and friends, he should represent it as a natural, and for the child of God on earth, a necessary evil, which will infallibly overtake him; which may alarm him, but will subserve the best interests of the soul. It is only by death that we can escape from a state of sin and misery; and obtain an introduction into the world of the spirits of just men made perfect. Death took Abel away from sensible altars, and the sacrifices of beasts, to the spiritual temple above, and introduced him at once to the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world. Death delivered Noah from scenes of temptation, toil and contention, and restored him to the society of the Patriarchs who died in faith before the flood. This same messenger has convened Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, David, Isaiah, and all the pious prophets in one general, glorious, blissful assembly, in the presence of their Redeemer. Without the dissolution of soul and body, Paul could not have fled away from hunger, thirst, cold, nakedness, imprisonments, chains, perils by sea and land, incessant labours, persecutions, and his own abhorred sinfulness; could not have been at home with Jesus; could not have received the crown of righteousness, by which he is distinguished among the kings and priests of heaven. Death called the beloved John away from the infirmities of old age, to become young again in the presence of his adored Master; and it is death that shall join every believer to the prophets and apostles; to his children, partner, parents, and friends, that are saved through the blood of Jesus; so that we ought to say, "all things are ours; even death, as well as life; for death is gain."

The design of the few pages before us, is, to correct those who speak improperly of that event which is appointed unto all men; and to render their sentiments of death more just. Dr. Gray is a very eccentric genius, and perhaps his only poem gives as fair a view of him as any thing which could be written. We shall copy the whole of his little work, that it may be preserved; for otherwise we apprehend the few copies which he has distributed will perish, or be read only by his friends. The little diamond is not sufficiently large to be preserved and admired, unless it is set. In his elegantly written preface, he says,

"Death is an event of great interest to mankind. The idea of it mingles with every retrospect of past joys and sorrows, and with all our anticipations of the future. Death has swept from us many, perhaps, in some instances, most, of the objects of our esteem and love; and left the best feelings of our hearts, like the unripe clusters of a vine deprived of its support, to wither away on the cold bosom of the earth. The pensive melancholy, produced by these views of our condition, is deepened into gloom, when we realize the thought, that in a few days, perhaps the present hour, we ourselves shall be rudely torn from all that continues to delight us on earth, and plunged into that awful unknown region where the very light is as darkness. Is it any wonder, then, that we should personify Death? Per-sonal essence, attributes and character, are necessary to furnish a definite object to our conceptions and feelings. It is not difficult to conjecture what sort of a personage Death is to be. The vast-the tremendous-the horrible-must predominate in a character, formed on purpose to excite terror and aversion. "It is somewhat singular that the illustrious writers of Greece and Rome, whose cultivated imaginations have animated every object in nature, and almost every conception of the human mind, should have omitted this subject. I do not recollect that a single ancient poet or orator has furnished a full length portrait of Death, or a high wrought phillippic against the monster. It is very remarkable that a similar omission should be found in the sacred writers. The worst thing that is said of Death in the Scriptures is that he is an enemy with a sting; whom, however, the pious man shall eventually subdue and destroy. But when we get among Christian poets and orators, matters are entirely changed. On the subject of Death, they vie with each other in the creation of hideous forms, which they are very careful to accoutre in the most formidable weapons of destruction. Skeletons, scythes, arrows, darts, hourglasses, are all put into requisition. The moral attributes of the fiend, however, are by far the worst thing about him; a tyrant fell and bloody-an insatiate archer, pursuing his game, not for the worth of the quarry, but the pleasure of killing it—a monster incapable of being intimidated by power, or bribed with gold, or awed by virtue, or charmed with youth or beautyin short, an undisguised object of the legitimate hatred and execration of mankind. All this may be poetry or eloquence; but is it common sense? The heathen philosopher acted much more philosophically, who, in a paroxysm of grief for the loss of a beloved daughter, instead of wasting his eloquence in the abuse of death, boldly exclaimed Odi Deos. Pennant informs us, in his Arctic Zoology, that a similar strain of thinking prevails among the savages of Kamschatka, who, probably in this inVOL. I.

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stance alone, coincide in opinion with their betters: 'In regard to their Deity,' says he, they are perfect minute philophosers. They find fault with his dispensations; blaspheme and reproach him with having made too many mountains, precipices, shoals and cataracts; with forming storms and rains; and when they are descending into the winter from their barren rocks, they load him with imprecations for the fatigues they undergo.'

"Death comes forward and claims the privilege of being heard in self-defence. But if any thing in the following lines should appear inclusive, or unworthy of so august a cause, let the blame be cast on the muse, who is the reporter; and who, like other reporters, may, from inattention or oscitancy, mix some of her own inferior thoughts with the cogent arguments of a grave pleading. One thing I dare assert, in the most unqualified terms, that before a court, too wise for deception, and too upright for partiality, Death has satisfactorily proved that he is no usurper, tyrant, nor murderer; but a legitimate and upright sovereign, who, with all his alleged severity, has displayed more instances of forbearance and patience than any earthly sovereign ever thought of. At all events, it is expected that they who live by his reprieve, will not slander the government to whose bounty they owe their existence."

To this proem succeeds "Death's Defence of his Character," in lines the great part of which are truly poetical. The introduction is the least estimable portion of it; but from the entrance of death into the chamber of the afflicted mother, the whole, with the exception of the address "Madam," and the word "bangs," is exquisitely beautiful. It derogates from the dignity of the personage introduced to make him bow and scrape, and say, Madam, like a French dancing master. Death uses no civilities, and passes no compliments. It would have been more consistent with his character to have said,

"Mortal, did I into your world intrude?" The Doctor intended to make Death speak like some piqued husband, who while he uses the language of respect, intends by madam some reproach. We will no longer detain the reader from his mental collation.

"Thou ruthless tyrant, cruel and accursed;
Of blood stained monsters thou the very worst!
Two girls before-and now my remnant joy,
My cherub, idol-O my darling boy,

Those lips are pale, they're cold: that clear blue eye
Is closed; no hovering smile, and no reply:

My innocent no more draws vital breath,
A babe of clay-accursed be cruel Death,
That fiend infernal, whose relentless rage
No charm can soothe, no sacrifice assuage:
Our world's dread sovereign, havock his delight,
He roams the earth our fairest flowers to blight.
Babes of a span, and heroes of the field,

Matrons and maids, and youth and age must yield.
His maw ingulphing millions in an hour,
That maw insatiate craves its millions more:
Our cries, and shrieks, and groans his sole delight;
And blood and tears regale his appetite.

"So spoke the mother bending o'er the corse.
The doors flew open with appalling force,
And in a spectre stalked, whose horrid stride
Spoke mingled justice, majesty and pride.
No muse can tell, no pencil's power can trace
The spectre's form, and size, and port, and grace.*
"I'm Death, he cries, by men traduced so long;
By orators reviled, lampooned in song.
Usurper-tyrant-cruel monster-so

The studied lie and endless slander go:
And beardless boys, and the experienced sage,

And blooming maids, and dames stooped down with age,
And every mortal sinner drawing breath,
Must launch a thunderbolt of rage at Death.
But heaven permits, and therefore I'll reply,
And silence this unfounded calumny.

"Madam, did I into your world intrude?
I scorn a thought so mean, an act so rude.
You choose me for your Prince, you call me in:
I got this sceptre from the hands of sin.
Elected king, without dissenting voice,
I reign the lawful sovereign of your choice.
Nor say that I, like your perfidious race,
Assumed a smooth hypocrisy of face;

Smiled and caressed you, vowed that only you
I loved, and to your interest would prove true;
And were it not for love of you alone,

I ne'er should brook the bondage of a throne.
I never loved you, nor professed to love
Aught in the earth below or heaven above.
Death scorns deception. Yes, ye knew me well;
The tale was told as plain as heaven could tell.

"It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof.” Job.

Ye knew me wrathful; but ye knew me just,
Stern in my purpose, stedfast to my trust.
Ye chose me: and the sceptre which I gained
So fairly, shall as firmly be maintained:

Nor men on earth, nor angel damned or blessed,
From my strong grasp this sceptre e'er shall wrest.
Your plots and treasons with contempt I see:
Omnipotence alone can cope with me.

"I'm called a tyrant. Foul, detested name;
Hateful to God and man, to Death the same!
But prove the charge before the eternal throne,
And I'll resign my sceptre and my crown.
What right have I invaded? and what wrong
Inflicted in a regimen so long?

Convict my conduct of a single flaw:
Produce one act unsanctioned by the law.
Condemned rebels, vile and slanderous crew,

You talk of justice! If she had her due,

With this bright scythe (he showed the shining steel) I'd instant mow your myriads off the field;

Earth should have peace on her primeval plan,

And angels write the history of man.

"You call me cruel. O ye babes of love!
In kinginess rivalling the blessed above;
Mercy's own offspring; pure benevolence
Throbs in each pulse, and thrills in every sense;
God's living image, o'er his earth ye move,
And sway the sceptre of his boundless love;
Creation smiles! But I such deeds could tell,
As would astound the foulest fiend in hell.

Ye hypocrites, ye cruel barbarous brood,

Whose tiger jaws from youth have dripped with blood, Hear truth for once in her simplicity,

And dare to talk of cruelty to me.

With pangs the mother bears her fruit unblessed,
With her own hand destroys her babe unkissed:

Fraternal blood reeks on fraternal blade,

The friend lies mangled, by his friend betrayed;
And Oh! let angels shudder while they hear,
There lies a murdered father on his bier.

But petty villainies I scorn to scan,
Behold the grand collected force of man:

Look to yon plain where glittering thousands shine
In column dense, or lengthened into line.
There fiery steeds more fiery men control,
On creaking wheels grim frowning cannons roll,