feel disposed to regard almost with favor and affection the glimmering faith of the Indian, which quickens all the grand, and glorious, and beautiful appearances of the visible universe with the vitality of the Great Spirit which pervades it, while the sublime imagery of nature in which he clothes these lofty thoughts, renders his language, like himself, noble, and bold, and free. It is strange, too, and very pitiful, to think of a mighty race of warriors, who, as it were but yesterday, owned half a world, which they had possessed undisturbed for ages, hunted by their fellow-men down to the grave, and their memorial perished with them. We may call them red-skins and savages, and dwell upon their atrocious acts of infernal ferocity as we will, but still it must be remembered that the pale-faces found them a free and happy people, "Roaming at large among unpeopled glens And they made them, by that oppression which drives wise men, as well as simple savages, mad, those fierce and unrelenting demons whom the blood of infants and women could not satiate, and to whom death was as dust in the balance compared with the pleasure and the glory of revenge. With the desolating incursions of the native North Americans upon the peaceful settlements of the Whites in later times, history has long since made us familiar, in all their horrible and revolting details; but for much that is deeply interesting, and well calculated by skilful and graphic delineation to make us more intimately acquainted with the character and habits of the Red Indians, as well as to convey a vivid image of the dangers and privations encountered by our ancestors in reducing the country to its present state of security and plenty, we are indebted to the good taste, judgment, and industry, which have recently been exerted by several talented American writers. It is pleasant, too, we had almost said ennobling, to trace the progress of those hardy English settlers who first went forth to seek in the wilderness that rest for their souls which they despaired of finding at home. The magnitude of their enterprise, the terrific obstacles they encountered and overcame, and their familiarity with mighty Nature in her awful forms, in those lonely solitudes in which they dwelt, doubtless contributed in no slight degree to heighten the solemnity and moral grandeur which seems to have naturally belonged to their grave and thoughtful characters. Forsaking home, and all that men cling to fastest and most fondly, in order to enjoy the privilege of worshiping God according to the conviction of their own consciences, they never for a moment forgot, even in the minutest occurrences of daily life, that they were— "Dwelling in their great taskmaster's eye," and they lived as men whose heart and treasure were in a better and a more abiding dwelling-place. It is well observed by the annalist of the first settlements in Massachusetts, that in the quiet possession of the blessings these first religious pilgrims have transmitted, their descendants are perhaps in danger of forgetting or undervaluing the sufferings by which they were obtained-of forgetting how these men lived and what they endured. When they came to the wilderness, they said truly, though quaintly, that they turned their backs on Egypt; they did virtually renounce all dependence on earthly supports; they left the land of their birth, of their homes, of their fathers' graves; they sacrificed ease, and honors, and preferment, and all the delights of sense-and for what? To open for themselves an earthly paradise? to dress their bowers of pleasure, and rejoice with their wives, their little ones, and their cattle? No : they came not for themselves, they lived not to themselves. An exiled and suffering people, they came forth in the dignity of servants of the Lord, to open the forests to the sunbeam and to the light of the Sun of Righteousness; to restore man to civil and religious liberty and equal rights; to bring down the hills and make smooth the rough places, and prepare in the desart a highway for the Lord. What was their reward? Fortune, distinctions, the sweet charities of home? -No but their feet were planted on the mount of vision, and they saw with sublime joy a multitude of people where the solitary savage roamed the desart. The forest vanished, and pleasant villages and busy cities appeared; the tangled footpath expanded to the thronged highway; the consecrated church they beheld planted on the rock of idol sacrifice! That their descendants might realise this vision, might enter into this promised land of faith, they endured hardships and braved death; deening, as said one of their company, that "he is not worthy to live at all who, for fear of danger or of death, shunneth his country's service or his own honor-since death is inevitable, but the fame of virtue immortal." Their plain-living and highthinking," their toil and carefulness, so curiously mingled with humble reliance on the wisdom and complete submission to the will of Providence, contrast most forcibly and favorably with the luxurious habits, the insatiate thirst for wealth, and the disregard of everything that does not contribute to "creaturecomforts," which characterise our degenerate age. It does one good to be reminded, too, so powerfully and effectually as is ever done by a detailed practical example, of the simplicity of man's real wants when he has learned to be satisfied with "what Nature craves and will not be denied ;" and how independent human happiness is of riches, and the enjoyment of artificial tastes, when health and hardihood, and a clear conscience, sweeten the mingled cup of life. The high-minded and enlightened Englishmen who first conceived the idea of establishing settlements in North America, steadily persevered until they had overcome the disheartening difficulties they had to conquer, they carried with them the vigor and intelligence of their parent state, and gradually gained dominion over a territory as boundless in extent as stupendous in the grandeur of its natural features. It has been alleged with great bitterness, and perhaps not altoge-ther without reason, by our critical! brethren on the other side of the Atlantic, that the tone of criticism adopted towards all productions of American literature by British reviewers is captiously and abusively severe, more indicative of the spiteful spirit of a step-mother than of the kindly feelings of a natural parent, anxious to foster the infant ef-forts of her offspring. In such a spirit as that complained of, we certainly do not participate. We hail with delight every advance in knowledge and intellectual improvement. made by a people who are destined to spread our name, our institutions, our thoughts, our principles and feelings, with "our land's language, over a youthful world, where they will live, and prove the quickening source of thought, and sympathy, and joy, to millions upon millions of human beings, with like hearts and passions and weaknesses to ourselves, when it may be that chance and change shall have.consigned our little island home" to other masters, speaking a different tongue. It is curious that the most important English dictionary, with the most profound and accurate investigation of the origin and principles of our native language, published in the present day, should be the production of an American; and not less curious, or to us, who are genuine lovers of science and the general diffusion of useful know- century-we mean La Place's ledge, less gratifying, that of the "Mécanique Celeste "—one should two English translations and com- be from the pen of a Transatlantic mentaries upon the profoundest professor, the other from that of a mathematical work of the nineteenth tutor of the Irish University. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE LATE M. BENJAMIN CONSTANT. Ir is only in compliance with the established forms of biographical Notices that we commence the few particulars we have to give of this distinguished Frenchman, by stating that he inherited, on the female side, illustrious blood, and was descended on the male from a noble line of military characters, amongst whom are the names of a Coligni, and a Constant de Rebecque, who saved the life of Henri Quatre at the battle of Coutras. The biographer of Benjamin Constant may well be excused for passing hastily over the subject of his family, since he avoided himself anything like reference to his origin, and relied entirely on his talents and public conduct for obtaining the estimation of his country. On one occasion, however, when a political opponent in the Chamber of Deputies threw out a doubt as to his qualifications as a Frenchman, Constant was obliged to produce evidence of his parentage, and from that time forward he was treated with increased deference by the aristocrats of the "côté droit." The memory of this eminent statesman, orator, and patriot, will be immortal. His attachment to freedom was ardent and sincere. That noble object was always his; and neither the seductions of power or of fortune, nor the perils he had to encounter in its defence, ever induced him to relinquish it. His whole life was a struggle against all the principles and interests that are adverse to the people. Writer, deputy, citizen, he attacked, during thirty years, despotism in every shape, and did more than any other man in France to crush it. Constant had all that weakness of human nature which thirsts for occasions of excitement; he sought the gratification of that desire sometimes in the boudoirs, sometimes at the chances of the gaming-table, but never with more ardor than in the tumult of publie affairs and the stirring events of political life. The storms of the tribune had peculiar charms for him, and he loved the animating excitement of parliamentary contests. Never was orator more ingenious; never was a keener or more resistless logic displayed in the senate. He seemed to sport with the difficulties of style and thought; he understood what Bacon calls "the edge and the weight of words;" his speeches, therefore, always commanded attention, and elicited from his enemies a reluctant admiration. No man ever labored more indefatigably. The extent of his works, if they were collected, would be prodigious. It is said, that during the debates of the Chambers, he was often engaged in writing on the most abstruse subjects; and that in this way he composed much of his valuable work upon religion. But he possessed the rare faculty of rapidly transferring the energies of his mind from one object to another; and would frequently emerge from the abstraction of the writer, and take an able and effective part in the discussion. In society, the conversation of Constant was original and striking; in general ironical; seldom serious. It was remarked, that, though sedate even to sternness in public business, and grave and studious in the closet, it It appears that he was barely enabled to complete this work before his death. It is stated to be a most interesting and important production. was difficult to engage him in serious conversation. He retained not only in manhood, but in age, a fondness for the sports of boyhood, It is scarcely ten years since, at the villa of Baron Davillers, he followed the leadership of some young lads in leaping to the bottom of a sandpit, and fractured his thigh. He had a tedious confinement, and a great deal of suffering, which he bore with cheerfulness and resignation. The intimacy which subsisted between Constant and Madame de Staël is well known. That celebrated lady had an unbounded friendship for him. He has left a disconsolate widow, but no children. The maiden name of Madame Constant was Hardenburg; she was first married to General Dutertre, from whom she was divorced; and M. Dutertre was several years colleague or co-deputy of M. Constant. The latter lived with his lady on terms of the warmest attachment. Their establishment, suited to their small and even contracted fortune, was of the plainest description: they occupied a "troisième étage;" Constant was used to write in a small closet, his amiable wife at his side, and on his knee his favorite cat, an animal for which, in common with Chateaubriand, he entertained an affection. Constant was tall; his hair fair; his features mild and interesting; his gait careless: only two years ago he had a certain air of youth, particularly when in the tribune. His two last years were painful; he became daily more attenuated, and his body exhibited the symptoms of a rapid decay. Several times he was observed in the Chamber to be overcome with sleep, and twice he fainted. We regret to add, that mental vexations clouded his latter days. After the mighty event of last summer, he was appointed Vice-President of the Council of State. The superior place was filled by his friend and pupil the Duke de Broglie, and this circumstance induced Constant to acquiesce easily in the arrangement; but when M. Merilhon suc ceeded the Duke, the case was altered, and Constant refused to hold office under that Minister-a refusal not to be wondered at, when it is considered that the latter was scarcely known in politics, while the former was a veteran statesman of the most brilliant reputation. All the arts of persuasion were tried, but Constant was high-minded and proud, and notwithstanding the embarrassing mediocrity of his private income, he remained firm in his resolution not to take place. It has been said, we know not with what truth, that he accused himself, in common with his political friends, of having been wanting to his country in the transactions which followed the "three days;" and that the feeling that measures sufficiently energetic had not been adopted by the popular party, when everything was in their hands, preyed upon his spirits, and accelerated the dissolution of his already shattered frame, We have given but a few traits of an eventful and interesting life. His country, letters, civilization, and humanity, will mourn the death of Benjamin Constant. France laments him, as the best and greatest, or amongst the best and greatest, of her citizens. Europe laments him as a man whose great principles of freedom and philanthropy were not confined by the borders of his country, but embraced, in an exalted and extended patriotism, the interests of every enslaved and afflicted people. The Journal des Debats says— "The Chamber and the French nation will lose in him an orator, an eloquent defender of constitutional principles, a writer who added to a powerful display of sound logic, the ornaments of an enlivened, striking, and original style. It is not six days since his voice was heard in the Legislative Assembly, where the news of his death excites, even now, feelings of the most painful regret, which must be shared by every friend of public liberty, no matter what nation gave him birth." There is a discrepancy in the statements given of the age of this illustrious individual; some accounts representing him as having reached his sixty-fifth, others only his fiftysixth year. He died of a chronic disorder in the stomach. His death was sudden, and, owing to his having accustomed his friends to see him in a lingering state, was rather unexpected. It is several years since he met with a serious accident in descending from the tribune. The fall obliged him to use crutches. The want of exercise, and those unpleasant circumstances which he explained to the Chamber of Deputies a few days before his decease, besides a constant application to political and literary occupations, had greatly injured his health, which was naturally good. An al teration soon manifested itself, but did not diminish his exertions; the strength of his mind overcame his bodily infirmities, so that he was one of the most diligent and attentive members of the Chamber. He died in the Protestant faith. B. Constant had a presentiment of his approaching end. "We have not forgotten,' says the Constitutionnel," the last words he uttered in the tribune. 'Permit me,' said he, to implore your indulgence, not for my principles, but for the imperfections of a refutation drawn with haste. Naturally weak, and in bad health, I feel a sadness I cannot overcome this sadness, gentlemen, it is not in my power to explain. I cannot account for it, but have endeavored to surmount these obstacles in the discharge of my duty, and my intention, at least, is worthy your indulgence.' "These words marked a most impressive melancholy, and produced in the Chamber and on the public a deep sensation. The unfortunate foreboding is verified. The great citizen, the great publiciste, is no more, and his death will be for France and all Europe the subject of mourning. Literature will respect his name, civilization shed tears, the Academie Francaise regret him.” The Among the eulogiums which were pronounced at the funeral of M. B. Constant, which took place on the 13th of December, that of Napoleon Czapki, a Polonese patriot, is worthy of particular notice, on account of the extremely critical situation in which Poland is at present placed, as well as the warmth and affection of his remarks. "I, also," he said, "am his fellow-citizen. most devoted friend to liberty-the eloquent advocate of the rights of every people-M. B. Constant belongs to all mankind. . . . . . If thy generous voice could still be raised at the tribune, thou wouldst say to France, the cause of Poland is yours; that she never consented to the division of her provinces-an odious political crime, disavowed by the conscience of every nation. Thou wouldst say, that she has never ceased to be a nation. How useful would thy eloquence have been to my country! Thy popular voice would have reminded the Great Nation of the torrents of blood shed on all points of the globe for the French standard." MR. MOORE'S HOMILY ON HUSBANDS. Shepherd. MR. MOORE, in his Life of Lord Byron, says-" The truth is, I fear, that rarely, if ever, have men of the higher order of genius shown themselves fitted for the calm affections and comforts that form the cement of domestic life." Hoots - -toots! Toots hoots! Hoots-hoots! Toots-toots! North.-You are severe, James, but your strictures are just. Shepherd. The warst apothegm that ever was kittled in the shape o' a paradox; and then, sir, the expression's as puir's the thocht. The cawm affections-if by them Mr. Muir means a' the great natural affections, and he can mean naething |