotten; the whole being is absorbed siness-look at the publications themselves, in the present; and the whole present is and then say if nine-tenths of them are not bound up in two pieces of yellow paper, and entirely useless, and many--too many, alas! called a novel. And the novel, as a matter positively injurious. of course, treats of plighted lovers, and cruel Much-everything almost-in the forma-fathers, and gray-headed misers, and old castion and development of character, depends tles, and designing attorneys, and midnight upon a person's reading. Tell me what a elopements, and "affairs of honor," and broyoung man or a young woman reads, and Iken hearts, and ruined fortunes, and hidden will tell you the character of that person, and treasures, and—————a marriage. what he or she may expect in future life.-Show me a young man that delights in nov-novel-reader. The ingredients above menel-rca ling-that will throw by the most inter sting treatises on the sciences, history, bigraphy, &c., for the purpose of devouring - reading-the last silly, sickly, shallow sing novel, and I will point you to one who will never prove an ornament to society, nor an honor to his country. Though Every one is aware that the perusal of his natural talents may be good, yet, if he such works requires no mental effort. They les contracted a habit of novel-reading-has afford no real pleasure to the higher intelbecomes attached to what is politely termed lectual powers, and produce no feeling of "Fight literature," as to prefer it to all other enjoyment, unless that can be called enjoykals of reading--he need cherish no aspi-ment, which is caused by their ministering rations for the future; there is nothing in to those morbid sentiments and feelings ore for him, but disappointment, and re- which always exist in the mind of the conme, and shame. And the young lady firmed novel-reader. tast sponds whole nights in novel-reading, and sighs and weeps over imaginary heroes, This constitutes the mental food of the tioned are compounded in various proportions in different novels, aud occasionally, for the sake of variety, a few additional items are added; but the real value of the material of which novels are composed, varies but little. There are but few, I am well aware, who wholly condemn the reading of novels. Many works of this class, it is said, are not joy its wonders. The mysterious phenomena merely harmless, but really useful. But, if which every changing season brings to view, this is really soa fact which may well be pass away unheeded, and they are none the questioned-it is yet a difficult matter to wiser for what has happened before their draw the line of separation between the evil eyes. They saw, but did not understand; and the good. Who shall point out to the and do not seem to be aware that the money young and inexperienced, what may and paid for the last two novels would have what may not be read? Who shall say-purchased an excellent treatise upon Science, read this, and abstain from that? And, if in which all these phenomena are familiarly left to choose for themselves, much valuable explained; nor that the time spent in perustime will be wasted; many useless, and ing those novels would have enabled them probably injurious books read; and many to master this treatise, and thus prepare false and erroneous views in regard to life, themselves to enjoy the remarkable phenomand the duties of life, interwoven with their ena that so frequently occur. principles. In conclusion, let me say to all readers of fiction-you are losing half the enjoyment of life, The past and present are crowded with great events. Happiness consists in learning, in knowing, and in doing. We must learn-must know, what has been, what is, and what is to be. We must also learn to do, to act, to make our influence felt, to make our mark upon the age in which we live. To some extent the world But why should there be so much reading of fiction? Certainly not because of the scarcity of books of facts; for, in our days, "of making many books, there is no end;" and books of facts-true books-are annually issued from the press, in numbers so great, that was any individual required to peruse them all, or even a hundredth part of them, he would be forced to say, with the sacred writer, that "much study is a weari-will be better or worse for our having lived ness to the flesh." Which shall it be? Young man, deThe choice is in your own breast. No man can decide for you. But the whole world is in motion, and if you would have your influence felt you most arouse and bestir yourself. Do this, and all the great and good will respect. and love, and aid you; but shut yourself up in your closet, and spend the prime of your days in novel reading, and all the wise, and good, and truly great, will point at you the finger of scorn, and cry — in it. SHAME! Biographies of great and good men-the reading of which, if well written and truthful, is always profitable-are numerous, and within the reach of all. And hundreds of these stirring narratives, are as attractive and interesting in every respect, as the best class of fictitious writings. History, too, affords a vast field for pleasing and profitable investigation; yet many are the young people of both sexes, who spend hours, days, and weeks, every year, over their charming nov els, and are still as profoundly ignorant of most of the great events that have transpired in the world, as if they had lived in the days of Methuselah. They prefer the Romance of the Forest to the History of Greece, and here are the ways of pleasantness and the are more familiar with the silly story of A-paths of peace. The garden which she tills lonzo and Melissa, than with the true and is the human heart; and the seed which sho truly wonderful story of Napoleon and his scatters will bear their fruit in Heaven. Here Josephine are the pomps of science, and the splendor of genius; the glitter of wealth, the might of armies. With her pale finger, she points to the annals of the past, and they will all be Such readers know nothing of the Natural Sciences. Nature is to them a sealed book, They cannot appreciate its beauties, nor en Mundy, Genesee Co., Jan. 1st, 1852. BENEVOLENCE. Here is a calm, sweet calm, DISCOVERY OF THE RIVER AMAZON. 69 come as chaff before the wind. Yet she duced a sort of acorn, which resembled cinstops not here. Speaks she now in tones as namon in taste, but was an inferior article. solemn as the midnight bell, of the nothingGonzola was provoked at not finding more ness of human greatness. Listen again! valuable objects. He asked the natives and you hear her clarion voice proclaiming where El Dorado lay; and, because they alud, that human virtue never dies! Ap-could give him no intelligence of this fabupears she now with shadows of death upon lous country, the cruel Spaniard tortured one hand, and the history of the world upon them to extort a confession of that which the other, to teach how pitiful is individual they did not know. Some of them he burnt ambition, and how senseless the love of self. alive, and others he threw to be devoured by his dogs. DISCOVERY OF THE RIVER AMA ZON. AFTER the Spaniards had conquered Peru, they heard of another country, in the east, which was said to be very rich, and to abound in cinnamon. Gonzola, one of the brothers of Pizarro, determined to take possession of this inviting region, and then to search for the famous golden country of El Dorado, which was supposed to exist somewhere in the neighborhood. mouth had been seen by Pinzon, in 1499.--They built a vessel, and begun to sail down the Coca, one of these head streams. They passed an extensive tract of uninhabited In 1541, he set out from Peru, with a In this manner, the Spaniards reached the force of two hundred foot soldiers, one hun- head streams of the Amazon, a river till del horse, four thousand Indians, to be then unknown to them, except that its sel in carrying burdens, and four thousand swine, an i llamas, or Indian sheep. for provisions. They first entered the territory of Qzos, the last tribe whom the Peruvian Incis had subdued. These people fled country. The current of the river was at their approach. While the army halted here, a violent earthquake took place, which threw down the Indian houses and cleft the earth in many places. Farious storms of thunder and lightning followel; and such torrents of rain fell, Cat the Spaniards had great difficulty in ressing the rivers. They were compelled to eat their way through thick woods, and to cross a high chain of mountains, where many of the Indians were frozen to death. They also lost their live stock and other pro visions. At length they were overtaken by another body of Spaniards, from Quito, under Franesco Orellana. With this re-inforcement, they marched onwards, aud came to a terriLory where the spice-trees grew. They pro strong; they were weak from want of food, and they had no prospect but that of perishing. Orellana, however, was determined to proceed onward. He renounced the commission which he held under Gonzalo, assumed the command of a portion of the adventurers himself, and sailed down the river. Provisions now entirely failed them. They had eaten up all their dogs, and were reduced to the necessity of boiling their old shoes, leather straps, &c., for food. When they had almost abandoned the hope of life, they heard, just at daylight, the sound of a drum. Shortly after they saw four canoes, and a village where a great body of Indians were drawu up in order of battle. The Spaniards were too hungry to |